Chapter 14 Chapter Thirteen

Asking Daisy and Evie to cover for her, the three used makeup as an excuse, and Lillian was able to leave the ballroom.According to their swift plan, the two girls waited on the back terrace while Lillian went to meet the Viscount St. Vincent in the garden before returning to the ballroom together so that Mercedes could be assured that they had never been separated. "Are you...really sure it's safe to meet Viscount St. Vincent alone?" Evie asked when they came to the porch. "It's as safe as being inside the house," Lillian said reassuringly. "Oh, he might try to cross the line, but that's what he's after, isn't it? Besides, I want to see if the perfume will work for him."

"It doesn't work on anyone," said Daisy listlessly. "At least when I use it." Lillian looked at Evie. "What about you, dear? Any luck?" Daisy answered for her: "Evie doesn't allow anyone to come close enough to her to smell the perfume." "Okay, I'll go find St. Vincent and let him smell the perfume. God knows, the smell should have an effect on the notorious prodigal son." "But if anyone sees you—" "No one will see it." Lillian interrupted impatiently. "If there is a man in all England with more experience with seclusion than St. Vincent, I wonder who it is."

"You'd better be careful," Daisy warned. "A tryst is a dangerous business. I've read too many of them, and none of them ended well." "I'll be there soon," Lillian promised. "A quarter of an hour at most, what can happen in that little time?" "According to Annabelle's...according to," Evie said quietly. "Many things." "Where's Annabelle?" Lillian asked, realizing that she hadn't been seen all night. "She felt very ill earlier, poor Belle," said Daisy. "She's looking a little pale, and I'm afraid there's something at lunch that's not to her liking."

Lillian grimaced tremblingly. "It must be eel, or veal tendon, or chicken leg..." Daisy laughed. "Stop, you're going to make yourself miserable. Anyway, Mr. Hunter is looking after her." They walked out the French doors behind the porch and onto the deserted flagstone patio.Daisy turned and shook her finger comically at Lillian. "If you go for more than a quarter of an hour, Evie and I will come to you." Lillian returned a low laugh. "I won't stay long." She blinked and smiled on Evie's worried face. "I'll be all right, honey. Just think about all the fun things I'm going to tell you when I get back!"

"That's what I'm... afraid of," Evie replied. Lifting the hem of her skirt and going down one side of the steps, Lillian boldly entered the terraced garden, passing through an old hedge that surrounded the edge of the low terrace like an impenetrable wall.This isolated garden conjures up the colors and fragrances of autumn... gold and copper foliage, clusters of roses and dahlias, grass flowers and fresh haws fill the air with delightful scents. Hearing the brisk water of the Mermaid Fountain, Lillian walked along the flagstone path, a single torch shining on the small and empty place.There were people there—one, no, two people, sitting close together on a stone bench by the fountain.Lillian suffocated in surprise, and quickly turned around to hide in the shadow of the hedge.Viscount St. Vincent told her to meet here... but the man on the stool was clearly not him... really?Overwhelmed, Lillian moved forward a few inches and peered around the corner of the hedge.

She soon discovers that the two lovers are so intoxicated in love that even a stampeding elephant rushes by without attracting their attention.The woman's light chestnut hair had been loosened, and her hair waved behind the half-faded dress; her slender arms rested weakly on the man's shoulders, and she trembled when he took off the sleeves of the dress and kissed her white curves sigh.The man raised his head, stared at her lazily and passionately, then leaned over and kissed her.Suddenly Lillian recognized the pair... Mrs. Olivia and her husband, Mr. Sean.When his hand slid to the button on the back of his wife's gown, Lillian retreated behind the hedge, embarrassed and curious, in the most intimate scene she had ever witnessed.

At the same time, there was the most intimate voice she had ever heard... Mr. Sean's soft panting, loving words and inexplicable chuckle made Lilian's toes curl up.Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she left quietly; the place where she was dating had been taken first, and now she didn't know where to go or what to do.She found it strange that the Shawns were still so affectionate after their marriage. Lillian never dared to expect such a thing to happen to her. A tall figure appeared in front of her, and he came slowly, put an arm on her stiff shoulders, and put a glass of cold champagne in her hand at the same time. "My lord?" Lillian whispered.

St. Vincent's soft whispers brushed her ears. "follow me." He led her down a darker path, into another small square with a heavy round stone table, beyond which a pear orchard filled the air with the scent of ripe fruit.Arming Lillian's shoulders, St. Vincent led her in. "Shall we stay here?" he asked. She nodded, resting her hips on the stone table, drinking champagne without looking at him.Thinking of the intimate scene that she accidentally bumped into, she blushed even more. "Now, you won't be so embarrassed, will you?" St. Vincent said, a little teasing in his voice. "A quick glance... oh well, that's all right." He took off the gloves—and she felt his fingers slide to her chin, lifting her face slightly. "Blushing," he muttered. "God, I've forgotten what it's like to be innocent. I doubt I ever have."

St. Vincent looked alluring in the firelight, shadows resting lovingly on his perfect cheekbones, his thick, layered hair like the coppery gold of an old Byzantine iconography. "They're married after all," he continued, reaching her waist and lifting her up to sit on the table. "Oh, I... I don't disagree." Lillian tried her best to speak and drank the champagne. "Actually, I thought they were lucky. They seemed very happy together. Given the Countess's opinion of Americans, I was surprised that she would agree to Mrs. Olivia's marriage to Mr. Sean."

"Westcliff made it happen. He was determined not to let his mother's hypocritical notions stand in the way of her sister's happiness. Given her disgraceful record, the Countess has little power over her daughter's choice." "The countess has a disgraceful record?" "God, yes. There's a lot of debauchery under the surface of piety. That's why she gets along with me. If she was younger, I'd be the type of guy she used to cheat on." Lillian nearly let the empty glass slip from her fingers, and set the fragile vessel aside, returning St. Vincent's open surprise. "She doesn't look like the kind of woman who would cheat."

"Didn't you notice that Westcliff and Lady Olivia look alike? Just as the earl and his sister, Lady Irene, are legal heirs, Lady Olivia is an illegitimate daughter, It's also an open secret." "Oh." "But it's hard for you to condemn the Countess' infidelity." St. Vincent continued casually. "Just think about the people she married." The topic of the old earl aroused Lillian's high interest. He was very mysterious, and it seemed that he was not someone anyone would like to bring up. "The Earl of Westcliff told me once that his father was a cruel man," she said, wishing St. Vincent would go into more detail. "He told you?" The Viscount's eyes brightened with interest. "That's rare. Westcliff never mentioned his father to anyone." "Is he? I mean, is he cruel?" "No." St. Vincent said softly. "To say he was cruel is an understatement, and it shows how little you know about how inhuman a person really is. The old Earl was a monster. I only know bits and pieces of his atrocities—and I don't want to know more." Withdrawing his hand , he continued thinking. "I suspect that very few people would have survived a Marsden-style upbringing. It wasn't benevolent neglect, but sheer brutality." He tilted his head, his face in shadow. "I've always known that Westcliff was struggling, trying not to be the man his father wanted him to be; but the burden was too heavy on his shoulders... and that would dictate his personal choices more than his own. wishes." "for example……" He looked straight at her. "Like, who should he marry." Immediately understanding what he meant, Lillian used the utmost care in her words. "You don't have to warn me," she said finally. "I know very well that the Earl of Westcliff would never consider courting someone like me." "Oh, he thought about it." St. Vincent's answer stunned her. Lillian's heart stopped beating. "How do you know? Did he tell you anything?" "That's right. But of course he wants you. He can't take his eyes off you whenever you're around him. And when you danced with me tonight, he looked like Trying to pick up the nearest pointy thing and thread me into a skewer. But..." "But..." Lillian prompted. "When Westcliff finally marries, he will still make the traditional choice...a supple young English bride who wants nothing from him." Of course it is.Lillian never did what he wanted either, but sometimes the truth is hard to accept, and what's even more maddening is that she has nothing (memories) to mourn, nothing to lose.Westcliff hadn't made a simple promise, or even said a word of love.A few kisses and a waltz, not even a failed romance. So, why, does she feel so painful? Studying the subtle changes in her expression, St. Vincent smiled pityingly. "It'll pass, honey," he whispered. "It's always like this." Bowing his head, his lips brushed her hair to the delicate skin beside her temples. Lillian stood still, knowing that if her perfume would work its magic on him, it would be now.There was no way for him to dodge such a close distance; but when he drew back, he still looked calm and collected.His expression was calm and unwavering, not at all like the almost violent enthusiasm that Westcliff showed.Damn it, frustration welled up in her mind, why did the fragrance only attract the "wrong" man? "My lord," she asked softly. "Would you long for someone you couldn't have?" "Not yet. But I always hope so." She smiled bewilderedly. "You want to be in love with someone you can't have in the future? Why?" "Because it's going to be a fun experience." "Fall off a cliff, too," she said sarcastically. "But I think people would rather learn these lessons indirectly." Laughing, St. Vincent jumped off the stone tabletop to face her. "Perhaps you are right. We'd better go back to the main house before your absence is noticed, my clever little friend." "But..." Lillian realized that during this time in the garden, they obviously couldn't do more than walk and talk briefly. "That's it?" she blurted out. "You're not going to..." Her voice dragged into an unhappy silence. Standing in front of her, St. Vincent put his hands on both sides of her body but did not touch her, his smile was sly and ambiguous. "I guess you mean I'm going to have some 'advance'?" He leaned forward deliberately, letting his breath caress her forehead. "I decided to wait and let our expectations stretch out longer." Despondently, Lillian wondered if he found her unattractive, and for goodness sake, the man with his reputation would run after anything in a dress.Regardless of whether she really wanted him to kiss her or not, the problem was that she had just hit a wall with another man.Two rejections in the same night—that's a small blow to anyone's vanity. "But you promised to make it easier for me," she protested, blushing with shame at the pleading tone of her voice. St. Vincent laughed quietly. "Oh, if you're going to start complaining...well. Just a consolation." His face was lowered, and his fingertips lifted her chin, gently adjusting the angle of her head.Lillian closed her eyes, feeling the soft pressure of his lips, moving lightly and nimbly over hers; his mouth explored slowly but restlessly, growing more determined until she parted them.When he ended the kiss with a gentle flick, she felt only the strange promise of the kiss.Panting slightly in confusion, she asked him to support her shoulders until she could stand up from the table without leaning on her. Just a consolation, really. Helping her jump off the ground, St. Vincent walked with her through the garden to the terrace leading to the terrace.They stopped before the hedge, and he looked at her upturned face, the moonlight tracing silver edges on the outline of his profile. "Thank you." He whispered. Thanks for that kiss?Lillian nodded uncertainly, thinking that might mean something else entirely.Although the image of Westcliff still haunted her mind, her mood was less gloomy than it had been in the ballroom. "You won't forget the drive tomorrow morning, will you?" St. Vincent asked, running his fingers up her long gauntlet to the top of her bare arm. Lillian shook her head. St. Vincent frowned mockingly. "Did I take away your ability to speak?" he asked, laughing when she nodded. "Then don't move, I'll give it back to you." He immediately lowered his head and pressed a kiss on her lips, which made her nerves tingle with warmth.His long fingers caressed her cheek, looking at her questioningly. "Is it better? Say something." She couldn't help smiling. "Good night," she murmured. "Good night." He smiled strangely, and pushed her away. "you go first." When Sebastian, Viscount St. Vincent, made a point of showing off his charms - which he did the next morning - Lillian suspected that no man on earth could be more attractive.Insisting that Daisy go too, he waited on the porch for the three Bowmans and brought Mercedes a bouquet of roses; signal, and the sprightly car rolled smoothly down a gravel drive. St. Vincent and Lillian sat aside and asked them about life in New York.For too long, Lillian found, she and Daisy hadn't spoken to anyone about their birthplace; few in London society spoke of New York, or what happened there.But as they rattled off story after story, St. Vincent quickly proved himself to be a good listener. They spoke eagerly of the rows of stone mansions on Fifth Avenue; of the winter hours in Central Park; Half an hour, for the public and cab rides there; and the ice-cream parlors of Broadway and Franklin, which dared to take unaccompanied single young ladies. St. Vincent seemed fascinated by their descriptions of Manhattan's extravagant life: at a ball they attended, three thousand pots of orchids were placed in the lobby; Everyone from the octogenarian to the yellow-mouthed child decorates with this shiny gem; and there is only one request for all interior designers... "More".More gilt moldings, more brica-brac, more paintings and decorative tapestries, until every room was crammed from floor to ceiling. At the beginning, when talking about the luxurious life she had lived, Lilian was a little nostalgic; but when the carriage passed through the large golden fields waiting to be harvested, and the dark forest full of wild rustling sounds, she found that she was very fond of her hometown. Feelings became surprisingly contradictory.It was a pretty empty life, really, just an endless pursuit of fashion and pastimes; and London seemed better.She never thought that any place would attract her as much as Hampshire, but . future. Unconsciously falling into silence, she turned a blind eye to the fleeting scene, and then came back to herself in St. Vincent's soft voice. "Have you lost the ability to speak again?" She looked up into his bright, smiling eyes, and she nodded as Daisy and Mercedes sat in the opposite seat talking. "I know of a great cure," he told her, and she smiled sheepishly, flushing her cheeks. Lillian was in a relaxed mood after the drive with St. Vincent, listening absently to her mother's nagging about the qualified Viscount, and walked into the room with them. "We'll get to know him better, of course, and I'll refer to my 'book of nobility' to see if there's anything I've missed. It was so good again...” "You want the Viscount St. Vincent to be your son-in-law. I'm really not interested in the idea," Lillian said to Mercedes. "He's a womaniser, mother. I doubt he has any intention of marrying at all." "Even so," Mercedes thought, frowning on her fox-like face. "But he's going to marry anyway." "Will he?" Lillian asked incredulously. "If that's the case, I really doubt he's following the traditional idea of ​​marriage — starting with fidelity." Striding towards the nearby window, Mercedes stared solemnly at the twinkling rectangular panes, her thin, bony fingers plucking at the thick silk tassels on the curtains. "All husbands are unfaithful in one way or another." Lillian and Daisy looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "Papa won't," Lillian said quickly. Mercedes laughed, which sounded like dry leaves being crushed. "Won't he, dear? Maybe he hasn't been physically unfaithful to me—and no one can be sure. But his career is more a jealous and demanding mistress than a woman of flesh and blood; all his dreams They are all focused on investing in construction, expanding the scale of the business, and a business that allows him to concentrate on it. If my opponent is a woman, it is easy to bear. I know that enthusiasm is fleeting, and beauty cannot last; but his company will last forever. It won't bore him—it outlasts any of us. If your husband has more interest and enthusiasm for you than a year, it's a lot more than I have." Lillian had always known the state of her parents' relationship—their lack of interest in each other could hardly have been more obvious.But it was the first time Mercedes had put it into words, and the vulnerability in her tone made Lillian wince sympathetically. "I don't want to marry that kind of man," Lillian said. "Girls your age are no longer suitable for fantasies. At the age of twenty-four, I already had two children. You should have married long ago. And whoever your husband is, what is his reputation , you shouldn’t even ask him for a promise, because he might not keep it.” "That means he can mess with me and deceive me in any way he likes, as long as he's a nobleman?" Lillian retorted. "Exactly." Mercedes said grimly. "Think of your father's investment in this adventure...clothes, hotel bills, and all our other expenses...with no choice but to find an aristocratic husband, both of you. Besides, I But don’t go back to New York and be a laughingstock just because my daughter didn’t marry a dignitary.” Turning sharply from the window, she left the room, closing the door full of anger but forgetting to lock it, the door was between the door frames Swing back and forth. Daisy spoke first. "Does that mean she wants you to marry the Viscount St. Vincent?" she asked ironically. Lillian smiled without a smile. "She doesn't care if the person I marry is a nonsense, murderous lunatic, as long as his blood is noble enough." Sighing, Daisy walked up to her and turned her back. "Help me undo my skirt and corset, will you?" "What do you want to do?" "I want to take the damn thing off, read a novel, and take a nap." "Do you want to take a nap?" Lillian asked, never seeing a sister who would automatically take a nap at noon. "Yeah. The carriage shook my head, and now Mom has finished her speech about marrying a nobleman." Daisy's slender shoulders stood stiffly out of her gown. "You seem to be really fascinated by Viscount St. Vincent, what do you think of him?" Lillian carefully undid the ivory buttons. "He's funny," she said. "Charming too. I'd love to see him as an empty dude, but every now and then I can see something beneath the surface..." She paused, finding it hard to express what was on her mind. thought. "Yes, I know." Daisy's voice was a little muffled, and she was bending over to take off a large pile of delicate printed muslin skirts from her hips. "And I don't like it, whatever that is." "You don't like it?" Lillian asked in surprise. "But you were kind to him this morning." "Can't help it," Daisy admitted. "He has a quality, what hypnotists always say. They call it an animal magnetism. An innate force that makes people feel drawn involuntarily." Lillian shook her head with a belly laugh. "You read too many magazines, dear." "Then, regardless of whether St. Vincent has a magnetic field or not, his kindness seems to be purely motivated by self-interest, so I don't trust him." Covering the long skirt she took off on a chair, Daisy concentrated on unbuttoning her corset , and let out a long and comfortable breath after peeling off her slim figure.If there had to be a girl who didn't need a corset, it would be Daisy; unfortunately, it's not just about shaping the figure for a lady.Daisy threw down the corset eagerly, grabbed the book from the side table, and climbed onto the mattress. "I still have a magazine, if you want to read it too." "No, thank you. I can't rest if I want to study, and I definitely can't sleep." Lilian looked at the half-closed door cunningly. "I guess my mother won't notice if I sneak out into the garden, and she'll spend the next two hours studying that 'Noble Book'." Daisy didn't answer, she was already engrossed in the novel, smiling at her sister's attentive face, Lillian quietly left the room and walked towards the servant's entrance. Into the garden she followed a never-before-traveled path bordered by a long parallel, perfectly trimmed yew hedge.The garden was well tended and tended, and must be very beautiful in winter, she thought.Hedges, shrubs and statues will be covered with Christmas cake icing after a light snowfall, while icing is carefully hung from the dun beech branches.And now, winter seems to be far away from this golden-red September garden. She passed a huge greenhouse filled with salad plants and pots of exotic vegetables.Two men were standing in the doorway talking, one of them hunched over a row of wooden trays full of dried tubers, the other Lillian recognized as an old gardener in the garden.Walking along the path beside the greenhouse, Lilian couldn't help noticing the man squatting. He was wearing coarse trousers and a simple white shirt without a vest. posture.He picked up a tuber, examined it carefully, and heard her approaching. Standing up, the man turned to face her.That's Westcliff, Lillian thought, entangled with excitement.He oversees everything in the estate with equal care, down to the smallest tuber. This side of Westcliff was her favourite—rarely slovenly, uninhibited, and radiating dark masculinity.The neckline of his shirt was open, revealing a bit of curly hair, and the trousers were a little loose on his thin waist, but they strongly attracted her senses, making her tingle all over from the force.In this particular moment, she longed to run to him, to let him pin her to the ground, give her rough, impatient, unreserved kisses and caresses.But she just nodded unsteadily in response to his muffled greeting, and picked up speed across the path. To her relief, Westcliff made no attempt to keep up with her, and her heartbeat quickly returned to a gentle rhythm.Looking around her surroundings, she saw a wall, almost entirely hidden by tall hedges and a mass of overhanging ivy.As if part of the garden were completely blocked by this high wall, she walked curiously along the hedge, but could not find the entrance to the hidden garden. "There should be a door," she said loudly to herself, taking a step back and staring at the wall in front of her, trying to find the gap behind the ivy.No.Walking in the other direction, she stuck to the base of the wall and reached through the ivy, groping for the texture of the stone wall behind, hoping to find the door. A giggle sounded behind her, and she turned her head quickly. It appears that Westcliff has decided to follow her anyway.As a so-so concession to proper decorum, he added a black waistcoat, but his shirt was left open at the throat, and his dusty trousers were badly frayed.He came to her side in strides leisurely, with a faint smile on his lips. "I guess you're looking for a way into the secret garden." Lillian could barely hear the quiet chirping of the birds and the soft rustling of the ivy in the breeze.His eyes clung to hers, and Westcliff moved closer...closer...until their bodies nearly touched.His body breath brushed her nose, the warm sun shining on the male skin, and the unique dry sweet smell, mixed into a wonderful fragrance that deeply attracted her.Slowly, he put an arm around her, her breath caught in her throat; she stepped back, touched the rustling ivy, and heard the click of the metal latch. "Keep a little more to the left and you'll find it," he whispered. Fumbling half-turned in his arms, she watched him lift up the ivy and gently open the door inward. "Come on," urged Westcliff, and with a nudge on her waist, he entered with her.