Twice Fallen (11 page)

“It seems intrigue follows me, but at least you are not a young lady urgently needing a secret passage.”

For once Charles was the one who looked perplexed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. Who would I be looking for, and why is this important to the British government?”

“Did I mention the British government?”

Damien set down his cup with a decided clink. “Damn all, Charles, if you are asking for my help, don’t dance around it.”

“As I said, it’s all very delicate.” Charles sighed. “And
you are right,
I
am asking for your help. It’s quite personal, but I suppose you will have to know the particulars. Perhaps you could ask if Mrs. Wheaton could bring us some more coffee. Aside from a bit of sordid blackmail, someone is missing, and I fear he might turn up as another suicide. Ask her for more of that delectable jam, as well, will you?”

“How awkward this is.” The words fell starkly into the stilted silence.

Damn
, Lily thought, hoping her consternation didn’t show.

The chance meeting was unfortunate, but it was also bound to happen. Actually, Lily was surprised she hadn’t crossed paths with Lady Sebring before now. Certainly they’d taken care to avoid each other at public functions now that Lily had rejoined society, but until this moment, they had never come face-to-face in relative privacy.

The foyer of the fashionable establishment was a reflection of the expensive price of patronizing it, the polished floors inlaid with Italian marble, and there were twin columns on either side of the etched glass doors and flowers in urns on small tables. Not the best place to confront her former fiancé’s wife. Everyone in elite society who could afford it passed through there, but for the moment, at least, they were alone.

There was a minute of pure female assessment, and Lily was glad she’d worn her new muslin day gown embroidered with tiny lilac flowers, for it was both flattering and youthful. The other woman’s scrutiny was somewhat unnerving, so she returned it in kind.

Arthur’s wife was shorter by several inches, more curvaceous,
her dark hair looped into an intricate coil. Up close she was not homely by any means, but not prepossessing either, with plain features and narrow eyes, though she was dressed in the height of fashion in green and ivory, a peacock feather in her stylish hat.

Why not? Her husband was a rich man.

Lily fully understood why Arthur had married the woman. His father-in-law wielded power in Parliament, whereas her father—though an earl—had never been very much interested in British politics and had, in fact, married an American. After his first wife’s untimely death, he’d done his duty and wed her mother, a proper English lady, but his unconventional first marriage was what people remembered about him.

All of that didn’t matter, Lily thought, doing her best to not hold herself stiffly. Though to save her life, she could not muster a conciliatory smile. “Lady Sebring.”

“Lady
Lillian
.” The distinction was made with chilly emphasis. “I’ve heard, of course, of your return to the circles of the
ton
, and it must be true, for here you are at London’s most prestigious dressmaker.”

Heard? Lily was sure Arthur’s wife had been given a step-by-step chronicle of her every move. The gossip mill could never resist a tidbit like a jilted fiancée resurfacing after four years of self-imposed exile, but she’d done it because Jonathan had insisted she no longer languish in the countryside, and also for Betsy and Carole. Toss in the Dowager Duchess of Eddington sponsoring her and tongues were wagging. Lily knew it.

“I’m due for a fitting.” She tried to not sound too curt, but as she went to step past, Penelope Kerr, Lady Sebring, moved in front of her.

“Stay away from him.” The words were hissed with emphasis.

In her life, she couldn’t quite remember ever being so startled. Lily froze and then summoned her composure. “From whom?”

“My husband.”

“It seems to me we parted ways years ago.”

“I know he came to visit you a few months ago.”

Since that was perfectly true, she had no idea what to say. Her former fiancé had called unexpectedly one evening and they had talked for the first time since their ill-fated elopement, but the nature of that conversation had been private and she wasn’t inclined to share it, nor did she really think she should be forced to defend herself.

She was the one who had been ruined.
Am I not the wronged party
?

“What’s this?”

Normally, Lily had to admit the dowager’s frosty voice made her grimace, but in this instance, it was welcome. She hadn’t realized they were alone no longer. Eugenia Francis had entered the foyer, small but regal, her tone uncompromising. Her height was diminutive, but her presence immense as always. “Oh, I see. Lady Sebring. Delightful to see you, but we have an appointment to keep. Please excuse us.”

As a dismissal it was well done, and grudgingly, Arthur’s wife stepped aside. Lily had to admit she was a bit shaken from the incident, for while she’d expected awkwardness, the open venom was an unfortunate surprise. She waited as a footman swept open the door for the duchess and then she followed, knowing to her chagrin her cheeks held a certain level of warmth.

“Think nothing of it,” the duchess murmured as they entered the shop. “She is below your regard.” There was a pronounced sniff. “It was common of her to confront you. It isn’t done.”

Certainly not in the company of the Dowager Duchess of Eddington.

For the first time Lily felt a flicker of gratitude to her brother for putting her in the path of such a formidable woman. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I wouldn’t have scheduled this fitting, because your brother has been most generous in his largess when it comes to your wardrobe, but I feel we need something truly stunning for the Wainworth gala next month.”

The next several hours were a bit grueling because the duchess had very rigid ideas and was not averse to expressing them, and bolts and bolts of fabric were trundled out, dismissed, and sometimes ordered brought back in until a delicate blue watered silk was selected, the style of the gown debated from the plates offered, and Lily was measured yet again.

It wasn’t until they were back in the carriage that the duchess leveled at her an appraising stare and resurrected the forbidden topic. “
Did
Sebring come to see you?”

Oh, wonderful
…
she overheard
.

They were in the ducal carriage, which was an impressive vehicle. Lily leaned back against the comfortable squabs and decided to be as honest as possible, though complete disclosure wasn’t an option. “Yes,” she admitted. “But it was hardly covert. He called at the house in Mayfair. Jonathan was out with Carole and Betsy, so I did receive him alone, but until now, I wasn’t aware his wife knew of it.”

The dowager folded her hands in her lap, her gaze direct. “May I ask why you chose to see the man who damaged your reputation and offered nothing in return?”

It wasn’t the easiest question to answer. A part of her resented the intrusion, but then again, her mother was gone, and the duchess had taken some time and effort to try and support her sisters—and herself—this season. It was probably only because her granddaughter had married Jonathan, but still, she did deserve a reply. Lily cleared her throat and caught the strap as they rounded a corner. “Arthur came to tell me he feared his wife was barren.”

That was innocuous enough, since the viscountess had not yet produced a child, which was hardly a secret.

A frown deepened the wrinkles on the forehead of the woman seated across from her. “I… see. Well, no, I retract that. I
don’t
see. Why confide in you, of all people? Tell me he wasn’t lamenting his decision to not marry you because you might make a more fertile broodmare.”

There was no help for it. Though it was hardly a humorous discussion, Lily had to stifle a laugh at the blunt analogy from someone who was usually much more refined. “No.” She could say that with conviction. “I do not believe he thinks of me in that manner at all.”

“Then?”

There seemed no choice but to be as frank as was possible. “We were friends long before he offered to wed me. I think he was at a loss and just needed to tell someone about his wife’s failure to conceive. Someone who would listen. A man hardly wishes to confide in his fellow males he might be unable to sire the needed heir.”

“You do not seem the most logical sympathetic ear.”

With a gloved hand, Lily adjusted her embroidered skirt as she contemplated her answer. Eventually, she said, “We didn’t understand each other back during our engagement, he and I. We do now. I do not regret he married someone else.”

“Does he?”

That was a tricky question, to be sure. Lily waited a moment, and then said, “I don’t know if he regrets marrying his wife, but I do know he doesn’t regret not marrying me.”

For a minute sharp eyes studied her from across the carriage and then the duchess nodded once. “Fine, then. Lord Sebring is dismissed. Assure me I am correct.”

“Absolutely,” Lily was able to say.

O

She
was
there.

Damien was not even conscious that he’d been scanning the crowd for her, roaming the room as casually as possible, and usually he was quite aware of his every thought and action. It was another warm evening and several sets of French doors to the terrace were open and he found her near one of those, standing in a small group of ladies, two of whom he realized must be her sisters from the family resemblance, the other a dark-haired young woman he didn’t recognize, but that wasn’t surprising. He’d been in Spain a long time.

Lady Lillian wore a very delicate shade of topaz this evening, the gown emphasizing her graceful form, her glossy hair upswept but with several long curls loosely brushing her ivory shoulders, and as he watched, the woman standing next to her leaned closer and said something that made her laugh. He was close enough that he heard the melodic sound, and he had to admit he was… charmed.

By a laugh? That was unique in his experience. Perhaps,
he decided, leaning against the wall in feigned nonchalance, he was adjusting to civilian life. What was there to object to after all? Champagne, leisure time, beautiful women…

Well, one beautiful woman anyway. He watched as her hand reached up to brush a wayward curl from her cheek in a graceful sweep.

Why
had
he enlisted Sharpe to find out all he could about her?

He wasn’t sure.

“What’s so fascinating?”

Damien glanced over and saw his younger brother, Robert, saunter up, a small smile on his face. “I thought you were in the country at Rolthven.”

“Obviously not.” Robert lifted his brows. “I had some business in London. Which of those ladies inspires such concentrated interest?”

He supposed he had been staring quite directly, but he evaded a direct response. “When did you get back into town?”

“This morning. Rebecca and the children are still in the country. And you never answered my question, which is an annoying habit you have, by the way. The luscious brunette on the left is Lillian Bourne, if I am not mistaken. I remember the year she was a debutante. She looks quite lovely this evening, doesn’t she?”

It was irritating to be so easily discovered in covert—or not so covert—observation of a subject. Damien contemplated denying it, but this was not a secret mission after all. Trust Robert also to hone in on the beauty of the group. At one time, his younger brother had been
infamously known for his interest in the fairer sex. “Yes, she does. We met recently. I must admit I found her not the usual simpering miss.”

Robert was immaculately attired, of course. He was always dressed in the latest style, his cravat crisp, white perfection, his evening clothes fashionably tailored, a hint of lace at his cuffs. He murmured, “But then again, she isn’t much of a miss any longer, is she? Her bow was at least four seasons ago.”

“So I understand.”

His brother gazed at him, open speculation in his eyes. “I recognize that tone.”

“What tone? As far as I can tell, I have no particular tone.”

“Exactly. When your voice has absolutely no inflection—which you do quite well—it always means something.”

Damien lifted the corner of his mouth in a cynical twist. “All it means is that I do not wish to discuss the subject at hand. Is Colt here too?”

Robert accepted a glass of champagne from a footman with a tray of fluted glasses and shook his head. “Impending fatherhood has him hovering over Brianna like a nursemaid. Why don’t you ask her to dance?”

“Brianna? She’s married to my brother and breeding. Not to mention she isn’t here.”

“Deliberate obtuseness doesn’t suit you.” Robert dangled his glass in long fingers, his gaze fastened on the small group where Lillian stood. “You know full well who I mean. I admit there is some scandal attached to her name, but then again, I have never been one to care much about notoriety myself, which is hardly a secret. Besides, she’s… interesting. She has a past, and that is
precisely the type of trait you would look for in a woman. No one knows what happened between her and Sebring during their ill-fated elopement. Secrets are your specialty.”

“Not of that kind.”

“But you don’t have the others any longer.”

A damnable truth. At least there was Charles Peyton and his interesting request, but he could hardly point that out. Damien murmured, “I can’t dance, or have you forgotten?”

It was clear Robert had. He looked startled, a chagrined expression creeping across his face. He said slowly, “Actually, yes. I never think of you as—”

“Crippled?” Damien supplied the word ironically.

“Not at all what I was going to say,” Robert muttered. “Bloody hell, Dame, I was going to point out that you’ve always been able to do anything you set your mind to so easily, it just didn’t occur to me that a simple dance would be a problem. My apologies. The war didn’t leave you unscathed, I know that.”