The Scandalous Diary of Lily Layton

“Mrs. Layton, how delightful you appear this morning.” His eyes roamed her body in appreciation, and she was almost regretful she had abandoned her mourning garb and mobcap.

She wore a dress she had made and knew she looked quite fetching. She had needed to bolster her confidence after last night’s farce and had adorned a dark yellow morning dress with a cinched high waistline that was very flattering to her figure. It was out of character, though, and she noticed Lady Ambrose considering her with a peculiar frown. Lily had also left her hair uncovered, catching it in an artful chignon while leaving several tendrils loose.

“You do look very pretty, my dear,” the marchioness said, smiling. “I’m sure you will be delighted to take a turn on the estate grounds with Mr. Crauford.”

“Of course, of course,” he heartily agreed.

“I’d planned on visiting my parents. Today is my off day.” She lifted her traveling basket for their perusal.

“I would be most obliged to take you in my coach, Mrs. Layton,” Mr. Crauford declared.

Swallowing her sigh, she glanced out the windows. “I’d planned on walking.”

Startled shock bloomed on his face. “To the village?”

“Yes, I find long strolls help me to clear my head, and I do so enjoy it.”

“Capital! Allow me to at least keep your company part way.”

He appeared so earnest that a smile tugged at her lips. She would be rude to reject him once more. “Thank you, Mr. Crauford.”

The marchioness beamed her approval, and in short order, they departed the manor and headed south toward the beaten track that cut across the marquess’s land. They ambled for a few minutes, and unable to endure another cleared throat from Mr. Crauford, Lily was prompted to speak.

“It is very kind of you to walk with me thus far. There is no need for you to continue.”

“My dear Mrs. Layton,” he said, a bit too warmly. “I would not be much of a gentleman if I abandoned you to the elements.”

“I’ve been traipsing this path by myself for at least five years, Mr. Crauford. There is certainly no need to worry about my sturdiness.”

“I am appalled the vicar allowed it.”

She faltered momentarily. “My husband did not disapprove of my weekly visit to the village to see my family. And if he had, I assure you I would still have seen them.”

“Upon my word, surely you would not have disobeyed him?”

Gripping her basket, she forged ahead. “In that regard, yes.”

Mr. Crauford huffed disapprovingly, and Lily smiled, uncaring of what he thought. They rounded the corner.

“Look out,” he yelled, shoving her aside with too much strength.

Lily gasped and tumbled into the bushes as thunderous hooves darted past. Surely it was only the grace of God that prevented them from being trampled by Lord Ambrose’s stallion. Shocking and profane curses spilled from the marquess as he dragged on his reins, bringing the animal to a shuddering halt. Still, Mr. Crauford’s act of chivalry saw her backside firmly planted on the ground and the contents of her basket spilled. “Blast it!”

“Are you hurt?” the marquess demanded, vaulting from his horse and rushing to her side.

For a wild moment, his concern warmed her before she recalled he was the reason she was sprawled inelegantly amongst the bushes.

“Are you afflicted? You were rounding the corner far too fast. If Mr. Crauford hadn’t been quick thinking, we could have both been under your horse.”

Lord Ambrose’s left brow rose at her audacious reprimand. “You exaggerate. I had control of my steed. He was simply overanxious.”

“Mrs. Layton,” Mr. Crauford said, tugging her attention to where he was gathering the contents of her basket. “This is not a proper book for a woman to read,” he said picking up her copy of Northanger Abbey, which she had planned to read later while her parents slept. She had bought a couple of candles and had wrapped and stowed them carefully away. It was a relief they had not been damaged.

A severe frown split his brows. “This is unacceptable.”

“Is that so?” she asked frostily, struggling to her feet and attempting to bat away the marquess’s hand as he helped. The dratted man would have none of it, and with a gentle clasp, assisted her upright. “Thank you,” she muttered grudgingly.

“Forgive me for startling you.”