It Happened One Autumn
Page 40
Part of Lillian felt like curling up into a ball of remorse, while the other part wanted to explode with resentment. Naturally her father would take exception to anyone and anything that threatened to interfere with his business…otherwise, he couldn’t have cared less about her actions. All he had ever wanted of his daughters was for them to keep from bothering him. Had it not been for her three brothers, Lillian would have never known what it was like to receive even negligible crumbs of male attention.
“To ensure that you have the opportunity to properly ask the earl’s pardon,” Thomas Bowman said, pausing to glance at Lillian with hard, stone-colored eyes, “I have requested his indulgence in meeting us in the library before dinner. You will apologize to him then— both to my satisfaction and to his.”
Coming to a dead halt, Lillian stared at him with wide eyes. Her resentment built in a hot, choking mass as she wondered if Westcliff had arranged this scenario as a lesson in humiliation. “Does he know why you’ve asked to meet him there?” she managed to ask.
“No. Nor do I believe that he expects an apology from one of my notoriously ill-mannered daughters. However, if you do not deliver a satisfactory one, you will soon take your last glance of England from the deck of a steamer bound from New York.”
Lillian was not fool enough to discount her father’s words as an idle threat. His tone was utterly convincing in its grim imperative. And the thought of being forced to leave England, and worse, to be separated from Daisy…
“Yes, sir,” she said, her jaw clenched.
The family proceeded along the hallway in strained silence.
As Lilly stewed, she felt her sister’s small hand slip into hers. “It means nothing,” Daisy whispered. “Just say it quickly and be done with—”
“Silence!” their father barked, and their hands fell apart.
Glumly preoccupied with her thoughts, Lillian took little notice of her surroundings as she accompanied her family to the library. The door had been left ajar, and her father gave the portal a single decisive rap before shepherding his wife and daughters into the room. It was a handsome library with a twenty-foot-high ceiling, movable staircases, and upper and lower galleries that contained acres of books. The scents of leather, vellum, and freshly waxed wood made the air richly pungent.
Lord Westcliff, who had been leaning over his desk with his hands braced on the age-worn surface, looked up from a sheaf of paperwork. He straightened, his black eyes narrowing as he saw Lillian. Dark, austere, and impeccably dressed, he was the perfect picture of an English aristocrat, with a perfectly knotted cravat and thick hair that had been ruthlessly brushed back from his forehead. It was suddenly impossible to reconcile the man who stood before her with the playful, unshaven brute who had let her knock him over on the rounders diamond behind the stable yard.
Ushering his wife and daughters into the room, Thomas Bowman spoke brusquely. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me here, my lord. I promise this won’t take long.”
“Mr. Bowman,” Westcliff acknowledged in a low voice. “I did not anticipate the privilege of meeting with your family as well.”
“I am afraid that the word ‘privilege’ is overstating the case,” Thomas said sourly. “It seems that one of my daughters has behaved badly in your presence. She wishes to express her regret.” He pushed his knuckles into the center of Lillian’s back, prodding her toward the earl. “Go on.”
A frown furrowed Westcliff’s brow. “Mr. Bowman, it is not necessary—”
“You will allow my daughter to speak her piece,” Thomas said, jabbing Lillian forward.
The atmosphere in the library was silent but volatile as Lillian lifted her gaze to Westcliff’s. His frown had deepened, and with a spark of insight she understood that he did not want an apology from her. Not this way, with her father forcing her to do it in such a humiliating manner. Somehow that made it easier for her to apologize.
Swallowing hard, she stared directly into his fathomless dark eyes, the light picking out filaments of intense sable in the irises. “I am sorry about what happened, my lord. You have been a generous host, and you deserve far more respect than I showed you this morning. I should not have challenged your decision at the jumping course, nor should I have spoken to you as I did. I hope that you will accept my regrets, and know that they are sincere.”
“No,” he said softly.
Lillian blinked in confusion, thinking at first that he had rejected her apology.
“It is for me to apologize, Miss Bowman, not you,” Westcliff continued. “Your spirited actions were provoked by a moment of high-handedness on my part. I cannot blame you for responding in such a way to my arrogance.”
Lillian struggled to hide her astonishment, but it wasn’t easy when Westcliff had just done the exact opposite of what she had expected. He had been given the perfect opportunity to quash her pride—and he had chosen not to. She could not understand it. What kind of game was he playing?
His gaze moved gently over her bewildered features. “Though I expressed it badly this morning,” he murmured, “my concern for your safety was genuine. Hence the reason for my anger.”
Staring at him, Lillian felt the ball of resentment that had lodged in her chest begin to dissolve. How nice he was being! And it didn’t seem as if he was playing a part, either. He seemed genuinely kind and sympathetic. A sense of relief stole over her, and she was able to take a deep breath for the first time all day. “That wasn’t the only reason for your anger,” she said. “You also don’t like to be disobeyed.”
“To ensure that you have the opportunity to properly ask the earl’s pardon,” Thomas Bowman said, pausing to glance at Lillian with hard, stone-colored eyes, “I have requested his indulgence in meeting us in the library before dinner. You will apologize to him then— both to my satisfaction and to his.”
Coming to a dead halt, Lillian stared at him with wide eyes. Her resentment built in a hot, choking mass as she wondered if Westcliff had arranged this scenario as a lesson in humiliation. “Does he know why you’ve asked to meet him there?” she managed to ask.
“No. Nor do I believe that he expects an apology from one of my notoriously ill-mannered daughters. However, if you do not deliver a satisfactory one, you will soon take your last glance of England from the deck of a steamer bound from New York.”
Lillian was not fool enough to discount her father’s words as an idle threat. His tone was utterly convincing in its grim imperative. And the thought of being forced to leave England, and worse, to be separated from Daisy…
“Yes, sir,” she said, her jaw clenched.
The family proceeded along the hallway in strained silence.
As Lilly stewed, she felt her sister’s small hand slip into hers. “It means nothing,” Daisy whispered. “Just say it quickly and be done with—”
“Silence!” their father barked, and their hands fell apart.
Glumly preoccupied with her thoughts, Lillian took little notice of her surroundings as she accompanied her family to the library. The door had been left ajar, and her father gave the portal a single decisive rap before shepherding his wife and daughters into the room. It was a handsome library with a twenty-foot-high ceiling, movable staircases, and upper and lower galleries that contained acres of books. The scents of leather, vellum, and freshly waxed wood made the air richly pungent.
Lord Westcliff, who had been leaning over his desk with his hands braced on the age-worn surface, looked up from a sheaf of paperwork. He straightened, his black eyes narrowing as he saw Lillian. Dark, austere, and impeccably dressed, he was the perfect picture of an English aristocrat, with a perfectly knotted cravat and thick hair that had been ruthlessly brushed back from his forehead. It was suddenly impossible to reconcile the man who stood before her with the playful, unshaven brute who had let her knock him over on the rounders diamond behind the stable yard.
Ushering his wife and daughters into the room, Thomas Bowman spoke brusquely. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me here, my lord. I promise this won’t take long.”
“Mr. Bowman,” Westcliff acknowledged in a low voice. “I did not anticipate the privilege of meeting with your family as well.”
“I am afraid that the word ‘privilege’ is overstating the case,” Thomas said sourly. “It seems that one of my daughters has behaved badly in your presence. She wishes to express her regret.” He pushed his knuckles into the center of Lillian’s back, prodding her toward the earl. “Go on.”
A frown furrowed Westcliff’s brow. “Mr. Bowman, it is not necessary—”
“You will allow my daughter to speak her piece,” Thomas said, jabbing Lillian forward.
The atmosphere in the library was silent but volatile as Lillian lifted her gaze to Westcliff’s. His frown had deepened, and with a spark of insight she understood that he did not want an apology from her. Not this way, with her father forcing her to do it in such a humiliating manner. Somehow that made it easier for her to apologize.
Swallowing hard, she stared directly into his fathomless dark eyes, the light picking out filaments of intense sable in the irises. “I am sorry about what happened, my lord. You have been a generous host, and you deserve far more respect than I showed you this morning. I should not have challenged your decision at the jumping course, nor should I have spoken to you as I did. I hope that you will accept my regrets, and know that they are sincere.”
“No,” he said softly.
Lillian blinked in confusion, thinking at first that he had rejected her apology.
“It is for me to apologize, Miss Bowman, not you,” Westcliff continued. “Your spirited actions were provoked by a moment of high-handedness on my part. I cannot blame you for responding in such a way to my arrogance.”
Lillian struggled to hide her astonishment, but it wasn’t easy when Westcliff had just done the exact opposite of what she had expected. He had been given the perfect opportunity to quash her pride—and he had chosen not to. She could not understand it. What kind of game was he playing?
His gaze moved gently over her bewildered features. “Though I expressed it badly this morning,” he murmured, “my concern for your safety was genuine. Hence the reason for my anger.”
Staring at him, Lillian felt the ball of resentment that had lodged in her chest begin to dissolve. How nice he was being! And it didn’t seem as if he was playing a part, either. He seemed genuinely kind and sympathetic. A sense of relief stole over her, and she was able to take a deep breath for the first time all day. “That wasn’t the only reason for your anger,” she said. “You also don’t like to be disobeyed.”
