Loving Lily (Fair Cyprians of London 6)

As a young newlywed with no experience of men, Lily had recognised that being the good wife Robert expected meant being agreeable, both at the breakfast table and in bed. Her aunt had told her nothing about what to expect after marriage, though Lily had had it drummed into her that obedience was a woman’s greatest virtue. So, it stood to reason that if Lily did nothing else, she must be obedient, even if she hated the painful prodding and pushing that Robert inflicted on her each night while his moist breath panted hotly in her ear.

But it was hard to be accepting and obedient and bite her tongue when Lily knew that Robert kept a mistress: Lady Majors, the squire’s wife who came to dinner once a week with her husband, and who had shown Lily such kindness and helped Lily prepare herself for her wedding after her aunt had fallen ill.

It had taken years before the truth was irrefutable—no matter how hard Lily tried, she could never make Robert love her.

Robert partook of his Welsh rarebi

t at breakfast with as much emotion as he showed when exercising his conjugal rights. Lily was simply another commodity laid on for him. Not for his pleasure, but for his needs, his convenience, and the assumption she’d bear him a son. Or a child, at least.

When, with four years of marriage under her still youthful belt, she’d tearfully declared that Robert could find her kissing the boot boy, and he’d not be jealous, he’d just shrugged his shoulders and agreed, not even looking at her as he’d stolidly crunched through a piece of bacon.

Lily could hear the sound of dead pig all these years later whenever she thought back to that moment. The crunch of doomed hopes that became the squeal of despair for a potential eternity.

Perhaps that was when the madness had come upon her.

Dr Swithins had been called for that afternoon, and, despite the fact he’d been Robert’s personal physician for some years, Lily had, for the first time, become aware of him as a man. Several years under forty, he was unmarried, handsome, and athletic.

And the remedy he’d used to treat Lily for her hysteria had transported her into a world of hitherto unknown sensual delights.

Right under Robert’s nose, Lily and Teddy had become lovers.

Robert had known, but he’d said nothing. No, Robert would not have cared one jot if Lily had had ten lovers.

She stopped as she reached her destination, careful that her veil was down, and that she went by the side entrance.

“Ma’am, it’s right good ter see yer again,” declared Gracie as she let Lily into the large red-brick house and led her through to the parlour. Gracie had become a faithful ally to Lily during her tenure at Madame Chambon’s. “I’ll wake Celeste, if she ain’t already up,” she assured her when Lily had stated her request. “It’s past time she were up, anyways.”

A few minutes later, the invitation came for Lily to make her way to the young woman’s bedchamber, which it appeared she had to herself these days. Celeste had thoroughly disliked sharing with Lily; she’d made that clear enough.

And her antipathy towards her former roommate had clearly not abated as she lolled on the bed, combing out her long dark hair, saying when Lily entered the room, “Goodness, what a surprise to see you here. Do you want me to put in a good word for you to Madame Chambon?”

“Lord, no.” Lily shivered, sinking down upon the stool at the dressing table. “I’d rather be dead than work here.”

Celeste regarded her with dislike as she put a pillow behind her head and leaned back, examining her fingernails, her knees drawn up, the skirts of her pale-blue dressing gown spilling down the side of the bed. Celeste couldn’t fail to be beautiful and exotic if she tried. She flicked a disdainful look at Lily and murmured, “All of us here would be dead if we had to live by your morals. Why did you come? To lord it over me? Tell me about some grand society marriage you’ve contracted?”

It was not a good start. Lily picked up the rabbit’s foot brush on the tabletop and leaned into the mirror, idly sweeping a touch of colour onto her cheeks.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the girl’s hands were shaking as she began to drag the boar bristle brush through her long dark locks once again. There was a pallor to her skin and a dullness to her eye, both of which had seemed full of vitality the last time she’d seen her.

Celeste was never one to volunteer information and nor was she a conversationalist. After an awkward silence, Lily said, “I want to ask you about Mr Renquist.”

“Lord, that man? I haven’t the faintest idea why you’d think I know anything at all about him.” Lily did not miss the wariness in her tone.

“He was one of your gentlemen, wasn’t he?”

“Before your time. Anyway, he’s dead now.” Celeste sighed. “There was a murder investigation which came to nothing, so he probably just disappeared to escape his wife.”

“I heard that blood was found where he was last seen, which was why murder was thought possible.” Lily put down the rabbit’s paw and frowned. “Do you think his disappearance could have anything to do with any of the other gentlemen callers you entertain?”

“Good lord! Are you accusing me of something, Lily Eustace, or whatever your name is these days? Because if you are, you can just leave right now!” Angrily, Celeste lurched forward, pointing at the door.

Lily drew back, startled. “No, no! I don’t think anything. I just want to warn you that Mrs Renquist has organised a séance to commune with Mr Renquist’s spirit if he is dead, or to possibly lure someone along who might be involved in his disappearance. I thought I’d tell you in case you hadn’t heard.”

“And you’re the queen of the spirits, are you?” Celeste laughed, sounding slightly more relaxed. “I’ve heard you are drawing the crowds at Mrs Moore’s pretending to be Lord Lambton’s dead daughter. You think you’re better than I am because you’re not enticing him into your bed. At least I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not.”

“I’m making Lord Lambton happy. And I’d like to make Mr Renquist’s widow happy.” Lily fiddled with the pots of colour on Celeste’s dressing table.” When someone told me that Mr Renquist was a frequent visitor of yours before he died, of course I wanted to ask you about it.”

“Who told you that?”