Lily’s eyes filled.
After a moment, Edward gently released himself from the old man’s embrace and stepped back. Lord Galbraith pulled out a large white handkerchief and blew into it loudly. “Well, come in, come in, no need to stand about in the wind,” he muttered.
Lily started toward the house, but Edward caught her hand and stopped her. “We’ll be in in a minute, Grandfather.”
Lord Galbraith’s gaze dropped to where their hands were joined. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, but Lily’s not dressed for the outdoors.” He turned and stumped away. Edward glanced at Lily’s dress and followed.
He led her to the library—it would always be the library for Galbraith men, she realized glumly. Once inside, he drew her close.
“I was beside myself with worry—why didn’t you write or leave a note? I can’t tell you how I felt—” He broke off, his gaze somber. “Yes. I can. I’ve been a coward for so long—”
“You’re not a coward.”
“I am.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, Lily. I think I loved you from the first, only I was too cowardly to admit it.”
“No.” Lily pressed her hands against his chest and stepped back. It was time. She was done with evasions and pretense. “Don’t say any more. First I need to tell you something, a terrible secret I’ve been keeping from you all this time.”
He paled. His grip tightened. “What? What is it?”
She held him off. “I didn’t write to you”—she swallowed—“because . . . because . . .” She closed her eyes, unable to face the intensity of his gaze, and forced the words out in a rush. “I didn’t write to you because I can’t write. Or read. It’s some defect in me, nobody knows why. I just can’t.”
She waited. The silence stretched. She could feel his heart beating under her palms.
The waiting was unbearable. She opened her eyes a crack.
“And?” he said.
She opened her eyes all the way. “And what?”
“The terrible thing?”
“That’s it.”
He stared down at her. “You’re not ill, or dying?”
“No.”
He pulled her hard against him. “Thank God! I thought it was something terrible. That there was something really wrong with you.”
“There is. Don’t you understand? I can’t read or write.”
He finally seemed to take it in. He frowned. “You can’t read or write?”
“No.” She felt like an egg about to be smashed, all smooth, brittle shell outside, a mess of yolk and white within.
“Not a word?”
“Not a w-word.” Her voice trembled as she said it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why do you think, you silly young chub?” His grandfather stood in the doorway. His voice was gruff. “Think what she must have been through all these years, what people have said to her—think of the number of fools there are in this world and then try not to add yourself to their number.”
Edward’s arm tightened around her, but there was a smile in his voice when he said, “I don’t need you or anyone to tell me what to think of my wife, Grandfather. She’s a treasure.” He turned to her, his voice deepening. “She’s my treasure, whose value to me is above rubies and pearls—and letters.”
Lily’s sight blurred at the tender sincerity in his voice.
He cupped her face in his hands. “You stopped me from saying this before, so I’ll say it now. I love you, Lily Rutherford Galbraith, with all my heart. It doesn’t matter to me what you can or can’t do. Don’t ever think it does. Whatever life throws at us, we’ll manage it together.” It was a vow, and Edward Galbraith never broke his vows.
“Oh, Edward.”
The old man beamed. “She’s a grand girl, Ned, you couldn’t have done better.”
“I know it. Now, Grandfather, are you going to give me a drink or not?”
• • •
Lily sat beside her husband on the leather sofa, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder as he and his grandfather talked. She wasn’t really listening. Her heart and mind were too full.
He loved her. Edward Galbraith loved her. He’d said it, and he’d demonstrated it. He loved her despite her flaws.
She couldn’t quite believe it; her dream had come true. But . . . she realized slowly, something wasn’t quite right. She was practically boneless with relief and happiness, but although Edward was acting relaxed, his muscles were still tense and hard.
Underneath the nonchalant attitude, he was wound up as tight as a spring.
The door opened and she felt him stiffen. A servant entered with a tray of refreshments and after a swift glance at the man’s face, he ignored him.
The same thing happened when they went upstairs to wash before dinner. Lord Galbraith had sent a man to attend his grandson. Edward had objected, but his grandfather waved the objections off.
Edward went upstairs, wary as a feral cat. But when he saw the manservant, the tension left him. It was the same at dinner. Each new servant who appeared received a hard, appraising glance, then her husband relaxed.
He seemed almost frightened, but surely that couldn’t be right.
• • •
She tackled him about it that night, after they’d retreated to her bedroom. He was prowling back and forth. If he’d been a cat he’d be lashing his tail.
“You’re imagining things. What on earth would I be frightened of, here in my grandfather’s house?”
“Then what is the problem?”
“Nothing. It’s just this place. I don’t want to be here. I can’t stand it.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
He made an impatient gesture. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter, Edward, can’t you see—?”
“I said, it doesn’t matter.” It wasn’t like him to snap. He sighed. “I’m sorry. Let’s not quarrel. Come to bed. First thing in the morning we leave this place and I take you home.”
No, they wouldn’t, Lily thought, but she wasn’t going to argue. She hadn’t had her husband in bed with her for ages, and he’d told her today that he loved her. She wasn’t going to spoil things
