Missing Lily (Tales of Dalthia) (7 page)

I knew that I would always remember this night. When I could no longer be Lily and had to leave Rhys behind, this would be a cherished memory.

***

I slept well and was anxious to get out of bed. I managed to find a comfortable day dress amidst the contents of Lady Fallon’s trunk, which had been hung in my wardrobe, and slipped into it before making my way downstairs. I was shy as I entered the breakfast room, remembering how much I had enjoyed my time with Rhys and wondering if I were only fooling myself. My anxiety was instantly eased by Rhys’s genuine smile and enthusiastic, “Good morning.” He stood when I entered and held my hand as I sank into the chair next to his. “You look lovely,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Thank you,” I replied, resisting the urge to duck my head in embarrassment. His manner put me in mind of more than friendship, and I had to temper my reaction.

“You’re not going to comment on the fine cut of my jacket?” he asked, tugging on his waistcoat.

I laughed at his making fun of himself, but reassured him anyway. “You look very well, Lord Fallon. The finest I’ve seen you yet.”

He snorted and schooled his features before saying seriously, “I had a thought.”

“Just one?” I couldn’t resist.

He pursed his lips, suppressing a smile while I tried to look innocent.

He cleared his throat with force. “I’ve been known to have more than one on occasion. But for the purpose of this conversation, there was only one pertinent thought.”

“Oh...” I feigned sudden enlightenment. “Go on.”

“My thought was that you might want to get out of the house.”

“A good thought indeed, and entirely accurate.”

He narrowed his eyes in response to my cheeky comment, but continued as though I hadn’t interrupted. “And so, I propose a picnic for lunch.”

“Really?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “Is it dry enough for that?”

“It should be where I’m planning on taking you.”

“And where is that?”

“You’ll see.”

“A surprise, is it?”

“No. I’m just not going to tell you.”

I bit my tongue, realizing that if I was going to give him cheek, he would give it right back. It made me smile.

“Will you at least tell me what time we are leaving so that I might be ready?”

“Setting off around eleven should give us time enough.”

A half hour before eleven, I lingered near the entry hall, anxious—not only to get out of the house, but to go somewhere with Rhys.
 

When he descended the stairs, his gaze traveled from my head to my slippers before returning to my face. I raised my eyebrows in amusement and he looked away.

He reached me and dipped into a regal bow. “Your carriage awaits, Milady.”

He used the title in jest, but I stiffened at the formality. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice and we crossed the entry hall. He handed me into the open carriage and I sat in the middle of the seat, expecting him to sit across from me, but he jumped in and nudged me over, settling beside me. I suppressed a smile.

“Off we go, Lionel,” he said to the groom sitting at the reins, and we lurched forward.

The weather was lovely and I found myself relaxing against the seat, tipping my head back to gaze up at the canopy of trees shading the road, admiring the splotches of bright and dark green mingling together in the sunlight.

“Not a bad day for a drive, is it?”

I smiled, closing my eyes in pleasure. “It’s a perfect day for a drive. I’m glad you suggested it.”

I thought I felt his fingers brush my hand, but when I opened my eyes and looked at him, his hands were clasped together. My imagination was getting away from me.

“It’s been far too long since I did something like this,” he mused.

“Something like what?”

“Something pleasant, something entertaining.”

“You keep yourself busy, then?”

He looked over at me then. “Probably too busy.”

“You don’t have time to play at being a socialite?” I tried to keep a straight face, but found it difficult when I was essentially mocking him with his own words. I bit my lips together to keep from smiling.

He tried to give me a scolding look but couldn’t quite do it. He looked away, shaking his head with a smile on his face. “It’s true that I don’t participate in many social events, but I’m not a complete recluse. I do attend small gatherings. Honestly, though, I usually find them more tedious than entertaining.”

“Hm,” was my only response.

He turned to me. “And what is that ‘hm’ supposed to mean?”

I shrugged. “I can sympathize. I used to
hate
social events.”

“But you went anyway?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I said lightly. I didn’t resent my lack of choice. It was simply part of my responsibilities.

His brow furrowed. “Why not?”

My mouth opened, but no words came. I had to remember that I was Lily. So while trying to be honest in my response, I couldn’t reveal too much. I shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “I just always knew that it was what my parents expected of me.”

“Did you resent that?” His concern touched me.

“No. I understood that they had their reasons.”

He was pensive for a moment before asking, “So you don’t hate society events now?”

I smiled. “I’ve made my peace with them.”

He gave me a lofty nod. “That’s very diplomatic of you.”

We lapsed into silence, each of us enjoying the ride. Lionel veered off of the main road and followed a path that took us up a hillside until we reached an open meadow. There we disembarked and I stood stunned by the beautiful seclusion surrounding me while Rhys and Lionel laid out the picnic. The tall, lush grass waved in the breeze and trees stood sentinel at the perimeter, their branches reaching toward heaven.
 

When everything was set, Lionel went back to the carriage, where he lay down with his hat over his eyes. Rhys and I sat on the blanket and I watched him introduce each dish, as proud as if he sat at the head of an enormous banquet table.

The ease I felt in his presence surprised me. The situation was one that should have caused some anxiety, or at least nervousness, yet I felt neither. I felt a kinship with Rhys and he seemed to feel the same. It was just...easy.

After gorging ourselves on everything in sight, we each leaned back on our hands and I admired the way the breeze ruffled his hair. It lent his face a boyish quality.
 

“You’re studying me rather intently,” he commented with a lift of his eyebrow. “Is something on your mind?”

My cheeks heated. “I was just wondering what you were like as a boy. Did you spend all your days at the pond?”

A grin claimed his mouth. “Perhaps not all my days, but nearly. My most cherished memories of my father are from our exploits at the pond.”

His face softened as he sank into the memories and my heart broke a little bit for him, for his loss.
 

“I learned to swim early on, but one day when I was eleven, he and I decided to build a raft.” His eyes cut over to me and I sensed this would be a story of misadventure rather than triumph.

“I was sitting on it, trying to hold it together while my father went to gather more vines—”

“Vines?”

“Yes, you can imagine how sturdy it was.”

“Oh dear.”

“That wasn’t the real problem. The problem was that I was so intent on holding it together that I didn’t notice the raft drifting away from shore.”

I sputtered a laugh, but quickly slapped a hand to my mouth. He just grinned, warming to the memory and the humor.

“So there I sat on a raft made of what were essentially twigs, floating farther and farther from shore and my father is standing on land with our makeshift ores in his hand and says, calm as can be, ‘Rhys, you seem to have forgotten something.’ So I scream back, ‘Come get me!’ but he just shakes his head. ‘I don’t think your mother would be very happy if I came back all wet, son.’”

I laughed out loud as he pitched his voice lower to imitate his father.

“So of course I point out that mother won’t be happy with me either for getting drenched and he just says, ‘I imagine that’s true,’ and tells me to swim to shore before I get any farther out. So I jump out and start swimming and I hear my father shout, ‘The raft, Rhys, don’t forget the raft!’”
 

I hid my face behind a napkin as I laughed, loving his expression and animation. But when my side started to ache, I had to squelch my mirth.
 

“Of course,” Rhys started again, “that was nothing compared to—”

“Please.” I waved my white napkin in surrender. “It’s hurting my side. I don’t know if I can take any more.”

I lay back on the blanket, sorry that I had to stop him. Rhys stretched out beside me, and when I turned and saw the way he looked at me, the light-hearted atmosphere dissipated.

He studied my face, still smiling, but with concern in his eyes. “How is your side doing? I’d forgotten about it for the most part. I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”

I shook my head, silenced by his nearness.

“Good,” he said, smiling as he brushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. Warmth shot through me as his fingers curved around my ear, then grazed my neck. I froze, elated by the affection, until he shook himself out of his distraction and tapped the tip of my nose with his finger before sitting up. “I suppose it’s time we were getting back.” He said it casually, but I knew something had shifted, and it took me a moment to start moving.
 

What I had taken as a romantic gesture had turned into a brotherly show of affection. Lovely.
 

I sat up slowly and started putting things away. Lionel appeared a few moments later to assist with packing up, and we were back in the carriage within minutes.

Rhys was friendly and talkative on the way back, but somehow it wasn’t the same. He helped me alight when we reached the estate and escorted me inside before he excused himself, saying there was work that had been neglected and wishing me a pleasant afternoon.

His rather abrupt departure left me cold and a little hurt. I returned to my room in a daze and lay on my bed, trying not to think about Rhys and worrying for my parents instead. It had been three full days and they still had no idea where I was. Then I started worrying about Nathaniel, praying that he was alive and not hurt. I was anxious to get home, but worried about what I might discover when I did.

Chapter 5

I
HAD
TO
force myself out of my room, afraid my worry would consume me if I stayed. I explored the house, looking at anything of interest while forcing thoughts of my parents aside. I wandered the portrait gallery, admiring the artists’ renderings of Rhys and his forbears. They were not a bad looking family. Most had a slight lift of their chin that made it appear as though they were looking down on their audience, but Rhys had faced the artist full on, his gaze intense and unwavering. Instead of a haughty socialite, he had the look of a rogue. A corner of my mouth lifted at the thought. He may have looked like a rogue, but in reality he was considerate and caring. He had shown a tenderness that set me off balance. Anyone else would have handed me over to Rosamond and gone about their business. Instead he saw to my welfare personally. It was flattering in a way, but also disheartening. I found him ridiculously attractive, but he sometimes treated me like a wounded animal to be coddled. It was probably for the best. It would break my heart to fall for him when he didn’t even know my name.
 

I moved on from the gallery and found what appeared to be a small library. However there was a desk in the corner that made me wonder if Rhys used it for his personal business. The door stood ajar, though, so it seemed I wouldn’t be intruding if I looked around. I clasped my hands behind my back, admiring the dark wood furniture. I examined the desk, wondering if I should even be in here. I knew I shouldn’t snoop into Rhys’s personal effects, but couldn’t resist. Several documents lay on the desk. Most were promissory notes and one appeared to be a list of payments that needed to be made. I didn’t dare open the leather-bound ledger sitting next to the documents, knowing it was none of my business.
 

I walked along the shelves of books that occupied two of the walls, the many volumes looking stately and beautiful at the same time. A chair sat in one corner and I took advantage of it. My hip was starting to ache and it felt good to sit. A small table sat beside me, holding nothing but a carved wooden box. I lifted the lid, wondering at its contents, and found the partially folded pages of a letter. I was about to shut the box when the words
royal family
jumped out at me. My hand stilled, the box halfway closed. My curiosity got the better of me and as shameful as it was, I lifted the lid and leaned forward to read someone else’s personal correspondence. I read the paragraph in which my family was mentioned.

I understand your frustration and if I were in your position, I would hold the same animosity that you do for the royal family. Their tight-fisted rule keeps us from many pursuits. But I cannot help you. I will not help you, and you should abandon these foolish musings this instant. What you suggest is not only dangerous and foolhardy, but treasonous as well. You will not succeed in your objective. You will only hurt those you love and get yourself thrown in prison. Bury your anger and move on with your life. That is your only course.