Lily lifted a shoulder. “I am still me.” Then a grin spread across her face. “And technically, I am not stealing so much as borrowing without his permission.”
But this plan made her hopeful. She wanted him to know that while she would always be her, she was willing to listen, willing to change, and able to compromise for him. Because he was worth it.
And only he would understand what torture a day spent embroidering would be. Which made this plan perfect.
Marigold delicately cleared her throat. “But your stitching...” She cleared it again. “Will it improve his pocket square or ruin…” She didn’t finish, looking over at the wall to her left instead.”
Lily gave a rueful grin. “Oh, it will be dreadful. But he’ll understand the symbolism of the gesture.”
“Very well, then,” Daisy stood and crossed the room to pat her shoulder. “Let’s get started, shall we? This could take a while and I might suggest a very simple stitch.”
Marigold held up her hand. “A raised ripple stitch?”
Lily wrinkled her nose.
“Too hard,” Daisy shook her head.
“Waffle stitch?” Marigold suggested, her mouth twisting into a frown.
“I don’t think so,” Daisy tapped her chin.
Lily huffed out a breath. “I know a few stitches, for Pete’s sake.”
But two hours later, she’d wondered if this had been a mistake after all. Her very simple stitch looked more like a bumpy country road than a cobblestoned London street. Though embellishments were entirely unnecessary, Lily had to confess, there was an art to them that she didn’t possess.
Still, she’d made her way around the edge of the pocket square and the gift was ready for Merrick.
Rising, she worked out the kink in her back with a good stretch. How did women ever find this relaxing? Their ride together had been far more soothing than sewing could ever be.
“Done?” Daisy asked, smiling as she looked at the piece in Lily’s hand. Her smile slipped, wobbling on her face before she gave Lily a forced grin.
“I know. It’s dreadful.” Lily carefully folded the fabric. “Trust me when I say, Merrick understands what a sacrifice this was.”
Marigold rose too. “You’re lucky.”
Lily paused, looking at her friend. Lucky? She faced possible rejection of the worst kind as she bared her soul to a man that she loved. She’d not shy away any longer, but it was a scary proposition. “How do you figure that?”
Marigold looked down at her hands. “You’ve had an offer of marriage. From a man who has taken the time to get to know you. I don’t know that I’ll ever be so…”
Lily stepped toward her friend, but Daisy reached her first. “Don’t be silly. Of course you will.”
Marigold shook her head. “I’m too shy. Too plain. I…”
Lily straightened her spine, looking at her friend. “You’re beautiful, kind, smart and funny. A man will see all of that. I am certain.”
Daisy nodded. “Absolutely.”
Marigold gave a halfhearted nod. “You’re both wonderful friends.” Then she lifted her chin. “Enough about me. You should go get ready for tonight.”
Lily nodded, watching her friend. After tonight, she vowed to help Marigold make her own match. If anyone deserved a happily ever after, it was her sweet friend.
They all started from the sitting room, silence settling between them. “There is other party news that you might find interesting.”
“Really?” Lily looked over at Daisy, one of her eyebrows cocking. “People are talking of something other than me?”
Both Daisy and Marigold laughed. Then Daisy continued. “Our hostess, the Marchioness of Arundel, has just announced that her son, the Marquess of Arundel, is returning home after years spent in military service. He’ll be in attendance for the second half of this party. He’s been given an early leave because his father has passed.”
Lily nodded. Though it had been a year since the former marquess had died, it had likely taken that long for his son to receive word, for change of papers to be issued, and for the new marquess to travel home.
“Do you know anything about him?” Marigold asked.
Daisy shook her head. “Not much. He hasn’t been in society since I’ve come out.”
“Arriving home in the middle of a house party,” she frowned. He likely hadn’t had nearly as long to grieve as his mother and sister. “How dreadful.”
Daisy nudged her. “You would say that, you don’t like society.”
Lily shrugged. She was learning to bear it.
An hour later, she was dressed and ready for the evening’s festivities, wearing one of her favorite ball gowns of ivory silk and lace. Her hair had been artfully twisted into a complicated coif at her nape and her face appeared the picture of calm tranquility.
Looks were often deceiving. Inside, her stomach rolled and pitched as she carefully tucked Merrick’s square into her sleeve. How was he going to take her confession?
Her hands trembled as she made her way down to the ballroom.
Several guests stopped to stare at her, their fans snapping open as whispers trailed behind her.
Her chin notched higher. Let them talk. She cared not.
But there was one man’s opinion she did care about and as she looked around the room, she found Merrick standing against the wall, next to a potted plant.
If he weren’t a head taller than nearly every other guest, he might look exactly like a wallflower. Was her perfect Merrick hiding in the shadows? How could it be true?
Suppressing a grin, she fought her way through the crowd and finally reached his side. “That’s a lovely fern you’ve stationed yourself next to.”
He smiled back, reaching out a hand to her. “I thought it the best spot to be found by a wallflower.”
She squeezed his fingers, placing a pretend pout on her lips. “How dare you, sir? I am by the wall in silent protest, not because I need to hide.”
He shook his head. “I’ve always known that to be true.”
Her shoulders sagged just a bit. “I know that you do understand that better than anyone.” Drawing in a deep breath. “Which is why I want you to know that I understand it is time for me to change. A little, at least. Become more—”
“We’ve been over this.” He bent his head down. “I like you just the way you are. You don’t need to—”
She held up a finger just in front of his lips. “Wait.” Then she reached into her the sleeve of her dress, pulling the pocket square from inside the folds. “I have a gift for you.”
She handed him the square, pressing it into his palm. He looked down at it for a moment, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “Is this mine?”
“Yes,” she answered, shifting closer.
“You’re giving me my own pocket square as a gift?”
She let out a short, irritated breath. “Unfold it. I’ve embellished it for you.”
He carefully undid the neat folds, revealing her absolutely dreadful stitching. “Did you…” He paused, turning the fabric in his hand. “Did you stitch this?”
“I did,” she answered, her breath coming out in short gasps. She pressed her hands to her stomach, summoning up the courage to say the words that had been lingering at the back of her tongue all day.