Major Westhaven's Unwilling Ward. Emily Bascom
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her to remain for ever the living doll he had married. They could, in time, become equals.
But now…was she not fooling herself? In her mind she heard Denham’s words once more: ‘When I want conversation I’ll go to my club.’ There had been murmurs of agreement from his friends. Was this what she had to look forward to in marriage? He had defended her beauty staunchly enough—but not her wits. How could he—when he had no idea she could do anything other than sparkle like an expensive bauble? When he did not care, and neither did his peers?
Lily clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to hold in the despair that gripped her. She knew she was not vacant. Was she to care what this…this…warembittered hermit said? And yet she knew precisely why such damage had been done by mere words from a selfrighteous stranger.
Because deep within her, Lily knew that Major Westhaven was right.
She knew, in her heart, that many thought what he did of women who behaved as she had. This flippant, frivolous character she portrayed was what men wanted—but must she play this role for the rest of her life when the consequences were to be called…vacant?
Lily rose to her feet, a tear spilling down her cheek before she could stop it. Wiping it away, she frowned defiantly. Who was this man, who seemed to think he could say what he pleased with no repercussions?
She did not want a husband—necessity required that she find one. She had a mind, and knew how to use it—and mere words could not make it otherwise! She must hold fast to that, believe against her mounting doubts that she could still marry one of these men without losing herself.
Daniel Westhaven was nothing to her—she would not let him spoil her evening or her plans. He had money, after all—he did not know what it was to fear bankruptcy!
Lifting her chin, she stood up to rejoin the party.
She would sparkle, be vibrant and lovely, without a care, as if it was true of her wounded soul. And no one would ever know otherwise.
Chapter Three
Lily was amazed when the sound of the heavy brass front door-knocker echoed through the house the next afternoon. Hastening to the window, she saw the upright figure of Major Westhaven on Jo’s immaculately polished steps.
‘He has come!’
‘Good thing I made some scones, then.’ Jo grinned at her surprise. ‘He did say he would come, did he not? You said so last night.’
‘Well…yes…but…’ In truth, awakening this morning with her mind full of all there was to be done, she had quite forgotten all about the promised visit. She had not told her maid about what had passed between herself and the Major, or the things she had overheard—it was too humiliating. She was truly surprised to see that he had actually come, after he had clearly found her so distasteful.
But he was here, so she supposed she must entertain him.
‘Very well. Please show him in.’ She looked around her at the shabby sitting room. ‘On second thoughts, show him into the garden. I don’t want him looking down his nose at everything.’
With Jo dispatched to the door, Lily hastily smoothed down her hair and dress, seized the first book she saw and fled through the house and out into the sunny walled garden that she tended so diligently. Vines trailed up the walls, flowers stood in tubs, perfuming the air with their heady fragrance, and there was an apple tree at the end of the garden. The sight of her haven immediately served to relax her, and Lily was able to take a couple of deep breaths and calm herself.
Whatever this arrogant boor of a man wanted, all she had to do was sit, be polite, and eventually he would leave. She could manage that.
She seated herself at the wrought-iron table and chairs that stood on the carefully tended grass, and attempted to look as if she had been there, absorbed in her novel, for some time.
Almost immediately, footsteps heralded his arrival, and when she looked up Major Westhaven was filling the doorway.
She rose, laying her book aside. She had forgotten quite how tall he was. His looks were just as arresting here, in daylight, as under the twinkling lights of the ball. But he looked, if possible, even more serious, with not the barest hint of a smile to soften his finely wrought features.
‘Good morning, Miss Pevensey.’
‘My lord.’ Automatically, she held out her hand. He took it, his own much larger palm enveloping hers. At his touch she felt again the uncertainty of last night, the tension like an invisible rope, stretched between them. She stepped away. ‘Please, be seated.’ As they sat, she attempted a smile for both of them. ‘Will you take tea?’
‘No, thank you.’
Jo, just appearing in the doorway with the tea tray, grimaced at her mistress behind their visitor’s back and took it away again.
Lily smoothed her hair. ‘I trust I find you well?’
He inclined his head. ‘Very. Thank you. Yourself?’
‘Of course. As always.’
He nodded. He looked slightly quizzical, she thought, and wondered if he was asking himself why she was not fluttering her eyelashes at him as she had last night. Lily did not care. She did not have the energy this morning, and goodness knew there was nothing about this man that she wanted to impress.
She sat, composed, through the brief silence that followed. He looked down at his hands, then back at her. ‘Miss Pevensey, I regret this is not a social call.’
Lily pursed her lips. ‘Evidently.’ She knew he had seen her exasperation at his formal manner, but she did not care. ‘Might I ask then, my lord, what brings you here?’ She smiled tightly, trying to soften her initial reaction.
Just for a moment, he hesitated. ‘It is a topic of some…delicacy. There is a matter of great import that I must discuss with you.’
He looked at her so seriously that Lily felt her smile dying. ‘Concerning myself, my lord?’
‘Concerning your brother,’ he said quietly.
Lily felt herself stiffen. Whatever she had expected, it had not been this. ‘Robbie?’ she said faintly, voice not quite steady.
He nodded. ‘We were in the 63rd Regiment together. He served under me.’
‘I see.’ Forcing herself to remain still, Lily fought back the wave of grief that broke over her.
It was this way whenever, without warning, she was made to think of her brother: golden, smiling, heading bravely off to war with ideals of heroism and victory for king and country. Instead the war had been for nothing, the colony lost and Robbie with it, his body buried far from home, broken like his hopes for the future—and those of his sister.
Pushing her emotions deep within her, she raised her chin and hoped the pallor she knew had taken her over was not too evident.
The Major’s eyes were on her face. ‘I must tell you, Miss Pevensey, he was among the best—’
‘How well did you know my brother, Major Westhaven?’ she interrupted desperately, hands buried in her skirts and balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she willed her eyes not to fill with the tears that came whenever she allowed herself to think of Robbie.
Grey-blue eyes met hers. ‘He was my second-in-command. And my friend. I was with him when he died.’
Lily, shocked, nodded stiltedly. She had expected to be generically told what a good man her brother had been by someone who vaguely knew him…not this. She could not think about it, could not speak of it with this tall, forbidding stranger who had seen her beloved brother at the very moment of his death. She did not want to hear about Robbie’s last hours—not now. Perhaps not ever. But she must not weep—she must retain her composure before this man, who seemed so unlike someone her brother would call his friend.