for tea was wasteful. He wanted ale for breakfast. Now a sense of well-being filled Lily. There was nothing like a good cup of tea.
Her childhood fantasy, this home where she’d watched her mother filled with light and laughter, and had silently worshipped the prince of her dreams, began to come to life again. Perhaps it wasn’t a fantasy after all, but only a brightened memory. Arthur might not be the boy she remembered, but as the roses demonstrated, neither was he the ogre she had feared.
S he settled her tea again on the table, and turned her face up to the sun. Nanny had taken Simon up to the nursery for a warm bath, and Lily felt more relaxed than she could remember. She had only to live in the moment, and let the past sleep.
“Hello , Sister, it’s good to see you so . . . well.”
The dulcet tones cut through Lily’s peace. She turned her face slowly towards the doorway.
A tall, elegant man stood there, the picture of a polished gentleman. His lips smiled. He stood stock still, poised.
Lily looked at him with some trepidation. “Do I know you? You call me sister? I have no brother.”
“A term of endearment only. I am Lord Dudley St. Aubin, your husband’s brother. Surely, you remember meeting me at your wedding? I certainly remember you.” He smiled again. “I am sorry we have not had the chance to become more closely acquainted. My brother and I were not always on the best of terms.
He prowled towards her. No, that was her imagination. It was only his faint similarity to his brother that had her so nervous.
“I am sorry, but I do not remember,” Lily answered . “My wedding is a bit of a blur.”
“My dearest sister . You don’t mind if I call you that, do you? You know I always cared about you as a sister. Nobody could be dearer to me than my recently departed brother’s wife.”
Lily h eld firm to her chair to keep from shrinking into it. To someone else, the words might have sounded friendly, but despite the smile and soft tone, Lily would not trust any relative of Worthington. She was glad she had let Nanny take Simon up.
“What do you want?”
“My own wants are immaterial. It is you I am concerned for. I know my duty. Even if my brother and I were not on the best of terms before his demise, Geoffrey would be most upset if I did not bring you home and care for you . . . properly. And, I understand from the servants that you’ve recently been delivered of a son, my brother’s heir. It is only fitting that I bring you both home, where you belong and must long to be.” As he spoke, St. Aubin leaned over and took Lily’s hand. She fought the urge to recoil into the chair. She must not blame him for his brother’s sins.
Besides, she did not want to raise his susp icions. It was currently accepted that Worthington had been attacked. She could do nothing to raise questions.
“I would rather stay here. Marclyffe holds no pleasant memories for me.” Lily forced an emotional waiver into he voice despite a sudden urge scream the words at him. The thought of returning to Marclyffe was unbearable.
St. Aubin leaned forward until Lily could smell the kippers he’d breakfasted on fighting against his sweet cologne and the bitter tang of ale. “Of course, you do. You’re just confused by your recent . . . misfortune.”
Lily gulped at the sugar syrup in his tone. It felt like swallowing river pebbles. She fought desperately to find a reply. Each word he spoke dragged her back to that world she had been trying so hard to forget.
St. Aubin ’s gaze dropped at her silence. She felt his eyes move over her like the probing of fingers. “Don’t fret, my dear. I understand how distressing Geoffrey’s death must be for you. I know how good a husband he was. I am more than ready to treat you as you deserve. I hope the thought brings great comfort to you in your hour of need.”
His hand squeezed hers tight . He could not mean to crush her fingers so. She closed her eyes and swallowed.