Page 54 of Marry in Scandal

“Nonsense. Anyone would have done the same. Pleasure to be of service to Lady Lily.” They shook hands.

Cal opened the front door. “I suppose you’ll be heading back up to that house party now.”

Ned shook his head. “No, gone off the idea. Think I’ll stay in town for a bit, see what’s to do.” He paused on the front step. “I take it you’ll be hunting for that swine, Nixon.”

“I will.”

“I’d like to help.”

Cal shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but you’ve done enough. It’s for me, as head of Lily’s family, to seek justice for my sister. Good night.” He stepped inside and closed the door.

It was a clear dismissal—and fair enough, Ned told himself. He wasn’t family. He had no right to be involved in whatever justice—or revenge—Cal was planning. He’d done what he could—helped the girl and returned her to the bosom of her family—and that was that. End of story.

Ned walked to his lodgings. It wasn’t far and the night was fine. Lily was safe in her own bed and all was right with her world again. He was free to go back to his own life.

So why did he feel so unaccountably flat?

Chapter Ten

I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.

—WILLIAM CONGREVE,LOVE FOR LOVE

Lily stayed inside for the next few days, waiting impatiently for her bruise to fade. It was lovely to be home with her family again, but for some reason she felt restless and unsettled, and a bit bored.

It hadn’t helped that Edward—she had to address him as Mr. Galbraith now that they were back in society—hadn’t called. She hadn’t seen him since the night he’d brought her home. He’d sent her flowers—a small, exquisite bunch of primroses and violets—with a note saying he hoped she was recovering from her indisposition.

Indisposition? Emm’s view, when she read the note to Lily, was that he was being discreet, that he was maintaining the story they’d spread about Lily having the influenza.

Still, it was quite impersonal, coming from a man in whose arms she’d slept, dressed only in his shirt and wrapped in a soft fur rug, a man who’d kissed her on a cold and cloudy night.

Why hadn’t he visited?

She missed him.

Her family didn’t seem to think his absence in the least bit odd, even though Emm had specifically invited him to call the next day. They thought he had better things to do, and that such neglect was to be expected of a man of his reputation. He was almost never seen in polite company.

They were grateful to him, of course, but as Rose said, “Any gentleman would do the same if they came across a lady in distress.” Lily didn’t agree, but after several days she was forced to concede that his absence spoke for itself.

Her only outing had been to show Betty and her brother, Jimmy, some of the sights of London. She’d talked Emm into letting her go out, heavily veiled, accompanied by one of the maids and a footman, plainly dressed.

Rose and George had wanted to go too, arguing that fashionable people wouldn’t be likely to be at the kind of places that Betty yearned to see, but Emm had pointed out that unveiled, they’d be recognized, and that three heavily veiled women would draw more attention than otherwise.

She’d also, with a shudder, firmly vetoed George’s suggestion that she and Rose could go dressed as men.

Those surreptitious excursions with Betty had been the highlight of Lily’s week, and Betty’s gleeful enjoyment of her visit had enlivened Lily’s dampened spirits. But Betty and her brother had been put on the mail coach back to Yorkshire, laden with parcels—Rose and George had taken Betty shopping for new clothes to replace the ones she’d lent Lily—food for the journey and souvenirs of their visit to the capital. Now Lily was feeling a little bit low.

Aunt Agatha insisted the others go out and about on their usual pursuits, where they were to casually mention—but only if asked about Lily’s health—that it wasn’t the influenza at all, but a severe cold, that Lily was recuperating nicely and should emerge from the sickroom quite soon.

Callers came and were thanked for their concern but told that “Lady Lily is still indisposed.” Well-wishers sent her notes and flowers, fruit and small gifts—quite a few of which were books. Burton read her the notes and took back a verbal message from the invalid.

With all this kind attention, it was completely unreasonable for her to feel lonely and a bit lost, Lily told herself. She’d survived a nasty experience and should be grateful to be safe and well in the bosom of her family. She was thankful, of course she was, but she was also fed up with waiting for the horrid bruise to disappear and allow her out. All shedid was sit around, knit or sew and those occupations were horridly conducive tothinking.

All Lily seemed to be able to think about these days was Edward Galbraith and what he might be doing. And thinking. And it was pointless wondering. His actions—or lack of them—showed what he was thinking: not about Lily.

He hadn’t called once or sent anything apart from those flowers. She’d pressed some of them between the pages of a book. The best use she had for a book.

But there was no use brooding about him. To him she was just a parcel he’d had to deliver—Rose and George had told her about the note he’d sent Cal.