Valor of Love (Scandalous Scions Book 2) Read online

  Elisa sighed. “Very well. Dinner is at six as usual.” She picked up her top hoop and glided away silently, her golden curls gleaming in the sunlight coming down from the high windows.

  Lilly finished shuffling her papers, taking a moment to compose herself. The answer she had withheld from Elisa echoed in her mind.

  I have had my share of enjoyment from this world. I deserve no more of it.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough to indulge in a visit to the family townhouse to see her siblings and her mother…and Raymond, too. For a moment, she paused to consider that satisfactory arrangement. Raymond and her mother had been wed for a year, last October. It had been a shock to the family, although once they had recovered, everyone seemed to agree the pairing made perfect sense—to the family, at least, who knew Raymond and her mother the best. Strangers and the ton had of course reared backward in dismay.

  Now it was April and the beginning of the high season, when the majority of society were here in London in concentrated gatherings where gossip would run amok. Not that Lilly would be within hearing distance, of course. Not anymore.

  She settled in to the next lesson. History—mixed up with heraldry and peer structure and protocol, as such lessons needed to be, to arm sixteen-year-old girls about to be exposed to the harsh callousness of the ton.

  Chapter Two

  Lilly wanted to make herself wait until after morning tea before heading for Park Lane and the family townhouse. She even considered sending a proper and polite note to her mother, asking if she may call.

  Instead, she found herself at the front door, putting on her bonnet, shortly after breakfast had been served. Outside, she could still hear larks singing in the square.

  Elisa came up to her. “Here, let me help,” she said, as Lilly struggled to place her shawl correctly. The shawl had been a gift from her father, that he had brought back from one of his many travels. The paisley fabric was the height of fashion now, even though he had given her the shawl nearly ten years ago.

  “It is quite a mild morning,” Elisa said. “Would you not be better off with a coat, instead, Lilly?”

  Lilly shook her head. She was impatient to go. She couldn’t tolerate any delays. “If I walk fast enough, I won’t be cold.”

  “There’s no need to walk,” Elisa said. “Paulson had the brougham bought round this morning. It’s waiting for you.”

  Lilly met Elisa’s eyes, her heart giving a little lurch. “You’re much too kind,” she whispered. She was dangerously close to tears.

  Elisa hugged her, which was unusual. “You are far too hard on yourself, Lilly.”

  Lilly blinked away her tears. “That is because I know the truth.” She picked up her reticule. “Thank you for the carriage.”

  “It is at your disposal for as long as you need it. Enjoy your day, Lilly.”

  “Thank you.” Lilly stepped down to the footpath as the driver jumped from his perch and opened the door of the carriage for her. A carriage ride would certainly shorten the time it took to reach Park Lane and the big house there.

  The carriage set off smartly, for the horses were well rested and fresh. The morning was crisp and Lilly held the shawl closely around her shoulders and studied the folds of her skirt. Perhaps she should have worn the worsted wool, instead of this simple gabardine. She didn’t want the family to think she was slighting them by not bothering to dress nicely enough.

  She rested her head against the wall of the carriage with a deep sigh. It was ridiculous how much she was looking forward to this day.

  It seemed to take forever to reach Park Lane, despite the short cut and despite the roads being quite empty at this time of day. Milk trucks and coal trucks and vendors of all types were delivering their wares, while most of society was still sitting about their breakfast tables, finishing the second pot of tea while they read their papers.

  When Lilly pushed open the door to the townhouse and stepped inside, she could hear everyone in the dining room, the clink of china and the rattle of paper, which told her that her family were doing exactly that. She could smell toast and the waft of what she thought might be kippers, soaked in Cook’s secret tomato sauce.

  She could hear the murmur of conversation, too.

  Thomsett hurried into the foyer from the dining room. She had caught him by surprise. “Lady Lillian, I do apologize,” he said quickly.

  She held up her hand. “No need, Thomsett. I sent no word.”

  “We were expecting you would arrive sooner or later,” Thomsett said. “May I take your things?”

  She handed over her reticule, bonnet and gloves, but held onto the shawl. “If you don’t mind, I’m a bit chilly,” she explained, as he packed the bonnet and gloves and bag away neatly on the sideboard.

  “Perhaps a cup of tea or two will warm you?” he suggested. “I’ll have a footman set a place for you. Have you broken your fast this morning, my lady?”

  “I have, thank you. Tea sounds wonderful, though.”

  He walked her through to the dining room. She realized he was not escorting her as he would a guest, but just happened to be heading there himself, to arrange the chair for her.

  As soon as Lilly walked in the door, the entire family gave a cry and leapt to their feet. Even Lisa Grace was breakfasting at the family table, for she was eleven, now.

  Her mother rushed to her and enveloped her in her arms and held her closely.

  Lillian could feel herself relaxing. She hugged her mother back. Hers was the only family she knew who hugged each other often and in public. She would be a hypocrite if she said she did not like the custom. She had missed it. She had missed her mother and only realized it now they were together. Lilly squeezed, closing her eyes.

  Raymond’s big hand on her shoulder was unmistakable. She turned and smiled at him while everyone else gathered around, trying to greet her first. Even Cian and Neil were jockeying for position.

  Lillian’s heart swelled. It was so good to be home.

  Raymond turned her to face him as her mother let her go. He was smiling—the same small, easy smile she remembered from when she had thought of him as her informal cousin and friend. “May I?” he asked.

  She let him hug her, although his was more reserved. Then he drew her to the head of the table, where his plate had been cleared and The Times lay next to his teacup. “Sit,” he told her. “I’ll get you some tea.”

  “Not to worry, my Lord,” Thomsett said, whipping away Raymond’s cup and saucer and replacing it with a freshly poured cup.

  “There we go, then,” Raymond said and moved over to the new setting that Monroe was laying.

  Everyone else gathered around her. Lilly spent a few precious minutes greeting each of them in turn, from oldest to youngest, as was proper; Cian, Neil—Daniel was still at Eton for a week or two, yet—Bridget and Mairin, then Annalies.

  Finally, she could sit and pour milk into her tea and take a sip.

  “Is it true, Lilly, that Jenny and Sharla will both have dresses with thirty yards of Alençon lace?” Bridget asked.

  “I heard it was twenty-five yards and the biggest hoops in the world,” Mairin said. “Have you seen the dresses?” she pressed Lilly.

  “I have also heard from the same source that they will arrive on elephant back,” her mother said chidingly. “You should learn to distinguish silly gossip from real news, my girls. Thirty yards? Where on earth would she put such an excess of material?”

  Cian rolled his eyes. “Can we change the subject?” he asked.

  “We could change it to the rumor that each gentleman will receive his own decanter of brandy the moment he arrives at their ball,” Raymond said. He was smiling. His gaze shifted toward Natasha. He was teasing.

  “Really?” Neil said, sounding interested.

  Her mother laughed. “Once upon a time, receiving a single rose was considered most generous. Balls these days are becoming quite ridiculous in their generosity.”

  “When the family can earn the admira
tion of the ton with steadily more extravagant gifts to their guests, they will continue to compete with each other,” Raymond pointed out.

  The conversation carried on as Lilly sipped her tea. Everyone contributed. That was another custom in her family the ton would not appreciate. Children were not required to remain silent. If they could contribute to the conversation they were permitted to speak. Whining and complaints and childish silliness, though, would have them back in the nursery quickly, so all of them had learned to listen and think before opening their mouths.

  Thomsett eased the open newspaper out from in front of her, drawing her gaze to the broadsheet. A headline caught her eye and she held out her hand. “A moment,” she said, her heart thudding. Perhaps she had misread it….

  Thomsett put the paper back in place. “My lady?” he asked, puzzled.

  Lilly studied the headline, the black type thick with emphasis at the importance of the news.

  LORD BLACKAWTON DEAD

  Lilly didn’t realize she had put the teacup down until it rattled against the saucer. She picked up the sheet. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, which made reading the fine print more difficult. Slowly, as her heart picked up speed, she read the first paragraph.

  The Blackawton family have announced the Lord’s passing on the twelfth instant of this month. Lord Blackawton’s heir and oldest son, Alban, is returning from his posting to Madras, India, at all possible speed to take up his new duties—

  “Lilly!” her mother cried, with a tone that said it was not the first time she had said it.

  Lilly looked up. She had got to her feet without realizing it.

  Raymond was leaping toward her. Lilly couldn’t focus on him. Noise roared in her mind and heart. She thought it might perhaps be the sound of fear. Then she heard and saw nothing more.

  * * * * *

  Thomsett was closer than Raymond. He shoved the fallen chair out of the way with his foot and got his arms under Lillian as she crumpled.

  What on earth could she have seen in the front pages of The Times that would call for such a reaction?

  He lifted her easily for she seemed to weigh next to nothing.

  Both Natasha and Raymond gathered around them, while the rest of the family stood about the table, in various states of shock and dismay. Lisa Grace was chewing her lip, her eyes wide and a little frightened. As Thomsett glanced at her, her eyes filled with tears.

  “None of the rooms are made up,” Natasha said quickly. “Yet we must put her down somewhere.”

  “The sofa in the library,” Raymond said. “What brought this on?” he asked Natasha.

  “I don’t know,” Natasha breathed, loosening Lilly’s collar.

  “If I may, I should point out that Lady Annalies is upset and may need your comfort, my lady,” Thomsett told her, for Annalies was now openly sobbing. “I will take Lady Lillian to the library.”

  “I will see what was in the damn paper that Lilly saw,” Raymond said, his tone grim.

  “I’ll be there in a moment,” Natasha told Thomsett.

  He nodded and carried Lilly through to the library. She was already making soft noises—little sighs. She was coming to her senses once more.

  He shut the library door with his heel, moved over to the leather-tucked sofa and laid her down. He took one of the soft cushions from the armchair next to the desk, where Natasha liked to repose, and slid it beneath Lilly’s head.

  Her hair was unexpectedly soft to the touch. She clearly did not tease or curl it as some women did. The waves were natural.

  Her eyes fluttered open for a moment. Then she groaned and closed them again, her hand over them.

  “There is no one here,” Thomsett said. “You are quite private, my lady.”

  “You are here, are you not? You saw my…you saw me.” Her throat worked.

  “You are not the first lady to faint where I have seen them,” he said gently.

  “Is that what I did?” She held still for a long moment, then let out a deep breath. “Oh, God…!”

  He wondered, as had Raymond, what could cause a young woman to react in such a way to a simple newspaper headline. Unlike Raymond, he might never learn the answer. He was not in a privileged position where family confidences were shared. He wondered if the drama was perhaps a feminine invention, to inflate a social slight she had suffered…except that Lady Lillian did not socialize. Nor was she inclined to any behavior that was not within the realms of good sense.

  “I will fetch your mother,” Thomsett told her.

  “No, not yet,” she said quickly. “Not for a moment, please. I just need to…” Her chest hitched. “If I could only draw a breath...” Her voice had no strength at all.

  Thomsett hesitated. Loosening corsets and unbuttoning tight garments were well outside the bounds of his duties. Yet he could see hysteria taking hold of her and squeezing her chest. He had seen such hysteria grip men on the battlefield, usually in the moments just before a charge. Young men facing their first battle and the prospect of death could fall apart in ways that were usually ascribed to women.

  Thomsett crouched down next to her and spoke quietly. “You need to breathe softly and shallowly. A sip, then pause, then another. You must use your will to override the need to gulp in air. Control your lungs. A breath, then another and you will be able to breathe deeply soon after that.”

  She heard him. He could see her struggle to follow his instructions. It was difficult to overcome the body’s need for air and sometimes even the strongest men could not do it. In those cases, Thomsett or another officer had usually dealt with the men in short order. However, he doubted Natasha and Raymond would appreciate him knocking Lady Lillian unconscious.

  Slowly, her breathing calmed and deepened. She sighed. “It worked.” She said it as if she was speaking to herself. Then she pushed herself up with one hand on the edge of the cushion and sat up. Her face was white.

  “Perhaps you should remain on your back for a while,” he suggested, feeling a singular uselessness. He could not touch her, even though the sensible thing would have been to lie her down again.

  Lillian shook her head. “I must get on.” She clearly was trying to sound firm, yet her voice was still weak.

  Outside the closed door to the library, voices lifted in intense, quiet discussion. Thomsett could tell them apart. It was Natasha and Raymond. Tempers were rising, although the words were not clear enough through the mahogany door to explain why. Surely, the pair of them would be more concerned about Lilly?

  Then Raymond’s voice lifted even higher. His restraint had slipped. “Why must I not know?” he demanded, his tone strident. “I am the head of this family and Lilly is mixed up in some matter that she fears so deeply she fainted to get away from it!”

  Thomsett looked at Lilly, startled.

  Her eyes were glittering with tears. The moisture brooked her lashes and slid down her cheeks. Her throat worked.

  As Natasha spoke softly again, clearly trying to pacify Raymond, Thomsett reached inside his jacket, withdrew his handkerchief and held it out to her. Lilly took it silently and wiped her cheeks, then held the linen to each eye in turn.

  She lowered the handkerchief and turned it over, then slid her thumb over the monogram. “J. A. T.,” she said. She lifted her chin. “This is a gentleman’s handkerchief,” she pointed out.

  “I assure you, it is mine.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” She touched the monogram again, then studied him with a curious expression.

  Thomsett shifted on his feet. “I should go and…” For there was always something to do.

  “Not with my mother and Raymond arguing on the other side of the door,” she told him, for their voices were still murmuring on the other side.

  It was perfectly true. “Is there something I can do for you, my lady?” he asked her. “A brandy, perhaps?”

  “I am over the shock of it now, thank you.”

  Thomsett considered her state. Her face was still white enough for
the veins beneath her flesh to show, giving her a gray cast. Her eyes were still swimming with tears and while she had control of her breathing once more, her chest was still rising and falling far too quickly for someone who claimed to be calm.

  He wondered again what the matter was that had brought her to this state. He could not ask, of course, although he would study the newspaper with close attention once the breakfast table had been cleared.

  Lady Natasha’s insistence upon not sharing the facts even with Raymond meant the matter was rather more significant than he might have supposed.

  He did not know Lilly well, for she had not lived in this house since he had become butler to the family, yet what he knew of her fit with the revelation that she carried some great secret. She was an enclosed woman and for someone so young, staid and withdrawn from society.

  Something had hurt her. No, not simple hurt, Thompsett amended to himself. It was more than that. Every day, women overcame hurts and disappointments, even petty cruelties, then moved on with their lives.

  Lilly had suffered in a profound way that had changed her life. He’d heard the staff tell stories about her coming out, the grand ball and how Lady Lillian had gloried over London society, the most popular debutante of the year, with a dozen or more beaus chasing her. Thomsett had dismissed the prattle as pure embroidery of family history, for he had only to look at the slender, withdrawn woman to know it wasn’t true.

  Now, he wondered if the staff had been accurate in their portrayal of Lillian when she had first come out. If they were—and he would make careful enquiries once more—then something had happened to change her into this plain, sensible creature.

  The voices outside the door sounded as though they might be moving away. Thomsett waited, listening.

  Lillian held out his handkerchief toward him. “I would not deprive you of your linen,” she said softly. “Thank you for your kindness, Thomsett.”