The man—or woman—disappeared. Or ducked out of sight. Embarrassed, perhaps, to see her perched in a tree branch? Or perhaps whoever it was had not seen her at all.
Lily was disappointed. Being alone was obviously not the best idea this afternoon. She would go back home, she decided as she climbed carefully back to the ground and made her way down the path toward the rock garden. Perhaps Elizabeth would care to take a stroll with her.
As she rounded a bend halfway down she walked almost headlong into the Duke of Portfrey, who was coming in the opposite direction—wearing a dark cloak.
"Oh," Lily said, "it was you."
"I was in the stables when you passed awhile ago," he told her, "and guessed you were on the rhododendron walk. I just now decided to come to meet you." He offered her his arm.
"That was kind of you," she said, taking it. But why had he stood there so furtively, searching for her, or for someone, and then doubled back only to come onward again and pretend that he was just now coming to meet her?
"Not at all," he said. "You were telling me about your mother some time ago, Lily, when we were interrupted."
They had been interrupted by Elizabeth, who had told him he was being too inquisitive.
"Yes, sir," Lily said.
"Tell me," he asked her. "Was she from Leicestershire too?"
"I believe so, sir," she said.
"And her maiden name?"
Lily had no idea and told him so. But the probing nature of his questions was making her uneasy.
"What did she look like?" he asked. "Like you?"
No. Her mother had been plump and round-faced and rosy-cheeked and dark-eyed. She had been tall—or so she had appeared to a child who was only seven when she died. She had had an ample and comfortable bosom on which to pillow one's head—though Lily did not add that detail to the description she gave the duke.
"How old are you exactly, Lily?" he asked.
"Twenty, sir."
"Ah." He was silent for a few moments. "Twenty. You do not look so old. What is your date of birth?"
"I am twenty years old, sir," she replied firmly, beginning to feel annoyed by the duke's persistent questions.
They had already passed through the rock garden and were approaching the fountain. He looked down at her. "I beg your pardon, Lily," he said. "I have been impertinent. Forgive me, please. It is just that you have reminded me of an old—oh, obsession, I suppose one might call it, from which I thought I had long recovered until you stepped into the nave of the village church."
She was puzzled by him. She was annoyed with him. And she was not sure whether she ought to be a little frightened of him.
"Forgive me." He stopped at the fountain, smiled at her, and raised her hand to his lips.
"Of course, sir," she said graciously, drawing her hand away and turning to run lightly up the steps to the terrace. She forgot that looking the way she did, she ought to have run around to the servants' entrance. But she was fortunate enough not to see anyone except the footman, Mr. Jones, who blushed and responded to her bright greeting with an embarrassed smirk.
The Duke of Portfrey had a handsome, elegant appearance and a pleasant smile, she thought. But it would be foolish indeed to stop being wary of the man.
***
The following day Neville went out early in the morning on estate business with his steward. It was not quite noon when he returned alone through the village. He decided to stop at the dower house to see how Lauren and Gwen did, though they called most days at the abbey. Lauren insisted on behaving just as if nothing untoward had happened. It might even be said that she had taken Lily under her wing. She sometimes even read and played the pianoforte for her. While it might seem to be a happy turn of events, it had Neville worried.
Gwendoline was alone in the morning room. She set down a book when Neville was shown in and raised her face for his kiss on the cheek. She did not smile at him. Gwen had not done much smiling lately.
"You have missed Lily by only a quarter of an hour," she told him. "She came here after walking on the beach. She returned to the abbey through the forest instead of going by the driveway. She is very unconventional."
"If that is meant as a criticism," he said, "stow it, Gwen. Lily has my full permission to be as unconventional as she pleases."
She looked assessingly at him. "Then she will never learn to fit in," she said. "It is unwise of you, Nev. But I will tell you something that annoys me more than I can say. In many ways I envy her. I have never waded in the sea water—not since we were children, anyway. I have never climbed that rock and tossed off my bonnet and kicked off my shoes. I have never just… walked off into the forest without taking the path."
They looked at each other gravely for a few moments and then exchanged rueful smiles.
"Don't hate her, Gwen," he said. "She had no intention whatsoever of causing anyone pain. And she is dreadfully lonely. I am not sure my support is enough for her. I need help."
She picked up some tatting from a table beside her and bent over it. "It was such a pleasant dream," she said. "You marrying Lauren and living at the abbey with her. Me here with Mama. All of us together as we always were before I—before I married Vernon. Now it is all spoiled. And Lauren is suffering so much that she will hardly confide even in me. Nev, we have always talked about everything."
"Where is she?" he asked.
"She went out a few minutes after Lily left," she said. "She said she needed air and exercise, but she did not want me to go with her. I wish she would not insist upon making Lily a—a project. She needs to prove something—that she can rise above adversity, that she can refuse to bear a grudge, that she can continue to be the perfect lady, as she has always been. If only she would—"
"Hurl things at my head and hate Lily?" he suggested when she hesitated.
"At least," she said, "it would be healthy, Nev. Or if she would saturate a few towels with bitter tears. She has even spoken of moving back to the abbey so that she can always be available to Lily, to help her cope with her new life."
"No," he said firmly.
"No," she agreed. "I will develop leprosy or something else deadly so that she will have to remain here to nurse me."
They smiled fleetingly at each other again, and then she resumed her work.
"Perhaps," he said, "I should suggest that Lauren go to London for at least a part of the Season. Elizabeth will be returning there within a few days. I am sure she would be delighted to have Lauren's company. Yours too."
"London?" She looked up, startled. "Oh no, Neville. No, I have no wish to go there. Lauren would not either. To find a husband, do you mean? It is too soon. Besides, she must be—our whole family must be rather notorious just now."
He winced. Yes, he had not really thought of that. The events of the past week must be very adequately feeding the ton's insatiable hunger for sensation and scandal. Many of its members had been at Newbury for the wedding. And those who had not been would be avid to learn the details. It would be humiliating to Lauren to appear in London this year.
He sighed and got to his feet. "I suppose," he said, "we all need time. I just wish I could take all the burden of what has happened on my own shoulders and be the only one to suffer. Poor Lily. Poor Lauren. And poor Gwen."
She set her work aside and accompanied him to the stable, where he had left his horse. She took his arm as they walked, and he reduced his stride to accommodate her limp.
"And after we have all been given time," she said, "will you be happy, Nev? Is happiness possible for you now?"