As she wrote, the image of him curled up in the corner, his eyes closed and his shoulders hunched in pain came back to her.
You know. It happens to you, too.
How did he know that? No one knew that.
Chapter Six
Lilly rose early the next morning. She had not slept well on her borrowed bed and she wanted to be the first of the family to go downstairs, too. As Raymond was an early riser, she made herself get out of bed as soon as the first of the watery daylight appeared. It was a bleak day compared to yesterday’s warm, bright sun. It looked as though it might rain for a good long while.
Lilly had been given a lady’s maid during her first season, so she had arranged another position for Smithers when she had accepted Elisa’s offer of a governess position in her household. Since then, Lilly had learned to do for herself. She kept her hair arrangements simple and always did her hair first, before fastening her corset and putting on her outer garments, so that she could easily reach the back of her head.
It meant she didn’t have to ring for assistance when she woke. She wound up her hair and pinned it quickly, then dressed and went down to the dining room.
She was not surprised when Thomsett appeared almost the moment she stepped into the room. After Monroe’s lax ministrations yesterday, she had come to appreciate the almost mystical way good butlers seemed to sense when someone had need of them.
When he saw it was her, Thomsett paused. She could see his hesitation. The butler mask slipped. Wariness took its place.
“Good morning, Thomsett,” Lilly said, keeping her voice brisk and business-like. “I know it is early, but could I have a pot of tea whilst waiting for the rest of the family to appear for breakfast?”
Thomsett gathered himself together. “I believe the kettle just came to boil, my lady. I can have tea on the table for you in short order. Please take a seat.”
Lilly moved around the table to her usual seat at the far end, closest to her mother’s chair at the bottom of the table.
A letter sat on a tray next to her fork. The address was in Elisa’s handwriting. Lilly broke the seal and unfolded it. It was a quick note assuring Lilly she was more than welcome to spend time with her family as the summer days were draining and everyone was more than distracted at the moment.
She put the letter aside. There would be no need to respond to it, for she would be returning to Grosvenor Square shortly. In fact, there was no point in staying for breakfast. Thomsett looked as though he had recovered fully. He was clean, shaved and presentable, even if his eyes were still a little red.
Her reason for seeking him out, to ask about her own situation, was no longer valid. In fact, she would rather not probe that topic any further. Deep reluctance dropped over her when she thought of discussing it, especially with Thomsett. He seemed to know far too much and understand even more. It made her uncomfortable.
You know. It happens to you, too. His voice whispered in her mind.
Lilly drummed her fingers on the tablecloth. She was restless, itching to stand, walk to the door, collect her things and leave. Thomsett would be back in a moment and now she did not want to see him again.
She almost rose from her chair, then Thomsett walked back into the room, the footman behind him carrying a small tray with the little teapot on it that Natasha used when it was only herself partaking.
Monroe put the tray in front of her and hurried away.
Thomsett brought over a pitcher of milk that had already been set out on the sideboard. He didn’t bring the sugar bowl. He had remembered she did not use sugar.
Her uneasiness grew. She was committed now, though, to drinking the tea at the least. As soon as she had finished the cup, she would leave.
She sipped, even though it was too hot. Thomsett took up a post at the door, as was proper, which increased her restlessness. She avoided his gaze and picked up Elisa’s note once more. She examined the penmanship and traced the watermark on the thick linen paper. She smoothed the edges of the sheet with her finger.
When the cup was empty of all but the dregs, Lilly rose to her feet, before Thomsett could leap to pull the chair out for her. He pulled it aside anyway. “Are you leaving, my lady?”
“I must return to Grosvenor Square.” She kept her gaze on his perfectly tied cravat. “Thank you for the tea.” She hurried to the front hall and pulled on her bonnet with shaking fingers. She tried three times to slide her fingers into her glove, while her nails caught on the fragile lace. Then she gripped them in her hand and picked up her parasol. She would put them on as she walked. She did not want to linger here.
Monroe came forward and opened the door for her.
Lilly looked at him, startled. Had Thomsett sent him to open the door for her and see her off, instead of doing it himself? Had her awkwardness conveyed itself?
Lilly straightened her shoulders. What did it matter if he knew he unsettled her? He was sensitive enough that he would keep his distance, now he knew. She thanked Monroe and walked outside.
It was very early. Larks were still singing. The dew had not evaporated. The sun was barely risen. The only traffic was milk carts and there were no pedestrians at all.
She turned to head north, to where Grosvenor Street intersected with Park Lane. She did not need to raise her parasol. It was not bright enough. In fact, it was so cool she wished she had brought her shawl with her. However, a few minutes of walking would take care of that.
When Thomsett stepped out of the alley that led to the servants’ entrance to the house, Lilly nearly shrieked in shock. She jumped sideways, her hoops swaying and her hand coming to her mouth.
Thomsett had donned a long coat and a soft brimmed hat, so he would not draw attention by appearing on the street with a bare head. His eyes beneath the brim were glittering with some emotion she didn’t have time to analyze.
“You should keep walking,” he told her. “It will look more natural to anyone who does look out their windows.”
She walked. Thomsett turned and walked beside her.
“What do you want?” she demanded. It was an echo of what he asked of her, yesterday.
“To thank you,” he said, his voice low.
“You did not follow me out here to make sure I would not reveal what I saw to anyone?”
“I have no need to make sure of that. You are the most discreet person I have ever met.”
Something in her relaxed. She was still wary, though. “Would Raymond have employed you if he had known about your…illness?”
“He does know.”
She glanced at him, shocked.
“Who do you think gave me the rum?” Thomsett said. “Or did you think I had pilfered it from the family supplies?”
“I suppose…I did not think about that.” She’d had far different concerns to worry about. “Do you intend to follow me back to Grosvenor Square?”
“I will see you safely home.”
“There is no need for that.”
“I would be lax if I did not.”
“You owe me no obligations,” she flared, halting and turning to look at him.
He touched her arm, to remind her to keep moving. Another man might have gripped it and hauled her into continuing. She started walking again, her heart thudding.
“I do not believe I am obligated,” he told her, his voice still low. “I would still see you home. Decency demands it at the very least. I know what you did last night, Lilly. I know you stirred Monroe into an uncommon efficiency so the family would not notice my absence.”
She could think of nothing to say. Had her actions been so transparent? Had everyone seen what she had been attempting to do? It was another uncomfortable thought. “Decency demanded it, at the very least,” she said, deliberately quoting him.
He didn’t speak again until they had turned the corner and were travelling down Grosvenor Street. The square itself was only five minutes away.
She could stand the silence no longer. “You called me Lilly.”
“I apologize, my lady. It was a slip of the tongue.”
“It is not the first time you have called me by my family name.”
“Again, I apologize for my shortcomings.” He did not sound particularly contrite, though.
She glanced at him. He was looking ahead and she could tell nothing of his feelings from his face. It was set. From this angle, his jaw was square and the chin strong. The fine black hair curled on the back of his neck beneath the hat.
“I had a conversation with Corcoran, a long time ago,” she said. “He never fails to call me Lady Lillian. Even when I was in danger once, standing too close to the coach wheels when it set out, he screamed at me to get out of the way, only he still called me Lady Lillian even then. He said it was so ingrained in him that even in his mind I was Lady Lillian and always would be.” She glanced at Thomsett again. His gaze met hers briefly. “I am not Lady Lillian in your mind, am I?”
His throat worked. “No,” he said shortly. “You are not. You should not read that as a sign of disrespect, though.”
“What is it a sign of?”
“Nothing more than that I was raised by different standards than Corcoran. Sometimes, in times of stress, they emerge.”
“You are under stress right now?” Lilly asked, surprised.
He didn’t answer for another three steps. Then, “It always takes a few days for the effect to…dissipate.” His voice was back to the low notes again.
Lilly shivered. “How often does it happen?”
“Too often,” he growled. Then he shook his head. “Not often enough that I cannot meet my responsibilities to your family.”
“That was not the reason I asked.”
He glanced at her, his eyes a little wider.
This time it was she who took several paces to answer. “I wanted to know if you…suffered these symptoms…as often I do.” She let out a breath that shook. It was the first time she had ever spoken of it. The effort it had taken to say it aloud had drained her.
Thomsett broke his own directions. He halted on the footpath and turned to look at her. His expression was puzzling. She thought he was looking at her with pity. Yet pleasure showed there, too. Anger, also. It was as if every emotion known to man flickered through his eyes and across his face, in the space of three heart beats.
“Thank you,” he said, at last.
“For what?”
“For trusting me enough to tell me that. I could only guess, before. I believe no one in your family, no friends, not even the doctors who may have treated you afterward…none of them know, do they?”
She was truly shocked. “You know that doctors were involved?”
“I am presuming again,” he said. “They were involved in my case. There was blood and pain and doctors.”
She swallowed.
“How often?” he asked her. He turned as if he intended to move off again, yet waited for her to do the same before he started walking. He seemed to understand that trying to guide her in any way would not be welcomed by her.
“At first, it was very often.” She was surprised she had even replied, let alone was speaking the truth. This was such a private matter. Such a closely held truth. “Almost every few minutes. I could barely think of anything else. Then, it seemed to wear off and I was relieved. Yet it always comes back, when I least expect it.”
“That is because certain things—sounds, smells, objects—they stimulate the memory. You may not know what those things are. You may not even realize you’re hearing them or seeing them or experiencing them, yet the memory will come back anyway.”
They turned into the square. She could see the white stone of the Wardell house, at the corner of the square.
“Guns…” she murmured. Then she gasped. “Cannons,” she said quickly. “I thought it was thunder. You thought it was cannons.”
“Just so,” he said softly.
They walked in silence to the front of the big house. Thomsett stood on the step below her.
Lilly bit her lip. “I thought it was just me,” she told him. “I thought I was going mad.”
He took a deep breath and let it out, the shoulders of the coat rising and falling. “So did I.” His green eyes met hers.
The front door opened and Paulson said softly, “Why, good morning, Lady Lillian.”
Thomsett stepped back and raised his hat just a little. “Good day, Lady Lilly.” He walked away, striding fast.
“Breakfast is just being served, my lady,” Paulson said.
Lilly made herself turn and go into the house.
Chapter Seven
Thomsett walked swiftly back to Park Lane and returned to the house just as breakfast was being served. Monroe had seated everyone and was just fumbling with the dish of eggs. Thomsett stepped up next to him and slid the serving fork and spoon out of his hand and took over. “No need for anyone to wear their breakfast today, there’s a good chap.”
Monroe looked relieved and stepped back to pick up the toast rack instead.
Thomsett deliberately turned his thoughts to efficiently serving breakfast and catering to everyone’s needs, as the busy, noisy family ate and exchanged news. They discussed the trooping of the colors yesterday, along with comparisons with previous years. Lady Bridget and Lady Mairin were just old enough to appreciate an officer in uniform, to the point where Lady Natasha spoke sternly, silencing them on the subject…for now.
The door bell sounded just as the last round of tea was being poured and Lord Marblethorpe had reached the back page of The Times. Thomsett nodded at Monroe to take over the pouring of tea and went through to the front door. It was early for visitors, yet, but not indecently early.
The man standing at the door was short, slim and nattily dressed. His silver hair was thick, his black eyes bright and his beard pointed. Thomsett judged him to be quite old—perhaps even sixty years old. Yet he had the energy of a younger man. He took off his top hat and gripped it with the hand holding his cane.
Behind him waited an ordinary rented hack at the footpath, with the door open and a younger man sitting on the seat with a rather large satchel on his knees. He was bent forward to watch the front door of the house and to judge, Thomsett guessed, the reception given.
“You are here for Lord Marblethorpe?” Thomsett prompted, when the smiling man did not immediately announce himself.
The man held up his gloved finger. “I rather think I am here to see you…if my guess is right.” He spoke with a heavy accent that sounded German.
“Me?” Thomsett gripped the door handle. “Do I know you?”
“Oh dear, of course you do not.” The man’s smile broadened. “You are Jasper Anson Dominik Thomsett, yes?”
Thomsett grew wary. “That is me,” he agreed slowly.
“Your mother was Victoria Thomsett, of Yorkshire.”
Thomsett drew in a breath. He let it out again. “Yes,” he said heavily.
“This sounds rather official,” Raymond said, from behind.
Thomsett whirled. “I’m sorry, my lord. I had no idea the visitor was for me, or I would have had him come to the staff entrance—”
“I have stepped on toes, no?” the man on the doorstep said, sounding both jolly and worried at the same time.
“Your guest doesn’t look the type to linger around back doors, Thomsett. You’d better bring him into the library. Let’s not sort out your personal affairs on the front doorstep for the world to see.”
“Yes, of course, my lord,” Thomsett said. The oddities of the Great Family never ceased to surprise him. Now Raymond was putting his library at Thomsett’s disposal. True, it was to get the visitor off the street, yet he could have easily told Thomsett to take the matter elsewhere.
Thomsett opened the door wider. “Come in,” he told the gentleman.
The man gestured to the lad in the cab. The young man scrambled to the footpath and raised up on his toes to pay the cabbie, while holding the heavy satchel in his other hand. He hurried up the ste
ps and moved inside with the gray-haired man.
They both rid themselves of their hats and gloves. The elder gentleman hung onto his cane and used it to walk into the library.
Raymond was standing in front of the desk, his arms crossed.
Thomsett shut the door. There was no need to impose his affairs upon the rest of the family.
The gentleman cleared his throat. “I am Herr Aldous Baumgärtner,” he said. “For nearly fifty years I have been private secretary to the Archduke Erherd of Silkeborg.”
“Where is Silkeborg?” Raymond asked, frowning.
“Denmark,” Thomsett said. It came out sounding strained. His heart was running hard. “Baumgärtner, this is The Right Honorable The Viscount Marblethorpe.”
Baumgärtner turned to face Raymond squarely. He clicked his heels together and bowed his head. It was a gracious gesture.
Raymond nodded back. “You were taking pains to ensure you were speaking to the right man, Baumgärtner. What is this about?”
“I imagine it is about my father,” Thomsett said tiredly. Finally, the day had come.
“Indeed,” Baumgärtner replied. He gestured to the young man and pointed to the desk. “May I?” he asked Raymond. “There are many papers.”
“Of course.” Raymond stepped out of the way.
The man put the satchel on the desk and unbuckled it.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Thomsett said, as the mass of rolled and tied papers spilled out upon it.
“Alas, yes,” Baumgärtner replied. “Two months ago. I am most sorry, Herr Thomsett. For myself, I mourn him. Although I know you never met him.”
“I saw a daguerreotype, once,” Thomsett murmured. His mother had kept it by her bed until she had died.
“Wait, wait,” Raymond said. “The Archduke is your father?”
The young man picked through the rolls of paper, then plucked one from the pile and put it aside. He stuffed the rest into the satchel, then held out the roll to Baumgärtner.
Thomsett stared at the roll, the tightness in his chest increasing.
Baumgärtner smiled at Raymond. “An illegitimate son, my lord. You know how these things go, especially among the upper ranks. His Grace was always fond of Miss Thomsett. More than that. He took care of her needs and his son’s needs, always. I was assigned to ensure that they wanted for nothing.”
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