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The iron in his expression and the lack of compassion were enough to make her want to crumple at his feet. Instead, she said softly, as she took a seat, “I don’t need to tell anyone where I am.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Don’t think you’re going to live here with me.”
Of course, she should have known he’d not take her in. Of course, she should have known that coming here was a terrible idea.
“I didn’t know where else to go, Father.”
A loud knock upon the front door made her jump. Sir John’s eyebrows rose, and he turned on her and said quietly, “What have you unleashed upon this house, Lily? I never receive visitors.”
She raised her shoulders. What could she say? She had as little idea as he.
In dread, she listened to the tread of several pairs of feet upon the floorboards, and her mind explored the myriad possibilities.
It was the police come to lock her up.
It was a doctor and several assistants from the insane asylum come to lock her up.
It was the Russian diplomat come to end what he had begun.
Whoever it was, it was not going to end well for her.
She stood up abruptly, glancing at the window as if it offered her a means of escape.
Then the door opened, and Edgeworth said in a strained voice, “Sir, Lord Lambton and Mr McTavish are here to see you.”
Lily dropped back onto the sofa with a thud, holding the cushion in her lap as if it might protect her.
She expected the two men would see her sitting there and immediately direct their… what…Questions? Entreaties? Incriminations? towards her. But she was many yards away on the other side of the enormous, stately drawing room with a cluster of heavyset, overstuffed furniture and potted plants obscuring her.
Besides, they were too caught up in whatever drama had propelled them to confront Sir John Taverner to think to look for Lily in his drawing room.
Huddled in her corner, she stared at Lord Lambton, looking far less frail than she remembered him, his voice firm and, she realised, recriminatory as he spoke of some crime committed. Some terrible injustice—she caught the word murder—which had prompted them to make this visit without prior warning.
Of course, before Lord Lambton had even finished speaking, her father had assumed his own daughter was the perpetrator of the crime, cutting into their explanation with, “What can you expect of a madwoman?”
In another environment, Lily might have bristled. But this was her father. Her entire experience in this household was as a victim, enduring a continual barrage of belittlement. Not that she had spent much time here, it was true. He’d always made clear how little he relished her presence.
Her father’s words were like a lash.
No doubt there would be endorsement from the others. Sympathy for Sir John Taverner for being saddled with such a creature as Lily.
Instead, after a short pause, she heard Hamish ask with real curiosity in his tone, “Do you really believe that? Did she show symptoms of lunacy in the past? As a child?”
Warmth flooded her. For whatever reason Hamish was here—and it truly was extraordinary—he was championing her. From the moment he’d declared his love in so many words, Hamish had thrown his full support behind her.
What was even more extraordinary than the fact he obviously still thought well of her, was that he was in her father’s house. She would have leapt up to greet him, except that their conversation was so intense, and having heard of some crime, she was terrified that she may in fact be responsible for having perpetrated it while out of her mind.
It was this which tempered her joy at seeing Hamish.
Darling man! He really was putting his support behind Lily. As if he believed she could be redeemed; that she was worth championing. Perhaps her crime—of which she was still waiting to hear the details—was not so terrible. At least it couldn’t be murder otherwise Hamish wouldn’t be defending her.
Lily didn’t hear what her father said; however, Lord Lambton’s response was quite distinct. And adamant.
“I’ve made enquiries, Tavener. Lunacy, madness, whatever you choose to call it. Not one of the servants in this household, or acquaintances with any connection to Lily, can recall any incident that would corroborate a suggestion that lunacy is the affliction which this poor young woman suffers.”
With fascination, Lily watched the colour flood his cheeks, and his agitation as he stroked his side-whiskers. Had he really come all this way, with Hamish, to champion her sanity?
