Something Old by Rebecca Connolly (autobiographies to read txt) 📕

That he loved her. She could never doubt that he loved her. And what else mattered when that was true?

“How long do you want to stay in London?” Thomas asked, his lips leaving her skin as he laid his head against hers.

Lily grunted almost grumpily. “I don’t want to be here at all. But I suppose I must do my duty to my sister and not let her think I am desperate to get away. The Blackmoors are hosting an engagement ball in a few days.”

“Blackmoors?” Thomas repeated, snorting softly. “Why in the world are they hosting? Why not the Rivertons themselves? Or us, for heaven’s sake. I’ve no love for hosting an event, but Roz is your sister. Lord knows, your parents wouldn’t host a thing.”

“They almost didn’t come to the wedding at all,” Lily recalled faintly, her tone turning flat. “Were it not for the fact that Will is a Riverton, they likely would have remained at home. And I believe the Blackmoors are hosting so the typical fuss of a Riverton event might be avoided. Blackmoor is Riverton’s cousin, not a Riverton himself.”

“If you think Blackmoor will have anything to do with this, you are sadly mistaken,” Thomas said with a laugh, his hand resting against her leg. “He’ll be hiding up in the nursery with their children, mark my words.”

Lily laughed at the idea of the reserved Blackmoor preferring the children to the guests, mostly because it was more true than anyone might suspect. “Just as long as you do not hide up there with him. I’ll require you down in the ballroom with me.”

Thomas grumbled incoherently as though he had intended on doing just that, though Lily suspected he hadn’t planned to do so. Much as Thomas wished for children of their own, he had minimal experience with those of others. He’d likely have been as uncomfortable with the children as he would be with the guests at the ball.

“I think Gemma would let spouses dance together at such an occasion,” Lily said in as absent a manner as she could, focusing her attention on the fire and nestling her head more securely against his shoulder.

As she expected and hoped, her husband stiffened beneath her cheek. “Oh, indeed?”

She nodded, shifting her hands up so her fingers could slowly run through his hair. “An engagement ball for an already married couple should allow for it, or else Rosalind and Will won’t share a dance, and that hardly seems fitting.”

“No, it does not,” Thomas murmured, the stroking of his hand along her hip resuming and becoming more pointed. “I would, of course, be willing to do my duty where you are concerned, should such a partnership be permitted at the ball. We couldn’t let your sister be the only one to dance with her spouse. She would so hate the attention.”

“You are so gallant,” Lily praised, barely able to keep from laughing, even as her leg and hip began to grow almost painfully sensitive and warm under his ministrations. “Very noble and gentlemanly.”

He nodded, his scruff gently scraping against her. “It is the least I can do. Out of respect for Rosalind.”

Lily scoffed before she could stop herself, covering her mouth with his shoulder.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” he protested haughtily, clearing his throat. “What happened to being noble, gentlemanly, and gallant?”

She sighed and raised her head, locking her fingers into his hair and turning his face toward her. “I prefer the man who wandered into the garden after working in the mine. Do you know where I might find him?”

Thomas’s eyes turned dark, his lips curving slyly. “As it happens, I believe I do. He’s waiting for you upstairs. Shall I take you to him?”

Lily’s pulse leapt in her throat, and she nodded. “Yes, please. If it will not be much trouble after so tiring a journey.”

“On the contrary,” Thomas told her, pushing to his feet while still cradling her in his arms, never staggering or straining as he did so. “It would be my sincere privilege, and no trouble at all. It would seem I am not so tired after all.”

“Strange, neither am I.”

Chapter Twenty

“You look remarkably refreshed for a man so recently returned from the country.”

Thomas glanced at Blackmoor in bemusement as the man came to stand beside him. “Is that not why one goes to the country? To find rest and refreshment?”

Blackmoor shrugged, turning to survey the dancing before them. “In the country, yes. Returning from it, hardly. I find arriving in London immediately draws strain into my countenance.”

“You’re not wrong in that,” Thomas grumbled, making a face quickly before returning to the blank façade of public appearance. “I’m never eager to come to London, but I can safely say that I have never felt it more strongly than this time.”

“Ah,” Blackmoor mused, the tone turning surprisingly wry. “Enjoyed your time in Cornwall, did you?”

Thomas sniffed, not seeing the need to enlighten his friend as to what had transpired there. “No thanks to any of the suggestions you, Monty, or Whitlock put forth.”

There was no apology in Blackmoor’s expression, nor any sign of remorse. “I’m no matchmaker, nor am I in any way expert in the ways of the heart. I can only speak to my own experiences, and if you found something to improve your situation in Cornwall, then I am pleased for you.”

“Yes, you look it.” Thomas snorted softly, shaking his head. “I don’t know that we found something, so to speak, but we did find each other. Now we only have to make sure it lasts.”

“That’s a day to day endeavor,” Blackmoor told him, his brow furrowing slightly. “Making new habits where the old once were. Instead of avoiding her, you go toward her. Instead of keeping your thoughts to yourself, you confide in her. Things of that sort. If you do not replace those things that caused you grief, they will occur again.”

Thomas looked at the viscount in surprise. “I thought you