Page 66 of Marry in Scandal
“I’m going to be happy, Rose, just you wait and see.” Lily’s eyes were teary too. “He’s a wonderful man, really he is. You just don’t know him yet.”
“I gather you’ve accepted Mr. Galbraith’s proposal.” Emm emerged from the sitting room at the top of the stairs. She held out her arms to Lily. “I hope this marriage brings you all the happiness you deserve, my dear.” Emm was as full of doubt as the others; she was just better at hiding it.
Lily and she embraced, then Emm said, “Well, then, we’d better go downstairs and congratulate the happy groom. Cal will want to make a toast.” She began the descent downstairs. George, Lily and Rose followed.
Congratulate the happy groom?At the moment Edward was probably more of a resolute groom. But he would be happy, eventually. Lily was determined to make it so.
Halfway down the stairs, Rose paused and gave her a sudden sharp look. “Did you tell him about—?”
“No. I’ll tell him later.”
“But don’t you think you ought to—?”
“Later, Rose.”
She didn’t want to talk about it, not now—and if she was honest with herself, not ever. Edward had made a clean breast of his faults. That was admirable—assuming he’d meant it as a way of starting fresh and not a way of putting her off.
She hadn’t done the same. She knew she should have told him about her reading difficulties. He’d have to know eventually. But she didn’t want to see that expression in his eyes when she admitted her problem, the look she’d received from all but a few people. Even from Papa. Especially from Papa.
Did they think she didn’twantto be like everyone else, to be able to read ladies’ magazines, or lose herself between the pages of a novel, or to write letters and exchange convivial little notes? And not to have to ask—always ask—someone else to read or write for her?
So no, she wasn’t going to tell him. Not yet, at any rate.
Chapter Twelve
You must be the best judge of your own happiness.
—JANE AUSTEN,EMMA
“I believe I must wish you happy, Mr. Galbraith.” Lady Ashendon came forward. She didn’t sound in the least joyful, more resigned. “Lily is a girl very dear to my heart. You will take the very best of care of her, won’t you?”
It wasn’t so much a wish as an order, Ned decided. With a clear, if restrained, assurance that should he fail, Lady Ashendon would have something to say about it. A teacher’s tactic, but she wasn’t bluffing.
He bowed over her hand. “I will, Lady Ashendon.”
Lily’s sister, Rose, glided toward him, hands held out. She was taller than Lily, slender and graceful, a golden-haired beauty with ice-blue eyes and a smile that dazzled, even as it chilled. No doubt the ton fawned over her. They could keep this ice queen; give him Lily’s warmth and luscious femininity any day.
“So you are to become my brother-in-law, Mr. Galbraith.” She stood on tiptoe as if to give him a pretty sisterly kiss and, in a voice only he could hear, murmured, “Hurt my sister in any way, Galbraith, and you’ll be sorry you were ever born.” She pressed a dry, cold pair of lips to his cheek, stabbed him with a glittering look and stepped back, smiling.
Thank God she wasn’t the one Nixon stole. He might have had to marry her.
The other girl, Lady Georgiana—curious that she was Lily’s niece and yet was the elder—came forward with a loose-limbed, almost boyish stride that was oddly attractive. She held out her hand to him and murmured with a sweet smile, “Lily is a darling and if you don’t treat her right, Mr. Galbraith, I’ll gut you with a rusty blade.”
He blinked, more amused than menaced by the melodramatic threat. Misinterpreting his expression, she gave a brisk, satisfied nod.
What a family of women. Such ladylike ferocity in defense of their sister. He found it rather charming, if a little insulting.
It was excellent that Lily had such a protective family, but really, did they expect him to beat Lily, or starve her? When he was in this position because he’d gone out of his way to protect her? They certainly had the lowest expectations of him. But perhaps his reputation bothered them.
His own fault, he supposed. Since selling out of the army after Waterloo and returning to civilian life, he’d taken pains to cultivate a rakish reputation and to avoid fashionable society. He had had no desire to be hunted by matchmaking mamas, and being in line for a title, a fortune and a handsome estate, he had had no doubt he would be hunted.
A movement at the door caught his eye. It was the biggest dog he’d ever seen, tall and gray and shaggy. He slunk in—if a dog that size could be said to slink—edged up behind Lady Georgiana and eyed Ned with an enigmatic expression. Lady Georgiana’s dog, he presumed. Would she set it on him?
Ned liked dogs. He snapped his fingers and the dog padded forward. He sniffed Ned’s outstretched fingers, then sat down with an expression that was a clear invitation to pat.
“Finn,” Lady Georgiana said crossly. The dog thumped a lazy tail but didn’t move. Ned had found the perfect spot needing scratching—just behind the ears.
Lady Georgiana gave Ned a narrow look, but it seemed to him that her glower had lightened somewhat.