Twenty-four

Kelston Hall’s courtyard

5 November 1828—evening

Guy Fawkes night

A sharp, loud bang rent the chilly night, followed by crackling and sparks shooting five feet into the air. Exuberant clapping drowned out the children’s excited chorus of oohs and aahs, and a few startled shrieks from the adults present as well.

Smiling at their enthusiasm, Lilly adjusted the hand-knitted scarf around her neck.

This had been a wonderful decision, despite the added expense, which she had paid for with her savings. Besides, the children’s home was not destitute yet.

Layton’s sudden departure had affected the boys and girls far more than she had expected, and Lilly hoped the extra celebrations would lift them from their doldrums.

They did little to raise her spirits, but she refused to let anyone see her desolation.

Mourning his absence was pointless, anyway.

Returning Nellie’s excited wave from the other side of the roaring bonfire, Lilly roved her attention over those assembled here tonight.

These people were her family, and she loved them.

Yes, she was sad and missed Layton beyond words, but her heart would heal in time.

At least, she prayed it would.

Tonight, she was determined to enjoy herself.

A favorite holiday of the children and staff, every year, Kelston Hall Children’s School celebrated Guy Fawkes Night with a bonfire, roasted chestnuts, hot spiced cider, and toffee apples.

However, this year, Lilly had splurged and asked Charles to purchase several squibs. She had drawn the line at permitting the children to hold handheld firebrands as being too dangerous, even if the village children were wont to run amuck while holding them and screeching at the top of their lungs.

As another special treat, Mrs. B had spent most of yesterday making treacle toffee. Lilly and the teachers had supervised the children in creating Guy Fawkes effigies from straw and old rags. In truth, it was a rather barbaric practice to toss the effigies into the fire, but then mankind was rather barbaric.

Wasn’t that why men believed themselves superior to women for no reason other than they possessed different genitalia? Or why men made almost all the important decisions, and women were supposed to submit and agree without a word of objection?

Why aristocrats like Viscount Merrivale thought he could snap his manicured fingers, and she, born on the wrong side of the blanket, would agree to his demands?

The pompous boor.

Life was wholly unfair.

Every day now, she dreaded going through the post, expecting a letter from his lordship or a solicitor on his behalf.

So far, no correspondence had arrived from either, and that was most peculiar.

As agitated as Lord Merrivale had been that afternoon, Lilly was at a loss to understand his continued silence.

And Layton’s.

Shouldn’t the pain from his continued silence diminish with each passing day?

It had not.

How could Lilly heal if she could not stop thinking about him?

Dreaming about him?

Her conclusion that he was married must be accurate, and that explained why he had not written to her.

Layton was a man of integrity.

She had known that about him even before she knew his true identity.

Corresponding with an unmarried woman could be considered inappropriate, and he would never dishonor his wife—even if he had kissed Lilly.

He had done so, not knowing who he was or if he was married.

Lilly should regret that wonderful kiss, but she could not.

No, she would not.

It was a gift she would always treasure.

Inhaling a bracing breath, she glanced upward, grateful the pleasant weather had held. Stars sparkled overhead in the inky night sky.

This was a good life.

Before Layton had arrived, she had been content.

More than content.

She had been happy.

Lilly would be so again.

She was determined to make it so.

Hadn’t the philosopher Seneca said, “A wise man is content with his lot, whatever it may be, without wishing for what he has not?”

Well, somehow, Lilly would create her happiness, though that would be easier done without the albatross of Lord Merrivale’s threat looming overhead.

“Again, Dr. Montrose. Again,” the children chanted.

Hopping up and down, the boys and girls danced about giddily as Charles, several feet away for safety, lit another squib.

Miss McKenzie, Miss Wobblecroft, and Mrs. Jones sipped hot spiced cider and wandered among the children, ensuring they had fun but did not get into mischief.

After having brought out the food and arranged it on a large table, the other staff warmed themselves before the enormous fire.

More exuberant cries filled the air as the squib exploded.

“Look!” Mrs. Jones pointed toward Prudhoe.

As one, the children and staff faced the village, and a collective gasp went up.

Orange, yellow, and white fireworks exploded in the sky over what must be the village green.

The majestic display even enthralled Lilly.

“Hello, Lilly.”

No, he could not be here.

She froze, certain her ears played tricks on her.

After all, a cacophony of noises filled the night.

She missed Layton so much that she had conjured his voice.

That was all.

“Lilly?”

A moment later, his firm hand cupped her shoulder and rotated her toward him.

Oh, God.

She had not imagined that familiar baritone.

Heart hammering against her ribs, she dragged her focus upward from his slightly dusty Wellington boots, past the hem of his slate-blue woolen caped greatcoat, and upward from each brass button to the coat’s stiff, turned-up collar, to rest on his strong, square chin, covered with a dark shadowing of whiskers.

“Look at me, Lilly. Please.”

Such tenderness filled his husky voice; tears filled her eyes.

Taking in every contour of his beloved face, she continued the upward journey until she met his eye.

Layton was here.

Why?

She darted a wary glance past him.

No stunning beauty stood there, dressed in the first stare of fashion, and gazing at him with utter adoration.

Where was his wife?

“Hello,” he murmured.

One word.

One paltry word and Lilly’s world suddenly grew bright with hope once more.

His smile would have melted an iceberg, and Lilly assuredly was not a frozen ice-mountain. She was a flesh and blood woman, and if he kept looking at her like that, she would dissolve into a puddle at his feet or burst into flames.

Neither made an ounce of sense, but her reason seemed to have deserted her—flown away on the evening breeze to join the stars overhead. Her blasted knees refused to stop shaking, and her heart beat frantically, like a caged bird trying to escape its gilded prison.

“Hello,” she echoed stupidly, for her tongue had not caught up to her racing mind.

He touched her cheek with his forefinger, and even through the cold leather of his black glove, the spot burned hot. “I missed you.”

She had missed him too.

So very much.

“Mr. Brook! Mr. Brook!”

“He came. Mr. Brook is here.”

The children had spotted Layton and raced toward him.

Lilly must tell them Layton’s real name and that they should address him as Captain Westbrook. But that could wait.

Miss Wobblecroft raised her voice. “Be careful, children.”

“Slow down,” called Miss McKenzie from Charles’s side.

Her cheeks appeared rather more flushed than could be attributed to the roaring bonfire.

“Don’t trip and fall into the fire,” warned Mrs. Jones as she hurried forward, still clutching her spiced cider.

Layton gave Lilly a sideways grin and winked. “I suppose privacy is too much to ask for.”

Privacy?

Was he serious?

With this many children?

“No, privacy is a rare commodity around here.” She shook her head.

“There are worse things. I shall figure out a way to have you to myself,” he said.

Did that mean he intended to stay?

Was it truly possible?

For how long?

Caught up in the moment, Lilly laughed. “Not likely unless we lock ourselves away somewhere.”

“That could be arranged.” The glint in his gray eye held a sensual promise.

Yes, she was definitely going to go up in flames.

Before she could respond, the children were upon them.

He looked over their heads and, grinning, mouthed, “Later.”

Be careful.

Do not read something into this that is not there .

Lilly pressed her lips together against her reflexive smile.

She had learned her lesson.

Until she knew why Layton had returned, she had no intention of lowering her defenses.