He said nothing.
He only finished his brandy and left.
The day before her departure, Lily asked Sophia to invite their family to Heatherwell House. Sophia arranged the drawing room with tea and sandwiches, and Edward excused himself to his study with the quiet tact of a man who understood when a room belonged to the women in it.
Lord and Lady Brimsey arrived first. Aunt Margaret followed, dressed in traveling green, her opera glasses tucked into her reticule despite the fact that they were indoors.
“I have something to tell you,” Lily said.
Lady Brimsey set down her teacup. “You’re pregnant.”
“No, Mama. I am not pregnant.”
“Then what is it?”
“I am going to travel. To France, and then south through Europe. I leave tomorrow.”
Silence settled over the room. Lady Brimsey’s teacup rattled against its saucer. Lord Brimsey folded his hands in his lap and studied his daughter with the careful attention of a man who was listening for what was not being said.
“Tomorrow,” Lady Brimsey repeated. “That is very sudden.”
“It is something Hugo and I have discussed. He wants me to see the places I have always dreamed about, and the timing felt right.”
“When will Hugo be joining you?” Lord Brimsey asked.
Lily held her father’s gaze and summoned the most convincing smile she had ever produced.
“Later. He has business to address first. Estate matters, investments. You know how Dukes are.”
“I know how Dukes are when they are avoiding something,” Margaret observed from her chair. She did not look up from the glove she was examining.
“No one is avoiding anything, Aunt Margaret.”
“Of course not. Silly of me.”
Lady Brimsey reached for Lily’s hand. “Darling, are you certain about this? Traveling alone, without your husband, so soon after the wedding…”
“I will not be alone. My maid, Nell, will come with me. She will make lovely company, I’m sure.”
“I am sure she will. But a companion, or a maid, is not a husband, Lily.”
“Sometimes a companion is preferable to a husband, Caroline,” Aunt Margaret said.
Lady Brimsey shot her a look. Aunt Margaret shrugged.
Lord Brimsey cleared his throat. “If this is what you and Thornwaite have decided, then your mother and I support you. We always have. We always will.” He paused. “But I want you to know that if anything changes, if you need anything, you have only to write.”
“I know, Papa.”
“I mean it, Lily. Anything.”
She took her father’s hand and squeezed it. Lord Brimsey’s chin trembled. He cleared his throat again and reached for his tea with the determination of a man who refused to perspire emotionally in front of an audience twice in one month.
Lady Brimsey pulled Lily into an embrace and held her for a long time, murmuring against her hair about writing every week, eating properly, and not trusting foreign physicians.
Margaret rose from her chair and pressed a folded list into Lily’s hand.
“What is this?”
