by Lisa Kleypas
Startled by the casual endearment, Lillian thought of reprimanding him, then decided to let it pass. After all, it had been very nice of him to give up his morning ride to escort her back to the manor. “I’m afraid it was a case of hatred at first sight,” she replied. “I think Westcliff is a judgmental boor, and he considers me an ill-natured brat.” She shrugged. “Perhaps we’re both right.”
“I think neither of you is right,” St. Vincent murmured.
“Well, actually …I am something of a brat,” Lillian admitted.
His lips twitched with barely suppressed humor. “Are you?”
She nodded. “I like to have my way, and I’m very cross when I don’t get it. In fact, I’ve often been told that my temperament is quite similar to that of my grandmother, who was a dockside washwoman.”
St. Vincent seemed entertained by the notion of being related to a washwoman. “Were you close to your grandmother?”
“Oh, she was a ripping old dear. Foul-mouthed and high-spirited, and she often said things that would make you laugh until your stomach hurt. Oh …pardon…I don’t think I’m supposed to say the word ‘stomach’ in front of a gentleman.”
“I’m shocked,” St. Vincent said gravely, “but I’ll recover.” Looking around them as if to ascertain that he wouldn’t be overheard, he whispered conspiratorially, “I’m not really a gentleman, you know.”
“You’re a viscount, aren’t you?”
“That hardly goes hand-in-hand with being a gentleman. You don’t know much about the peerage, do you?”
“I believe I already know more than I want to.”
St. Vincent gave her a curious smile. “And here I thought you were intent upon marrying one of us. Am I mistaken, or aren’t you and your younger sister a pair of dollar princesses brought over from the colonies to land titled husbands?”
“The colonies?” Lillian repeated with a chiding grin. “In case you hadn’t heard, my lord, we won the Revolution.”
“Ah. I must have forgotten to read the paper that day. But in answer to my question …?”
“Yes,” Lillian said, flushing a little. “Our parents brought us here to find husbands. They want to infuse the family line with blue blood.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Today my sole desire is to draw some blue blood,” she muttered, thinking of Westcliff.
“What a ferocious creature you are,” St. Vincent said, laughing. “I pity Westcliff if he crosses you again. In fact, I think I should warn him…” His voice died away as he saw the sudden pain on her face, and heard the sharp intake of her breath.
A tearing agony went through Lillian’s right thigh, and she would have stumbled to the ground had it not been for the support of his arm around her back. “Oh, damn it,” she said shakily, clutching at her thigh. A twisting spasm in her thigh muscle caused her to groan through her clenched teeth. “Damn, damn—”
“What is it?” St. Vincent asked, swiftly lowering her to the path. “A leg cramp?”
“Yes…” Pale and shaking, Lillian caught at her leg, while her face contorted with agony. “Oh God, it hurts!”
He bent over her, frowning with concern. His quiet voice was threaded with urgency. “Miss Bowman… would it be possible for you to temporarily ignore everything you’ve heard about my reputation? Just long enough for me to help you?”
Squinting at his face, Lillian saw nothing but an honest desire to relieve her pain, and she nodded.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and gathered her writhing body into a half-sitting position. He talked swiftly to distract her, while his hand slipped beneath her skirts with gentle expertise. “It will take just a moment. I hope to God that no one happens along to see this—it looks more than a bit incriminating. And it’s doubtful that they would accept the traditional but somewhat overused leg-cramp excuse—”
“I don’t care,” she gasped. “Just make it go away.”
She felt St. Vincent’s hand slide lightly up her leg, the warmth of his skin sinking through the thin fabric of her knickers as he searched for the knotting, twitching muscle. “Here we are. Hold your breath, darling.” Obeying, Lillian felt him roll his palm strongly over the muscle. She nearly yelped at the burst of searing fire in her leg, and then suddenly it eased, leaving her weak with relief.
Relaxing back against his arm, Lillian let out a long breath. “Thank you. That’s much better.”
A faint smile crossed his lips as he deftly tugged her skirts back over her legs. “My pleasure.”
“That never happened to me before,” she murmured, flexing her leg cautiously.
“No doubt it was a repercussion from your exploit in the sidesaddle. You must have strained a muscle.”
“Yes, I did.” Color burnished her cheeks as she forced herself to admit, “I’m not used to jumping on sidesaddle— I’ve only done it astride.”
His smile widened slowly. “How interesting,” he murmured. “Clearly my experiences with American girls have been entirely too limited. I didn’t realize you were so delightfully colorful.”
“I’m more colorful than most,” she told him sheepishly, and he grinned.
“Much as I would love to sit here chatting with you, sweet, I had better return you to the house, if you’re able to stand now. It will do you no good to spend too much time alone with me.” He stood in an easy movement and reached down for her.
“It seems to have done me quite a bit of good,” Lillian replied, allowing him to pull her up.
St. Vincent offered her his arm, and watched as she tested her leg. “Is it all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” Lillian replied, taking hold of his arm. “You’ve been very kind, my lord.”
He stared at her with an odd flicker in his pale blue eyes. “I’m not kind, darling. I’m only nice to people when I’m planning to take advantage of them.”
Lillian responded with a carefree grin, daring to ask, “Am I in danger from you, my lord?”
Though his expression remained relaxed with good humor, his eyes were disturbingly intent. “I’m afraid so.”
“Hmm.” Lillian studied the chiseled edge of his profile, thinking that for all his posturing, he had not taken advantage of her helplessness a few moments ago. “You’re awfully forthcoming about your evil intentions. It makes me wonder if I should really worry.”
His only response was an enigmatic smile.
After parting company with Lord St. Vincent, Lillian climbed the steps to the spacious back terrace, where laughter and excited feminine chatter was resounding off the flagstones. Ten young women were standing around one of the tables, involved in some kind of game or experiment. They bent over a row of glasses that had been filled with various liquids, while one of them, who was blindfolded, cautiously dipped her fingers into one of them. Whatever the result was, it caused them all to squeal and giggle. A group of dowagers sat nearby, watching the proceedings with amused interest.
Lillian caught sight of her sister in the crowd, and wandered to her. “What is this?” she asked.
Daisy turned to view her with surprise. “Lillian,” she murmured, slipping an arm around her waist, “why are you back early, dear? Did you have some difficulty at the jumping course?”
Lillian drew her aside while the game continued. “One could say that,” she said tartly, and told her about the events of the morning.
Daisy’s dark eyes turned round with dismay. “Good God,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine Lord Westcliff losing his head that way …and as for you…what were you thinking, to let Lord St. Vincent do such a thing?”
“I was in pain,” Lillian whispered back defensively. “I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even move. If you’d ever had a muscle cramp, you would know how much it hurts.”
“I would elect to lose my leg entirely before letting someone like Lord St. Vincent near it,” Daisy said beneath her breath. After pausing to consider the situation, she couldn’t seem to keep from asking, “What was it like?”
/> Lillian smothered a laugh. “How should I know? By the time my leg stopped hurting, his hand was gone.”
“Drat.” Daisy frowned slightly. “Do you suppose he’ll tell anyone?”
“Somehow I don’t think he will. He seems to be a gentleman, in spite of his claims otherwise.” A scowl settled on Lillian’s forehead as she added, “Far more of a gentleman than Lord Westcliff was today.”
“Hmm. How did he know that you couldn’t ride sidesaddle?”
Lillian regarded her without rancor. “Don’t play the idiot, Daisy—it’s perfectly obvious that Annabelle told her husband, who then told Westcliff.”
“You won’t hold this against Annabelle, I hope. She never intended for the issue to blow up the way it did.”
“She should have kept her mouth shut,” Lillian said grumpily.
“She was afraid that you would take a tumble if you jumped sidesaddle. We all were.”
“Well, I didn’t!”
“You might have, though.”
Lillian hesitated, her scowl fading as honesty compelled her to admit, “There’s no doubt that I would have, eventually.”
“Then you won’t be cross with Annabelle?”
“Of course not,” Lillian said. “It wouldn’t be fair to blame her for Westcliff’s beastly behavior.”
Looking relieved, Daisy tugged her back to the crowded table. “Come, dear, you must try this game. It’s silly but quite fun.” The girls, all of them unmarried, and ranging in age from their early teens to mid-twenties, moved to make room for the pair of them. While Daisy explained the rules, Evie was blindfolded, and the other girls proceeded to change the positions of the four glasses. “As you can see,” Daisy said, “one glass is filled with soap water, one with clear, and one with blue laundry water. The other, of course, is empty. The glasses will predict what kind of man you will marry.”
They watched as Evie felt carefully for one of the glasses. Dipping her finger into the soap water, Evie waited for her blindfold to be drawn off, and viewed the results with chagrin, while the other girls erupted with giggles.
“Choosing the soap water means she will marry a poor man,” Daisy explained.
Wiping off her fingers, Evie exclaimed good-naturedly, “I s-suppose the fact that I’m going to be m-married at all is a good thing.”
The next girl in line waited with an expectant smile as she was blindfolded, and the glasses were repositioned. She felt for the vessels, nearly overturning one, and dipped her fingers into the blue water. Upon viewing her choice, she seemed quite pleased. “The blue water means she’s going to marry a noted author,” Daisy told Lillian. “You try next!”
Lillian gave her a speaking glance. “You don’t really believe in this, do you?”
“Oh, don’t be cynical—have some fun!” Daisy took the blindfold and rose on her toes to tie it firmly around Lillian’s head.
Bereft of sight, Lillian allowed herself to be guided to the table. She grinned at the encouraging cries of the young women around her. There was the sound of the glasses being moved in front of her, and she waited with her hands half raised in the air. “What happens if I pick the empty glass?” she asked.
Evie’s voice came near her ear. “You die a sp-spinster!” she said, and everyone laughed.
“No lifting the glasses to test their weight,” someone warned with a giggle. “You can’t avoid the empty glass, if it’s your fate!”
“At the moment I want the empty glass,” Lillian replied, causing another round of laughter.
Finding the smooth surface of a glass, she slid her fingers up the side and dipped them into the cool liquid. A general round of applause and cheering, and she asked, “Am I marrying an author, too?”
“No, you chose the clear water,” Daisy said. “A rich, handsome husband is coming for you, dear!”
“Oh, what a relief,” Lillian said flippantly, lowering the blindfold to peek over the edge. “Is it your turn now?”
Her younger sister shook her head. “I was the first to try. I knocked over a glass twice in a row, and made a dreadful mess.”
“What does that mean? That you won’t marry at all?”
“It means that I’m clumsy,” Daisy replied cheerfully. “Other than that, who knows? Perhaps my fate has yet to be decided. The good news is that your husband seems to be on the way.”
“If so, the bastard is late,” Lillian retorted, causing Daisy and Evie to laugh.
Chapter 9
U nfortunately, the news of the altercation between Lillian and Lord Westcliff spread swiftly through the entire household. By early evening it had reached Mercedes Bowman’s ears, and the result was not a pretty sight. White-eyed and shrill, Mercedes paced in front of her daughter in her room.
“Perhaps it could have been overlooked, had you simply made some inappropriate remark in Lord Westcliff’s presence,” Mercedes stormed, her skinny arms thrashing in wild gesticulations. “But for you to argue with the earl himself, and then to disobey him in front of everyone—do you realize how that makes us appear? You are not only ruining your own chances of marriage, but your sister’s chances as well! Who would wish to marry into a family that must claim a …a philistine as one of their own?”
Feeling a stirring of shame, Lillian cast an apologetic glance at Daisy, who sat in the corner. Daisy shook her head slightly in reassurance.
“If you insist on behaving like a savage creature,” Mercedes continued, “then I will be forced to take harsh measures, Lillian Odelle!”
Lillian sank lower on the settee at the sound of her hated middle name, the use of which always heralded some dire punishment.
“For the next week, you will not venture out of this room unless you are in my company,” Mercedes said grimly. “I will monitor every action, every gesture, and every word that issues from your mouth, until I am convinced that you can be trusted to behave like a reasonable human being. It will be a shared punishment, for I find as little pleasure in your company as you find in mine. But I see no other alternative. And if you offer one word of protest, I shall double your punishment and make it a fortnight! During the times that you are not under my supervision, you will remain in this room, reading or meditating on your ill-advised conduct. Do you understand me, Lillian?”
“Yes, Mother.” The prospect of being watched so closely for a week made Lillian feel like a caged animal. Repressing a howl of protest, she gazed mutinously at the flower-patterned carpet.
“The first thing you will do tonight,” Mercedes continued, her eyes flashing in her narrow white face, “is apologize to Lord Westcliff for the trouble you caused earlier today. You will do it in my presence, so that I—”
“Oh no.” Lillian sat up straight, glaring at her mother in open rebellion. “No. There is nothing that you or anyone can do to make me apologize to him. I’ll die first.”
“You will do as I say.” Mercedes’s voice lowered to a near growl. “You will apologize to the earl with abject humility, or you will not leave this room once for the rest of our stay here!”
As Lillian opened her mouth, Daisy interrupted hastily. “Mother, may I speak to Lillian privately, please? Just for a moment. Please.”
Mercedes stared hard from one daughter to the other, shook her head as if wondering why she had been cursed with such unmanageable children, and strode from the room.
“She’s truly angry this time,” Daisy murmured in the dangerous silence that lingered in her wake. “I’ve never seen Mother in such a state. You may have to do as she asks.”
Lillian stared at her in impotent fury. “I will not apologize to that superior ass!”
“Lilian, it would cost you nothing. Just say the words. You don’t have to mean them. Just say, ‘Lord Westcliff, I—’ ”
“I will not,” Lillian repeated stonily. “And it would cost something—my pride.”
“Is it worth being locked in this room, and having to miss all the soirees and suppers that everyone else will be enjoying? Please don’
t be stubborn! Lillian, I promise, I will help you think up some dreadful revenge on Lord Westcliff …something really evil. Just do what Mother wants for now—you may lose the battle, but you’ll win the war. Besides…” Daisy searched desperately for another argument to sway her. “Besides, nothing would please Lord Westcliff more than for you to be locked away for the entire visit. You would be powerless to annoy or torment him. Out of sight, out of mind. Don’t give him that satisfaction, Lillian!”
It was perhaps the only argument that had the power to influence her. Frowning, Lillian stared at her sister’s small ivory face, with its intelligent dark eyes and brows that were a shade too strongly marked. Not for the first time, she wondered how it was that the person most willing to join her reckless adventures was also the one who could most easily recall her to reason. Many people were often deceived by Daisy’s frequent moments of whimsy, never suspecting the bedrock of ruthless common sense beneath the elfin facade.
“I’ll do it,” she said stiffly. “Though I’ll probably choke on the words.”
Daisy let out a huge sigh of relief. “I’ll act as your intermediary. I’ll tell Mother that you’ve agreed, and that she mustn’t lecture you any further, or you might change your mind.”
Lillian slumped on the settee, envisioning Westcliff’s smug satisfaction when she was forced to deliver her apology. Damnation, it would be unbearable. Seething with animosity, she entertained herself by planning a series of complicated revenges against Westcliff, ending with the vision of him begging for mercy.
An hour later, the Bowman family proceeded from their room as one unit, led by Thomas Bowman. Their eventual destination was the dining hall, where another bombastic four-hour supper would be held. Having been recently apprised of his eldest daughter’s shameful behavior, Thomas was in a state of barely contained fury, his mustache bristling above his set mouth.
Dressed in a pale lavender silk gown trimmed with spills of white lace at the bodice and short puffed sleeves, Lillian walked resolutely behind her parents, while her father’s wrathful words floated back to her.