Love According To Lily
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“Look out world, there’s a new talent writing historicals
and her name is
JULIANNE MacLEAN!”
Pamela Britton
B
eing raised in a strict, humorless household did nothing to dampen Lady Lily Langdon’s romantic nature—nor cool her lifelong affection for Edward Wallis, Earl of Whitby, her elder brother’s oldest, dearest friend. But Edward cannot see the lovely woman she’s become for the wild schoolgirl she once was. So with lessons in flirtation from her American sister-in-law, Duchess Sophia, Lily means to open Edward’s eyes and win his heart.
B
ut just when her seduction begins to take hold, tragedy strikes. Edward has lived a rakish life, believing he would never grow old— and a terrible twist of fate threatens to prove him right. Yet adversity only strengthens Lily’s resolve to find the ecstasy she knows is waiting in Edward’s arms—and to prove to the handsome, haunted earl that it is
never
too late to fall desperately in love.
“A delightful new voice in the genre.”
Jo Beverley
AVON BOOKS
An Imprint of
HarperCollins
Publishers
Prologue
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Epilogue
For Stephen and Laura
—
the two people who make up my happy home
.
And a special thank you to Kelly Harms, for your intelligent, insightful editorial guidance, and for the true heart and dedication you show in your work. On top of that, you are organized, efficient, and just plain good at your job. You constantly impress me.
Thank you also Paige Wheeler, my agent, who I adore. Seven years and counting!
Finally, thank you Michelle Phillips, my cousin, my best friend and critique partner—for all the laughter, stimulating conversation, late-night brainstorming and deep, heartfelt friendship.
To live is like to love—all reason is against it,
and all healthy instinct for it.
Samuel Butler, 1835-1902
Wentworth Castle, Yorkshire
Summer 1872
It was at the youthful age of twenty-one that Edward Peter Wallis, Earl of Whitby raised a coffee cup to his lips and made the conscious decision that he did not want to die. Or rather, he did not want to grow old—for being young was far more entertaining.
“Here comes your little sister, dashing up the hill,” Whitby said to his friend James, the Duke of Wentworth, who sat across from him at the breakfast table.
They’d had the table brought outside onto the sunny stone veranda, having decided they needed fresh air to ward off the disagreeable effects of their excessive consumption of brandy the night before. Although now it seemed a rather idiotic idea, as the sun was casting a blinding reflection off the sterling silver coffeepot in the center of the table, making it necessary to squint. And squinting was never advisable when one was nursing a pounding headache.
“Look at her run,” Whitby said, lounging back in his chair as he watched Lily, her blue-and-white skirts flying everywhere. “You don’t suppose she’s going to ask me to play hide-and-seek, do you? Good Lord.”
“Maybe tag,” James replied irritably, resting his forehead on a finger.
Whitby was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn the night before, and his face was prickly with stubble. He felt grimy and quite honestly disgusting, yet he couldn’t help smiling at Lily, who was racing toward him with a fresh smile on her face, her bright dress clean and crisp. She had just turned nine.
He leaned toward James. “When do you think she’ll be old enough to realize we’re still half pickled when she comes running up the hill to our breakfast table? I swear it goes completely unnoticed to her innocent eyes when we stagger our way to find her behind the rosebushes or wherever she takes herself off to hide.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “And she giggles, James. She doesn’t know we find her because we can
hear
her.” He chuckled and took another sip of his coffee.
“Speak for yourself, Whitby. You may still be pickled, but I am sober enough to feel the throbbing in my brain, and if Lily asks me to chase her…”
“You’ll tell her to go play with her dolls.”
Lily came to a slow stop on the veranda, breathing hard and smiling. She wore her shiny black hair in two braids with blue ribbons that matched the broad ribbon sash on her dress. “Lord Whitby! I knew you’d be here this morning!”
“And how did you know, Lily?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his knees, ignoring the pounding in his head. “Did a little bird tell you? Or perhaps it was that spider on your shoulder.” He pointed.
Lily jumped and brushed at herself. “Where?”
Whitby laughed, though it hurt to do so.
Lily shook her head at him. “You are a tease, Lord Whitby. And you need to take a bath. You both do. You smell like cigar smoke.”
Whitby raised an eyebrow at James. “From the mouths of babes.”
“I’m not a baby,” she said. “And for that, you shall have to be the seeker. Close your eyes.”
Amused—and as always, quite unable to refuse darling Lily anything—Whitby did as he was told and closed his eyes.
Lily’s boots tapped quickly along the flat stones toward the left. “Come and find me!” she called out a few seconds later.
The thought of getting up out of the chair gave Whitby pause. He didn’t really want to move. “Damn, James, why don’t you go.” Whitby tipped his head onto the back of the chair. “She’s
your
sister.”
“But she asked
you
,” James said.
“She always asks me.”
“That’s because I never play with her. You have much to learn about discouraging unwelcome female attentions, my friend.”
Knowing he’d never convince James to play with Lily, Whitby forced himself to stand, though it cost him much. “There is no such thing as unwelcome female attentions, James. Even if they
are
from a nine-year-old.”
Whitby heaved a deep sigh and grudgingly crossed the veranda. “Here I come!” he called out.
He descended the steps and immediately saw the bright, white hem of Lily’s dress behind the birdbath, which was nowhere near wide enough to hide her. Yet she thought she was invisible.
Smiling and chuckling, he shook his head. “Perhaps you’re behind the azaleas!” He walked softly toward the birdbath. “Or here, under the bench!”
Lily giggled.
“What’s that I hear?” Whitby said, stopping only a few feet away, seeing her as plain as day. “You must be hiding in the hedge!”
She giggled again, and he lunged around the birdbath. “Found you!”
Lily screamed and took off, and Whitby ran after her, throwing his arms around her and tickling her ribs until she bent over, clutching her side. She laughed and screeched until he stopped and slapped his hands over his ears. “Great Scott, Lily. My head.”
She straightened. “You’re getting too old for this, aren’t you, Lord Whitby? One of these days, you won’t want to play with me, and you’ll be very dull like James. Very
old
.”
“James isn’t old.”
“Well, he’s certainly dull,” Lily said spitefully..
Whitby felt honor-bound to defend his friend. Or perhaps he was inclined to help Lily understand that her brother was a complicated man. If he was reserved, he had his reasons. “He’s dull because he doesn’t play hide and seek? Surely he’s interesting in other ways.” Whitby could certainly think of a few.
“He doesn’t play anything. Like I said, he’s practically an old man. As bad as my father.”
Whitby narrowed his eyes at her. His tone became serious with a gentle reprimand. “I doubt that, Lily.”
She shrugged casually, and he could see she regretted the remark, for her father had been a cold, cruel man. To compare anyone to him was beyond exaggeration.
Whitby bent forward to speak to her at eye level. “I promise I will never stop playing with you, Lily, because I have no intention of ever growing old.”
“Everyone grows old.”
“Not me.” He straightened and rested his fists on his hips. “I will stay young forever. Young at heart at least.”
Lily smiled. “Then I shall grow up and catch up with you in years, and then we can get married. I should like that.”
“Married! Good God, Lily, what are you thinking? I’m the worst rake in the world, and you, darling, are a child.”
He tugged at one of her braids and turned to walk back to the veranda for more coffee, which he sorely needed. After running around just now, his headache had returned with a vengeance.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked, and thought nothing of the fact that Lily had run off without a word in the other direction.
