He didn’t. It had been quite some time since he had. She had the type of courage that made a man take notice. No wonder Littleton wanted her. No wonder she had a veritable harem of gentlemen everywhere she went. She was beautiful, and they all wanted a glimpse, but she was bold, and they liked that even better.
Some liked it too much, thought her boldness meant something other than it did. The vulgar remarks from the card room boiled his blood once more.
He was tired of boiling—blood, coffee, or otherwise. He wrote down the titles she’d named and flipped back to his sketches. Too complicated, all of them. It felt like it should be easy, effortless, elegant.
He’d never be able to do it and certainly not in two months. He needed a bit of that confidence Miss Clarke spoke of. But how could he find it when surrounded by brilliant people constantly, especially when he was decidedly… average, a fall back, a reserve, a replacement, a just in case.
To paraphrase the language of Miss Clarke’s letter, a man no woman would want.
He could improve, though. If he could improve this design, improvecoffee, purchase Frederick’s through the work and winnings of his own labor and cunning and make it better than ever… Then, maybe then, he’d be more than he had always been, more than he had been born to be.
CHAPTER5
Several days later, Lillian snuggled into her favorite summer chair near the window in the library and opened her favorite book. Her favorite winter spot in the library was near the fireplace, but with the early arrival of spring, she preferred to have the outside near at hand. She didn't want togooutside, but having it nearby was nice.
She set her eyes on the book and tried to lose herself in the tale. A fairy prince, handsome and powerful and kind. Magic, mystery, adventure, sacrifices, heartache. Usually, she swooned and sank deeper. Today, she sighed and slammed her book shut. Fairy tales had lately lost their luster. Lillian had always liked them because they rewarded the virtuous simply for being themselves. In Lillian's own life, only the determined and hard-working harvested the fruits of their labor.
Lord Devon’s sphere—theton—they were the fairy-tale set, those who were rewarded simply for having been born. They inherited estates and money, paintings, all sorts of finery to do with as they pleased.Cinderellasuggested that the two philosophies of life—that of fairy-tale inheritance and that of hard work and aspirations—were not antithetical. Cinderella worked hard; yet, her reward came from magical intervention. The fairy godmother was really the hard worker of the tale, though, the laborer, the one who had a job and got it done. Without her, Cinderella would still be sleeping next to her stepmother’s fireplace.
Lillian had read the German version with the twigs and the birds and the tree. She preferred the French.
“Miss Clarke?”
Lillian looked to the door. The butler Haynes stood elegant and squat in the doorway. “Are you home to visitors today?”
She nodded. “Show them in please, Haynes. Who is it, by the way?”
“A Lady Abigail.”
Lillian sat up straighter. “Yes. Yes, do show her in and bring tea, please.”
Haynes bowed low and disappeared.
Lillian stood and straightened her skirts, then sprinted to a mirror, pinched her cheeks, and straightened her curls.
The girl had come to her. Surely her father had no clue. Or perhaps he did know, and that meant something good. It meant she was closer to being respected by even the highest sticklers of theton. She turned to face the door and stood as tall as her short height allowed, hands folded primly before her, and fixed a too-wide smile on her face.
What could the girl want? She’d find out soon, for her footsteps echoed down the hall. Then she glided through the doorway, timid smile in tow. She waited, almost twitching, until the butler disappeared, and then rushed forward—all in a whirl of ribbons and muslin and bonnet feathers—and took Lillian’s hands in her own. “Oh, Miss Clarke! It worked. It worked!”
Lillian drew a deep breath and pressed lady Abigail into a seat. “Calm yourself, my dear. Start at the beginning and tell me what happened. What worked?” She sat on the couch next to the young girl.
Lady Abigail yanked her bonnet from her head and could not seem to sit still. Her hands fluttered around her pretty chestnut hair, and her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. She opened her mouth to speak, but a maid appeared in the door, and she clamped it shut just as quickly.
The maid set the tea nearby, and Lillian poured for them both.She pressed the cup into Lady Abigail's hand. “Drink. It will soothe you.”
The girl did, her eyes fluttering closed over the steam of the cup, her chest heaving up once in a massive breath and then falling. Her eyes fluttered open. “Yes, I'm calmer now.”
“Thank heavens. Now, whatworks?”
“Your dare.”
Lillian did not even need to know the details of the story now to feel a pulse of victory race through her veins. “Tell me all.”
“You dared me to look up, to look about me, to catch a man’s eye. Anyone’s eye, you said, but I admit I did have a particular man in mind.”
Lillian smiled. “Oh? Dare I ask who?”
“Lord Kent.”
