her assessment. Sometimes her position as the queen of manners was an easy crown to wear and a persuasive one. She felt the anger swaying back to the Pagets and away from Luc Clairmont as the wife picked up the heaviness of her skirts and followed her husband, an angry discourse between them distinctly heard.
Lillian did not look around at Lucas Clairmont or question his silence. Nay, she was a woman who knew that if you left people to think too much about a problem then you invariably had a larger one. Consequently she swallowed back ire and began on a topic that she knew would surely interest all the ladies present.
Luc sat next to her and hated the anger that the Pagets’ stupid comments had engendered in him. England was the only place in the world, he thought, where the deeds of the past were never forgotten nor forgiven, and where misdemeanours could crawl back into the conversation almost twenty years on.
For now, though, Lilly was chattering on forever about dresses she had seen in Paris in the summer, and if he had not been so furious he might have admired her attention in remembering the detail of such an unimportant thing.
Not to the women present, however! Each one of them was drinking in her every word and as the servants scooped away shards of china and crystal, replacing the broken with the whole, it was as if there had never been a contretemps. When the dessert of preserved cherries, figs and ginger ice-cream arrived, he noticed that everyone took a generous portion.
Warmth began to spread through him. Lillian Davenport had stood up for him in front of them all, had come to his aid like an avenging angel, her good sense and fine bearing easily persuading everyone of the poor judgement the Pagets had shown.
Indeed, she was lethal, a pale and proper thunderbolt with just the right amount of ire and refinement.
No one could criticise her or slate her decorum and it was with this thought that her offered kiss was even the more remarkable. Lord, did she not realise how easily she could fall, how the inherent nature of man would make any mishap or misconduct accountable in one so loftily placed?
He worried for her, for her goodness and her vulnerability and for the sheer effort that it must take to stay at the very top.
This weekend had been his doing, his own need to see her alone and overriding every other consideration for her welfare. And she had repaid this selfishness with dignity and assurance.
Respect vied with lust and won out. He would do nothing else to bring her reputation into disrepute. That much he promised himself.
He had not come near her since the Pagets had left, the tea taken in the front salon a sedate and formal sort of an affair, with Lucas Clairmont placing himself on the sofa the furthest away from where she sat.
Indeed, after her outburst she thought he might have been a little thankful, but he made no effort at all to converse or even look at her, giving his attention instead to Caroline Shelby and her simpering friend.
Nathaniel St Auburn at her side turned to her to speak. ‘I see you had much to talk about with Mr Clairmont earlier on, Miss Davenport?’ St Auburn’s question was asked in a tone indicating manners rather than inquisitiveness. ‘He was an old school friend of mine at Eton,’ he enlarged when he saw her surprise. Lillian pondered the thought.
‘I didn’t realise that he once lived in England.’ The cameo of a younger Lucas Clairmont intriguing her. ‘He seems too…American?’
Nathaniel chuckled, but there was something in the sound that made her think. She pressed on.
‘Have you ever visited him in Virginia?’
‘I have.’
‘And you enjoyed it?’
‘I did!’
Lillian grated her teeth, wishing that his answers might be enlarged so as to give her an insight into the personality of the man sitting across the room from her.
‘Mr Clairmont says his home is near a river. The James, I think he said. Does he have family there?’ She hoped that the interest she could hear in her words was not so obvious to him.
‘His wife was from those parts, but she died in a carriage accident. A nasty thing that, because Luc blamed himself, as any gentleman of sensitivity might.’
Relief bloomed at Luc Clairmont’s innocence in his wife’s demise. After all the darker conjectures in society, Lillian was pleased to find out that the cause of the woman’s death had been an accident, though she had a strange feeling that St Auburn’s words were carefully chosen. In warning or in explanation? She could not tell which.
‘So you think him a sensitive man?’
‘Indeed I do, but I can see by your frown that you may not?’
‘I have heard things…’
He did not let her finish. ‘Give him a chance,’ he said softly and she almost thought that she hadn’t heard it before he turned away.
Lord, she seldom came to these country weekend parties and knew now again why she did not. She was stuck here at least till the morrow, any means of escape dubious with her aunt in tow.
John next to her interrupted, making his displeasure known. ‘Surely you can see, Lillian, just how the sort of outburst you gave at dinner is damaging? Far wiser indeed to let these small spats run their course and stay well out of it.’
‘Even if I should perceive the criticism unfair?’ she returned. His social mannerisms were becoming more and more annoying tonight with every new piece of advice that he offered her.
‘You are a lady of breeding and cultivation. It is not seemly to be defending a man who has neither.’
‘Paget was hardly in order.’
‘He was not expelled from Eton for stealing either.’
‘Stealing?’ The word caught her short.
‘Clairmont the youth took a watch from the headmaster’s study and hid it in his blankets. When it was found he admitted the theft and was sent down.’
Lillian felt her hands grip her side. Why was nothing ever easy as far as Lucas Clairmont was concerned? Why could she not find out something noble and virtuous about him instead of being plagued with a never-ending lack of moral fibre?
And why would a small boy steal a watch anyway? For money? To know the time? She could fathom neither the reason nor the risk. Why indeed had he not hidden it in a place no one would ever think to look? She took in a breath. No. She must not excuse him and take his side. Not for theft!
She was pleased when the older guests began to take their leave and was able to gladly follow, John accompanying her upstairs to her room.
‘It has been a pleasure to be in your company today, Lillian,’ he said as she opened her door, and she had the distinct impression that he was angling to kiss her again.
Consequently she sneezed three times, holding her handkerchief across her mouth and sniffing.
‘My goodness, perhaps I have caught Aunt Jean’s cold?’
‘Will I call the housekeeper and ask her for some medicine?’ The amorous look in his eyes was completely overtaken by concern.
‘No, please do not bother. If I just go to sleep early…’ She stopped and sneezed again and he moved back.
‘Well, I suppose this is goodnight?’ The words were said awkwardly and with disappointment.
‘Thank you for walking me up.’
‘It was my pleasure.’
She stepped inside and closed the door, standing still on the other side and replacing her handkerchief in her pocket. One night down and one more to go! Tomorrow she would make certain that she came up with the women in order to ensure no repeat performance of John’s eagerness in seeing her alone.
