Page 39 of The Grand Mistletoe Assembly
She should have said no. She was too old to be seduced into saying yes with delicious kisses that made her feel young again. Emily would not be attending, and Lily should not arrive on Alastair’s arm. So, she would think of an excuse to stay home and remember their kiss as a tender interlude, one of those special moments caught in time that crept into one’s mind when least expected, putting a smile on one’s face and an arrow in one’s heart.
She sighed and ascended the stairs to her bedchamber. She had no maid, but Emily’s Alice, doing double duty, had thoughtfully laid out her nightclothes and sat snoring in a chair.
Lily shook her shoulder. “Go to bed, my dear. I can manage.”
Alice opened her eyes and stood abruptly. “I’m here to help you undress, madam.”
“If you insist. Work on the buttons and unlace me, and I’ll do the rest.”
When Lily finally got into bed and closed her eyes, she found herself reliving every minute of the past evening. She was smitten all over again, and the wonder of it took her breath away.
In the morning when she awoke, she could still feel the smile on her lips. Dressing in her shift and an old, loose gown that buttoned in the front, Lily made her way to the breakfast room where her niece sat with a full plate in front of her.
Emily set down her fork. “You’re awake early. I expected you to sleep longer.”
“You know I can’t. I’m anxious to finish the still life I’m working on. I’m sure your husband will be home any day now, then I’ll be off to the Grange.”
Emily frowned. “Did you enjoy the theatre and Lord Selwick’s company?”
Lily couldn’t keep the smug smile from her lips. “Both were wonderful, if you must know.”
“Why would you leave?”
Yes, why would she? This obsessive aversion to London had kept her from many entertainments over the years.
“Lord Selwick asked if I would attend the ball with him. I told him I would. Now I realize I can’t. If I accept his escort, there will be gossip—rude gossip on the lips of some, especially after being seen with him at the theatre.”
Emily grinned. “I was hoping he’d persuade you. If you’re sure you can’t allow his escort, you can use one of our tickets, and Papa can take you. Mama still can’t leave her sickbed. She’ll be happy Papa won’t be alone.”
“Your mother and I …”
“Tolerate one another, I know. She’s aware you and Papa have a special bond. I insist. You have a painting in the auction. You must see how much it brings. A great deal, I predict.”
Emily had always found ways to persuade her to do what seemed impossible. Going with her brother would be perfectly respectable, but then people would realize who she was. Lily loved her older brother, a man who had stood by her in her darkest hour, who had accompanied her to that awful inquest after her husband died and stared at the coroner and the jurors so hard they surely must have been intimidated into bringing a hasty conclusion to the formality.
Her brother believed he owed her a debt, one he could never repay, because it was she who filled the family coffers when Papa gave her in marriage to Whittington in exchange for repayment of debts. What a nightmare that had been. She’d bravely done her father’s bidding because her kind, competent, jovial brother didn’t deserve to inherit an estate mired in debt. She’d left her home and her friends to become the wife of a drunken fool, shutting out thoughts of Alastair, whom she loved with all her heart and had hoped to marry. That had been the part that hurt the most.
“Perhaps I’ll reconsider, as long as your mother doesn’t object.”
“She won’t.” Emily finished her toast and rose from the table. “Aren’t you eating?”
“I’m not hungry. I’m going to the ballroom to paint.”
Lily worked for an hour and finally set aside her paint box. Standing back, she viewed the work from several angles and lifted her brush once again. Were the leaves quite the right color? It was a spring bouquet. At least a few should be lighter.
“I love watching you work.” Alastair leaned against the door, one booted leg crossed over the other. His seductive voice carried across the room and wrapped around her like a warm cloak.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You didn’t because I wanted to surprise you.” He sauntered in and stood behind her. “This is exquisite work. The detail in the flowers is extraordinary for a watercolor.”
Lily set her brush in a pot of water and turned to him. He stood close enough that she caught the scent of a spice. Bergamot? It had a citrus note. She was not familiar with male shaving soap anymore.
He laughed and took out his handkerchief. “You have a dab of yellow paint on your cheek.”
He dipped the cloth in a fresh bowl of water that hadn’t seen a paintbrush yet and dabbed at the spot near her left eye. She stood still and allowed the gentle strokes to soothe her as Alastair bit his lower lip and tilted his head as if trying to see if he’d missed any spots. “Your gown is spattered. A good scrubbing will be necessary for this frock.”
She frowned. “I believe this gown may find itself in the rag bin.”
