by Gaelen Foley
“No, Matthew,” said Uncle Derek. “I told you, you are not to climb the shelves.” He looked ruefully at the ladies. “We were trying to find a book on animals.”
“I’m a tiger! Roarrr!”
Mrs. Clearwell feigned fright. “Oh, dear!”
Derek regarded the child dryly. “Yes, I know, it’s hard to imagine he’ll be a leading peer of the realm one day.”
“We were all small once, Major,” Lily answered, chuckling. “He is your sister’s child, you say?”
“Lord Griffith was widowed before he married my sister. Matthew’s mother was the marquess’s first wife.”
“Oh, the poor child’s an orphan?” Mrs. Clearwell asked with great sympathy.
“Not anymore,” Derek replied. “He’s got a new mother now, and he adores her.”
Matthew grinned.
Lily smiled, warmed by the pleasure that showed in Derek’s eyes when he spoke of his family. He obviously loved them a great deal. She turned to the boy. “What will you do when you’re a tiger, Matthew? If I may ask.”
“I’ll scare the bad people away from all the little children,” he answered somberly. He brightened again. “Then I’ll eat them!”
“I say!” Mrs. Clearwell exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart.
“He’s been through some hard things of late,” Derek confided to the women in a softer tone. “He was nearly abducted less than a month ago.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “How horrible!” she breathed.
He nodded. “His father has made some unsavory enemies in the course of his diplomatic career. But all’s well now. We’re just hoping that Matthew understands he’s safe now and life is back to normal. He’s finally coming out of his shell—as you’ve probably noticed.”
“I’m sure he feels safe with you, Major,” Mrs. Clearwell murmured, beaming at him.
Not just feels safe, Lily thought. Is safe. There was a difference.
Derek gave Mrs. Clearwell a modest smile, then he noticed Lily’s ardent gaze fixed on him. When his glance happened across her trusty diamond earrings, which she wore again today, he slipped her a knowing little half-smile, fraught with secretive intimacy. “I see you ladies found some books to purchase,” he remarked, changing the subject.
Lily’s blush deepened. “Just some silly fashion magazines.” She tried to put them casually behind her back.
“Full of wedding gowns,” Mrs. Clearwell added sweetly.
Lily winced.
“Ah.” Derek looked at her intently.
“What about you, Major? Oh, no—is that what I think it is?” Happy to direct attention elsewhere, Lily beckoned to him to hand over the small, cheaply bound volume tucked under his arm.
“What, this?” he evaded. “Oh—nothing.”
“The Castle of Otranto?” she read out in hilarity. “Surely not! Oh, Major, and I thought you were a man of sense.”
“You’re the one reading brainless fashion magazines!” he retorted as both ladies had a hearty chuckle at his less than intellectual selection—as if they could talk.
“For your information, I happen to enjoy these little dreadfuls,” he defended. “Perhaps it’s not the most challenging material, but it’s a nice…bedtime story! It helps me fall asleep.”
“Asleep? Who can sleep after reading one of these bloodthirsty tales?” Lily retorted, relishing this rare chance to tease him.
Clearly, the proud major was thoroughly chagrined at having been discovered in his propensity for Gothic horror novels.
Lily nudged Mrs. Clearwell. “Cousin Pamela would be so pleased.”
“I know!”
“Who’s Cousin Pamela?”
“Er, my cousin,” Lily said sardonically. “Her name is Pamela.”
He tilted his head at her with a warning look.
“She writes Gothic stories,” she added in an ominous stage whisper. It was hard to resist teasing him.
“Really?” His interest was genuine, whatever his flimsy excuses about his choice of reading material. “Have her tales been published?”
“Heavens, no,” Lily replied in an ironical tone. “Ladies don’t write novels.”
“But you just said—”
“Nevertheless.”
His lips flattened and he arched a brow at her. “If your cousin sold her books under a pen name, wouldn’t that help to relieve your family’s predicament?”
Apparently, they had moved on to warm enough terms with each other that they could now joke about the great Balfours’ misfortune.
For some strange reason, Lily was not offended.
“My dear Major,” she retorted in a flippant tone, “when family honor is all one’s got left, it must be preserved with the utmost stringency.”
“Yes, but don’t deprive an eager audience of worthy entertainment. Are your cousin’s stories any good?”
“They’re horrifying. Terrible. Macabre.”
“Excellent!”
“They’re better than this one, at any rate.” Lily gave him a jaunty grin full of pride in her oddball cousin as she handed his chosen book back to him. “‘And if you should have nightmares, Gentle Reader,’” she intoned, “‘I suggest you try a cup of warm milk!’”
“You’re mad.” He laughed, but there was something slightly uncomfortable behind his eyes.
Lily had almost failed to notice it. “Just a little,” she conceded.
“Er, Matthew!” Mrs. Clearwell called, directing the major’s attention to his errant nephew.
Derek hastily plucked the climbing boy off the bookshelves, then set Matthew up on his shoulders, where he could not escape again.
Lily looked up at the child, smiling.
Hazy memories shimmered of the years gone by when her father used to carry her on his shoulders like that.
Seeing Derek Knight in the unexpected role of family man did strange, quivery things to her insides.
“Oh, I’m famished from all this shopping!” Mrs. Clearwell suddenly declared. “Major, have you tried the famous Gunter’s since you’ve come to Town?”
“No, but I’ve heard about it.”
“Matthew, do tigers eat ice cream?”
The future marquess threw his small fist triumphantly into the air. “Gunter’s, hooray!”
There in the heart of fashionable Mayfair, the sweet smells from London’s most extravagant ice-cream parlor poured out onto Berkley Square as they approached the famed establishment a short while later. It was impossible to walk past Gunter’s without being irresistibly lured inside, and woe to anyone intent upon “reducing.”
Mouths watering, the four of them walked into the crowded shop and soon became intoxicated with the thick scents of vanilla and cinnamon that hung in the air. The bakery section, busily turning out fabulous cakes and confections, gave off heavenly odors, while the savory counter on the opposite wall added the flavor of smoked meats and cheeses—to say nothing of the dazzling fragrances of the dozens of teas and coffees for sale.
Merely to breathe the air inside Gunter’s was sheer decadence. But most of those who mobbed the shop on this warm, sunny afternoon had come for the lavish selection of ice cream, sorbets, and velvety cream-fruit ices.
They wasted no time in joining the queue.
“Why, look, Miss Balfour.” Derek pointed as they took their places in the line. “They have wedding cakes.” He slid her a devilish look. “Pertinent to the topic of your day’s research, I believe?”
“Oh, yes, Gunter’s is famous for their wedding cakes,” Mrs. Clearwell informed them while Lily shot Derek a defiant look.
Matthew dashed out of the line without warning and ran over to the glass case where a gorgeous multi-tiered wedding cake was on display.
“Whoa!” he cried, agog at the towering cake. He pressed his nose against the glass, ogling all of the goodies on offer—plum cakes, ratafia cakes, ever so many kinds of cakes, and a pastel profusion of bonbons, too.
“Duty calls,” Derek said wryly, par
doning himself to go and retrieve his nephew.
While the ladies patiently held their place in line, Derek took his nephew on a brief tour around the thronged shop to keep the boy busy.
Lily watched them stop to admire another sparkling glass case, where a heated silver epergne offered up a cheese fondue with neat hunks of bread to dip into the soupy golden stuff. They moved on. Next to the fondue case was a counter displaying all the makings of Gunter’s famous boxed meals for picnics and outdoor parties.
Matthew pointed, asking his uncle endless questions while the clerks bustled about, packing venison slices, hunks of cheese, grapes, and champagne into an artful arrangement in the box, which was then delivered to the waiting footman of some wealthy customer. Lily watched the footman hurry away.
The wide-open double doors of the shop saw an endless parade of hungry folk, along with a constant stream of harried waiters rushing in and out to deliver ice-cream orders to the people waiting in the park across the street. Others collected on their trays the dirtied spoons and emptied glass goblets of customers who had finished their sweet indulgences, and then sped back inside to clean the lot for the next round of ice-cream seekers.
Derek and his charge returned as their turn to order finally arrived.
“Look at all these flavors,” he said in amazement, holding Matthew up to see the ice cream being scooped out of great, frozen tin boxes into the whimsical glass goblets in which the delicacy was served. “What’ll we have?”
Mrs. Clearwell was ready. “I shall have the peach sorbet.”
“Peppermint!” Matthew cheered.
“Miss Balfour?” Derek sent her a smile.
“Hm, I’m feeling adventurous. I’ll try the white currant.”
He made a face at her selection, then turned to the waiter. “One scoop of almond for me, and one of pistachio.”
“You’re getting two?” Matthew cried.
“Just in case Miss Balfour doesn’t like her choice quite as much as she thought. How is Edward, anyway?” he added under his breath.
Lily shook her head, laughing at his wickedness. “On second thought, I’ll just take vanilla,” she told the waiter.
“Vanilla?” Derek scoffed. “Talk about boring.”
“Vanilla’s a perfectly lovely flavor, for your information.”
“I don’t think she knows at all what she wants, Mrs. Clearwell.”
“No, indeed, Major. No, indeed.” Her chaperone was chuckling merrily at the entertainment they were providing her.
“If you two would stop talking, perhaps I could think!” Lily ignored the pair laughing at her and searched her taste buds with all earnestness.
Every flavor on the menu sounded so delicious.
“Pineapple!” she declared all of a sudden.
“Ah, the noble pineapple,” Derek said in approval.
“Symbol of hospitality,” Mrs. Clearwell agreed with a sage nod.
“Would you two stop it?” Lily scolded them.
“We’ll bring it out straightaway,” the annoyed waiter said briskly, apparently eager to be rid of them and on to more serious customers.
Derek waved off Mrs. Clearwell with a dismissive frown when she reached for her reticule. He refused to let her pay, and treated them all. They thanked him as they left the shop, sauntering back out to sit in Mrs. Clearwell’s open-top barouche while they waited for their order to arrive. Her coachman had parked the barouche alongside the garden square in the shade of the flourishing plane trees.
This, Mrs. Clearwell informed them, was the proper London way to eat ice cream from Gunter’s.
Lily was aware of the curious glances her party received from certain denizens of Society, who were also taking ice cream in the park. No doubt it startled the gossips to spot the notorious Major Derek Knight escorting a little boy, a genteel young lady, and her chaperone, rather than one of his usual fast women.
Oh, dear, Lily thought. There might be talk.
But there was nothing improper going on here, she reminded herself. Of course, if Mrs. Clearwell were not present, her reputation would have been destroyed before the frost was melted off the ice cream—which presently was delivered.
Derek jumped down easily over the side of the barouche as the waiter approached.
“Going somewhere, Major?” Lily inquired.
He flashed a smile as he took the ladies’ treats off the waiter’s tray and handed their dainty glasses up to them. “Here, Matthew,” he summoned his nephew, holding out his arms to the boy. “We’re going to eat ours standing right here. Otherwise, believe me, there will be peppermint ice cream all over that pretty carriage.” With an easy swing down, he set Matthew firmly on his feet on the pavement, then handed the boy his ice cream.
Matthew rejoiced over his prize, but within a few bites, his attention wandered until he took a fascinated interest in a shiny beetle crawling on the ground.
He leaned down for a closer look, whereupon his single scoop of ice cream rolled right out of the bowl and landed at his feet.
Matthew looked up at his uncle in panic, while the beetle after that near miss wisely took wing and flew away.
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Clearwell said sympathetically.
The boy looked from Derek to the ladies, his lower lip trembling as if he might cry.
“Here, Matthew, you can have mine,” Lily said softly, offering it to him at once, but Derek countered: “Nonsense.”
Without the slightest hesitation, he reached down with his bare hand, picked up the softened glob of ice cream, and plopped it right back into Matthew’s bowl.
Matthew looked at him in alarm.
Lily’s eyes widened.
Mother would have fainted on the spot if she had seen him do that, but Derek merely took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off his hand. “What? It’s still good,” he said to his flabbergasted nephew in a most reasonable tone. “You don’t believe me?”
Matthew watched his every move, open-mouthed.
“Here,” Derek ordered. “I promise you, I’ve eaten much worse than that at the war.” He scooped a spoonful out of Matthew’s dish and put it in his mouth.
Lily and Mrs. Clearwell both grimaced.
Derek slapped his nephew fondly on the back. “Eat up, lad. You’ll live.”
“Are you sure about that?” Lily murmured, eyeing the child in doubt as Matthew visibly decided to shrug off his fears and dove back into his ice cream as happily as before. “I hope he doesn’t catch a disease.”
“Eh, he’ll be fine. A little dirt’s good for him.”
Men. Lily looked at the major. “You are a character, aren’t you?”
“A little ice cream off a London pavement never hurt anyone. Too much precious coddling, now, that could be the death of any self-respecting boy. Isn’t that right, Matt?”
“Yes, sir!” He looked up and gave him a sticky grin, apparently thrilled by this uncle who dared to break the rules, but Lily doubted the child knew what they were talking about.
She turned back to Derek and had the pleasure of watching him savor a bite of ice cream as he leaned against the carriage in a casual pose. “So, you’ve worked out your whole philosophy on raising children, then, have you?”
His eyes danced. “It’s not that much different than training troops, really.” He gave an idle shrug. “Turning aimless, untried youths into hardened soldiers is what I do, Miss Balfour. Of course, he’s a little younger than the ones they usually send me. Look at him.” He shook his head in obvious pride. “Tiger in training.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” Lily said softly.
Derek looked up at her, silent for a moment. “I have to get him back to my sister soon. Actually, I was thinking, why don’t you ladies come with me and let me introduce you?”
“I thought you said Her Ladyship wasn’t feeling well.”
“Her Ladyship?” He snorted. “Right. I forgot. Still can’t get used to her having a title. At home among ourselves, we just call her G
eorgie. Lady Griffith. Very grand, indeed.”
Lily laughed. “Are you two very close?”
“Frankly, my sister and I have always been the bane of each other’s existence, but you may like her.” He was teasing again. That dancing light in his pale blue eyes beckoned her with a magical attraction.
She shook her head. “I don’t wish to disturb your sister if she’s ill.”
“She isn’t ill, Miss Balfour.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “She is breeding.”
Lily turned red, captured in his potent stare. “Oh,” she said faintly.
His worldly smile betrayed his amusement at her discomfiture. “At any rate, it’s not morning anymore, so she should be fine by now. Shouldn’t she, Mrs. Clearwell?”
“Hard to say.” The matron shrugged. “Every woman’s different.”
“At least come along when I return Matthew and we’ll find out if ‘Her Ladyship’ is receiving visitors today.” He glanced at Lily and must have seen that she was still unconvinced.
“Miss Balfour, have you ever been inside a marquess’s London house before?”
“No.”
He nodded. “You have to see this. At least it might inspire you to aim a little higher.” He gave her a devilish wink and took another big bite of ice cream, while Lily in turn smacked him on the shoulder.
“You great lout.”
Mrs. Clearwell laughed gaily.
“I’m only jesting,” he insisted, but his laughter faded. “No, the truth of it is, it would mean a lot to me if you would come and meet her.”
“Why? So she can join you in mocking me, hm?”
“No, of course not.” He paused and lowered his head, poking at a chunk of pistachio in his ice cream. “Because Georgie knows even more about India than I do. And I thought it might comfort you in the loss of your father to learn more about the place that took him from you. The good as well as the bad. Maybe if you speak to her—and meet our Indian servants, who are practically like family members to us—then you might glimpse the beauty that made your father want to go. And,” he added with another smile full of easy charm, “if you’re feeling very brave, I’ll have Purnima cook you ladies one of her spiciest curries for supper some night. You’ll need your vanilla after that.”