Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The bag was heavier than she had anticipated, but Lily would not sacrifice her beloved science texts or her stash of delicious chocolate on her journey. Science was best studied with a cup of tea and a dark, bitter square of the prized confection.

Three weeks had passed since being jilted, and today was a very important day for Lily.

She jumped out of her father's carriage and shoved the bag into the hands of the driver, far too eager to run lugging all the extra weight. He stumbled back a few steps, struggling under the bag's heft as she strolled forward, taking in a lungful of summer air. Her father's estate, Milton House, was almost five miles away, but she visited Charlotte often at Stonehurst Park.

The light bounced off the three-story marble fa?ade as she strutted across the flagstone path, under the porte-cochere, to the shining black door of the grand house. Two giant stone lions carved by Italian masters stood guard at the door, and below them, two bronzed urns overflowed with rioting sprays of yellow and orange flowers.

It was the only spot of color one saw when approaching Stonehurst. The duke had insisted upon the front park remaining untouched as a tribute to his father's work with Capability Brown in spite of Charlotte's wishes. The finely kept lawn, the methodically placed trees, even the serpentine lake was a testament to the Dandridge dukedom—calculated.

Lily tugged and straightened her lace gloves, about to knock when it opened before she ever had the chance.

"Oh, hello." The footman stepped back and cleared his throat. His brown eyes widened before he glanced over his shoulder toward the foyer. "Good morning, Miss Abrams."

Lily smiled sweetly at the footman. "I'm here to see the duchess, Stevens."

Behind him, muffled arguing broke out. Stonehurst was rather famously a place where one could seek solitude, especially given that it was often only Charlotte in residence. The duke rarely visited, as he much preferred the company he kept in London or traveling the Continent.

"Of course, miss," he replied, pulling a taut smile onto his face. "If you could wait a?—"

"Let her in, Stevens. I'm through here," rumbled a man's voice.

No, not a man. The Duke of Dandridge. And as someone who studied stars, Lily swore he was otherworldly.

She leaned right, trying to see what the fuss was about, but Stevens promptly stepped aside and led her into the grand foyer with a graceful sweep of his arm.

Her slippers clicked over the perfectly polished black-and-white tiles of the foyer. Her eyes swept up to the grand staircase, the walls flawlessly white and elaborately trimmed, but not a portrait or painting hung. Beyond the table in the center of the floor holding a bouquet of flowers, the hall held no further signs of life.

Charlotte emerged at the hallway by the top of the stairwell before the dark-clothed figure of the duke brushed by her and dashed for the stairs.

For as long as Charlotte had been married to the duke, Lily had spoken to him perhaps two or three times. Charlotte never spoke of him. She insisted she preferred it that way, but Lily felt the lumbering emptiness of the house around her and knew it was a lie. To be left alone in a house as grand and vast as Stonehurst would make her lonely.

Servants buzzed around the halls, and luggage was being hastened to the doorway beside Lily. She glanced up to the duke, who was equal parts strikingly handsome and stern, even when wearing a thin smile that seemed more myth than reality.

She dipped into a slight curtsy. "Good morning, Your Grace."

"Good day." The duke gave a curt nod.

Above him, Charlotte spoke too softly for Lily to hear, but it stopped the duke's descent. His hand gripped the railing tight as he peeked over his shoulder at Charlotte. It was then that Lily noticed the crumpled handkerchief tucked into her friend's hand.

The duke's cold eyes struck Lily as he turned his attention back to her. "Enjoy your time with the duchess," he said, his voice eerily low as he bounded down the marble stairs.

Lily caught Charlotte's attempt at wiping away tears from her cheeks. Perhaps this was not the best time to share the news.

"I'm so happy you came to see me this morning."

"Stevens!" the duke barked once he finished his descent.

The footman rushed to the duke's side with a hat and cane. "The carriage is ready, sir. Luggage will follow."

"Very good."

Charlotte spoke over her husband. "Come, come, Lily dear. I am in dire need of company."

Lily felt torn in two, volleying between the pair. There was an argument under way between them. That much was evident, even in the guise of such marked politeness. A knot formed at the back of her throat as she proceeded upstairs, past the duke and his hive of servants, and up to Charlotte. If she had known he was in residence, she would have arranged a visit for another day.

"It's lovely to see you," Charlotte said, holding out her hands to Lily. "I think tea is in order. I have received the most delicious?—"

A small gasp left her lips as the door shut firmly behind him, and suddenly Lily thought something was much graver than his leaving for business as usual .

"Is everything well, Charlotte?"

Even with her bottom lip trembling, Charlotte smiled and sniffed back tears. "Everything is fine. He's just, well… How about some tea?"

Charlotte uncharacteristically dragged Lily forward, nonetheless, in the direction of the morning parlor down the hallway, until the door swung open.

Kate tumbled forward through the entryway, out of breath.

Charlotte froze as Lily collided into her back with a startled cry.

"You can't—" Kate started, huffing for breath before folding in half and leaning on her knees. She stretched out her left hand and pointed directly at Lily. "Terrible. Idea."

"Just in time for tea, dear," Charlotte said, her voice sounding much brighter than a moment earlier.

"No tea," Kate said, her voice evening as she let out another large puff of air and pushed upward to mount the stairs. "You are harboring a runaway. Our Lily has decided to flee."

Charlotte turned to Lily and stepped back toward the hallway as Kate reached the top of the stairs, boxing Lily in from any possible escape.

Lily flashed a sheepish smile, eager for some space from two sets of eyes demanding answers. "I would not characterize my leaving as though I am running?—"

"I arrived at your house this morning for a visit but noticed your absence. It's rather odd, considering you haven't left Milton House since your precious telescope was locked away. As it happens, though, your stepmother was in a rage about someone trifling in her closet."

Charlotte clasped her hands together and studied Lily just as her old governess once had when she decided to speak Latin for an entire day. "I'm sure there is an explanation?—"

Another knock at the door, and the footman started back to answer it. Now was as good a time as any, Lily supposed. "Well, I'm guessing the reason is arriving now. Though he is late," she grumbled, pulling a small watch from her reticule.

"Who's late?" Charlotte and Lily chorused together.

"My husband," she said in a forced whisper, desperate to hear the man shadowing the doorway .

"Your what ?" Kate gawked, dragging Charlotte and Lily away from the balustrade.

"My husband," Lily repeated. "We've corresponded, and he's come to retrieve me for our wedding. I am leaving today for the Isle of Wight to be married."

Kate dropped her voice, far too similar to an overbearing matriarch. "You cannot be serious."

Lily would carry out her plan. Her husband had followed through and was at the doorstep asking to be allowed in at this very moment.

Charlotte glided forward as Lily nudged Kate aside to peek at the man from above the balcony balustrade.

"What does he look like?" they hissed behind Charlotte. She glared down at them both like a scolding mother.

When she gave no answer, Kate pushed past Lily to raise her eyes above the banister and turned back to Lily, waggling her thick black eyebrows.

Charlotte's hand shoved Kate back down below the railing as Lily huffed, only half-annoyed Kate caught the first glimpse.

"Please," Charlotte said, her voice a quiet calm that reverberated through the empty foyer, "let our guest in, Stevens. Apparently, he's expected."

Charlotte gripped Kate's arm and fumbled for Lily, instead dragging Kate backward toward the parlor down the hall and leaving Lily by the balustrade.

"You two are ridiculous sometimes," Charlotte muttered.

"That was rude. Certainly wasn't very duchess-like," Kate mocked.

Lily snickered, carefully edging toward the railing before peeking over as Stevens stood back and allowed a tall man with short, black curly hair stride in.

That was her husband. This tall…

He glanced up, meeting her curious study, then smiled a slow, crooked grin made of everything sinful and wrong in the world.

The smile of a rake.

He arched a brow, nodded his head as if all knowing, and tore his stare away before following Stevens down the hallway, leaving Lily there forgetting…

Everything.

Stonehurst was a palace, which signified more reasons why an annual income of five thousand pounds would not be an issue.

He stepped over the threshold, struck by the magnificence of the house. This woman was leaving this to marry his brother? Rafe had lived more than half of his life in a hammock, surrounded by men from all paths of life, going months at a time without setting eye on a woman or standing on steady land.

He felt the heated stare before he spotted her peeking over the balustrade. Big brown eyes blinked hard, stirring something within him. Strange, considering he couldn't see the rest of the person, only the dark brown curls piled high upon her head.

Rafe followed the footman down a long hallway full of classical busts to a reception room. The walls were the same stark white as the entrance. He couldn't help the shiver that raced down his back. Something about the grand house was cold. If the blonde woman who had him ushered in was to be his brother's wife, she would do well. Icy would fit well.

But something wasn't right. He had corresponded with one Lily Abrams who, after exchanging several letters to sort out the details of the impending nuptials, had agreed to meet him here at Stonehurst Palace? Stonehurst Manor?

Well, it didn't matter. What did matter was the manner of this welcome, which was odd. Lily Abrams was no duchess, and he had for sure seen a carriage painted with a duke's insignia in the drive.

He stood by the massive limestone fireplace and waited, the model of decorum which was wasted on account of his brother's absence. The walls were a warm white that reminded him of the seafoam that washed ashore after a storm. The large tall windows were flanked with blue silk brocade curtains tied back with large tassels. And though there was elaborate gilded millwork and columns framing the large room, there were no paintings or portraits. Only two stone statues of Greek gods perched in two alcoves opposite one another and abutted by two elaborately carved walnut chairs.

Something was surely off. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. If this failed, he deserved whatever came his way.

A few moments later, the blonde woman entered.

"Mr. Davies, is it?"

He nodded.

"I see." She cast a sweeping glance from head to toe, then motioned for the other two women in the hall to enter. "I am the Duchess of Dandridge. Welcome to my home, Stonehurst Park."

"Your Grace."

They rushed into the room like feuding children, laughing and pushing each other until they spotted Rafe by the fire. Then quite magically, they became their governess's best pupils, all straight lines and womanly airs.

"Mr. Davies," the brunette woman said, bowing her head. He studied her for a moment as the odd stirring within returned. This woman was uncommonly pretty, doe-eyed, and in possession of an amazing smile.

She stretched out her hand in an elegant curve, as though she expected him to bow and press a courtly kiss on top. Instead, he reached for it because he didn't know what else to do and shook her hand.

The woman behind her, tall with raven black hair, stifled a giggle as she nudged the duchess.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord. I am to be your wife. I am Miss Lily Abrams."

"Lord? No, not a lord." He cleared his throat. "I am Lieutenant Rafe Davies of the Royal Navy and you are not to be my wife," he replied, withdrawing his hand and stepping away.

He would never take a wife.

All three women gasped at once and drew back as if he had just pulled out a saber and threatened to decapitate them over the fine Aubusson rug. Really, he thought as he scanned the room, the house was immaculate.

The duchess clasped her hands tightly together. "I was afraid of this. I think we must talk, sir. I will not stand for someone taking advantage of Miss Abrams. She is like a sister."

"But she is not your sister," he replied.

The third woman stepped forward and broke the awkwardness that descended upon them all. "One moment," she said, turning to the duchess. "This could all be solved easily if we could take a moment and continue with the proper introductions. If you are not to be her husband, then what is your business here today?"

"Miss Abrams has agreed to marry my brother, Earl Devlin."

None of this made sense. He'd set off to fetch his brother's wife and would return with her as agreed upon. There was nothing complicated about that arrangement.

Miss Abrams narrowed her eyes, drawing over his figure in a careful study. He had the sudden desire to draw out her magnificent wit, but he withheld.

Instead, she filled in the silence. "And this is Miss Katherine Bancroft." It was a quick bumble of words before she pressed on, "And now that introductions have concluded, we should continue on to the reason why you are here, sir."

"I've come to fetch you," Rafe replied.

"Fetch me? I am no dog, sir."

Ah, there it was. He could spar if that was what she was after. It was his very favorite part of her letters.

"Certainly not. I wouldn't have traveled here directly for a dog, either. I have agreed to accompany you to Cliffstone Manor myself, as my brother is overseeing important business concerns."

He swore for a moment that the side of her lush smile kicked up. But if it had happened, and it wasn't some wicked mirage that suddenly made him desperately thirsty, then he wasn't comfortable with the way his mind became occupied with thoughts of her mouth.

They stared at each other, the other two women falling away to the background until the duchess interjected .

"I apologize, but I cannot allow Miss Abrams to leave with you today. I was only made aware of her impending nuptials"—at this, she turned and glared at Miss Abrams—"moments before you arrived."

"It was a long journey." He didn't add more. It would be unnecessary to do so. One did not travel from the Isle of Wight to Cumbria on a whim.

"I am sure of that," Miss Abrams supplied. "I look forward to the journey myself."

"We can't allow it," Miss Bancroft whispered. Except it wasn't a whisper per se, rather just a softened hush of words that might have been shouted if he were not standing across from them all.

"I apologize," Rafe said, though he was not sorry at all. There was nothing to be sorry for, but in his experience with women, he had garnered they often enjoyed being apologized to. "I am here to return you on my brother's behalf as agreed upon in your correspondence. You have been corresponding with him, have you not?"

It was a lie because she had not been writing to his brother. He had been writing to her, and it had been enjoyable.

"Yes, I have, and it has been agreed upon." She turned back to her companions, stressing her next words. "And I do not back out of an agreement."

"Then we must go along with you," Miss Bancroft insisted.

Miss Abrams grew red and shook her head. "No, that won't be necessary."

The duchess reached for her friend. "I'm afraid it is." She turned from Miss Abrams to address him directly. "It would only be proper, Mr. Davies. We cannot allow her to be in your company unchaperoned."

She spoke to him as if he were daft. Of all the men in the history of men, Rafe knew the rules well. One must if you meant to break them. And he excelled at breaking them, which is perhaps why his superiors hadn't promoted him beyond lieutenant after eighteen years of service.

"We must first travel to my family's home in Wales to retrieve the ring. If you all insist on coming, then you should know it will be a long journey before she is introduced to my brother. By my calculations, almost six hundred miles."

"I don't care if we have to detour to China, Mr. Davies, I cannot agree to let her accompany you without another woman present."

"Your brother is in need of a wife," Miss Abrams said, breaking the growing tension in the room. "And I have agreed to fill that role." She spun to address her friends. "I am not seeking approval or permission. If you two insist on coming, the carriage leaves in an hour. Please excuse us, Mr. Davies."

She didn't wait for his answer, instead tugging her friends out of the room in a hasty exit, and he was left to wonder what kind of storm he was sailing into.