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Chapter

Nine

“Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.”

Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)

JULY 25, 1821

Lily examined herself in the mirror. Soon she was to take her vows, yet her critical eye insisted that she still possessed the air of a child. The flouncy gown she wore, though finely made, did little to lend her the dignity or poise of a woman about to be wed. It certainly would not cause any gentleman’s pulse to quicken, least of all her intended. Not that she desired to appear wanton or garish, but still … did she look like someone worthy of longing?

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the widow. That lady was always so composed in her bold silk gowns, commanding attention with her daring neckline and confident manner. Lily’s own figure was modest in comparison, her gown innocent and pale, her demeanor demure. She felt painfully invisible in contrast.

A sigh escaped her lips as she stepped back and leaned lightly against the carved foot of her tall bedstead, the cool wood grounding her.

This would not do. She could not walk down the aisle appearing no more than a schoolroom miss. She wanted to be seen as a woman. To inspire admiration, yes, but more than that, to be truly noticed by Mr. Ridley. For him to look at her and feel something stir that went beyond friendship. That warm gleam in his eyes, could she ever rouse it?

Sophia and the duchess were effortlessly elegant. Each wore colors that seemed chosen by the heavens themselves. The duchess, with her rich chestnut hair and eyes the color of aged brandy, always looked perfectly adorned. Sophia, her stormy blue eyes offset by her reddish-gold locks, selected gowns with a confidence that Lily deeply admired and she suspected that the rich tones her mother wore would suit her far better than these pale pastels.

Most brides simply wore an existing gown. It was sensible, traditional. But Lily did not feel sensible just now. She felt … determined.

“Bah! I need a new gown for my wedding.”

“I agree,” Sophia said, stepping beside her. “And I know just where to get one.”

“What do I say to Mama?”

“You say you are a grown woman who requires a wardrobe fit for matrimony and that you will not take no for an answer.”

“And then?”

“Then we hike up our skirts and make a dash for the front door, where my carriage is waiting, before your mother can descend and scold us into submission.”

“We should call to her from across the hall,” Lily said with a wry smile, “so we gain a bit of a lead.”

“I think we wait at the foot of the stairs,” Sophia replied with equal mischief. “Then, as soon as she appears at the top, we inform her where we are going. That will give us more of a head start.”

Lily nodded slowly. “We must go to a proper modiste. Mama’s mantua-maker fashions gowns for matrons. I need something more … compelling. Mr. Ridley is a fine-looking man, and I do not wish to appear lacking in comparison. It must seem, especially to Society, that what passed between us sprang from deep feeling, not mere circumstance.”

“I made an appointment with Signora Ricci for this morning,” Sophia replied with a knowing smile.

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew. No self-respecting woman permits her mother to select her wedding gown, not when she is to marry a man who should see her in her best light.” She bobbed her head subtly toward Lily’s bodice.

Lily looked down. Her gown was embellished with tiny bows across the front, a detail that had once seemed charming but now felt juvenile. She resembled nothing so much as a Twelfth Night cake, the kind confectioners displayed in their windows, adorned with sugared roses and fondant flourishes. Decorative. Delightful. But not desirable.

She wanted to be more than a cheerful display. She wished to be seen—by him. She wanted Mr. Ridley’s heart to stir when he looked at her, to feel fortunate in his choice of bride. Not to glance back at what had once been.

“There is not much time,” she murmured. “Papa insists we wed swiftly to still the gossip. Mr. Ridley has already applied for a Common License.”

“Signora Ricci will manage. She is a miracle worker. Now that your wedding is set, we must ensure Mr. Ridley sees you for what you are—a woman worthy of admiration and devotion. You deserve far more than polite companionship.”

Lily drew in a slow breath, then released it, her fingers tightening at her sides. “Mama will descend shortly. We should position ourselves if we mean to catch her on the steps.”

Sophia’s eyes lit with mischief. “I do so enjoy a good caper!”

As they turned toward the door, Lily paused. The question that had been gnawing at her could not be silenced.