LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t approve.’

      ‘Rose does, but not Petunia.’

      ‘And you agree with her?’

      They walked in silence, the gravel crunching beneath their feet. Around them a few birds twittered, making the bare tree limbs rub together as they took off from their perches. At last Lily took a deep breath and spoke with measured words. ‘I think our freedom with one another last night was a mistake. I was foolish to forget myself with you when I know I’m nothing more to you than a mere country dalliance.’

      Her words stung as much as the cold air in his lungs. ‘You’re very mistaken.’

      She whirled to face him. ‘Am I? You already cut me once and everyone who hungered after your family’s approval or based their behaviour on their opinion followed suit. Why do you think I haven’t returned to London? I couldn’t face the whispers, the derisive looks.’

      Gregor toed the snow at his feet, uncovering a clump of brown weeds. ‘I didn’t realise.’

      ‘Of course not. Like all Marbrooks, you only think of yourself.’

      His head jerked up to meet hers. ‘Don’t lump me in with my family. I’m nothing like them. I never will be.’

      ‘You have been once already. I won’t let you make a fool of me again.’

      The remark hurt like a slap. There’d been so little time for him to show her his true self, but he thought she’d recognised it and understood—he was beginning to suspect he was wrong. ‘Have you heard nothing of what I’ve said to you about my past, my life or these last four years?’

      ‘I have, if I hadn’t I never would have accepted your apology.’

      ‘Yet you haven’t, not really, or you wouldn’t doubt my sincerity, integrity and my concern for you.’

      ‘I trusted you once and you let me down.’

      ‘And you’ll always hold it against me, no matter what I say or do.’

      ‘How can I forget it when I can’t escape it?’

      ‘You could if you truly wanted to, but instead you’ve hidden yourself away here, imagining your troubles to be much greater than they really are.’

      ‘How dare you.’ She marched off around the corner of the house and out of view of the upper windows.

      Gregor followed, quickly closing the distance between them before he grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. She landed against his chest, clutching his upper arms to steady herself. Her breath caressing his neck above his cravat nearly startled the words from him, but they didn’t abandon him completely. They were driven out of him by the anger welling up from deep inside him, fuelled by France, his parents and his own failings. ‘You think you know suffering, but you don’t. It isn’t rumours or people staring, it a field full of shattered men bleeding and dying, your friends alive one moment, then ripped from your side by a cannonball the next. It’s lying in an abandoned barn for three days with your leg bleeding, passing in and out of consciousness, your tongue swollen with thirst while you watch the sun set, wondering if it will be the last time you see daylight.’

      He shifted closer, his chest brushing against her as she listened. The care he’d craved from her only half an hour before filled her eyes and tore at him the way the musket ball had torn through his leg.

      ‘I’m sorry, Gregor, I didn’t know,’ she whispered, reaching up to brush the hair off his forehead.

      Tears for him glittered in the corners of her eyes, but with the cries of his men and the cannon fire echoing in his ears, he couldn’t accept her sympathy. ‘How could you? You talk of my faults, but what of yours? You hide here, afraid to be embarrassed by me, your family, yourself, looking for the worst in others because of how it might reflect on you.’

      This time she didn’t object to his words, but lowered her head and sagged a touch in his arms. He’d humbled her as much as France and his father had once humbled him, and he hated himself for it.

      Sliding a finger beneath her chin, he raised her face to his. ‘You were brave once, approaching me when you thought I needed a friend, despite my family name and rank. Be that brave woman again, Lily, and you’ll stun yourself and everyone.’

      * * *

      Lily stared into Gregor’s green eyes. He was right. She’d lived for so long in fear of being embarrassed she hadn’t really lived at all. Yes, the ball four years ago was unfortunate and he’d made a mistake, but the time afterwards was her mistake, not his. He’d learned to battle on in spite of the heartlessness of his family and in the face of his horrors in France. Instead of picking herself up and carrying on with the fortitude of a Rutherford, she’d hidden herself away, more ashamed than proud of her family and herself. While she’d imagined herself wronged, Gregor had suffered real tragedies, ones she couldn’t fathom. Then, when he’d come to her for understanding, she’d scorned him, too blinded by her own slight troubles to see his.

      She wasn’t worthy of his friendship. She deserved to be alone.

      She let go of his arms and stepped back. He didn’t cling to her, but opened his fingers and let her go. Whatever had passed between them last night was gone now. She’d killed it with her fears and accusations. It was as terrible a misstep as the one she’d made with him at the wedding ball.

      Snow crunched beneath her boots as she fled off towards the garden, rounding the house to make for the greenhouse standing alone at the end of the flower beds. She slipped inside, the moist heat stifling after the dry cold. She wasn’t ready to return to the house to humour Aunt Alice or be pestered by Daisy or the twins, or, heaven forbid, Petunia.

      She paced the length of floor, avoiding the small puddles sitting in the narrow spaces between the stones. Neither the blooming plants nor their scent brought her any pleasure. All she could focus on were the red poinsettias and the image of Gregor standing across the bright leaves from her, trying and failing to tell her of France and to apologise. He’d been so open and honest with her, and this time it was she who’d refused to acknowledge him. In her grudge, she’d failed to see the wonderful man he’d become and had thrown away any chance they might ever be real friends, or possibly more.

      The door swung open and Laurus entered with a cold draught. ‘What are you doing in here? Father is looking for you. He needs you to oversee the decorations for the ball.’

      She moved one poinsettia so its pot was in line with the one beside it. ‘I needed some time away from all the noise, a chance to be alone before all our guests arrive.’

      ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

      ‘What makes you think there’s anything wrong?’ Lily straightened her shoulders, trying to conjure up an air of indifference and failing.

      ‘Because you were lit up like the Yule log last night with Marbrook and today you look as dour as if it were Ash Wednesday.’

      Lily shifted on her feet, trying to think of some flippant response to send him away, but instead she sank down on to the bench beneath the window and buried her face in her hands. ‘I’ve made a mess of things with Gregor.’

      ‘Gregor?’

      She looked up as her brother approached with one eyebrow arched with interest.

      ‘I mean Lord Marbrook,’ Lily nervously corrected. ‘Do you know the real reason he wanted to come here for Christmas?’

      ‘I do.’ Laurus sat down beside her. ‘He told me when he asked if he could join us.’

      ‘Then you knew he’d come here to apologise to me?’

      ‘I did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have let him come. He might be my friend, but I remember what happened. It’s why I haven’t brought him around before.’ He gently pressed against her with humour. ‘Some of us in this family do have a regard for your feelings.’

      She wished she

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