“Long at last, Lord Roddam has arrived,” said Mr. Sands, talking to Lilith while Roddam looked on. “Now is the moment when he can wish us happy.”
Walter’s heart skipped a beat. Lilith looked to him wearing an arrested expression.
“And I’m wishing you happy on what account, exactly?” Roddam asked, widening his stance and clasping his hands behind his back.
The rector smiled a sly grin at Walter for a fraction of a second before saying to Roddam, “We have toasted this week to a milestone in construction progress. You will wish to see the hospital, of course. Shall we begin the tour immediately?”
Roddam frowned. “Not at the present. I came to see my sister and wish to do so posthaste. It was good of you to welcome us, but I fancy a tea. A family tea.”
The earl glowered at the rector until Mr. Sands slipped his arm from Lilith’s and stepped back with a reverent bow. For once in Walter’s life, he valued Roddam’s ability to speak his mind, though Walter doubted Roddam had said all he was truly thinking.
Not to miss his cue, Walter stepped forward and offered his arm to Lilith who took it with a smile and blush, her eyes meeting his beneath half-lidded lashes.
The devil! She was flirting with him in front of everyone.
They nodded to all as they left the inn, Roddam lingering only long enough to have a kind word with the innkeeper and his wife before catching up to them to take Lilith’s other arm for the walk to her cottage.
The cottage was quaint, if not a tad shabby. Well-cared for, yes, but old and cramped. Coming from this, Walter could see why she might think Trelowen excessive, though why she would not want to stretch her wings after such confinement, he could not say. Breathless with excitement, Lilith prompted them to sit on either side of the fireplace while she readied the tea. She dashed into the kitchen.
Walter sat, crossing one leg over the other, and looked about him. Low ceilings with exposed timber beams, a bare wood floor, and white cob walls adorned the one room ground floor.
Dash it all—where was she to sit? There was nothing in the parlor except the two drab chairs Roddam and he occupied, and the world’s smallest wooden table pushed against the wall with a pair of rickety chairs. Thinking swiftly before she returned, he grabbed one of the chairs to move by the fireplace. He would sit in the wooden chair, of course.
A glimpse of her in the kitchen caught him by surprise. He had not realized the kitchen was so close or open to the, well, he supposed it was the dining table, though there was no separation between it and the parlor. Just behind her was a narrow set of steps that wound up and around the corner—to a loft? The whole of the cottage would fit into his dressing room at home.
And she preferred this to a manor? Humbling.
He turned back to observe her as she prepared a tea tray. Good heavens. She was really preparing them a tray. If he had realized she would be doing it, he would have declined. They could have had tea in the private rooms at the inn, after all, without her slaving over a kettle. How shortsighted of him.
Rubbing the back of his neck, feeling ever so uncomfortable, he carried the wooden chair three feet across the room to join Roddam. Roddam arched an eyebrow.
“She’s making us tea, dash it all,” he whispered to the earl.
“Aye, that’s why we came, isn’t it?” Roddam smirked.
“I suppose, but I didn’t expect… well, she is making us tea, by Jove. No wonder she says we come from different worlds.” Walter shook his head.
“And this, old boy, is your competition.” Roddam waved his arms about him to indicate the cottage.
“Oh, I say. I don’t know how to compete with this. I have jewels, money, and servants to offer, but if she wants this, I’m a lost cause.”
After what felt like half an hour but could not have been that long, Lilith returned with the tray. She set it on a footstool between Roddam’s chair and the empty chair before looking about to realize Walter had changed seats.
“No, that will not do. You must sit here,” she said, indicating the more comfortable chair.
“I refuse to have the lady of the house sitting on hard wood. Please, take the chair across from your brother.”
When she frowned, Walter said, “I’ve always had a fondness for splinters.”
She stared at him, confused, and then laughed.
Oh, he had missed that laugh. Low and sultry, a velvet kiss for the ear.
They exchanged pleasantries over tea and cinnamon biscuits for the next half hour. Most of the conversation was about Lizbeth and Freya. Walter spent most of the time staring at her, admiring her, drinking her in for every day he had been without her. Each time she looked over at him, her cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.
He wondered if she ever thought about their kiss. Heaven knew he did. Daily. Nightly. Especially nightly.
“Sir Gene has invited us to dine at Arbor House,” Roddam was saying during one of Walter’s more distracted moments of gazing at her lips.
“Oh, how kind of him. You shall tell me all about it, of course,” she said.
Roddam leaned forward. “I shan’t have to tell you because you’ll be dining with us.”
“Goodness! I most certainly will not,” she said in good humor. “I’m positive if you search your memory, you will recall he did not extend the invitation to me. He would never expect me to go. I’m the orphaned midwife here, if you’ve forgotten. The baronet wants to dine with an earl and a baron, not his wife’s physician.” She laughed merrily at the prospect.
Roddam did not laugh.
Walter cleared his throat. “Lilith, I’ve come to pay you court. Unless that is no longer desirable to you, I intend to do just that. This means a public courtship, all in the village aware of my intentions. If I’m invited to dinner, then it goes without saying that I would bring the woman I’m courting, you.”
She looked down at her hands, then from him to Roddam and back. “Yes, but Sir Graham didn’t know that at the time. If he had known, he might not have offered the invitation. I’m respected here for what I do, but you really must understand I am not respected for who I am. In everyone’s eyes, I am lower than nobody. This is one of the reasons I wanted you to come here, to see me as I am, to see me how others see me.”
Though her brother sat across from her, watching, Walter reached over and took her hand in his. “And I’m courting you, the orphaned nobody who conveniently happens to be the sister of an earl. Sir Gene will accept you at his table. He wouldn’t dare not.”
Roddam chimed in then to say, “The baronet isn’t a representative of Society, far from it. We may have a steady hill to climb with the higher sticklers, but we must start somewhere, Lilith. I plan to introduce you this coming Season. We don’t have to talk about it now, but you can’t hide in this godforsaken cottage all your life.”
Lilith bristled and scowled but did not remove her hand from Walter’s. “I like my cottage. I’m not hiding, and we will talk about that later. This is my life, you know, and you can’t make decisions for me. But I’ll go to dinner with you. You can see for yourself how well I will or will not be received by your Society.”
Walter squeezed her hand. He wondered if she worried she would embarrass them or if she feared the censure. Which of those had him worried? A little of both, he suspected. This would indeed be a test. He had not expected such a test so soon in the courtship, but perhaps it was best to suffer the trial by fire first.
Chapter 15
Kory brushed invisible lint from Walter’s coat and stood back to admire the freshly ironed ensemble and sheen with which the riding boots shone.
“Well? How do I look?” Walter asked, tugging at the edges of his waistcoat.
“Like a man ready for a Hyde Park promenade,” said his valet with a swat at Walter’s hand to keep him from wrinkling the fabric.
“Splendid.”
>
“Might I advise less bravado for a country parish?” Kory asked.
“No, you may not. Well, I suppose you may advise it, but I’ll not listen. I don’t care if the walk is around the village center or to one end and back again, I’ll look my best.”
Walter tapped his heels together and left the dressing room at his inn suite, his destination Lilith’s cottage. His valet was right—he was overdressed. But a man could not court a woman dressed sloppily.
Topped with his favorite tricorn, the ensemble for the day was a dark, basil-green waistcoat and matching coat with floral embroidery, a sensible but ornately knotted cravat, buckskin riding breeches tailored on the snug side, and his best riding boots. Indeed, he looked more fitting for a ride down Rotten Row during the fashionable hour than a walk around a small and dusty parish. For tonight’s dinner, he had instructed Kory to ready his satin, to be accentuated by clocked stockings and buckled shoes. There would be nothing for it but Lilith to fall for him.
The cottage was not altogether far from the inn, so Walter footed it. He made a show of touching his hat to all he saw, displaying far more enthusiasm than was necessary, but he wanted it known that Lilith was a respectable lady being courted by an eligible gentleman. No one would accuse her on his watch of being anything less. Walter aimed to turn the tide so all would see her as the very legitimate sister of an earl, a lady who, through unusual circumstances, condescended to live in Allshire. She could undermine his efforts, as well as Roddam’s, but it would not be for a lack of trying.
As he passed the church, he spotted a garden overflowing with flowers. Flowers! What a dolt! He had not brought her any flowers. In his defense, he had never courted anyone before. Some leeway for his shortsightedness was in order.
Approaching the gate, he hailed the man stooped over a fragrantly prepared bed, fragrant with manure, that was.
“Good day, my good man! I say, you wouldn’t happen to be in a position to aid a fellow gentleman?”
After a brief but satisfying conversation and a bouquet of freshly cut roses, Walter was back on the path to the cottage. He sniffed at the pink and red array. The dear man had prattled on about the types of roses, how he grew them for late blooms, which were the most fragrant, and so forth, but Walter had smiled and not heard a word. He had gardeners for such things.
Lilith liked gardening, though. Hmm. He might need to pay the man another call.
Yes, in fact, he must. Walter recalled distinctly a conversation Lilith and he had shared about her love for gardening. She had been nonplussed by his comments of having his gardener expand the parterres at Trelowen. She had told him he missed the point, which was to get knee-deep in the soil and sink one’s hands into the earth, to be one with nature, to find peace in the simplicity while reveling in the magic of planting a seed to have it grow into a living element. She was right. He had missed the point. What different worlds they lived in.
For a few steps, he slowed his gait, self-conscious. What did he have that she could possibly want? Here, she had a one-room cottage, friends she had known for years, and a garden she loved. And he had what to offer? He had everything she did not want—gardeners to do the gardening, maids to dress her in finery, more than one stylish carriage to be seen in by all those worth being seen by, a set of friends who preferred to dance than share silence.
Dash it all. To a woman like Lilith, he had nothing to recommend him other than himself. He would say he was enough, but he came with all those things she did not want.
He paused, his smile faltering.
Though it had grown cool by the coast, cool enough to keep the fires lit, it was still warm in the landlocked village. His neck itched from the starched collar, sweat irritating his skin.
There was nothing for it. He would have to try harder. He would have to prove to her he was worth all the baggage that came with him. Thinking of all that would normally entice a woman—wealth, connections, popularity—as being baggage brought a laugh. Granted, it was a sardonic laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
Renewed in spirit, he approached the cottage and greeted it with a resounding knock.
The door opened moments later to a surprised Lilith. She gave him a thorough enough head-to-toe assessment that his ears warmed. He verbalized his nervousness with a chuckle. When her eyes met the bouquet in his outstretched hand, her surprise turned to a smile.
“Ah. I see you’ve met Mr. Turnbow,” she said, taking the roses with a blush that matched.
“Yes, a fine fellow. Do you fancy a walk? I hear from the innkeeper there’s an attractive path down to the lake worth exploring.” Walter remained outside the threshold, hopeful.
“I’m afraid I can’t.” Lest he misunderstand, she hastened to add, “Not that I don’t wish to, but I have patients to call on today. I was about to begin my rounds, actually. I will see you tonight at dinner?”
Crestfallen, Walter said, “I could accompany you. I can be an unofficial assistant today, an ignorant but earnest man-midwife. Walter, the accoucheur, at your service.”
Shaking her head, she said, “That won’t do. A noble gesture, but I’ll be spending half an hour at each house, and my calls will include an examination. These are not social calls, mind.”
Walter frowned, his shoulders rounding. Well, dash it all.
“Wait here. Let me put these in water,” she said.
Leaving the door open, she took the bouquet to the kitchen, which he could see well from the doorway. Goodness, the cottage was small. In five determined strides, he would be from the doorway into the kitchen.
She fiddled about for a brief time then came out with an old teapot filled to burst with roses. Arranging it in the center of the world’s smallest dining table, she beamed at him.
“My first flowers,” she said.
Adorning her head with a bonnet and grabbing a largish bag, she shooed him away from the door and shut it behind her. “My first stop is to Mrs. O’Shane on the far side of the village. She’s the wife of one of Sir Graham’s laborers, so the house is on his property. It’s quite the hike, but I would enjoy your company. That is, if you don’t mind the lonely walk back.”
With a bow, Walter offered his arm.
Lilith wore one of her old dresses, one that he had seen several times at the castle. Her hair was braided down the back, just as it had been when he first met her.
While he fancied her no matter what she wore, he had grown accustomed to seeing her in finer clothing. He missed seeing the lengthened bit of bare neck that arched seductively when her hair was styled up. He missed, also, how well the other dresses had enhanced the natural shape of her physique, most specifically her ample, curvaceous hips. Did she not like such a look on herself, or was it a necessity of her work that she dressed plainly in drab and tired dresses?
She glanced at him, her lips curving into a smile that reached her eyes, the irises a chocolate brown in the bright sunlight. He had remembered them as being such a dark brown they were almost black. Not today. Not in the rays of the Allshire sun. Good Lord, she took his breath away.
“If your goal was for all in the village to see me on your arm, your wish has been granted,” she said with a teasing lilt.
“Am I so transparent? You see straight through me, Lilith. I suppose it was presumptuous of me to assume you would still want to proceed with the courtship. Do you? Tell me you do.”
If she had been shorter, she could have hidden her face beneath the straw bonnet, but as she was near his own height, he could see the rose of her cheeks. Try as he might, he could not recall her blushing so much at the castle. Had she missed him? Had she decided she wanted him?
“I do,” she said.
For a moment, he truly was robbed of breath, thinking she had answered the questions in his head rather than in reality.
“I do want to proceed with the courtship, Walter. I warn you, though, I’m
not convinced I want to be part of your world, but I do want to know you better and you to know me. This would all be easier, I must say, if you were a simple farmer.”
“Alas, I don’t know a root from a bulb,” he said.
“Oh dear. It’s a good thing I have two employments, then, for I would have to support us no matter how meager the earnings.”
She laughed until she realized what she had implied, then she slipped into a bashful hush. Walter did not mind. He rather enjoyed having the moment to fantasize them living together in the tiny cottage, two children running about the place while he bobbed a baby on his knee, she arranging flowers on the too-small table.
“That house is home to the haberdasher, Mr. Tilson, and his wife and their children.” She pointed to a whitewashed cottage with baskets of flowers propped outside the windows. “And that is the home of the blacksmith, Mr. Brown. He and his wife never did have children, but his younger brother lives with them.” This time, she pointed to a stone cottage only slightly bigger than her own.
For the entirety of the walk, she pointed out people, houses, landmarks, dogs, and even a few sheep, all of which had names. She seemed to be enjoying herself, animatedly regaling him with stories of Mrs. Jenkins’ two mischievous children, Ralph the sheepdog who had an affinity for Mr. Bilkins’ poultry, and other such tales about people Walter would never remember, though he heard the names of every person, child, and pet in the parish, he was certain. He did not think he was impressing her by doing little but listening except the occasional question; yet he enjoyed the listening. This was a glimpse of the real Lilith, unguarded, at home in her surroundings, proud of the life she had made despite muddled origins.
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