shall wait for your summons, then,’ he said, but his cheery grin negated the formality of his words.
Lily nodded and watched him join the knot of maidservants at the centre of the square. They welcomed him with enthusiasm and more than one flirtatious smile. Clearly Thomas had made a successful transition from his old world to his new.
She sighed, fearing her own task would turn out to be more difficult. For she did not seek to leave one sphere for another. She meant to somehow meld two very different worlds into a new one. All she wanted was to carve out a place of her own, a space of comfort and acceptance, where she could thrive and grow. But she had begun to fear that Jack Alden was right, she was asking for more than anyone was ready to give.
No. Jack was a spike in her heart and every thought of him ripped her open a little wider. She’d spent the last days in a restless state of anxiety and indecision. Over and over she played in her mind’s eye those exciting moments, that soul-searing kiss. At every private moment, she relived the passion and the nearly magical sense of spiralling desire. She’d touched his lips, his body, his heart and mind.
And he had turned on his heel and coldly abandoned her.
Incredibly, Lily had understood. Not only did they come from different worlds, but different perspectives as well. She felt more than a little torn herself, and when she was not reliving the excitement of their embrace, then she was wavering helplessly between agony and joy. Joy because she’d reached him. She’d peeked inside him and seen that this indefinable pull, this attraction between them, was real and it ran deep. Agony because he had also asked too much of her.
She could never believe that Matthew had gotten mixed up with slavers. It was not possible, as anyone acquainted with him would know. He could not be capable of such cruelty.
Jack was a scholar. His brother did have political ties, and had seen more than a little success. But she knew from Lady Dayle that none of it had come in the area of diplomacy. According to the viscountess, Viscount Dayle’s area of interest lay in economics and reform. He’d never, to his mother’s knowledge, had dealings with the Foreign Office or contact with anyone in the American government.
Lily did not doubt Jack’s wish to help Matthew. But she very much doubted his ability to do so. He wanted to see this Batiste captured so badly that he’d turned a blind eye to the likely consequences to her cousin. Even the suspicion of such a thing could ruin him.
She glanced up, wanting to make certain that Thomas was fully occupied. And sent up a prayer of thanks. Another man in livery had joined the group and Thomas had entered a full-scale war for feminine attention. While every eye locked on to the thrilling sight of a grown man in full livery and powder scaling the mounted statue of George III, Lily slipped away towards a more private corner of the garden.
The paths here, like the garden itself, lay in an elliptical shape. It did not take long to turn a curve and find herself alone. She breathed deep. This morning a parcel of forwarded mail had arrived from home. And in it had been a letter—slanted across with Matthew’s familiar bold handwriting.
Lily’s hand shook as she reached into her pocket to pull it out. Quickly, furtively, she broke the seal.
Dearest Lily,
In that moment, she knew the tidings could not be good. Every other letter she’d ever had from Matthew had been addressed irreverently to Lilikins, his childhood name for her. Her eyes filled, making it difficult to read on.
I don’t know what you might have heard, if indeed you would have heard anything at all. But I want you to know—a good reason lies behind my actions. I cannot explain now, but all will be clear when next we meet. I’ve only just left Le Havre, and I know not just where we will go. Please don’t believe the worst of me. I will contact you again when I can.
Yours,
Matthew
Lily raised shaking fingers to her mouth. Jack could not have been right. She would not believe it.
But wait a moment. His story coloured her interpretation. This told her nothing, really. She braced herself against a tree, sucking in air. She could not tell Jack about this letter.
Would he understand? She suffered a pang of doubt. The intensity with which he spoke of the danger to his friends suggested otherwise. She drew away from the tree, folded the note and stood upright. She would make him understand. Surely he was not so insulated behind his walls of intellect and scorn that he could not understand loyalty.
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