So why was Bradford turning away from her now, when he could have done so at any time in the past weeks? Why had he left, right when she’d been about to confess her love? If Bradford wanted her—which his split-second expression had all but declared—what had made him leave the park?
That was the question that had her pacing, but she found no answer in the thick carpeting.
That afternoon, Lily dressed with so much care that Mabel gave her a knowing smile and asked if she was expecting a special gentleman. Lily had smiled wanly in return. She didn’t know how to put the truth into words—that she feared the special gentleman in question would never darken her door again.
When visiting hours arrived, Lily sat in her customary spot on the sofa. She’d had the footman rearrange the grouping sothat a heavy pedestal table was directly in line with one of the windows, and a footstool in line with the archway.
If Bradford wouldn’t be there, she would have to find ways to prevent the overwhelming fear of being trapped or smothered without his help. The butler made his first announcements and Lily’s eyes flicked up with hope, but it was only the Duke of Ettrick to see Margaret, some lord she’d never heard of to see Beatrice, and two men she didn’t care for to see her.
It wasn’t that the gentlemen weren’t handsome or charming. Both engaged her in lively conversation that, at the beginning of the Season, would have been all she hoped for.
But now Bradford’s familiar pensive look was all Lily longed to see. Throughout the afternoon, the gentlemen came and went with the same rhythm and certainty of a restless tide. Lily gave up on tea and ate biscuits at an alarming pace. Margaret was right on one count—there was a certain comfort to be found in butter and sugar.
When the last straggler finally left and all her fears proved true, Lily stood and retreated to her private desk.
The strict rules that governed interactions between single gentlemen and single ladies were firm and absolute. However, Lily felt they no longer applied to her and Bradford. Even if he didn’t want her—which she was certain he did—they were friends at the very least.
She scrawled a hasty message inquiring about his health, signed her name, and handed it off to the nearest footman. “Please see that this is delivered from you to the gentleman personally, with all due haste.”
Lily didn’t care how it would look if anyone found out. She had a sneaking suspicion that threatened to drag her stomach down like an undertow.
Her suspicion was confirmed an hour later when Mabel brought the missive back to Lily’s bedroom and informed her that the footman hadn’t been able to deliver it.
Lord Hayes had left London altogether.
CHAPTER 26- BRADFORD
It was five days of travel back to Northumberland, including four nights in coaching inns along the route—inns that grew less and less hospitable the farther one journeyed from London. The last night, Bradford stared out into the sleeting rain, nearly baring his teeth at the weather.
It hardly helped that there was a bucket in his room that pinged against his raw nerves every few moments, or that he’d been informed a maid would come round regularly to empty it, and that she’d try not to disturb him if he were sleeping. As if having a strange woman silently enter his bedchamber in the middle of the night was acomfortingpossibility.
By the time the sleepless night passed, Bradford was determined to gain Ballam Hall the next day, even if he had to leave the carriage behind and continue on horseback in the rain. Luckily, his driver informed him that the reports were good, that the rain hadn’t mucked the road too much for the conveyance to pass. Bradford slept fitfully in the back until they reached his home late that afternoon.
He groaned as he stretched, shucked his muddy boots at the door, exchanging them for his indoor pair—a necessary practicein winter, lest all the rugs be ruined by spring—and went to find Rebecca. She came running down the stairs, even as her governess shook her head at the girl’s enthusiasm.
“Papa!” she squealed as he lifted her in the air on the landing and spun her around. “Mrs. Clark is baking a cake for dinner!”
He laughed—no matter the heaviness of his own mind and heart, Rebecca’s priorities never failed to amuse him. “Is she now?”
She squished his cheeks with her chubby hands and gave him a maniacal grin. “She says it’s going to contain a surprise. A surprise, Papa! What do you think it could be?”
“Hmm.” He pretended to think very deeply for several moments, his eyes narrowed and his head cocked in consternation. “Do you think it might be sugar?”
Rebecca sagged in his arms and rolled her eyes. “Papa.”
He laughed, kissed her loudly on the cheek, and set her at his side, grabbing her hand. “I cannot possibly wait. Let’s go ask her together.”
“No, Papa!”
He smiled down at her. “No?”
“Mrs. Holland says that surprises are best when they’resavored.”
“They are?”
She nodded earnestly, her dark curls bouncing. “She says that I must learn to live with not knowing, as I’ll be even more delighted when I finally find out what it is.”
He glanced back at Mrs. Holland, who smiled fondly down at Rebecca, before turning back to his daughter and whispering, “Does this mean you aren’t going to try to open your Christmas presents early next year?”
