One Night for Love Read online

  And then the carriage was in motion, and both Lily and Neville became aware that it was dragging a whole arsenal of ribbons and bows and bells behind it.

  “One would think,” Neville said, settling beside Lily, “that the cousins had nothing better to do with their time.”

  “You have a petal on your nose,” she said, laughing gleefully and reaching out to remove it.

  But he captured her hand as soon as she had done so and carried it to his lips. His own laughter had faded. She gazed into his eyes, her own glowing.

  “Lily,” he said. “My wife. My countess.”

  “Yes.” She opened her hand to cup his cheek. They had turned a bend in the country lane that would take them back to the house. Church and wedding guests and villagers had disappeared from sight. “I have changed identity so many times in the past two years that I have not known quite who I am or who I ought to be.”

  “I know.” He set his hand over the back of hers. “And now you have found yourself at last? Who are you, Lily?’

  “I am Lily Doyle,” she said, “and Lady Frances Lilian Montague. And Lily Wyatt, Countess of Kilbourne. I am all three.”

  “You sound confused still,” he said wistfully.

  But she shook her head and smiled at him, all her happiness shining from her eyes.

  “I am all the persons I have ever been,” she said, “and all the experiences I have ever lived. I do not have to make choices. I do not have to deny one identity in order to claim another. I am who I am. I am Lily.” Her smile became gay. “Also known as your wife.”

  He turned his head, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to her wrist. “Yes,” he said. “That is exactly who you are. You are Lily. The woman I love. I do love you, Lily.”

  “I know.” She bent her head closer to his. “You loved me enough to let me go in order that I might find myself.”

  “And you have come back to me.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Because I did not have to, Neville. Because I could come freely and offer myself freely. And because I love you. I always have. From the first moment I saw you talking to Papa. You were my hero then. You became my friend after that. And then my love. And now you are even more than that. You are the person I can meet as an equal and love as an equal.”

  “Have I told you,” he asked her, smiling slowly at her, “what a beautiful bride you make, Lily?”

  “Oh,” she said, “you have Elizabeth to thank for that. She is the one who convinced me that this gown was the one and that I would look better with just flowers in my hair than with a bonnet and veil.”

  “I meant,” he said, “in your blue cotton dress with your army cloak and nothing in your hair at all. Not even a hairpin.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “What a lovely thing to say. And you were never more handsome than in your well-worn regimentals. Neville, how fortunate we are to have two such wedding days to remember.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said suddenly. He was looking ahead along the lane while Lily was still looking into his face. She turned her head sharply.

  “Oh, dear,” she said.

  Every servant from Rutland Park, she would swear, from the butler on down to the lowliest undergardener, was out on the terrace. They were neatly lined up in order of rank to greet the newlyweds. They were also—every last one of them—armed to the teeth with flower petals.

  Neville set an arm about Lily’s shoulders and bent his head to look into her face. She gazed back at him. Their lovely interlude of privacy was over, it seemed. At least for now.

  “Until tonight, my love,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said wistfully. “Until tonight.”

  They turned laughing faces toward the servants and the floral ambush awaiting them.

  To Gayle Knutson,

  a former student and present friend,

  who designed and created my Web site

  in time for the promotion of this book.

  With thanks.

  www.marybalogh.com