That was it, then. Liliana gritted her teeth and closed her stinging eyes. The desire to rail at the injustice fairly burst out of her. Were she a man, the wager would have been seen as friendly sport. She would be congratulated for her cunning, not threatened with losing her family. And most of all, she wouldn’t be forced to leave because of her aunt’s ridiculous sensibilities.
Liliana knew very well that if she did ever marry, it would be worse, even, than this. A husband would virtually own her. Her mother had been fortunate to find a kindred spirit in her father, a man who had seen her value and her talents and had encouraged them, society be damned.
Yet times had changed even in a generation. Young ladies were expected, more than ever, to act like sheltered possessions rather than people, a beautiful trinket to adorn a man’s side—unable to think and reason like a man, and lost without one. Three seasons amongst the beaus of the ton had shown her that. Well, they and the one suitor Aunt Eliza had pressed upon her. Sir Abernathy Colton-Smith. Liliana shuddered at the memory of the odious man and his boorish attitudes. He’d even forbid her to continue with her work as a contingency of his suit, a condition Aunt Eliza had encouraged. Thankfully, she’d had the meager living Papa had settled on her, so she’d been able to refuse. Liliana longed for the day she was firmly on the shelf. At least then she’d have some semblance of freedom.
A knock sounded in the distance, perhaps from the door that separated the sitting room from the guest hallway. A few moments later, a maid popped a hesitant head into Aunt’s chamber.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, my lady.” The maid bobbed. “Er, ’is lordship requests to speak with you and the young misses.”
“What?” Aunt snapped, her graying blond head tipping to the side. “Now?”
The maid’s lips pressed together, as if she were out of her element and trying valiantly to brazen through. “Yes, my lady. He wonders if you might join him in your sitting room.”
Aunt turned her head to glare at Liliana, as if to say “See what you’ve done?”
“Of course,” Aunt murmured, pointing at Liliana and Penelope to precede her.
Stratford paced near the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back, an uncomfortable grimace on his face that somehow didn’t detract from his stark handsomeness. He turned at their entrance, his bearing erect and tense, as if preparing himself for an unpleasant task. Liliana closed her eyes. He’d come to demand their departure after all, it seemed. There would be no saving the situation.
Stratford cleared his throat. “Forgive the irregular nature of my call, Lady Belsham,” he said, “but it has come to my understanding you plan to leave us.”
Liliana opened her eyes. Those weren’t words of expulsion.
Aunt gave a brisk nod. “Yes, my lord. Please forgive my niece’s awful behavior this afternoon,” she said, emphasizing their relationship as if trying to distance herself and her own daughter as much as possible. “I regret the scene she caused. You shall be rid of us, posthaste, and most discreetly.”
Liliana trembled as mortification flooded her. She felt Stratford’s eyes on her and she looked up, struck again by his intense blue gaze.
“No,” he said.
No?
Aunt blinked, seemingly as taken aback at his short utterance as Liliana was.
“I do not wish you to leave,” he said, amazingly. “And it is I who owes Miss Claremont an apology, as well as my congratulations.” He crossed the room in an elegant stride to stand before Liliana. Her heart catapulted into her throat as he stared down at her, his smell of musk and mint subtly surrounding her. “I thoughtlessly provoked you this afternoon, and for that, I am sorry. Please don’t feel as if you must leave on my account. In fact, I would prefer you to stay. Besides”—his lips turned up in a wry smile—“I don’t think I could live without knowing exactly how you gave Aveline the up on me.”
Liliana stared so long at him that her eyes turned drier than sodium sulfate. Why was he being kind? And why, if he suspected her intentions, would he ask her to remain in his home? “I—” She couldn’t think of anything to say.
He took advantage of her flummox and smiled, which, oddly enough, flummoxed her all the more. “It’s settled, then? I’m so glad.” He turned to Aunt Eliza, who stared at him as if he’d sprouted another nose. “I do hope the three of you”—he glanced back and nodded at Liliana—“and Lord Aveline, of course, will join me at the head of the table. It’s only fitting your niece be given the place of honor for her brilliant performance this afternoon.”
“Of course,” Aunt said automatically. Aunt would never willingly offend Stratford.
“Good,” he said, turning back to Liliana. Something in his eyes made her go all hot inside. “Until this evening.” He nodded and left the room.
Aunt turned to Liliana, pinning her with a speculative gaze. “It seems we shall be staying.”
Penelope skirted out of the room with a bright smile, and Liliana could hear her directing maids to unpack and rehang their clothing.
Liliana nearly slumped with relief. Stratford had saved her, provided her another chance to find her answers. Her relief quickly turned to an uncomfortable bewilderment. Why had he done it?
And what did it say about her if she used his kindness against him?
Geoffrey sat at the head of the imposing sixteenth-century dining table, where generations of Wentworths had held lavish suppers much like this one. Several leaves had been removed, as only forty or so guests joined him this evening, but the table could accommodate as many as eighty diners with room to spare.
Glassware tinkled and ornate silver cutlery dinged against china in melodic counterpoint to the lively conversation.
Geoffrey set down his heavy spoon, the lobster bisque barely touched. He knew several—at least seven—more courses were to follow. During his years in the army, there had been many days when he and his men had been grateful to have one sparse meal. Perhaps broth. Maybe bread or cheese. His stomach turned at the knowledge that many of his fellow soldiers were likely not eating any better than that even today. How he wished his table was filled with them right now, rather than this privileged class that he was both part of and apart from.
His eyes strayed to Liliana, seated next to him on his right. In appearance, at least, she’d fit in at his imaginary table. How lovely she was, even with her hair swept up in a plain chignon and her long neck unadorned by flashy jewels. In her simple satin dancing dress trimmed with shiny gold piping around the sheer sleeves, hemline and bust, she stood out in stark contrast to the wasteful opulence that surrounded her. He remembered how ill at ease she’d seemed this afternoon surrounded by some of the more frivolous members of society. Nothing in her mannerisms gave her away tonight, but he got the distinct feeling that she, like him, would be more comfortable with soldiers and commoners than with this lot.
She laughed at something Aveline said, and the husky timbre of her voice vibrated through Geoffrey, his body hardening in reaction. Just being in her presence affected him, had from the moment he’d broken her fall in the library. It was as if his very skin hummed with energy, every nerve on edge. The closest feeling he could compare it to was the invigorating moments just before battle, when he felt more alert and alive than at any other time in his life, ready to take on the world.