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at her, it provoked a feeling that she had never known before. A painful feeling of yearning that made her
want impossible things.
Anyone would say that it was a ridiculous pairing, Westcliff and Lillian& especially in light of his
responsibility to produce a purebred heir. There were other titled men who could not afford to be as
selective as Westcliff, men whose inherited resources had dwindled, and therefore had need of her
fortune. With the countess s sponsorship, Lillian would find some acceptable candidate, marry him, and
be done with this eternal process of husband hunting. But a new thought struck her the world of the
British aristocracy was quite small, and she would almost certainly be confronted with Westcliff and his
English bride, again and again& The prospect was more than disconcerting. It was awful.
The yearning sharpened into jealousy. Lillian knew that Westcliff would never truly be happy with the
woman he was destined to marry. He would tire of a wife whom he could bully. And a steady diet of
tranquillity would bore him abysmally. Westcliff needed someone who would challenge and interest him.
Someone who could reach through to the warm, human man who was buried beneath the layers of
aristocratic self-possession. Someone who angered him, teased him, and made him laugh.
Someone like me, Lillian whispered miserably.
Chapter 12
Aformal dress ball was held in the evening. It was a fine night, dry and cool, with the rows of tall
windows opened to admit the outside air. The chandeliers scattered light over the intricately parqueted
floor like glittering raindrops. Orchestra music filled the air in buoyant drifts, providing a perfect
framework for the gossip and laughter of the guests.
Lillian did not dare accept a cup of punch, fearing that it would drip on her cream satin ball gown. The
unadorned skirts fell in gleaming folds to the floor, while the narrow waist was cinched with a stiffened
band of matching satin. The only ornamentation on the gown was an artful sprinkling of beads on the
edge of her scoop-necked bodice. As she tugged a finger of her white glove more firmly over her little
fingertip, she caught a glimpse of Lord Westcliff from across the room. He was dark and striking in his
evening clothes, his white cravat pressed to the sharpness of a knife blade.
As usual, a group of men and women had gathered around him. One of the women, a beautiful blond
with a voluptuous figure, leaned closer to him, murmuring something that brought a faint smile to his lips.
He coolly observed the scene, appraising the gently milling assembly & until he saw Lillian. His gaze
flicked over her in swift assessment. Lillian felt his presence so palpably that the fifteen yards or so
between them might not have existed. Troubled by her own gauzy sensual awareness of the man standing
across the room, she gave him a brief nod and turned away.
What is it? Daisy murmured, coming up beside her. You look rather distracted.
Lillian responded with a wry smile. I m trying to remember everything the countess told us, she lied,
and keep it all straight in my head. Especially the bowing rules. If someone bows to me, I m going to
shriek and run in the opposite direction.
I m terrified of making a mistake, Daisy confided. It was so much easier before I realized how many
things I have been doing wrong. I ll be quite happy to be a wall-flower and sit safely at the side of the
room this evening. Together they glanced at the row of semicircular niches running along one wall, each
sided by slender pilasters and fitted with tiny velvet-covered benches. Evie sat alone in the farthest niche
in the corner. Her pink dress clashed with her red hair, and she kept her head down as she sipped
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furtively from a cup of punch, every line of her posture proclaiming a disinclination to talk with anyone.
Oh, that won t do, Daisy said. Come, let s pry the poor girl out of that niche and make her stroll with
us.
Lillian smiled in agreement and made to accompany her sister. However, she froze with a sudden breath
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| Cytat |
Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
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