Page 2 of A Gentleman's Kiss
2
Lillian sighed with relief as her trip finally came to an end. She stood on the deck of the ship, tilted her head back, eyes closed, breathed in the London city air—and nearly choked. Her eyes popped open and she stared at the black clouds billowing from chimneys and factory pipes. A permanent gray haze covered the city sky in a blanket of foul smelling fumes.
Forget fresh air, at least she was able to touch ground again. She gripped the rail with trembling fingers, her legs unsteady as she followed the other passengers down the plank to the dock. The ground beneath her swayed, and she stopped a moment, clutching the railing in white-knuckle grip, to catch her balance and breath.
She looked about for a sign of someone she might recognize and was greeted by a sea of unfamiliar faces.
It hit her then how utterly alone she was, how different life would be now. She was not even in the same country. The people here would speak with an accent. They had different laws. There was a queen in England, princes and princesses, castles… It was all so terribly romantic and medieval, while at home in America, President Fillmore ruled a young and wild nation with democracy.
“Miss Whitmore!”
Lillian turned her head from side to side trying to locate the person who’d shouted her name. Her spirits were lifted at someone recognizing her. She scanned face after face, even looking for a paper sign some people held up for their arrivals. But she saw no one who looked familiar. No paper with her name.
“Miss Whitmore!” Again someone called for her. She strained to see over the sea of faces, and was disappointed to see a footman dressed in dark blue livery and shining brass buttons, hurrying toward her. No one she recognized followed.
She nodded when he reached her in answer to his questioning her name at which point he bowed low. “Good afternoon, Miss Whitmore. I have come to fetch you on His Grace’s orders. Please follow me.”
She followed the tall, thin man to a beautifully ornate black painted carriage, with a regal looking gilded crest on its side. Two others loaded her chests and bags onto the back. The first footman held the door to the carriage open and assisted her as she climbed in. Before he shut the door, she leaned her head out to him.
“How far away is my uncle’s home?”
“Not far, miss.”
Nodding acceptance, Lillian sat back into lush velvet cushions. She couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her. There had been nothing so comfortable to sit on aboardThe Elizabeth,and every joint, muscle and bone in her body screamed to be soothed. As she wiggled deeper into the seat, relaxation seeping into her weary body, she realized that this carriage was more posh than her parents’ own by far.
Were the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk so well off?
The rocking of the carriage and the plush pillows soon had her nodding off. She startled awake from shouting in the streets, her heart racing in panic. Peeking out the window, she saw that it was only a couple of merchants having a disagreement. She settled back against the pillows, fingering the gold tassels on the window curtains. So ornate. So beautiful. So costly.
She supposed this was her lot in life now. She laughed bitterly at her ordeal. Many people would give anything to live in the lap of luxury. Before the accident that had changed her life, she was one of those people.
But now she yearned only for simplicity.
Perhaps she could persuade her uncle to let her marry a simple man. She didn’t want to marry an English aristocrat and be subjected to all the pomp and squalor of a lady’s life. No, indeed. She would prefer to live in the country. Dig in her garden, romp with her children. She didn’t need a plush carriage, she could ride a horse or even drive a wagon if need be.
Yes, a good plan it was. She would speak with her uncle presently, before he made plans to launch her into Society with the idea she would marry a snobbish dandy.
The ride from the dock was short as the footman said. The carriage came to a stop, and Lillian again peeked from behind the curtains through the sparkling glass at her new home. What she saw was no house by any means of the definition, but an immense structure. Why it could be called a palace! A magnificent white-washed brick building. Elaborately carved black shutters adorned each window. A set of at least ten spacious stone stairs led up to the wide double dark oak doors which were flanked by several imposing white marble columns. Lillian gasped not only at the size but at the pure opulence of it all. The footman opened the door and set down the stair for her, offering his hand for assistance. She alighted from the carriage, and stared in amazement as servants rushed about gathering her things. She stood mesmerized, looking up at the tall house. She counted the windows. Five stories. She knew the life of a duke was grand, but never in her dreams did she think she would be living here.
“Welcome to Whitmore House, miss,” a large stately woman said. “I am Mrs. Rowe, the housekeeper.”
“Thank you. I am Lillian Whitmore.” She smiled kindly, hoping to warm up the brusque woman, who stood glowering at her as if she’d just eaten a bad egg.
“Yes, I know. Please follow me.” Her voice was filled with disdain as she turned and walked away from Lillian.
Had she done something to offend the woman? Lillian tossed aside the thought, and followed her up the elegant brick stairs to the main doors. The inside of the house was even more majestic than the outside. Light reflected off the polished marble floor. A grand staircase was a focal point in the foyer with its richly crafted railings holding Lillian’s gaze captive. Fresh flowers adorned several tables, their scents permeating the air—and so much more pleasant than the first breath she’d taken at the dock. The sea of portraits covering the walls gave proof to a long lineage of noble men and women. Lillian turned in a circle taking her new surroundings in. The beauty and grandeur of the home made her feel small.
I don’t think I’ll fit in here.
“His Grace and family are not at home. They will return shortly.”
“May I inquire as to their whereabouts?” Lillian asked the woman innocently, turning in a circle to take in the domed ceiling. Where they at a musicale, out shopping? What did they do for fun? She would like to go and find a nice book and sit by one of the vases of flowers, where the benches looked just as plush as those in the carriage.
The housekeeper reared into view, an eyebrow raised, and lips thinned. Lillian’s smile faded. The woman’s reproaching expression told Lillian she should not be inquiring at all.
“They are at a luncheon party. This Season has just begun. You will be expected to join in the festivities as well, once you’ve settled.”
Lillian nodded, not wanting to offend the woman further. Feeling smaller by the minute, she decided she needed a confidante. Someone she could talk to, who could not only show her the customs, but guide her. Only here for a few short minutes and she was messing things up. She followed the woman up the grand staircase and down the hall.
