The Scandalous Diary of Lily Layton

He pushed a loose tendril behind her ear, his actions slow and tender. “Marry me, Lily Layton.”

Her mother gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth, Mary Rose gaped quite unbecomingly, while her father slowly lowered himself to a chair, shaking his head.

Shock held Lily for long seconds, stealing her breath. She stared at Oliver for precious, heart-wrenching moments. “Upon my word, did you hit your head?”

He laughed, and she had never heard him sound so carefree and happy. “I did, but I assure you my wits are intact.”

“I…” Lord above. He seemed sincere and eager…and in love. With her. A lump formed in her throat, and she wanted to shout with happiness but couldn’t. “I cannot, my lord,” she said stiffly, refusing to unravel and burst into raw, ugly tears.

“Lily?” her mother questioned, her eyes glowing with worry and disbelief.

He stepped back slightly. “Lily, I—”

“Please, Oliver, I have nothing to recommend me to the honor of being your marchioness. I’m the daughter of a country botanist. My first husband was a simple soldier and my second, the vicar of this parish, a friend of my father. I have no connections to offer you,” she said hoarsely. “I have no money beyond the seventy pounds I’ve saved thus far. My reputation…” She cast her parents a quick glance, a blush heating her face. “We spend so much time together, Society possibly suspects I’m your mistress. I think…I believe that’s all I can be,” she whispered, wincing at the shock that bloomed on her mother and father’s face.

“If you would grant us some privacy, I would greatly appreciate it,” Oliver said to the room at large, seemingly unruffled by her rejection.

Her parents and sister discreetly left, closing the parlor door.

Lily’s throat felt tight, and tears swam in her vision. He reached for her, and she lurched back, her leg hitting the walnut table, spilling the teapot and cakes onto the floor. It shattered, the sound echoing through the parlor. “I cannot speak of this now.”

Ignoring Oliver, she skirted around the broken pieces and hurried toward the door. She could not face him now, and she desperately needed to be alone. Her composure needed to be regained, and the tearing emotions splintering through her heart must be controlled before she made a fool of herself. She flung the door open and rushed outside, not slowing her pace until she reached the gardens her father tended to so lovingly. There, she took several bracing breaths, but they did little to center her emotions. She had known being his lover would eventually end.

How I wish it were not so sudden and unexpected.

“Lily?”

She closed her eyes at Oliver’s concerned tone and took a deep breath. Snapping her eyes open again, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and faced him.

His eyes skimmed over her face with piercing intensity. “Do you love me?”

“I cannot marry you!” But dear God, she wanted to so much…so much.

“Yes, you can.”

She opened her arms wide. “I’m…I’m nobody. I am without connections or the bloodline to make you a proper wife.”

“You are everything, Lily. Generous to a fault, sweet, passionate, intelligent—a woman I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. You are selfless, and I ardently admire you. I ask you to marry me, Lily Layton. I do not care about society’s expectations, and despite the knowledge of my position and status, I am falling helplessly in love with you, and I do not want to stop it. We are not of the same privileged society, but your character elevates you far above many of my peers. Even above my own. You need not fear that you will not hold your own amongst my friends, for they already love and accept you, and even if they did not, I would tell them to sod off.”

She slapped a palm across her mouth, staring at him helplessly.

“Today I raced along the lanes with Lord Radbourne. I crashed.” He felt the back of his head gingerly. “I got a solid hit here, and for a few moments, as my world swirled and blackness hovered, all I thought of was you, Lily. Nothing else, no one else. Just you, my love. I did not think of duty, or the difference in our wealth and status. I thought of your face, your smile, the warmth that burns through my soul to know you are happy. Allow me to stand by your side, and I promise to cherish your gift in this life and the next.”

My love… “Oliver,” she breathed, shaking her head, dazed and out of sorts.

“I ask you again, my sweet, do you love me?”

“I will not answer that. Why ever would you ask me such a question?” Tears burned beneath her eyelids, and she willed them not to fall. “You know I have no wish to remarry.”

“If you tell me you do not love me, right this moment, I’ll walk away and never trouble you again with my sentiments.”

He moved even closer to her, and there was no doubt in his eyes, as if he already knew the answer to his questions.

“What I feel for you does not signify. You are a marquess, a peer of this realm, and I—” She widened her arms. “I’m just a seamstress with no connection or money. What little reputation I had I already gave up by being your mistress.”

A beautiful smile curved his lips, and within two strides, he was standing before her. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her. “We care for each other. Do we need any more reasons to spend the rest of our lives together?”

“I…”