Christmas Betrothals. Sophia James

FELT SOMETHING

      The words were in bold capitals with no name attached.

      Without meaning to, Lillian began to cry—in those three words Luc Clairmont had given her back the one thing she had not thought it possible to regain.

      Her pride.

      Holding the flowers close to her breast, her tears fell freely across the fragrant orange petals.

       Chapter Seven

      ‘Mr Clairmont from America was at the club as a guest of Hawkhurst today.’ The tone in her father’s voice told her that he was not pleased. ‘The man is a scoundrel and a gambler. Why he even continues to receive invitation from people we know confounds me.’

      ‘And yet he seemed such a nice young man when he came to ask you to dance, Lillian, at the Cholmondely ball. How very misleading first impressions can be,’ her aunt said.

      ‘You have danced with this American?’ Her father’s heavy frown made her heart sink.

      Danced. Touched. Kissed.

      ‘I have, Father. He asked for my hand in a waltz.’

      ‘And you did not turn him down? Surely you could see what sort of a fellow he was.’

      ‘Men like him pounce quickly on the unsuspecting, Ernest. It is no point in chastising Lillian, for she is blameless in it all.’

       Blameless?

      The bunch of orange blooms still stood by her bed, carefully tended and watered daily, but she had not seen him again, not in the park, not at the parties, not in the streets as she walked each day.

      ‘St Auburn is a particular friend of Clairmont’s, is he not?’

      Jean shrugged her shoulders. ‘I do not know the man personally. Daniel could probably tell you much more about him.’

      Lillian looked more closely at her aunt, trying to ascertain whether she knew of the wayward pursuits of her son and deciding in the smile she returned her that she probably did not.

      ‘I ask the question,’ her father continued, ‘because an invitation came for you yesterday, Lillian, to attend a country party of the Earl and Lady St Auburn in Kent and I should not wish for you to go should the American be there.’ He sipped at his tea, fiddling with a pair of spectacles he held in his right hand.

      ‘When would the party be held, Father?’ She tried to keep her voice as neutral as she could.

      ‘It would run from this Friday to Sunday. If you were interested, perhaps Wilcox-Rice could take you?’

      ‘Indeed.’ She bit into her toast and honey.

      ‘So you are saying that you would go?’

      ‘Lady St Auburn is a friend of mine. I should like to catch up with her news.’

      ‘Would you be able to travel down too, Jean? Lillian can hardly go unchaperoned.’

      Her aunt sighed heavily, but accepted the responsibility, giving the impression of a woman who would have preferred to be saying no.

      The house was beautiful, a six-columned Georgian mansion, the grounds as well manicured and fine as she had visited anywhere.

      They were late. She could see that as they swept up the circular driveway, a crowd of people in a glass conservatory to the left of the house. From this distance she could not be sure that Lucas Clairmont was amongst them, but John Wilcox-Rice at her side did not look happy.

      ‘I cannot imagine why you should want to come to this party, Lillian. The set St Auburn hangs with are a little wild and if he did not have so much in the way of property and gold I doubt he would be so feted. Besides, the man always seems slightly unrestrained to me.’

      ‘Cassandra is Mrs Weatherby’s youngest sister, John, and I have a lot of fondness for her.’

      ‘Then you should have seen her in the city.’

      ‘But Kent is lovely at this time of the year. Surely you would at least say that?’

      Jean stretched suddenly, waking as the carriage slowed and stopped.

      ‘Goodness. Are we here already? The roads south get quicker and quicker. Perhaps we should persuade your father to acquire a property here rather than in Hertfordshire, Lillian, for it is so much more convenient for London.’ She looked out of the window at the sky. ‘Have you ever seen such a clear horizon, none of the yellow smog on show?’

      A group of servants milled around the coach, waiting for the party to alight, the younger boys already hauling the luggage off and listening for instructions as to where it should be taken.

      The Davenport family seat of Fairley Manor came to Lillian’s mind as she saw the precision and order that accompanied their arrival. The housekeeper bowed and presented herself and the head butler was most attentive to any needs that the small group might have.

      Wilcox-Rice in particular was rather grumpy, barely acknowledging the efforts of the St Auburn servants to please. He did not even want to be here, he mumbled under his breath, and Lilly wondered why she had not seen this rather irritating trait in his nature before.

      But with the sun in her face and the promise of a whole weekend before her, she felt buoyed up with hope. She had pressed one of her orange flowers in a book in her travel bag to be able to show Lucas Clairmont, for she knew flowers in this season would have cost him a fortune that he did not possess and she wanted him to know, at least, that she had appreciated the gesture.

      ‘Lillian!’ Her name was called and she turned to see who summoned her. Cassandra St Auburn walked towards her, her bright red hair aflame and the sweetness in her face all that Lillian remembered.

      ‘You came! I thought perhaps that you would not.’

      ‘Indeed, it is such a lovely spot I should be loathe to miss out. Lady St Auburn, this is Lord Wilcox-Rice. It was noted on my invitation that I could bring a partner.’

      ‘Yes, of course.’ Cassie shook the outstretched hand and Lillian detected disquiet. ‘But I thought your aunt was coming …’

      ‘Here I am, my dear, a little late to alight, but the bones are not quite as they used to be.’ Jean thanked the servant who had helped her and turned to the house. ‘I was here when I was about your age with Leonard St Auburn.’

      ‘My husband’s grandfather. He is still here, though he spends much of his day now in the library.’

      ‘A well-read man, if I remember rightly. Very interested in the world of plants.’

      Cassandra laughed and Lillian liked the sound. A happy and uncomplicated girl! Sometimes she wished she could have been more like that.

      ‘Most of the party are in the conservatory,’ she continued on. ‘Would you join us there after you refresh yourselves?’

      ‘That would be lovely,’ Lillian answered as they were ushered inside, the quickened beat of her heart steadying a little as they mounted the staircase.

      Twenty minutes later they walked towards the group of guests standing around a table well stocked with food and drink.

      Lucas Clairmont was nowhere in sight and part of her was annoyed that she could not have met him here informally. The Earl of St Auburn, Nathaniel, came over to join his wife. He had once rather liked her, Lillian recalled, when she had first come out, though it was such a long time ago she doubted he would remember it.

      ‘Miss Davenport!’ His smile was welcoming. ‘And Lord Wilcox-Rice.’ Her Aunt Jean had elected not to come downstairs, but have a rest so that she would be refreshed for dinner. ‘We are very pleased that you could both make the journey.’

      He placed a strange emphasis on ‘both’ and Lillian saw a quick frown pass between the St Auburns, an unspoken warning