My Dearest Enemy

by Connie Brockway

  “Thank you.” Her voice was high, superficial. “Excuse me. I have things to do.”

  She pulled away and fled, pursued by the knowledge that Avery Thorne, the one man she’d ever felt so much affinity, oh damn, so much attraction toward, was her competition, her adversary, and thus, her dearest enemy.

  Chapter Eight

  “I don’t care what you do with the invitations but I will certainly not be answering them. I am not your secretary.”

  Hearing Lily in the sitting room, Evelyn tossed her gloves on the hall table and, smiling at her son, motioned him to follow her.

  She cracked the door and peeked inside. Her family was there. Lily sat on the window seat and Francesca on the sofa. Even the presense of that prickly Polly Makepeace sitting in a chair pulled next to the sofa couldn’t dim her pleasure.

  With a smile, she threw open the door, announcing to the startled inhabitants, “Look who I’ve brought home.”

  She took hold of Bernard’s hand and tugged him into the room beside her. “You would have been proud of me, Lily. I was really quite firm—” She turned to shut the door and saw him.

  Gerald.

  The air left her lungs in a sharp gasp. She clutched Bernard’s arm. He rose to his feet and came toward her, his features swimming out of focus.

  “Evelyn?” She heard the concern in Lily’s voice but could not tear her gaze from the approaching man.

  “I’m delighted to meet you again,” he said, “Cousin Evelyn.”

  Cousin Evelyn? He made as though to take her hand. Tremors of revulsion danced through her and she jerked away.

  For a second he froze and then said smoothly, “How trying it must be to arrive home only to find it infiltrated by guests. Avery Thorne, ma’am. It’s been a long time.”

  “Mr. Thorne!” Bernard said with surprised delight. He cleared his throat, reaching past her and holding out his hand. Avery shook it. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  “And I yours.”

  Avery Thorne, Evelyn thought faintly. Yes, that would explain the resemblance.

  “Though,” Avery went on, “I must point out that we have met before. You were in nappies and I was in knickers.” He inclined his head. “But I am remiss. Won’t you be seated, Cousin Evelyn?”

  “Of course.” She tried to smile, knew it to be a failure. “You’ve caught me unawares, I’m afraid. Forgive me for not properly greeting you … Cousin Avery.”

  “I believe I’ve taken everyone unawares, ma’am.” His gaze flickered toward where Lily sat watching intently. Poor Lily. Unused to men as she was, this great huge creature must terrify her.

  Evelyn, using his momentary distraction to skirt by him, seated herself next to Polly Makepeace.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Aunt Francesca.” Bernard, displaying his newfound maturity, bent over his aunt’s hand.

  “And it’s a pleasure to see you again, Bernard,” Francesca said. “Since no one else seems likely to do so, let me introduce you to our houseguest, Miss Polly Makepeace. Miss Makepeace is recovering from an accident.”

  Evelyn flushed guiltily. She’d so focused on Avery that she’d failed to extend the simple courtesy of concern to their guest—however that guest had come by that status. Miss Makepeace hadn’t meant to fall off the podium.

  “I’m so glad you feel well enough to join the family, Miss Makepeace,” she said.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Polly said gruffly. “Believe me, I wouldn’t still be here but Miss Bede insisted I stay until I am able to walk unaided.”

  “Lily is absolutely right,” Evelyn murmured. “We are only too pleased to have you.”

  “Hmph.” Polly sank back in her chair as Bernard executed a polite bow in her direction.

  Mindful of Lily’s unusual silence, Evelyn studied the girl, noting worriedly that Lily was dressed in what she called her “rationals.” Her color was high; her eyes glittered dangerously. Men disliked women in masculine garb. Particularly men like Avery Thorne. And Evelyn knew all too well how important it was to curry favor with men.

  Right now Lily’s garment didn’t seem rational so much as rash. The trouser-like things drew attention to hips and lower curves that were far from masculine and her man’s shirt only accented her exotic femininity. Only her hair, pulled into a nice neat chignon, looked unexceptional.

  Evelyn turned her attention to Avery. Soon he would be Bernard’s guardian. The thought brought a wave of despair.

  For nearly five years they’d rattled happily along at Mill House, their occasional crisis put to rights by Lily’s skillful management, their wants gratified by Lily’s generous nature, their rare instances of friction soothed by Lily’s diplomacy. Their lives had flowed on like a feather drifting down a slow river.

  They rarely socialized, Francesca because she was nearly as notorious as Lily was unacceptable and Evelyn because she would not associate with those who snubbed Lily. Not that she missed country society, not at all.

  Others might consider their lives dull. Evelyn liked it that way. She’d had quite enough excitement in her eight years of marriage. Here with Lily, for the first time in her life, a man was not ordering her world; she didn’t need to flatter a man to ensure domestic harmony or trade her body for his goodwill or pacify him in order to win some small liberty. And yet now, suddenly, Avery Thorne appeared, resurrecting memories. Unpleasant memories.

  He looked so very much like Gerald. The same bold features, the same startlingly colored eyes, the large hands capable of such punishing strength. Only his expression was different, but then, the candor and integrity in his face could be a trick of light….

  Avery looked up, catching Evelyn’s eye. He smiled slightly, an ironic twist of the lips that sent Evelyn’s gaze plummeting to her lap. She cursed herself as a coward.

  How could she give up all the privileges and freedoms she’d discovered? Indeed, how could she ask this man for anything when she couldn’t even meet his gaze?

  “Miss Bede.” Having done his duty by his aunt and Polly, Bernard was approaching Lily. “I trust you are keeping well.”

  “Very well, thank you,” Lily said. “You’ve certainly, grown, haven’t you?”

  At nearly six feet, Bernard towered over his next tallest classmate by a good six inches. He would even top Lily by some inches.

  “Yes, Miss Bede. So they say.”

  “Aren’t you going to offer him some of Francesca’s chocolate?” Avery asked. The innocuous question brought a flush to Lily’s cheeks. Her head snapped up and she pierced Avery with a glare.

  Evelyn stared at Lily, amazed at her boldness, until she remembered that Lily had spent four years trading written volleys point for point with this man. Never once had she backed down. Evelyn watched with wistful admiration as Lily rose to her full height—and no one could call it any less than impressive—battle lights gleaming in her sloe black eyes. A man would never cow Lily.

  With a sigh of resignation, Avery followed suit. “You pop up and down more often than a child’s Jack-in-the-box,” he said.

  “No one forced you to your feet,” Lily said.

  “Only manners,” Avery replied. Apparently the conversation had occurred before and with no satisfactory outcome since neither of them bothered to pursue it.

  “And as for chocolate, I’d sooner give Bernard a kiss,” she said and, suiting the act to the words, bussed Bernard gently on his smooth cheek. “Welcome home, Bernard.”

  Bernard suffered this assault on his teenage dignity without flinching. But Lily, ever sensitive to those she loved, saw the embarrassment her kiss caused.

  “Stand still, lad,” Avery murmured lazily. “Miss Bede is simply demonstrating her affectionate nature.”

  Bernard colored. In concern Evelyn leaned forward. Highly emotional episodes sometimes precipitated Bernard’s bouts with breathlessness.

  “He’s fine,” Polly whispered comfortingly. “Listen. You can’t hear a thing untoward.”
At Evelyn’s startled glance she went on. “Miss Bede told me about his lungs.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Bernard,” Lily said.

  “Not at all,” Bernard replied. He did sound fine. Evelyn relaxed. “As Cousin Avery pointed out, you are blessed with a warm heart. Your welcome simply surprised me. Harrow’s deans are seldom so affectionate.”

  “Well said, lad,” Avery said approvingly. “Your Latin might stand improving, but I see Harrow has succeeded in making a gentleman of you.”

  Bernard acknowledged this accolade by beaming with pleasure.

  “That’s all they need do at his school to meet your approval?” Lily asked Avery. “Teach him the right manners, the right way to act, give him a list of the right things to say?”

  “Right,” Avery said, watching Lily with the same lazy attentiveness the barn cat might watch newborn chicks.

  As if she couldn’t believe her ears, she moved closer to him. “Does that not strike you as a trifle elitist?”

  “Gentlemanly behavior is elitism of the most welcome variety,” Avery said. “I hope Bernard aspires to codes of conduct which will serve him well throughout his life.”

  “As it has served you.”

  “I can only hope so, yes.” They glared at each other.

  Evelyn’s stomach fluttered unpleasantly. Lily, apparently oblivious to any danger, moved within a few feet of Avery. In distress Evelyn realized how exceptionally tall he was; he topped Lily by at least five inches. He banked his brilliant gaze behind bronze lashes. Evelyn mistrusted that unfathomable expression. He could reach out and strike—

  “Mr. Thorne,” Lily said, “you may pine for the days when one could demand pistols at dawn simply because someone declared your gloves an imperfect fit, but I assure you that the modern world doesn’t give this for such things.”

  She snapped her fingers under his chin. Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat.

  Avery simply looked down in telling silence upon the slender fingers beneath his chin and with even more telling silence up again into Lily’s eyes.

  Lily arched one black brow. “I consider it far more important that Bernard learn mathematics, economics, and history. Someday he will have the responsibility of an enormous inheritance. That word, in case you aren’t familiar with it, is spelled r-e—”

  “I seem to recall having heard it once or twice,” Avery broke in.

  “Good. Then perhaps you’ll understand that Bernard has better ways to occupy his time than committing to memory an antiquated list of gentlemanly do’s and don’ts.”

  “If you really believe that academic gymnastics are more important than one’s conduct,” Avery said clearly, “it’s fortunate Bernard’s education shall soon be in my hands, isn’t it?”

  “Of all the—”

  “Excuse me for interrupting,” Bernard’s voice cut across Lily’s sputtering, “but may I ask how you knew about the Latin, sir?”

  His eyes never leaving Lily’s face, Avery answered. “Oh, I haven’t taken my responsibilities quite as lightly as Miss Bede assumes. I’ve had an ongoing correspondence with your deans for the last five years.”

  “You mean you told Bernard’s tutors where to write you and you never told me?” Lily asked, her voice rising.

  “I thought you rather enjoyed the challenge of finding me,” Avery replied.

  Evelyn could practically see the sparks leaping between their locked gazes.

  “Something is definitely up between them,” Polly Makepeace whispered as Lily struggled for her composure. “My old mum’s corset laces had less strain on them than there is between those two. And she weighed near thirty stone.”

  Evelyn caught back a burst of laughter, her anxiety fleeing before the absurd image. She had never spent more time than necessary in Polly’s company simply because the woman not only had the bad manners to think Lily unfit to lead her precious Coalition but worse, said so at every opportunity. She’d no idea Polly had a sense of humor.

  “Why does she purposely antagonize him?” Evelyn asked in a low voice. “Doesn’t she realize he’s getting angry?”

  “Mrs. Thorne,” Polly said, “whatever I think about Miss Bede’s qualifications to lead the Coalition, I have never doubted her courage. She and that fellow have been at it since he arrived and she’s not yet come out of one of these verbal scrimmages the loser—though honesty compels me to admit she’s not been the winner, either.”

  Fascinated by the notion that Lily had continually held her own against this huge male, Evelyn grew pensive.

  “Why the long face, Mrs. Thorne?” Polly asked as Lily launched into another diatribe, still standing toe to toe with the tall, muscular young man in the ill-fitting coat.

  “Lily,” she murmured. “She is so much better suited to dealing with men. Avery Thorne doesn’t intimidate her in the least. I envy that.”

  “Oh come,” Polly said, but not unkindly, “Mr. Thorne doesn’t appear to be an unreasonable fellow. Loud and a bit brusque, barely any manners. But a good heart. An honorable sort. In short not unlike Miss Bede herself. Personally, I rather appreciate such straightforwardness in a man.”

  For the life of her Evelyn could not have said what made her confide in Polly Makepeace. Perhaps her unexpected sympathy, perhaps the suddenness with which the situation had been thrust upon her made it hard to keep her anxiety contained. Whatever the reason, she found the words coming from her lips.

  “I would appreciate never having to deal with such a man again,” she said. “I cannot imagine what it will be like living under his aegis without Lily to act as our voice.”

  “Why would you need another woman to speak for you, Mrs. Thorne?” Polly cocked her head inquiringly.

  “Come, Miss Makepeace,” Evelyn said without rancor, “surely you do not assume that the lower classes have monopoly on matrimonial … discord. My own experience has rendered me quite unwilling, perhaps even incapable, of dealing adequately with ‘brusque, loud men.’ ”

  “I see.”

  Evelyn smiled wanly. “Do you?”

  “And you think Miss Bede better suited to dealing with Mr. Thorne and his ilk?”

  “How can you doubt it?” Evelyn asked. “Look at her. Even if she doesn’t win these confrontations, she’s fully in the fray. She’s magnificent.”

  “Yes,” Polly said thoughtfully. “She certainly seems to be enjoying herself. And he is nearly as exhilarated. Look at how he devours her with his gaze. Look how she glares back.”

  Evelyn nodded her head miserably. “Yes. I would never be able to stand up to him like that.”

  Images of a bleak, anxious future wrung tears from her eyes. She groped in her pocket, glad Bernard’s attention was still centered on Lily and Avery Thorne. Amazingly, it was Polly’s small, rough hand that tucked a handkerchief into hers, patting her fist awkwardly. The kindness was nearly her undoing. She sniffed softly. “Dear God, how am I going to—how can I ever hope—”

  “Hush, now,” Polly advised softly. “If you would do me the favor of wheeling me into the hall, Mrs. Thorne, I think I may have a solution to all our problems.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I enjoyed your letters, Cousin Avery,” the boy said.

  “Good,” Avery replied, eyes fixed on the straight figure of Lily Bede eating up the ground in long graceful strides fifty yards ahead. In spite of her speed, her hips swayed gently, her arms, relaxed at her sides, moved in fluid rhythm matching her pace. She moved with an elemental sort of comeliness, like a dancer in a dream, unself-conscious and stirringly natural.

  The sun beat down upon them with unseasonable virulence. Dragonflies with slender, iridescent blue bodies rose from the edges of the path in silent battalions as they passed. The field grasses hissed sotto voce with a dry, warm wind.

  Lily had decided they would eat alfresco.

  One minute she’d been locked in battle with him, her whole body shivering with contention, the next she’d announced they would eat outside to c
elebrate Bernard’s homecoming.

  “The other lads did, too.”

  “Come again?” Avery said, pushing the sleeves of his coat up. Too hot for wool. Too hot for a jacket, for that matter. He yanked it off.

  “The lads at school. They enjoyed your stories, too.”

  “Oh. Good.” She didn’t look overheated.

  “Particularly the ones about Africa.” The lad sounded a bit winded.

  “Africa is an interesting place,” he said falling back and slowing his pace to accommodate Bernard’s. Lily opened the distance between them, her bloomers cutting a swathe through the grass as she led Francesca and Evelyn across the back lawn toward a magnificent beech tree. A short distance behind plodded Hob, loaded down like a pack mule.

  Francesca, her expertly painted face suffering under a combination of heat and sweat, struggled along in her lacey skirts to keep up. Evelyn, looking bewildered, was actually trotting.

  Not that Lily noticed. To notice she would have needed to turn around and risk seeing him, something she suddenly seemed loathe to do. Exasperating woman.

  “—Miss Bede’s future.”

  “What?”

  Avery stopped. Bernard stopped.

  “I was saying how sometime soon, at your convenience, I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss Miss Bede’s future.”

  “What about Miss Bede’s future?” Avery demanded.

  Bernard’s dark blond hair clung damply to his temples and his pallor was waxen. His wrists, sticking out from the ends of his snug tweed jacket, were chaffed and his collar points wilted.

  “Take the blasted thing off, Bernard. You’ll pass out. Now what about Miss Bede’s future?”

  “Sir,”—the boy shrugged off his jacket—“do you really think this is the place? I mean, as gentlemen ought we to be discussing Miss Bede so publicly?”

  “Bernard,” Avery said with exasperated patience, “I am entirely conversant with gentlemanly behavior. This is as good a place as any for a discussion.”