Twenty-two

Lilly’s office

Half five the next morning

Arms wrapped around herself against the early morning chill, Lilly paced across the time-worn Brinston carpet in front of her desk, then, reaching the room’s far side, pivoted and retraced her steps. Despite not sleeping more than an hour last night, her mind was sharp as she assessed scenario after scenario for how to deal with Lord Merrivale before discarding it as impractical.

Never had she been so frustrated in her life.

Nor so scared.

So many lives depended upon her, and Charles, of course. But he wasn’t responsible for the children’s home day-to-day operations. Those duties fell to her, and so did finding a solution to the bumblebroth his lordship had stirred up.

How dare Lord Merrivale show up after all these years and announce that he was contesting his aunt’s will?

So smug.

So self-assured.

So blasted certain that Lilly would capitulate without a struggle because a peer had threatened her.

He would soon find she would not surrender without a fight.

Lord, how she had itched to wipe the smirk off his arrogant face, but too much was at stake. At all costs, Lilly must maintain her poise and battle the viscount with intelligence, strategy, and cunning.

She did not doubt that if Miss Davenport’s will had not been legal, Lilly and Charles would never have received the inheritance.

The will had been valid.

Accustomed to and familiar with men’s shenanigans, Matilda Davenport had made certain her last wishes were carried out.

Too deuced bad if the new Viscount Merrivale objected to his aunt’s decision.

Regardless, his lordship meant to take Lilly and Charles to court if they did not hand over Kelston Hall and the remaining funds.

He had said as much yesterday, just before he departed, the greedy bugger.

Away on a call, Charles did not even know what had occurred yet.

Merrivale’s demands would destroy the home, the children…And Lilly.

She could not afford a lengthy court battle, and the viscount probably gambled on that. But then, neither could his lordship, or else why would he be so desperate to get his hands on his aunt’s estate?

Unless he was simply a greedy bugger who could not stand the notion of anyone who was born illegitimate, inheriting a fortune.

At the first opportunity, she intended to have a conversation with Zander regarding Lord Merrivale and see what he knew about the viscount.

Not Zander.

His name is Layton .

Captain Layton Westbrook, to be precise.

Adopted son of the Duke of Latham.

Even in Prudhoe, people knew of the prestigious duke.

It had been all she could do to keep from gasping out loud when Merrivale recognized Layton and blurted his connections.

And to think; she had stupidly fallen in love with him.

Thank God, she had never declared herself, for dukes’ sons—adopted or not—did not marry illegitimate schoolteachers.

Marry ?

There she went again; putting the cart before the horse.

Lack of sleep had muddled her common sense.

Lilly had always prided herself on her levelheadedness and reason, and she did not like in the least feeling discomposed.

A shiver scuttled up her spine despite her heavy shawl.

October had turned quite cold.

She puckered her forehead.

Why hadn’t the Westbrooks looked for Layton? A family that powerful had far-reaching influence. Something did not add up, but that was not Lilly’s chief concern right now.

Figuring out how to outfox Merrivale was.

Everyone knew the courts favored peers over commoners. Bribing judges was as commonplace as beggars on London’s streets.

There must be another way to outwit Lord Merrivale.

But what?

She swiveled again, rubbing her hands up and down her shawl-covered arms. Normally on such a chilly morning, she would have lit a fire, but now she must save every cent she could.

At least Lilly knew why Miss Davenport had paid her and Charles such marked attention.

No wonder Lilly and Charles had such a keen connection.

Likely, she would never know why Miss Davenport had given Lilly and Charles the surnames they had. As with most illegitimate children, their births probably were not recorded anywhere. Despite how Lilly had learned about hers and Charles’s kinship, the knowledge was a bright spot in the otherwise sordid tale.

It took a remarkable woman to care for her brother’s by-blow, but Matilda Davenport had been an exceptional woman by any standard.

Lilly wished her mother had been brave enough to tell her the truth.

Nevertheless, Lilly could not judge or be angry with her.

In a cruel, unforgiving world where appearances counted for everything, Matilda Davenport had done her best to provide for Lilly and Charles. Besides, Lilly did not know, nor was she likely to ever know, the circumstances that drove Miss Davenport to such extreme measures.

Lilly would always be grateful to the kind, lovely-smelling woman.

Merrivale, the arrogant rotter, had not even cared to stay and meet Charles—his only brother, and he had treated Lilly, his only cousin as if she were vermin. A filthy rug to wipe his muddy boots upon.

Not that he’d had much choice in the matter.

A reluctant smile bent her mouth upward.

Likely guessing Lilly was on the cusp of boxing Lord Merrivale’s ears, Layton had agreed to join the viscount for a tankard or two in the village and bustled his lordship out the door before she could hurl an inkpot at the viscount’s head.

Layton still had not returned when Lilly finally went to bed at half midnight.

Sighing, she rolled her stiff shoulders, attempting to dispel what felt like a heavy oxen yoke weighing her down. Her burden was hefty because she cared so much for the children and staff, and what would happen to them if—God forbid—Merrivale succeeded in his vile mission?

Lilly might as well head to the kitchen and make a pot of tea. She would need several cups to stay alert after her sleepless night. And she needed her wits about her when she encountered Layton today.

What would she say to him?

Everything had changed between them.

She pressed her chilly hands to her suddenly flaming cheeks.

Lord, she had kissed him like an immoral wanton.

Dunderhead.

Dolt.

Simpleton.

Castigating herself as she made her way to the kitchen, Lilly faltered just outside the doorway. A light glowed from within.

Who was up before her?

Adjusting her shawl, she entered.

The distinct, pleasant aroma of rising bread teased her nostrils.

Mrs. B sat at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of tea, steam spiraling upward in front of her. Narrow shoulders slumped, she sniffled and dabbed at her lowered face.

Alarm washed through Lilly as she rushed across the cold stones.

“Mrs. B? Whatever is wrong.

“Why are you here so early?

“Didn’t you spend the night in Prudhoe with your ailing sister-in-law?”

Mrs. B lifted her startled, tear-dampened face.

“Mercy, Lilly. You gave me a fright.” She pressed a hand to her thin chest. “Why are you up so early?”

“I could not sleep.” Lilly slid into the chair next to Mrs. B and took the housekeeper’s gnarled hand in hers. “Did your sister-in-law pass away?”

“Lord, no. Trudy has a severe case of gout.” Shaking her silvery head, Mrs. B gave her a watery smile. “She is too stubborn to change her diet and suffers for her obstinance, but she is a long way from turning up her toes. She is not called moody Trudy for no reason.”

“Why are you crying, then?” Lilly scanned her dear face for signs of sickness or fever. “Are you ill?”

“I am quite well, just a silly old woman.” Mrs. B swiped at her wrinkled face. Despair etched upon her wizened features, she stared out the window into the predawn darkness.

Lilly wrapped an arm around the tiny woman’s shoulders. “Please tell me what is wrong.”

“These tears are not for me, deary,” Mrs. B murmured. “They are for you.”

“ Me ?” Lilly squeezed her shoulder. “Ah, I presume you have heard about Miss Davenport being my mother, and that Charles is my cousin, the illegitimate son of the former Viscount Merrivale.”

Lilly doubted she would ever become accustomed to thinking of the woman as her mother.

In the process of blowing her nose, Mrs. B stopped, her eyes going round as silver platters. “She was? He is? Well, tickle me pink and call me a dandy.”

“You did not know?” Mrs. B was always aware of everything that went on in the house. Lilly furrowed her forehead. “Then why are you weeping?”

Mrs. B finished blowing her nose—noisily and thoroughly.

Tears well in her eyes again. “Because, my dear, Zander has left us, and I am not blind. I know how fond you had grown of him.”

What ?

Lilly’s shock must have registered on her face. Had she been so dashed obvious, despite trying her best to hide her feelings?

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “How… How do you know he left?”

“I heard the news from Trudy’s daughter-in-law when she arrived to relieve me this morning.” Mrs. B’s shoulders slumped.

He’s gone.

Layton is gone.

“My nephew, Tupp told her.” Sympathy creased Mrs. B’s weathered face. “There was a kerfuffle at The Crown and Stone last night, you see, while Tupp was enjoying a pint.”

Surely, Mrs. B heard every jagged crack cleaving Lilly’s heart.

Lilly shook her head, confusion and something much more powerful befuddling her thoughts. “What do you mean he has left us? He would not do that. Just leave.”

Without even saying goodbye ?

Would he ?

He would if he is married , her cool, logical self, chastised her.

“That is exactly what I said too.” Mrs. B gazed at her intently. “Tupp said, Zander arrived at the pub with a posh gent…”

“Viscount Merrivale,” Lilly interjected, her voice raspy with suppressed emotion. “He was here yesterday to tell me he is contesting Miss Davenport’s will.”

Mrs. B stiffened in outrage. “He cannot do that, can he?”

“That remains to be seen.” Lilly sucked in a steadying breath. “So that I would not pop the bounder’s arrogant cork, Layton—that is Zander’s real name, Captain Layton Westbrook—took the viscount to Prudhoe for a tankard.”

The viscount’s arrival had sparked Zander—that was, Layton’s memory.

Lilly had seen it clearly when he had opened his eyes and met her gaze.

Mrs. B’s eyes glowed brightly with unshed tears. “According to Tupp, a couple of ruffians looking for trouble wandered into the pub. There was an altercation between them, the viscount, and our captain. They knocked the toff out, straightaway.”

She grinned, exposing her missing teeth.

“Tupp says, Zander, I mean Captain Westbrook,” she rushed to correct, “gave the two blokes a proper drubbing, before carrying his lordship to the viscount’s smart carriage, depositing him inside, and telling the driver to drive hell-bent for leather to London.”

He left me .

Legs shaking so badly Lilly was not positive she could stand, she pushed herself to her feet. She gripped the table’s edge with white-knuckled fingers, willing her knees not to buckle under the weight of her grief and disbelief. “I …I need some air.”

“Lilly…? Dear?” Worry rendered Mrs. B’s voice wobbly. “Please tell me. What can I do?”

Lilly waved her hand, not trusting herself to speak.

She forced one foot in front of the other until she reached the kitchen garden entrance. She fumbled with the handle before finally wrenching the door open.

Frigid pre-dawn air stalled Lilly’s breath, but she welcomed the briskness stinging her cheeks and eyes.

“Lilly?” Mrs. B called again.

Tears leaked from the corners of Lilly’s eyes, and she bit her lower lip hard to suppress the primal cry of agony clawing at her throat.

She picked up her skirts and ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Lilly pelted past the stables and the orchard.

One cow mooed a sleepy welcome, but Lilly didn’t slow her pace.

She dashed past the pond and the oak grove.

With each step, she berated and castigated herself.

Lackwit.

Gudgeon.

Clodpole.

Addlepate .

She sprinted until her lungs burned and her breath came in great wheezing gasps, and then, unable to take another step, she folded to her knees on the dew-covered ground.

It was only then that she realized her traitorous feet had carried her to the very place where Layton had been discovered those many weeks ago.

Oh, God. Oh, God .

A wail more suited to a mortally wounded animal tore itself from her throat, and she collapsed into a heap, curling her fingernails into the damp soil.

He is gone.

He is gone.

I shall never see my love again.

Lilly’s heart splintered, and she almost swooned from the agony spearing her.

She wanted to faint, to escape the pain eviscerating her.

Curling into a fetal position, she sobbed uncontrollably, despising herself for her weakness, but unable to wrestle her grief under control. She did not know how much time passed as she lay there, wounded and mind numb, but eventually, the reservoir of her tears ran dry.

She should return to the house to restore her appearance before the students and staff roused for the day. Still, she could not muster a jot of motivation to move.

The light had gone out of her—no, the light of her life had left her—and she didn’t know how she would go on. And despite her brokenness, she could not help but fear for Layton’s safety.

Did the men who had abducted him still pose a risk?

A short while later, Charles found her and wordlessly gathered her shivering form into his arms.

“He is gone, Charles,” she murmured through cold-stiffened lips. “He did not even bid me farewell.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Pressing his cheek into her hair, he rocked her as if she were a toddler in need of soothing. “Mrs. B told me what happened. I am sorrier than I can say, Lil.”

So am I .

I loved him—love him.

And he left me without a second thought.

“After speaking with Mrs. B, and learning Zander is Captain Layton Westbrook, I suddenly remembered what had been niggling my conscience all this while.” Releasing a pent-up breath, he sighed. “A few weeks ago, on one of my calls to another village, someone mentioned that several aristocrats had been nosing around, asking questions about their missing brother.”

So, his family had searched for him, after all.

Charles gave Lilly an apologetic smile. “I regret that I did not recall that before now.”

Because Layton’s identity would have been discovered sooner, possibly saving her a broken heart.

“It is of no consequence, Charles.”

Apparently, Captain Layton Westbrook was cut from the same cloth as Viscount Merrivale. Layton’s abrupt change in behavior once he knew who he was should not have surprised her, and that it did, made her a colossal dunderhead.

What exactly had he remembered?

That he was married?

A rusty, serrated knife twisting in Lilly’s heart would not have caused more pain than that thought.

“Let’s get you home, and warmed, shall we?” Charles kissed the crown of her head.

Yes.

Lilly had responsibilities.

She must focus on her duties and obligations.

Take her heels-tossed-over-bum-life one minute at a time.

Wallowing in self-pity served no purpose. It would not bring Layton back, and it would not help her concoct a plan to thwart Lord Merrivale.

A rooster crowed, announcing dawn’s arrival with a soft silvery light filtering through the mist-laden fields.

Sucking in a ragged breath, she nodded.

If Layton could leave her so easily, after that sizzling kiss, well then, she would put him from her mind too.

Lilly would focus all her energy on saving the children’s home.

Charles helped her stand.

“Lilly, I am sure he had good reason?—”

Like a wife ?

Lilly held up her hand, palm outward, cutting him off.

Anguish slashed her heart.

She must put Layton out of her mind. Erect an impenetrable barricade if she were to survive this devastation brought on by her naivete.

“We shall return to our lives before he came, Charles, and never speak of him again.”

Charles could not hide his amazement, and the compassion that filled his eyes nearly undid her.

He gave a curt nod. “As you wish.”

Lilly accepted the elbow he extended.

Dear Charles. At least she still had him.

I shall never trust my heart again .