For the Love of Lila (25 page)

On coming out of her room she met up with her hostess, walking with a black-haired man of medium height. With Hester’s arm curled so tightly around his, he could only be Lord Poinsett.

“You’re out of bed!” Hester beamed at her. “How wonderful. Your color looks a hundred times better.”

Embarrassed by the fuss, Lila looked downward. “‘Twas nothing, really. I must have simply been tired.”

“No wonder, with all the uproar in your life lately. Oh, I’m sorry. Allow me to present my husband, Philip, Lord Poinsett.” She gazed at him with eyes that sparkled. “Poinsett, this is our guest, of course, Lila Covington.”

“A pleasure, Miss Covington.” His lordship grinned and swept her a bow. With a slender build and longish hair, he barely looked of age. “I’m relieved to find you recovered. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to meet you tonight.”

“Thank you, my lord. I assure you I’m quite well.”

“Please—call me Philip,” he said as the three of them started down the stairs. His easy manner added to his air of youthfulness.

Lila had a feeling she would like him. She reciprocated his invitation, urging him to use her first name.

As they passed through the main hall, Tristan was entering the front door. He gave Lila a brief nod in greeting, then spent several minutes exchanging salutations with his brother-in-law.

When the four of them turned toward the dining room, she still couldn’t catch his eye. His aloofness made her heart constrict.
What could be wrong?
She prayed that no further problems had arisen with her trust.

“Did you talk to the banker?” Hester asked—as if reading her mind—while the party took their places at the dinner table. “I hope he’s got matters in hand.”

He nodded, skimming Lila’s gaze before looking back at his sister. “All is well. Mr. Higginbotham has already heard back from one of his contacts. He needs only one more confirmation of Miss Covington’s identity before he can close her trust.”

“Wonderful.” Philip grinned. To the passing butler, he said, “Jepson, bring us a bottle of champagne.”

“Oh, my.” Again, Lila felt shy about the attention. “Isn’t celebration premature at this point?”

He shrugged. “If so, we have enough other happy matters to observe with a new friend staying here and a visit from Hester’s brother.”

Before the meal started, Philip led them in several toasts along these lines. Still more tired than usual, Lila paced herself with tiny sips so the alcohol wouldn’t put her to sleep. Tristan, on the other hand, had started a second glass by the time the bread was served. Judging by his avoidance of her gaze, she guessed
she
had something to do with his mood.

The first course consisted of a delicate pumpkin soup. Philip balanced a steaming spoon above his bowl, still chatting between blowing to cool it. Watching his aim, he asked seemingly in general, “So, how was your trip to Paris?”

She and Tristan exchanged a startled glance before realizing only
he
had been addressed.

 Looking away quickly, Tristan cleared his throat. He lifted his champagne and said in a sardonic tone, “Paris was as Paris always is...full of diversion and indiscretion.”

Hester cocked an eyebrow in a way reminiscent of her brother. “And
ennui
, judging by your manner. For my part, I think you’re far too embroiled in business. Can’t you ever join in the diversion?”

He twisted his mouth. “As well as the indiscretion?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, one often follows the other.” He downed the remnants of his drink, never meeting Lila’s gaze during the exchange.

“Tristan, what is the matter with you tonight?” Hester asked. “You’ll make a bad impression on our guest. Lila, dear, he’s not usually so cynical. He must be fatigued from traveling so recently.”

“I understand,” she said, and she did—too well. “I know your brother enough to realize that this is a rare instance of ill humor.”

“Thank heavens.” Shaking her head, Hester turned back to her soup. An awkward silence followed.

To change the subject, Lila asked after the family’s health.

Her hostess smiled and replied that she had heard from everyone recently and could report that all were well.

“That reminds me, Tristan.” She looked to her brother. “Our parents are in town.”

“They’re here?” His eyes widened.

“Yes.” She laughed. “You look as though I had announced the presence of the king. We’re all to dine together Friday night. Lila, I’ve told our mother about you, and she’s quite eager to meet you.”

“Has Father heard from the Comte D’Amiens?” Tristan asked abruptly.

D’Amiens. The name sounded familiar to Lila. Then she remembered why: He was the man who’d caught a glimpse of her in Tristan’s room in Paris—in bed. Poor Tristan must be worried that the tale had reached his father’s ears. She certainly hoped not, if they were all to dine together on Friday.

“Why?” Hester set down her spoon, her brow furrowing. “Did something happen in France? That’s why you’re so skittish, isn’t it? Was there a problem with the West Indies ships?”

“No, no.” He watched as a footman cleared his bowl. “Everything went well. I met with D’Amiens–that’s all. He’s a fine fellow. I’m being daft. I’m sure the man would have nothing but good to report to Father.”

“You
are
 being daft. The way you reacted, I thought you’d expected this fellow to have told Papa something dreadful.” Hester put her hands over her breastbone. “All I can say is that you must truly need a good night’s rest. You’ve been back in England for several days, haven’t you? Didn’t you get any sleep last night?”

“Not much.” He reached for the champagne bottle and poured himself another glass. Looking into his drink, he muttered, “But more than I’m likely to get tonight.”

Lila nearly choked on the water she’d just sipped. He seemed to be implying he would lose sleep because they couldn’t make love tonight. His frustration didn’t surprise her, but she could hardly believe he’d allude to such a topic amid company.

During the rest of the meal, Tristan couldn’t seem to sit still, continually shifting in his seat or dropping his napkin. She wondered if she should try to speak to him alone, but to do so seemed pointless. Nothing she could say would make him feel better about their situation. She was as upset as he.

After dinner the men immediately joined the women in the drawing room, instead of lingering over port. Lila wouldn’t have been surprised if Philip didn’t want to endure Tristan’s mood all by himself.

Hester chose a chair by the hearth and motioned for her husband to sit opposite her. The only other seating nearby was a small settee, so Lila and Tristan had to share it.

The warmth of his thigh grazing hers tantalized her. She longed to nudge over closer to him. Pretending they were practically strangers felt unnatural and unbearable.

Nursing a glass of ratafia, Hester asked, “So, Tristan, when do you think Lila will have access to her trust?”

“Possibly as soon as tomorrow.” He stared into the fire, eyes fixed as though unseeing. “Once Higginbotham gets the second confirmation he’ll open a new account, to which she’ll have full access.”

His sister blinked. “Goodness, Lila, you’ll have your money in no time. I hope you won’t leave us right away. You mustn’t go before you’ve had a proper, long stay.”

Lila smiled but said nothing, knowing any reiteration of her desire not to impose would be met with further protests.

“Where will you be living?” Philip asked her. “Tristan mentioned that you don’t have many close relatives.”

“No, I haven’t.” She set down her untouched drink on an end table. Despite avoiding alcohol all evening, she felt exhausted. “The one cousin I’d care to reside with recently moved to Italy. I had hoped to stay with her until I could arrange for my own house. Now I may have to find another suitable companion. Otherwise I’ll have to live quite modestly.”

“Not to mention that a young woman cannot live on her own.” Hester tapped her chin with her index finger. “Can’t you go back to the uncle you’ve been living with?”

Lila bit her tongue about the first comment and shook her head in answer to the second. “To be frank, I’m not eager to see him ever again. This morning Tristan and I found out he’s been trying to appropriate my trust for himself.”

“Good Lord!” Hester exchanged a look of shock with her husband, then turned back to her. “Your own uncle would leave you without a shilling for your dowry? Why, you would virtually have no future.”

Tristan grimaced. “Lila’s trust is not the same as a dowry. She may do whatever she pleases with it. She doesn’t need to get married.”

The resentment in his voice surprised Lila. She’d thought that he understood her beliefs, despite their prohibiting his wish to marry her. Frowning, she wondered if he had come to blame her for their predicament.

His sister tilted her head, as if looking at him askew might help her understand him. Softly, she said, “Tristan, remember that Lila is a guest and deserves our best manners.”

He looked at her, then paused to squeeze his temples. At last he met Lila’s gaze for the longest stretch he had all evening. “I’m sorry. Truly. Pray forgive me, all of you.”

“Of course,” she murmured, and the others followed suit.

“Why don’t you step outside for a breath of air?” his sister asked. “You can show our guest the little garden out back.”

His frown only deepened again. Lila couldn’t bear seeing him so distraught.

Hester looked to her. “Being in town, the garden is small, but, personally, I think it quite pretty. We even have a little maze with a surprise at the center.”

“Sounds intriguing.” Regardless of the fact that she knew no way to comfort Tristan, she thought they needed to talk. “I’d like to see it, Tristan. Please, if only for a moment.”

He hesitated, then nodded curtly.

“There are lanterns on the terrace,” Hester said as her brother stood.

“No need,” he shot back. “We won’t be long.”

“Take your time.”

He glanced at her once more but didn’t reply, his lip curling. Turning to Lila, he offered his elbow.

She couldn’t understand why he seemed to resent every word his sister uttered. Rising, she rested her hand on his arm. The slight contact spread warmth through her palm.

As soon as they walked out of the room, the world felt different. They were alone again. She found it hard not to lean into his body and yearned to rest her head on his shoulder. He, however, had gone back to avoiding her gaze.

Without speaking, he led her to a pair of French doors at the rear of the house. They stepped out onto a small terrace, and a temperate breeze fanned her face. The long summer evening had just turned to dusk. A huge full moon hung low on the horizon over a cluster of buildings on the next street.

Tristan slipped away from her and went to the iron railing, staring out at the grounds. Unsure how to break the uneasy mood, she stepped up beside him and took in the view.

Hester had been modest to call the garden “pretty.” At the bottom of three steps leading down to the lawn, scattered flower beds burgeoned with a variety of exotic blossoms. In daylight their colors must have looked exquisite. Beyond them, a wide square of shrubbery flourished, thick and precisely trimmed. The maze, no doubt.

“What a beautiful evening.” She moved up beside him and leaned on the rail. Still, he didn’t respond in any way. Searching for a topic of conversation, she said, “Your sister is remarkably cheerful.”

“
Cheerful
.” He snorted. “That’s one word for her, though personally I’d choose
meddling
. You do realize she’s already attempting to make a match of you and me?”

“The thought that she might do so occurred to me earlier, though tonight I’ve had other things on my mind.” She followed his gaze out at the greenery. “Tristan, are you angry at me?”

For a long moment the only sound was the crickets, punctuated by an occasional frog’s croak. Softly, he said, “No, not at you, at the world.”

“But I’m part of the world.” She turned to him again, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Hurt, she looked up at the moon.

“As am I,” he said.

“I wish we weren’t—not this world, anyway, but another one without conventions that force a woman to forsake love for autonomy. Oh, Tristan, this night is so lovely, the setting is gorgeous, and the company... “ She reach up and touched his cheek, her fingers trembling. “...is the only company I want. Everything is perfect—and yet everything is wrong.”

“Lila...” He grabbed her hand and held it to his face, closing his eyes. “How can I bear to let you go? This day was hell. I counted the hours we were apart. Am I to spend my life this way?”

A metallic clatter from behind them jerked their attention around. Just outside the door they’d used, a maid stooped to pick up a tinderbox. She darted them a look and a clumsy curtsy. “Beg yer pardon. Milady told me to light the lanterns.”

They watched the poor girl fumble with the equipment until she finally completed the task.

Once she’d scurried back into the house, Lila grabbed one of the lights and took Tristan’s hand. “Come on. I want to see the maze.”

He froze in place. His face twitched, fluctuating between a frown and gaping disbelief. In the end he settled into a grimace. “Are you mad? We
can’t
be alone together.”

“Would you prefer to risk our conversation being interrupted again? You know that we need to talk.”

He paused and looked back at the doors just as a footman passed, staring out the windows at them. Frowning, he turned back to her and nodded—much to her relief. He took the lantern from her and held it out to light their way down the steps. She was grateful that he let her hold his hand.

“Mazes symbolize life, you know,” she said as they entered the shrubs, the leafy walls topping both of their heads. The gravel of the path crunched softly under their feet. “One never knows what’s around the next bend.”

If in this case Tristan did know, he didn’t say, allowing her to navigate their course. Surrounded by the deep foliage, she felt like they were children in a magic forest.

The third turn she chose brought them up against a leafy wall. She stopped short and spun around, surprised to be confounded so soon.