One Night for Love

her happily somewhere. He had dreamed of being her savior, of setting her own happiness above his own, of doing what was right for her.

But all the time Elizabeth and Lily between them had been doing what he had never once considered—indeed, he had resisted his mother's attempts to do so. They had been making her into a lady.

Surely she could not be happy, he thought, gazing at her sadly as she danced. Could she? Where was Lily, that happy, dreamy little fairy creature whom he had used to watch in the Peninsula with such a lifting of his spirits long before he fell in love with her? The nymph with the long hair and bare feet who had sat on the rock in Portugal, watching a bird wheeling overhead and dreaming of being borne on the wind? The bewitching woman who had stood in beauty beside the pool at the foot of the waterfall, telling him that she was not just watching the scene but was it?

She had become the dainty, elegant, alluring lady who was dancing the quadrille at a ton ball in London, smiling at Freddie Farnhope and concentrating on her steps.

'By Jove, Elizabeth,' Joseph was saying, using his quizzing glass again, 'she has turned into a rare beauty.'

'Only to eyes attuned to ballroom beauties, Joe,' Neville said, more to himself than to his cousin. 'She always has been a rare beauty.'

'Neville,' Elizabeth said, 'you may escort me to the refreshment room, if you please.'

He offered her his arm and led her back toward the doors.

'Louisa must be very gratified,' she said as soon as they had moved to the relative quietness of the landing beyond the ballroom. 'Her ball is even more of a squeeze than it usually is. Or perhaps it is just that most people have been crowding the ballroom itself instead of wandering off to the card room or the salon as they usually do.'

'Elizabeth,' he asked, 'why are you doing this? Why are you trying to change Lily? I liked her just as she was.'

'Then you are being selfish,' she said. 'Yes, the refreshment room is this way. I need a glass of lemonade.'

'Selfish?' He frowned.

'Of course,' she said. 'Perhaps Lily was not happy with herself just the way she was. But there is no question of my changing her, Neville. When one learns, one adds knowledge and accomplishments to what one already is. One enriches one's life. One grows. One does not change in fundamentals. I liked Lily as she was too. I like her as she is. She is still Lily and always will be.'

'She hated being at Newbury Abbey,' he said, 'even though everyone tried to be kind to her. Even Mama was kind after she had recovered from the shock. She was quite prepared to take some of the burdens of being my countess off Lily's shoulders. But Lily hated it anyway—you knew that. She must hate this. I will not have her unhappy, Elizabeth, or bullied into doing what she does not want to do or into being who she does not want to be. I will settle her somewhere—in some country village, I believe—where she can live her own quiet life.'

'Perhaps it is what she will choose eventually,' Elizabeth said. 'But perhaps not. Perhaps she will choose employment of some kind—even possibly as my permanent companion. Or perhaps she will marry despite her lack of fortune. There are any number of gentlemen this evening who appear fascinated by her.'

'She will not marry,' he said between his teeth. 'She is my wife.'

'And you will challenge to pistols at dawn any man who feels inclined to dispute that fact,' she said cheerfully as they entered the refreshment room. 'Lemonade, if you please, Neville.'

She was smiling when he came back to her, glass in hand.

'Thank you,' she said before sipping her drink and resuming their conversation. 'The point is, Neville, that Lily is twenty years old. In two months time she will be of age. Perhaps you should begin to consider not what you wish for her future but what she wishes.'

'I want her to be happy,' he said. 'I wish you had known her in the Peninsula, Elizabeth. Despite the conditions of her life she was the happiest, most serene person I have ever known. I want to give back to her that life of simple pleasures.'

'But you cannot,' she said. 'Even apart from the fact that you have no say in what she does, a great deal has happened to her since those days—the death of her father, marriage to you, captivity, arrival in England, all that has happened since. She cannot go back. Allow her to go forward and find her own way.'

'Her own way,' he said with more bitterness than he had intended. 'Without me.'

'Her own way,' she repeated. 'With or without you, Neville. Ah. We are about to be joined by Hannah Quisley and George Carson.'

Neville turned with a polite smile.

Chapter 19

The Duke of Portfrey was not in the habit of gracing fashionable ballrooms during the Season. He was not by any means a hermit, but balls, he was fond of remarking to his friends, were for young sprigs in search of wives or flirts. At the age of two-and-forty he was not interested in such public pursuits—besides there was Elizabeth, with whom he certainly had a relationship though its exact nature had never been defined.

But he was in attendance at the Ashton ball because of a peculiar fascination with Lily—and because Elizabeth had asked for his escort and it would not have occurred to him to deny her when she made so few demands on him. He had danced the first set with Lily, the second with Elizabeth—and had then been compelled to add an edge of frost to his habitually impeccable manners in order to dissuade his hostess from presenting him to a whole host of other young ladies she was sure would be delightful dancing partners.

Two or three of his acquaintances had teased him with threats of matchmaking mamas setting their caps at him once more—their interest had waned a number of years ago as his age and his indifference to feminine wiles and lures had gradually outweighed the attractions of his rank and wealth and enduring good looks.

'They would be better served to keep their caps firmly tied beneath their chins,' his grace replied with languid good humor. But good nature deserted him when Mr.