Lily (48 page)

Her ladyship’s worried gaze was on the ground; she was startled when her older son accosted her in the middle of the gravel drive.

“Mother?”

“Oh, Dev—I’m afraid I’ve done something … rather unfortunate.”

Devon was familiar with his mother’s habit of ironic understatement. He prepared for bad news.

“That girl, Lily—”

“You spoke to her?”

“I did; I thought it best.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I told her I thought the two of you ought not to marry.”

He relaxed, even smiled with affectionate tolerance. “That was ever so slightly presumptuous of you, don’t you think? I trust Lily took your advice in the way it deserved to be taken—politely but very sparingly.”

Elizabeth looked more uncomfortable than ever. “Are you telling me you
would
marry her?”

“If she’ll have me,” he answered immediately.

Elizabeth put a hand to her forehead; she looked shaken.

“I love her, Mother,” Devon said quietly. “And she’s carrying my child.”

“Maura carried your child.” She put her hand on his arm when she saw his expression. “Forgive me for that! I hardly know her at all, and yet I can see this girl is nothing like Maura.”

“No, she’s nothing like her. But it took me a very long time to understand that. You must let me make my own happiness,” he said more gently. “I can imagine what you told Lily.”

“No, I don’t think—”

“But I care less than ever what the world thinks of me. Lily’s everything to me. All I want is to live with her and our children, here at Darkstone, for the rest of my life.”

Elizabeth’s smile was troubled and happy at the same time. “Then that’s what I want for you, too. But I’m afraid I’ve done something stupid. But—I didn’t know she didn’t know, you see, and it just came out—”

“Mother, what are you talking about?”

“I thought she knew what Dr. Marsh told you about Clay—that he couldn’t have written the note that blamed her because his poor brain was so badly injured that he wasn’t able even to move, much less perform thought processes as complicated as …” She trailed off, chagrined anew by the look on Devon’s face. “I’ve done it, haven’t I? You hadn’t told her. I’m sorry, I just assumed that you had.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said grimly; “in fact it’s for the best. I’m glad you told her, glad it’s out.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “But you’ve set me a formidable task. Mother.”

“Yes, she … seemed quite upset.”

He could imagine. He looked over his mother’s shoulder at Lily’s cottage; a thin trail of smoke rose from the stone-and-mortar chimney in the thatched roof.

“I like that girl, Dev. I hope she comes around, because you could do much worse.”

“I
have
done worse,” he reminded her dryly. Then he gave her a quick kiss and walked off toward Lily’s house.

There was no answer when he knocked. A bad sign. He started to turn the knob and walk in uninvited, but then he didn’t. “Lily,” he called out, “it’s Devon. May I come in?” Nothing. “Lily!”

Another pause, and then he heard her voice, faint, almost querulous, calling, “Dev, is that you?”

“Lily, let me in.”

“Well, come in, it’s not locked.”

He squared his shoulders and opened the door, expecting anything—except the sight of Lily sitting in front of the fireplace, calmly sewing embroidery on a child’s blanket. All his breath came out in a slow exhale. “Hello,” he said experimentally.

“Hello.” She looked up for a second, then back at her sewing.

“ ’Tis a warm day for a fire.”

“Is it? I was a little chilly.”

He plucked a sprig of heather from the jar on the table and twirled it between his fingers, watching her. “How are you today, love? Feeling all right?”

“Oh yes, perfectly. Well, maybe a little tired.” She smiled at him briefly. “Dev?”

“Mmm?” He crushed the heather blossom and held it under his nose.

“I was wondering if you might lend me some money.” When he didn’t answer, she went on, “Not much, just a little, and I’d pay you back when my inheritance comes.”

He laid the flower on the edge of the table with great care. “What do you need money for, sweet?”

“Oh, you know—things. For the baby, for me, just—things.”

Her voice was a parody of casualness. She was the worst liar he had ever known. He felt embarrassed for her.

“Lily,” he said quietly, “I’ve just spoken to my mother.”

Her hands went still. A long moment passed before she looked at him, and then her face was a stiff white mask. “Will you give me the money?”

“No.”

She stood up so quickly her chair toppled over backwards and struck the floor with a crash. She threw her sewing after it and faced him, fists up and clenched, teeth bared. “Bastard!” She came toward him fast, hissing, “Lying son of a bitch!”

Shock kept him motionless; he’d never heard her swear before. When he realized she meant to sweep past him and escape through the door, he put an arm out to stop her. She shouted another oath and hit him—actually hit him—a hard blow to the side of his chest, her hands clasped to make a club.

“Bastard!” she cried again—her storehouse of curses was limited. “You bloody bastard, get out of my way!”

“Listen to me, I was going to tell you about Marsh—”

“Liar!”

“No, I was going to tell you, but the time wasn’t—” She ran at him, a spitting, sputtering, pregnant battering ram, and pushed him out of the way. “Lily!” He caught her arm and held it fast. Thank God her dog was nowhere in sight; he had time to think before she yanked out of his grip.

“Your mother will give me money!” she hurled at him. “She tried to before, but I wouldn’t take it. Now I will!”

“She won’t give you any money—I won’t let her.”

Her rage flared higher, she was weeping with pent-up fury and could hardly speak. The urge to escape receded, overcome by the need to fight. “I should have known you were lying, it’s what you’ve always done! All you’ve ever wanted from me is sex. You lied so that you could seduce me again. Now you think you’ll have this child, but you won’t.”

“Lily, please—”

“ ‘I’ll never stop being sorry,’ ” she mimicked, lips curling nastily in disgust. “You bastard! ‘Love me again, I
need
you.’ You’re a—”

“For God’s sake,” he cried, “do you doubt it? Do you truly doubt it?”

“You don’t know how to tell the truth! But this is the end, it’s over.”

Somehow he kept his hands at his sides. “Lily, have mercy. There was a note, words on it—I thought Clay wrote it.”

“You should’ve known!”

“Yes. Yes, I admit it, I should have known.”

“It’s over, Devon. This is—not—forgivable.”

“But you love me.”

“I’ll stop. I have stopped.”

“Marry me.”

She laughed. “Never. And thank God you can’t force me. I’m leaving you, I’ll forget you as soon as I can. I’ll find someone else, a man who loves me and loves my baby—”

“You’d take the child from me?”

“Yes! Without hesitation! I would go now if I could.”

Now Devon swore, with a viciousness that made her back away from him. “I don’t agree to this,” he said through his teeth, “I don’t give you up.”

“It doesn’t matter—I don’t expect anything from you that would help me. But I’m leaving you, and you’ll
never
have this child, never even see it!”

“I will not allow this. I won’t let you go. The child is
ours,
Lily, you can’t take it from me.” She shook her head, green eyes as angry as hornets. “I’ll keep it!” he burst out, enraged. “I’ll take it from you, I’ve got the power! It doesn’t matter how much money you’ve come into, I’ve got more. I’m a viscount, I’m in Parliament, I’m the bleeding
magistrate
—”

“I knew it!” she crowed in sick triumph. “You don’t want me, you only want a child to replace the one you lost! But I swear before God, Dev, you won’t have it!”

She was crying hard, arms folded across her stomach in a desperate gesture of protection, panting with the violence of her emotion. Rationality returned to him in an icy rush. “Calm yourself,” he warned; “you’ll hurt yourself if you don’t take care.”

“Then get out. Get out! I don’t want to look at you.”

He couldn’t stand any more. He felt battered, physically ill. “I’ll send Lowdy,” he muttered, backing out the door. When his feet hit the gravel, he turned around and ran.

The gray afternoon was windy and warm. The Channel waves looked like long glass rugs spiraling toward shore, pausing for a breath in midair before smashing on the shale in a million watery slivers.

Clay held Lily’s hand as they stared out across the restless rollers. “Dev and I used to play here when we were boys,” he told her.

“I know. He brought me here once.” And kissed me. For the first time. What a child I was then. “He called it the drowning cove.” She gazed past Clay toward the cliff’s edge, and beyond it to the huge boulder below, almost completely exposed now in the low tide. The drowning rock.

“We used to play pirate in the caves under this cliff. One of the differences between Dev—Dev and me is that I grew up to
be
one.”

“You were never a pirate,” Lily scoffed, defending him. “You were a free-trader. A much nobler calling.” She put a surreptitious hand to the small of her back and pressed, trying to relieve the ache there. “Shall we sit down again?” she suggested after a moment when the pain would not diminish.

They walked back to their blanket and the scattered remains of their picnic. Lily sank down gratefully; Gabriel flopped beside her and put his heavy head in what little space of lap she had left.

“I like this dog. There’s something about him. He never leave—leaves you, does he?”

“Never.” She shifted slightly, searching for a comfortable position. The low ache had started last night, and it seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Clay was watching her; she sent him a false smile.

“Are you mad at me, Lily?”

“No! Why would I be?”

“Because I wouldn’t give you any money.”

She mumbled something and hid her face by kissing the top of Gabriel’s head.

Clay spoke earnestly. “We’re friends, Lily, I’d do anything for you, I truly would. But Dev’s my brother, I owe him my loyalty, too. And anyway, if you went away now, what good would it do? It would only—”

“It’s all right,” she broke in, “I understand, and I don’t mind, honestly. I’m sorry now that I asked you—it wasn’t fair. Let’s forget it, Clay, let’s pretend it never happened.”

“But what will you do?”

She looked at him directly. “Wait.”

He shook his head, dismayed. “Lily, this is crazy. I would never have thought you could be so stubborn.”

She laughed, unamused. “Let’s leave it,” she warned again, coolly. “You really don’t know anything about it.”

“Ac-actually, I know all about it.”

She shifted, uncomfortable again; Gabriel heaved a long-suffering sigh and squirmed away. “Oh, probably,” she said irritably. “Let’s leave it, anyway.”

“All right.” A minute passed. “Dev’s miserable.” Lily made a move to get up; Clay’s hand shot out to hold her. “All right, I’m sorry! I’ll stop.” She settled back, face shuttered, and stared out at the waves, luminous gray cylinders winding tighter and tighter.

But he couldn’t leave it after all. Lily’s mouth tightened but she didn’t move this time when he whispered—as though if he spoke softly enough she wouldn’t run away—“Dev’s an honorable man, Lily. You must know that. He made a stu-stupid mistake, a terrible mistake, and he’s suffered for it. When will it be enough? When will you be sat-satis—Oh, Christ, I’m sorry.” He reached out to brush away the tear that spattered on her hand in her lap. She seized his hand and held it tight. He squeezed back, and fell silent at last.

So, Devon was miserable. The news gave her no satisfaction; if anything, it only heightened her own misery. If he had mourned as she had in the last four days, then Clay was right—Devon had suffered indeed. Her anger, which had felt so righteous and pure at first, had abandoned her quickly, leaving her with nothing but distress. Finally it was the fear that she might be hurting the baby that had made her give up her solitary grieving and her weak, ceaseless weeping. When Clay had appeared at her door this afternoon, picnic basket in hand, pale and shaky but determined to make her come with him, she’d surprised them both by saying yes.

She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief one last time and sent him a watery smile. “Talk to me,” she urged. “Tell me something about you. Anything, Clay, just talk to me.”

He grinned, abashed but willing. “All right. Well, let’s see. I posted my drawings to the Customs Office yesterday. Remember I was desi-designing a sloop?” She nodded. “I probably won’t hear anything for weeks, maybe m-months.”

“Oh, I know they’ll like it.”

“They ought to,” he asserted, disdaining false modesty. “It’s damn—
damned
good, as good as any tub they ever fl-floated.” He found a scrap of cold partridge in the bottom of the hamper and began to nibble on it. “What else shall I tell you? Oh—I’m remembering things, Lily. More all the time.”

She sat up. “Clay, that’s wonderful. Anything… about that night?”

“Bits and pieces. I remember it was windy, ready to storm.”

“It was,” she confirmed, excited. “Anything else?”

“I remember being in the library, but I can’t remember what I was doing.” He scowled and rubbed his forehead gingerly.

“Don’t worry, it will come.”

“Yeah.”

She touched his sleeve, seeing the confusion that bordered on fear in his fine blue eyes. It always broke her heart. “Everything’s going to be all right, Clay. It just takes time.” He nodded, not looking at her. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into coming out on this picnic,” she said to distract him. “It’s most improper. My ‘confinement’ is a very loose state of affairs around here.”

“That’s what Dev’s always liked about Darkstone, I think. There’s no ‘society’ around here to disapprove of what he does.”

Lily didn’t answer.

“When, uh, what day do you, um …”

“Have the baby? Oh, today, probably.” She waited for his expression of shock, then laughed at it. “I’m not sure, silly, not exactly. Soon, though.”