It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(40)

“Lilian, it would cost you nothing. Just say the words. You don’t have to mean them. Just say, ‘Lord Westcliff, I—’ “

“I will not,” Lillian repeated stonily. “And it would cost something—my pride.”

“Is it worth being locked in this room, and having to miss all the soirees and suppers that everyone else will be enjoying? Please don’t be stubborn! Lillian, I promise, I will help you think up some dreadful revenge on Lord Westcliff …something really evil. Just do what Mother wants for now—you may lose the battle, but you’ll win the war. Besides…” Daisy searched desperately for another argument to sway her. “Besides, nothing would please Lord Westcliff more than for you to be locked away for the entire visit. You would be powerless to annoy or torment him. Out of sight, out of mind. Don’t give him that satisfaction, Lillian!”

It was perhaps the only argument that had the power to influence her. Frowning, Lillian stared at her sister’s small ivory face, with its intelligent dark eyes and brows that were a shade too strongly marked. Not for the first time, she wondered how it was that the person most willing to join her reckless adventures was also the one who could most easily recall her to reason. Many people were often deceived by Daisy’s frequent moments of whimsy, never suspecting the bedrock of ruthless common sense beneath the elfin facade.

“I’ll do it,” she said stiffly. “Though I’ll probably choke on the words.”

Daisy let out a huge sigh of relief. “I’ll act as your intermediary. I’ll tell Mother that you’ve agreed, and that she mustn’t lecture you any further, or you might change your mind.”

Lillian slumped on the settee, envisioning Westcliff’s smug satisfaction when she was forced to deliver her apology. Damnation, it would be unbearable. Seething with animosity, she entertained herself by planning a series of complicated revenges against Westcliff, ending with the vision of him begging for mercy.

An hour later, the Bowman family proceeded from their room as one unit, led by Thomas Bowman. Their eventual destination was the dining hall, where another bombastic four-hour supper would be held. Having been recently apprised of his eldest daughter’s shameful behavior, Thomas was in a state of barely contained fury, his mustache bristling above his set mouth.

Dressed in a pale lavender silk gown trimmed with spills of white lace at the bodice and short puffed sleeves, Lillian walked resolutely behind her parents, while her father’s wrathful words floated back to her.

“The moment you become a handicap to a potential business deal is the moment that I send you packing for New York. So far this husband-hunting sojourn in England has proved to be expensive and unproductive. I warn you, daughter, if your actions have disrupted my negotiations with the earl—”

“I’m sure they haven’t,” Mercedes interrupted frantically, as her dreams of attaining a titled son-in-law wobbled like a teacup poised on the edge of a table. “Lillian will apologize to Lord Westcliff, dear, and that will set everything to rights. You will see.” Falling a half step behind him, she glanced over her shoulder to level a threatening glare at her elder daughter.

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.