Love According To Lily Read Free Page A

only two, and the heir to a dukedom, might I remind you? Your mother couldn’t have been pleased.”
    James smiled. “We didn’t tell her. Thought we’d spare her the anxiety.”
    They walked past a shiny suit of armor on display at the bottom of the stairs.
    “Well, now that the pleasantries are taken care of, let’s skip to more important matters,” Whitby said. “Is Lady Stanton here?”
    Sophia stopped and slapped his arm. “Lady Stanton is a married woman, Whitby. Shame on you for asking.”
    “We are
friends
, Eleanor and I.” He grinned. When Sophia smirked at him, he surrendered to her proper influence. “All right,” he said. “Tell me who the unmarried ladies are. I suppose they and their mothers are waiting to wrestle me to the ground.”
    Sophia shook her head at him while James looked on, amused and unsurprised. She listed off the names while they climbed the stairs, escorting Whitby to his room in the east wing.
    “I promise I will dance with each of them,” he said as he entered the Van Dekker room—the guest chamber they always reserved for him when he visited. The green velvet curtains were pulled open, held back by gold braided tassels. His trunks were already waiting for him, stacked in the center of the room, as his valet had taken an earlier train.
    Whitby shrugged out of his coat and tossed it onto the canopied bed—a massive structure made of old English oak, with a headboard that duplicated the turrets of the castle itself and bed curtains tied back at the posts. “There will be dancing, won’t there?”
    “Of course,” Sophia said. “Tomorrow night. Tonight we’ll gather in the drawing room at seven and dine at eight, then we’ll play some cards afterward.”
    She and James paused in the doorway.
    “We’ll leave you to get settled,” James said.
    As soon as they were gone, Whitby sank onto the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He inhaled deeply a few times, feeling shaky and winded after climbing the stairs. He probably should have eaten something today.
    He reached into his breast pocket, retrieved his flask, and quickly unscrewed the cap. He took a sip and forced himself to swallow.
    His valet walked in just then and saw his pained grimace. The man stopped suddenly in the doorway.
    Whitby held up a hand. “Don’t say anything, Jenson.”
    Jenson, who had been Whitby’s valet for more than twenty years, walked to the bed and picked up Whitby’s coat. “I had no intention of speaking, my lord.”
    Whitby watched Jenson hang the coat in the corner wardrobe.
    “It’s a sore throat,” he explained, not knowing why he felt he needed to explain himself to his valet. But what could he say? He’d lost his father at the age of eight. Jenson, now sixty-one, had occasionally filled that role.
    “
Another
sore throat, my lord?” Jenson said with evident disbelief.
    Whitby shook his head at him and downed the rest of the contents in the flask, finally feeling the welcome, numbing heat it offered.

    It was close to seven-thirty when Lily stopped in the doorway of the crimson and gold drawing room. Inside, the heavy drapes were drawn and the room was lit invitingly by dim lamps and candles. A few young ladies were seated on the sofa with their mothers in nearby chairs, while some of the gentlemen stood next to the piano. They were laughing over something. Another group of guests, including Sophia and James, stood before a crackling fire in the hearth.
    Lily wondered if Lord Richard had arrived yet. She would be glad to get the introductions out of the way.
    At that moment, she felt someone approach from behind, and before she had a chance to turn, a large hand wrapped around her elbow. “Lily. Thank God, you’re late, too.”
    She turned and found herself staring up at Lord Whitby, dressed in formal black and white dinner attire, his golden hair thick and wavy. He was smiling down at her, waiting for a response. She noticed he looked