Marigold let out a sigh, but straightened. “Fine. But only because I think it will help Daisy. Not because I approve.”
Lily smiled to herself, glad her friend had finally come ‘round to her plan.
The Duke of Dolan had been paying special interest to Daisy until this afternoon. Lily could tell that his sudden turn of attention had hurt Daisy deeply and Lily was determined to understand why. And that was why she was here. Spying.
Of course, she also hated most social rules and flaunted them whenever possible. She took great pride in not conforming, and that included—but was not limited to—spying in rose gardens.
Her mother said that she only engaged in such behavior to prove that she didn’t care about the ton’s rejection. She always fired back that she acted as she did because she’d never cared whether they’d accepted her or not.
But either way, she’d been designated a wallflower, which was fine by her. It meant no one gave a fig what she did.
And it wasn’t as though she was unhappy or lonely. She had Daisy and Marigold.
Her friends had been her saving grace the past few years and she’d do nearly anything to help them and make certain they were happy. Spying on one duke...easy.
“It’s not polite to spy, you know.” The words were a repeat of Marigold’s but everything else about the statement was completely different. This time it was said with disdain, not resignation.
The words rumbled low and deep in a baritone she’d recognize anywhere. Lord Merrick.
She had no use for him.
“Who said I was spying?” She sniffed, not turning to look at him. She didn’t need to. She knew every line of his face, every nuance of his classically handsome features, from his square jaw to his full mouth to the aristocratic arch of his brow.
Right about now his warm brown eyes would be glittering with annoyance.
“Laura,” he said, disapproval evident in the way he drew out the last syllable.
“It’s Lily now, thank you very much.” She refused to stand but she’d stopped seeing the path visible through the bushes, her eyes clouded with her own irritation.
He scoffed deep in his throat. “Lily? Really? You’ve changed your name now?”
She shrugged, finally straightening. Slowly, she pivoted toward him. She always managed to forget how tall he was. The width of his shoulders held a power that, a few years ago, had seemed like a safe haven. Now they just reminded her of how much it hurt when a friend abandoned a girl for prettier, more-sought-after ladies. “Lily suits me.”
“Suits you? Flaunting your position against the wall suits you?” He crossed his arms, staring down his nose at her as though he knew far better than her what was good or right.
“Please.” She waved her hand in the air, lifting her chin higher. “What do you know about it? What do you know about anything?”
“I know that you’ll never make a good match like this. You have so much potential, Laura.” He frowned, that perfect impersonation of his father. In fact, it was the very face they’d made fun of as children.
She wrinkled her nose as though she’d smell something foul. “You look and sound exactly like him.”
She didn’t need to say his name. They both knew she meant his father and her arrow hit its mark. His face turned to granite, only a small flicker of pain crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I, unlike some of us, have grown up.”
Her hands came to her hips. “Grown up? Is that what you call becoming as snotty as the rest of them?”
He scoffed, stepping closer. “They will find husbands.”
Ouch. He’d struck back, and his blow had been just as hurtful as hers.
She’d spent her first season sitting on the sidelines. She’d watched others dance and make merry as she sedately stood at her mother’s side. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wished to dance. That year, she’d been...unable.
Ravaged by a disease of the lungs, she’d hardly made it through alive. In fact, her mother hadn’t wanted her to participate in that season at all. She’d thought her daughter should wait until she was stronger so that she might make the best impression.
Lily had refused. At the time, her best friend, Lady Abigail Purewater, had been coming out and she’d desperately wished to join her. Back then she’d considered Abigail a sister. If she were honest, she’d dreamed the two of them would be the toast of London. She’d convinced her mother to allow her to participate.
In the end, her mother had been right. She’d have been better off at home.
But she’d not tell him any of that. She’d not tell anyone. Let them think her strong-headed and ridiculous. She cared not. She’d not share that she’d been weak.
“I don’t care if I find a husband.” Her spine straightened with every word. “I am more content to be me than to be valued by others.”
He shook his head. “You’re so stubborn. You know that, don’t you? You’ll become a spinster rather than compromise even the slightest?”
Her lip curled. Become one of the Abigails? Simpering and sweet on the outside but absolute vipers within? She thought not. “Have you ever considered that I am right and that you and all the rest of them are the ones who have it wrong?”
He frowned at her, the perfect arch of his brow drawing together. “As I was once like you, I have carefully considered both sides so I can tell you with absolutely certainty that you are wrong and-—”
“Stop.” She held up her hand. “I’m sorry I asked the question. I don’t want to hear your answer.”
He shook his head. “Laura—”
“Lily.”
He drew in a long breath, staring at her. “Laura.”
She raised her brows. “And you say that I am stubborn.” She moved toward him holding up a single finger. “Lily.” She spoke the name slowly as though he might not understand.
He grumbled deep in his throat. “Using that name only encourages your nonconformity.”
She shrugged. “Even my mother has begun using it.”
His brows lifted at that. “Your mother, of all people, is using your wallflower name?”
That made her smile. Granted, after Lily’s near death, her mother had become far more flexible, but she was still a formidable woman, as Merrick well knew. “She’s come around to see things my way.”
He shook his head. “How did you manage that?”
Lily stared to the side, for the first time during this conversation, she wasn’t irritated and she certainly didn’t feel confident. Memories of the months she’d spent in bed flooded her thoughts and her shoulders hunched.
“Lily?” he asked softly.
That nearly made her smile. He’d used her new name and he’d always managed to sense when she needed him to soften the most. “It doesn’t matter, Merrick. She did.”
“I sense that there is more you’re not telling me.”
She shrugged. “What you need to know is that I will never be the person you want me to be.”
“But why?” he asked. He took the last step that brought him within arm’s reach. “Try to understand. Our friendship was always so important to me. And we could be like that again. Compatriots, not in a rebellion against our parents, but in the battle of finding the perfect match.”