“Miss Davis returned from abroad a few days ago.”
Lillian flipped her fan open and hid her mouth, which she could not keep from pulling down at the corners. “I do not know who Miss Davis is. Should I?”
His eyes flicked to her, then back to their easy perusal of the ballroom. “She is Baron Brinkley’s sister and the Marquess of Mallington’s intended.”
“Ah.” Lillian tapped the edge of the fan gently and slowly on her upper lip.
“Miss Davis says she saw Lord Devon at the docks, loading or unloading or something.
That’swhere he had been, then. That’s what he meant by work. Excellent to know the whereabouts of one’s husband. No wonder he fell into bed exhausted every night.
“Do you have any explanation for this?” Lord Littleton finally settled his gaze on her, and his eyes were like shiny coals that had never seen the glow of a fire.
“Do others supply an explanation?”
“Several. Most of them highly incriminating. These whispers will touch you if your husband proves himself to be a deviant of some sort.”
Lillian snapped her fan shut, no longer afraid to show her ire. “Lord Devon is no deviant.” She hoped he heard the clip in her voice, the sharp snap of it.
“Yes. Well. I thought I should warn you. I do not know what storm is brewing, but should it break, I hope you do not take offense if we do not speak in public again.”
He would cut her, then, over her husband’s efforts to raise himself, to be his own man, and shape his own future?
Lord Littleton did not even bow, and he left her as quickly as he had appeared at her side.
Yes. Likely she had chosen the wrong people to see her. What could she do about it now?
Lillian set worried eyes on Abigail. She had already done good work for her this night, and if the girl’s father warned Lillian off, told her never to speak with Lady Pennworthy again, it would not matter.
Except shelikedAbigail. She liked her sharp wit and careful ways. She would lose a friend.
And there were others Lillian would never get to help. She swallowed and flipped open her fan, whipping it through the increasingly oppressive air. The room pressed in on her, and she did not like it. She itched to rip the fashionable gown from her body. How aboutthatfor a scandal? They would have reason to whisperthen.
Instead, she pushed through the circle to touch Abigail’s arm. “I need some fresh air. I’m not feeling well. I will see you later.”
Abigail’s brow furrowed. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, no. You stay put.” Lillian gave her a reassuring smile.
Abigail held Lillian’s gaze, prying deep. Then she blinked and rocked back on her heels. “If you insist.”
“I do. Lady Georgiana is with you, and she will help you if you need anything.” She reached out and took Abigail’s hand and squeezed it between both of her own. “You are not alone.”
Abigail leaned close. “I wish to hug you, but I likely should not.” She squeezed back. “Thank you.Thank you.I am having a delicious time.”
Lillian felt proud again, despite the pressing room and the itchy gown. She left Abigail’s side and the ballroom and was outside and in the coach in minutes. She scratched at her scalp and pulled at pins until her hair fell free. For some reason—whether from the approaching scandal or the growing discomfort in her chest, she did not know—her face fell into her palms, and she cried.
CHAPTER20
In the end, discovering the whereabouts of Devon’s apartment had not proved terribly difficult. He did not have a valet, and that would have been her first source of information. Since he lived far more frugally than Lillian would ever have suspected when she first met him a year ago, she had been forced to acquire information through other means.
She may have had him followed a teensy bit. Only because she’d asked five times, and he’d offered an increasingly ridiculous response each time. By the time of her fifth and final inquiry, he’d claimed he lived in a small closet in the Tower of London. “With the Lions, Lil,” he’d said with a shiver, “it’s odiferous.”
She likely could have asked the duke. He seemed to know everything there was to know about everyone. But she was not certain he would tell her. Because likely, he suspected what she planned to do with the information. Overly protective gentlemen did not wish women to visit apartments in maybe insalubrious parts of town, even when said apartments belonged to said woman’s husband.
Lillian studied the building before her and the streets around her. It did not seem too bad. Not dangerous at all. She was not too far from Frederick’s, actually, on a smaller street in Cheapside.Of course,Devon would rent an apartment close to his favorite coffeehouse.
Was he in there now? Or was he at the docks? Or was he gambling somewhere?
