Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

In the morning, the spell was broken.

Chaos descended Haddington as the rest of the party swept into the house bringing in merriment and Christmas cheer. Tilly was left with a horrible sick feeling in her stomach. She knew why. Or rather, she knew who was causing this feeling. And sure enough, Roger strolled through the door and glanced up at her with a wicked grin on his face.

"Oh, there you are, Miss Brennan," he announced loudly from across the foyer.

Tilly only nodded and slipped away from the balcony farther out of view.

She would need to find her nerves to survive the next few days with these strangers. And she didn't wish for Henry to leave. But he had made it clear he wasn't going to stay last evening. She didn't wish to be alone for Christmas. And that's what she would be if he left. She would be surrounded by people, true, but no one she wished to spend time with. No one who she could enjoy the holiday with. She strongly wished for Henry and her family, and both were off-limits to her.

Mrs. Craven shuffled up to her in the hallway, out of breath and red in the face.

"Where have you been?" Mrs. Craven slammed the end of her cane against the floor. "I have been waiting for twenty minutes. You cannot slip by me."

Tilly quickly wiped the sleep away from her eyes, exhausted, and annoyed that the peace she had felt with Henry cuddled beneath that blanket by the fire last evening was gone.

"I was in the morning room having tea."

Which was half true.

Tilly had been in the morning room pacing, waiting for Henry to also join her before the others arrived. But he hadn't. Instead, the rest of the house party was slowly descending upon her, and now Mrs. Craven was suddenly convinced she must be Tilly's shadow.

Tilly only wished to return to bed if she were being truly honest. She wished to return with Henry and finish what they had begun last evening.

What a mess.

"I had to rely on that lady's maid this morning because I couldn't find you," Mrs. Craven snapped. "And she did my hair wrong. You know how particular I am about my cap. I look like a buffoon."

"You look lovely, Mrs. Craven," Tilly lied. "And the duke will find you exceptionally beautiful this morning."

"I know you're lying," Mrs. Craven said, "but if you insist on flattery, I will take it. A woman of my age doesn't receive much flattery. Well come along. No time to waste now that the other guests are arriving."

Tilly followed, examining the collections of portraits in the hallway of the grand home. The sun was bright, washing through the large bank of windows to her left, overlooking a large hedge maze covered in snow.

Then, she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She spun around, certain that she had heard someone.

"One moment, Mrs. Craven," Tilly called out, grinning as the hidden paneled door kicked out ever so slightly. "I have to return to my room. I forgot my shawl."

Mrs. Craven mumbled, waving her off before proceeding down the hallway out of view.

"Where are you?" Tilly whispered.

A door creaked open behind her, and a strong hand clasped around her wrist, then quickly pulled her into the dark before the door closed behind her.

"The other guests have arrived," she announced.

"I don't normally hide away in closets."

"Right." She couldn't see well in the dark but that hadn't stopped them before. Tilly traced his body with her hands, then found his face, then his mouth, and pressed hers against his, desperate. Everything was about to change, and she was greedy and didn't wish for anything to change now that she had found him.

"We only need time to think," Henry said, breaking away. "We can figure this out. There has to be a solution."

"No one can know." Fear filled her limbs. "No one can know, Henry. Please, please…"

" Ssh, all right. No one will know, and I will leave as planned."

But she didn't wish for that either. She didn't feel safe if he left her. She didn't trust Roger. She didn't trust Roger even if Henry remained, so perhaps it made no difference.

"I don't wish to leave you either."

Hearing those words was like a salve to her nerves, as if he had read her mind.

"But we can't remain in this closet."

She traced her hands over the curve of his shoulder. "No, I suppose not."

She leaned in for one last kiss wishing it wasn't their last. "I've thought of nothing but you since last evening," she said. "And when you leave, I wish for you to know that won't change. I don't know what to do, but I do know I don't want to lose you again, Henry."

"You don't have to lose me."

"But you don't understand, I do. It's dangerous for me and you to be together for lots of reasons. But mostly because I will lose everything if I am discovered. Mr. Haskett will see that my career ends and my family is sent back to Dublin. I will lose." Her mind searched for the right words. She wished to tell him the truth. It was terrifying to do so. They'd only known each other for a handful of days, and though she knew that she trusted him more than anyone, she was afraid of handing over the truth. Men with power did tricky things.

And what happened if it turned out she and Henry couldn't be together, and he became jealous? What happened if they couldn't be together, and he turned out bitter? She didn't wish to find out, but she also didn't wish to keep the truth from him. The truth was dangerous.

And what if after discovering the truth about Ethan, Henry didn't like her anymore? That would be understandable. She had a son born out of wedlock with a man who left her with child, alone to bear the consequences. She was considered a ruined woman. Why would he wish to be with her after learning the truth, tarnishing whatever perfect image of her he had in his mind?

"For now," he said, "I will continue with my plans to leave. But we are not done, Tilly. I will see that the maid gives you my address, and we can write to one another. I have to leave London soon to manage the estate, but I swear to you, I will write."

That sounded nice. But letters over time would slowly stop coming and then what?

"I am a great actress, Henry. I know that. I know I can walk into that drawing room in a few minutes and command everyone's attention, and I know I can draw them away from the truth. But what I can't do is pretend as if this never happened when I am alone at night. I will never be able to forget what we shared. But I don't have an answer on how we can continue."

"Then for now," he said "kiss me one last time, and I promise to write. And I will walk into that drawing room cold and indifferent and pretend as if I don't think about you constantly. I am not a great actor. But people have claimed that I have no heart for most of my life and for that, I am thankful in this instant. I've spent thirty-one years pretending as if I do not love, and I know what to do. But I wish for you to know that I will hate every moment of it."

Henry placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. The sweetness of it nearly melted her there in the dark of the small closet.

"I won't leave if you wish it," he said. "Tell me to stay."

The damnedest thing was that Tilly wished for him to stay. But it wouldn't be safe to do so with Roger close on her heels. He would know. And she didn't want any trouble coming Henry's way. He and his family didn't deserve the scandal that was sure to follow.

Instead of answering, she traced her fingers up the side of his jaw and ran her hand back into his thick black hair.

One day, they would have their moment. One day, it would be safe to love him. One day, she could have her happy ending instead of constantly feeling as if she were to be chased out of Town. Or something equally damning and life-ending.

One day.

But she didn't trust her heart to make a decision today.

She leaned in and kissed him, long and slow, then pulled back to whisper against his ear. "Merry Christmas, Henry. I will be thinking of you."

She slipped out of the closet, righting her dress and squaring her shoulders. Her heart hammered in her chest as the other guests' chatter grew louder. All of London was in love with Matilda Brennan, she could pretend for a few days that she was enchanted by all these houseguests.

Tilly must.

"There you are," Roger said, stalking out of the drawing room to find her. "It's time to replace Mrs. Craven. She didn't know where you were. Considering that is her one job…"

"I forgot my shawl."

"Seems you still have."

She smiled, even as panic gripped her throat. "I managed to get turned around trying to find my room. How was your journey, Roger?"

"Send someone for your shawl and come with me. We have a busy few days, and I expect you to entertain everyone here."

"Of course."

He stopped, hauling her close. She slammed her eyes shut, pain radiating up her arm from his grip. "You will do it with a smile and not a hint of sarcasm toward me. Understood?"

Tilly nodded her head, wrenched away from his grip, and raced toward the drawing room, a coward because she never looked back once.

"It's a miracle London loves you," Roger said, cutting off her approach. "You've not an ounce of brains in that head of yours."

She froze in the doorway, the words sticking to her. They always did. Eventually, Henry would understand that it couldn't be. And that would be for the best.

The fire crackled beside Henry. He stood by the mantel, studying the room with a scowl on his face. There was too much cedar and pine, and oranges and cloves, and dried pomegranates. The holiday cheer turned his stomach.

Or perhaps it was only that Tilly stood across from him, surrounded by the other guests as she sat at the card table and quietly laughed at a joke with the duke and duchess. Even in the candlelight, she lit up the entire room. It was not a surprise she was so regarded on Drury Lane.

He wished it were only the two of them once again. Like the first night they met.

Tilly glanced up and met his stare for a moment, nodding slightly in recognition.

It was unfair of him to be so greedy, and he knew that. But that didn't dull the edge of jealousy that hit him in the gut as Lord Garvey and Mr. Silas Drake flirted with her shamelessly.

And that, even if performing, she flirted back.

Love was a wicked thing. He didn't like who it made him become. He might have been insufferable being a lovesick fool, but playing the part of a jealous lover didn't, and wouldn't, suit.

No, this was not how he would live. Nor would it be how he spent the rest of this year.

"Drink, sir?" The footman stopped, holding up a polished tray full of port.

It wouldn't be strong enough, but it was a beginning. He grabbed a glass and gulped it down, glaring in the direction of Mr. Haskett as he sat beside Tilly.

"Come play, Davies," Stephen urged, calling from across the room.

He never had the stomach for cards. He left that to Rafe. But then again, he rarely drank, and in the past few months, he found it a little too easy to indulge. Up until recently, his life was planned and regimented.

And since meeting Tilly, none of that made sense.

Hell, he was smiling and laughing, and he had participated in a damn snowball fight. Willingly.

All of this was terrible.

And the worst of it was, he was so undeniably in love with Matilda Brennen that he didn't see an escape.

But how could you love someone whom everyone else also adored? How could you do so without letting that jealousy eat away at you over time? And what if she eventually saw that he was nothing special to regard?

And what if, after enough time, they discovered they were not compatible?

They could never be a secret. At least, they couldn't remain that way. He would never settle for her being his mistress. He cared for her too much.

He set the glass down on the mantel and leaned against it, feeling the weight of everything crashing down upon him.

Tilly was a chance for a future he was too afraid to imagine. But there was a risk there, too. And he had lived in such a calculated way, it was hard to know for sure how that would work.

"Devlin, do you always frown so much?" asked Lord Garvey. "Cheer up, you just inherited an earldom."

The room broke out in a quiet snicker. Whether in jest or not, he didn't appreciate that humor. It reminded him too much of school. Or university, or hell, his colleagues now. Someone always had a quip when it came to Henry.

"Lord Devlin is only frowning because he is far superior to the rest of the company in this room," Tilly said, never looking up as she skillfully dealt out cards.

"And he knows it," joked Lord Garvey.

"Oh, come now, the duke might object." Tilly paused before quickly averting her eyes back to the cards in her hand.

The duchess, who sat beside the duke, removed the cigar from her lips that she had lit and stuffed it into the duke's large smile. "I doubt that, Miss Brennan."

The duke gazed at his new bride, chuckling to himself before tossing down a winning hand. "Until recently, I was not known for my character. That much is true."

"And isn't that a waste," Mr. Drake added, tossing his cards and then raising his hands up in defeat. "I can't play with your lot. Soon you'll own my new barouche and that's too rich for me."

"No, it's only a bit of fun." Tilly glanced at Henry again, her green eyes wide and begging.

Begging for what, he wish he knew. But for one brief moment, he saw her facade fade, and she was just as miserable as he was.

Since kissing her in the closet earlier that morning, Henry had spent the day trying to distance himself from everyone. He never liked parties, and he didn't expect that to change now. But he didn't like the shift in Tilly either. She seemed guarded and distant. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. Her voice was pitched slightly too high, and her laugh sounded different.

And since Mr. Haskett arrived, he had remained close to Tilly and was quick to offer her up for entertainment.

She had sung and played piano already, read for the group, provided colorful stories during dinner, and now was playing cards with everyone.

"Come play whist, my lord," she said to him.

He hated when she called him that. He loathed it in fact.

"I don't play cards," he said, gripping his glass tighter. When would it be appropriate to retire for the evening? He regretted staying the day as it was. The duke had insisted he couldn't talk about this private matter until he had had a night's rest and a good meal in his stomach after being holed up in a small cottage because of the snowstorm.

Mr. Haskett stood in the doorway, talking to another guest before he pointed his chin and laughed. "Miss Brennan, do you know how to shuffle? No wonder Mr. Drake nearly lost his carriage."

Tilly only swallowed, her cheeks growing red.

Henry narrowed his eyes on the man. Her stage manager was a long way from London and seemed way too invested in her every move.

"Lord Devlin," Mr. Haskett said, "come play, and I will see Miss Brennan doesn't deal."

"I have no interest in cards," Henry snapped.

Tilly glanced up from her hand of cards, glaring at him.

"I heard you were leaving London. Is that true, Lord Devlin?" Mrs. Dryer asked. Major Peter Dryer sat beside his wife, quietly reading the newspaper, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the party.

Henry wasn't keen on the shift of interest. Then again, he would gladly face questioning if it meant Mr. Haskett left Tilly alone before Henry did something about it. That would bring around no good end.

"It is. I must see to some important matters."

"Concerning your brother?" Mrs. Dryer asked.

Henry's jaw ticked. He watched as he set the glass down on the mantel, sure that if he didn't, he would crush the glass. "What about Lieutenant Davies?"

"As you know he is without a ship at the moment…"

Henry nodded. Anger bubbled up inside of him. What was Rafe into now?

The Dowager Countess of Pemberton cleared her throat, fanning herself with a bright crimson fan. "It was shared in the gossip columns he has been frequenting several gaming hells while he awaits news?—"

"He is to be promoted to captain. It's all but done. I am very proud of my brother."

Miss Lucy Skeffington, nodded, folding her book in her lap. "Is that so?"

"Of course."

The other guests quieted, suddenly interested in the heated exchange.

"Those of us with siblings understand," Tilly interjected. She tossed down her cards and jumped from the table, drawing Henry's attention, and perhaps some of his ire away. Though he didn't need her to rescue him. He could talk to people; it was only that he didn't wish to be near them.

What a miserable business a house party was. Stephen really did owe him a large favor.

"I think we should sing hymns," Lady Beatrice Trowbridge said. She adjusted her cap, as if proud she had spoken to such a large group.

Groans erupted from around the room.

"Very well, charades?"

"Miss Brennan, we have all recently survived a snowstorm. Can we do something that does not involve gambling away our futures?" Mr. Drake scratched at his bushy blond brow. "Besides, you are the actress in the room. That gives you an unfair advantage in charades."

"Dancing," Mr. Haskett said, clearing his throat.

Henry hated how the man filled up the doorway. It didn't take much to gather Mr. Haskett wasn't from Mayfair. He apparently ruled Drury Lane as if he were the upright man in some East End gang.

Tilly whirled around to face Mr. Haskett. "Dancing?" She quickly peeked at Henry, then blushed. "No, perhaps I can read again…"

"No, no," Miss Skeffington said, clapping her hands together. "A dance or two would be lovely."

Tilly nodded. "Very well, dancing. That would be grand. I will be at the piano."

"No, no," the duke interjected. "Allow me. You are a guest at this house party as well, Miss Brennan, please enjoy yourself."

The duke pushed aside the table and sofa, clearing a path for dancing. Everyone lined up, everyone except Henry.

"You must dance, Lord Devlin," the dowager duchess said. "We need an even number."

"He doesn't dance," Tilly interjected.

Henry's body stiffened at her outburst, suddenly overcome as her cheeks reached a deeper shade of pink and embarrassment washed over her.

"How do you know, Miss Brennan?" Mr. Haskett asked, strutting into the room, staring down Henry. "Haven't you just met?"

"I don't frequent house parties, either, Mr. Haskett," Henry added. "One is allowed the freedom to guess now and again, aren't they?"

"Don't dance? Don't attend house parties?" Mr. Haskett folded his arms and shifted his weight, somehow making himself appear larger than he already was. "Why not?"

"Too crowded." Henry ignored the small giggle from Miss Skeffington, instead refusing to tear his gaze away from Mr. Haskett. It seemed as if the man was challenging him.

"But you are here, and we are all so infinitely grateful," Lord Garvey yelled, throwing his hands up and cutting the heavy tension settling into the room. "Come, come. Let's dance. I'll ring for more port. I can't stand an argument. I would have agreed to host my family otherwise."

Laughter broke out, and in the merriment, Henry found himself stabbed with a pang of regret at being here rather than with his family for the holidays. He hadn't seen his mother or his sister Mari since last summer. And Rafe, though they wrote often, it had been nearly two years.

Henry shuffled over to the others, aware of Mr. Haskett's glare. He didn't trust him, and he was mad that the man was even Tilly's acquaintance. She deserved better. He treated her horribly. But they had agreed to be a secret, so Henry would do his best to remain distant and disinterested when it couldn't have been further than the truth.

Except for dancing.

"Everyone line up," the duchess called out, clapping her hands.

Stephen groaned behind Henry. The feeling was mutual.

The duke struck the first chord on the piano.

"Oh, I love this dance," Miss Skeffington called out.

Henry hadn't the faintest idea about the dance, but he knew he didn't wish to make a fool of himself in front of Tilly. He mirrored his body to match the rest of the male partners and steadied his look across the room. Looking at Tilly now, while Mr. Haskett studied Henry, was only inviting trouble.

Lord Garvey beside him crossed to his partner, and they skipped around Henry. Never once had he ever wished to skip. He cursed on his breath and watched, knowing he would have to do the same with Lady Beatrice in a moment. She smiled meekly at him, tapping her toe to the upbeat piano song.

When it was his turn, he skipped forward, reaching out for Lady Beatrice and spinning her before skipping back to his spot in the line.

Tilly smiled at him, mouthing "cheer up."

He frowned, annoyed that she had the constitution for such dancing and cheer. But that was quickly washed away as he realized he would be leading not Lady Beatrice, but Tilly down the line.

All evening tension had been simmering between them. He should have left this morning as planned, but he hadn't fulfilled his promise to Stephen. And he didn't wish to leave Tilly behind with Mr. Haskett, even under Mrs. Craven's selectively watchful eye.

He braced himself for her touch, but it made no difference. Once Tilly's hand slipped into his, he felt himself soften toward her, and the walls fell.

"Lady Mischief," he said, teasing. "Don't worry, I'll lead."

"You are excellent at skipping," she said, her smile spreading wide. "It's a shame you don't like dancing."

They spun around the last couple, still holding each other's hands before returning to their positions in line.

"Only with you," he said, leaning in close to whisper.

The red blush on her cheeks bloomed, spreading down to the low cut of a beautiful dark-blue gown.

"Always with me," she replied, her eyes meeting his.

"Always."

He released her hand, instantly regretting having to do so. He fought the urge to glance at her again for the rest of the dance, then excused himself once the duke finished playing.

It was no use.

Henry couldn't pretend he had no heart when she had very clearly stolen his.