“I’ll come with you,” he said, and Lily gave him a wide grin. “But this isn’t my favorite display.”
She turned and took his hands, lacing her gloved fingers with his as they continued down the cobbled street. “What’s your favorite?”
He made a show of thinking it over, when the answer couldn’t have been more obvious to either of them. “Asprey’s, without question.”
She hummed her agreement. “Jewelry as flowers in a garden? My mother would adore it.”
As had he. So much so that he’d already commissioned Mr. Asprey himself to create a brooch for his mother-in-law with jewels representing each of her daughters.
And of course, a bejeweled ornament for Lily to hang on their tree.
Pedestrians enjoying a stroll through Grosvenor Square couldn’t miss the grand fir illuminating the bay window of Whitby Hall, the lights bright enough to be seen across the park. When they’d filled the first tree with the ornaments Philip made during his absence, they put up a second.
The first is for our past, he’d said, his arms curled around his wife’s waist.The second one is for our future.
“With the satchel,” Lily said as they turned the corner onto Brook Street to make their way home, “I think I’ll have gifts for everyone.”
“What about me?” He bumped her shoulder with his. “Did you get me something nice?”
Her grin was wicked as she pulled him to a stop. “No. I got you something naughty.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, and he didn’t resist the need to wrap his arms around her.
Every moment by her side was a gift. Being away from Lily for even an hour still tore him to shreds inside. But the demands from Parliament and her stables in Lancashire meant days, sometimes weeks apart.
He wrote her letters every day, just as he had for years. But this time, he sent them. And she wrote back, long missives he read again and again, memorizing her words before responding with his own declarations of love, plans for their future.
He wasn’t always as strong as he’d wanted to be. After a minor fall at the stables resulted in a twisted ankle, he’d experienced as desperate a craving for laudanum as he’d known since the depth of his addiction. But he asked for Lily’s help, and his wife stayed by his side until it subsided.
Her love alone didn’t heal him, but it proved he was worth fighting for.
“I hate to interrupt, Whitby,” a voice drawled from behind them, “but you are causing a scene in front of my club.”
Philip kissed his wife once more—only to punctuate the fact that he wasn’t embarrassed by his behavior in the least—and turned to face his friend. “Gideon, how are you?”
The man raised a sardonic brow, and if Philip hadn’t joined the Libertine Club six months ago, he might have been intimidated, despite Gideon being two decades his senior. “I’ll be better once you introduce me to your lovely wife.”
Philip rolled his eyes before putting his arm around Lily’s waist. “Your Grace, may I present my countess, Lady Lily Marshall. Lily, my dear friend Gideon Haywood, the Duke of Belmont.”
“Your grace,” Lily demurred with a curtsy, but Gideon scowled at Philip.
“I told you not to call me by my title,” he grumbled to Philip before nodding to Lily. “A pleasure, my lady. I’ve been hoping to meet you after hearing such good things about your horses. I’m looking to add a racehorse or two to my collection.”
Lily’s lips parted. “You are?”
His stern expression softened, a smile pulling at his lips. “My duchess enjoys our trips to the races, so I thought I’d get her one of her own.”
“Then Lady Whitby is the right person to ask.” Philip beamed at his wife. Christ, would he ever stop falling more in love with her? “And a horse for Christmas? You’re making it difficult for the rest of us.”
“Nothing is too much for the woman you love.” He sighed, his breath misting in the air between them. “My lady, I’ll be in touch.” He tipped his hat and made his way up the stairs of the socialclub, a liveried footman opening the door as he approached and disappeared inside.
Lily grabbed the crook of his elbow and tugged. “That’sthe scandalous duke?”
He leaned down to brush a kiss on her cheek, then straightened her bonnet to keep her ears covered. “The scandal was fifteen years ago.”
She sighed. “You’ll have to tell me the story.”
“It’s a good one. You’ll want to hear it.”
“Before we go on…” She paused and bit her lower lip. “I do have something to give you.”
