He grimaced. ‘It would seem that it is my turn to apologise to you.’ He gave a self-disgusted shake of his head. ‘Obviously the carriage ride earlier today was not as beneficial to my own temperament as it was to my father’s!’
Lily looked up at Giles searchingly, but saw only that hard implacability about the firmness of his mouth, and the icy disgust in his eyes. Whether that disgust was directed towards her or himself Lily was unsure. ‘No doubt you have noticed, my lord, that we do not seem able to converse for two minutes at a time without insulting each other.’
He gave a humourless smile. ‘Then might I suggest that the answer would seem to be for us not to converse at all?’
Lily could find no argument with that suggestion; in fact, after the strangeness of her feelings whilst outside on the terrace just now, she would welcome never having to see or speak with Giles Montague ever again….
* * *
‘So you’ve come to see me at last, have ye?’
Mrs Lovell ceased stirring the coals of the fire, over which her cast-iron cooking pot was suspended by a shepherd’s crook. She turned to look across to where Lily stood at the edge of the small clearing situated between the lake and the river, the place where the elderly Romany usually made her camp. Lily took absolutely no offence at the elderly lady’s accusing tone, knowing from years of making such visits that it was merely Mrs Lovell’s way. ‘I thought to give you a few days to settle before calling.’ She smiled as she stepped further into the clearing, wearing one of her older gowns of serviceable blue cotton, with a straw bonnet over her curls.
‘Did ye now?’ The elderly Romany straightened. She was a small and wizened lady of indeterminate years, her complexion weathered by years of suffering the extremes of either the heat of the sun or the bitterness of the cold. Her eyes were hazel, a strange mixture of brown, blue and green, and her mouth slightly folded in on itself where she had lost most of her front teeth. Her greying black hair was secured beneath its usual black scarf; her gown was also black, but covered from waist to toe by a white pinafore. ‘You’ve grown even taller than when I saw ye last year,’ she added bluntly.
Lily laughed softly. ‘I fear that I have, yes.’
‘Why be afeared?’ Mrs Lovell began to drop the ingredients for her stew into the pot as the water began to boil—several diced carrots and a parsnip or two, some potatoes, a few herbs, followed by what looked to be a skinned and boned rabbit.
‘It would seem that the fashion is for the fair and delicate this Season,’ Lily explained ruefully as she sat down on one of the logs of wood the other woman had gathered and would no doubt place upon the fire later.
‘Fair and delicate!’ Mrs Lovell’s snort of disgust was indicative of exactly what she thought of that insipidness. ‘Ask any man and he’ll tell ye he prefers to be able to feel a bit of shape to the woman as warms his bed at night.’
Lily knew she would never ask any gentleman such a thing! And the colour that now warmed her cheek owed nothing to the flames of the fire but to memories of the liquid heat that had consumed her on the terrace yesterday evening, as Giles Montague had stood so close to her that for several moments she had imagined he might actually be about to kiss her!
Which, in the light of day, Lily could clearly see as being fanciful nonsense; Giles Montague disliked her far too much even to think about kissing her let alone attempting to do so!
True to his word, last night he had ordered one of the Rothermere carriages be brought round before accompanying her on the short drive back to the vicarage. It had been a carriage ride that had seemed excruciatingly long as, abiding by his suggestion, neither of them had spoken so much as a word to the other until they made their goodbyes at the vicarage door. It had turned into a tense and stiffly polite parting, during which Lily’s gaze had remained firmly fixed upon Giles Montague’s neck cloth rather than risk another glance at his face.
To now be so vividly reminded of that time alone with him on the terrace at Castonbury Park, when Lily had been trying so hard all morning not to think of him at all, caused her to speak hastily lest Mrs Lovell see her blushes and attempt to tease the reason for them from her. ‘I see that Samson is still with you.’ She looked admiringly at the piebald horse tethered a short distance from the brightly coloured caravan which Mrs Lovell called a vardo and which he had pulled faithfully these past ten years.
‘No doubt he’ll see me out,’ the elderly Romany dismissed practically, her shrewd gaze still focused on Lily. ‘Have you found yourself a young man yet?’
‘No,’ Lily dismissed lightly—nor was she ever likely to do so when she stood so uncertainly between one world and another, neither Quality nor peasant, fish nor fowl.
‘Are all the men blind in these parts, then?’ Mrs Lovell gave the stew a last stir before resuming her seat on the small stool that stood to one side of the fire.
‘I do not believe so, no,’ Lily laughed softly. ‘Mrs Jeffries sent you this.’ She held out the apple pie she had brought with her wrapped in muslin.
‘Kind of her.’ The elderly Romany nodded as she accepted the gift, sniffing appreciatively. ‘Mmm, cinnamon,’ she murmured with satisfaction before placing it carefully to one side. ‘If the men here are not blind, then they must surely be senile,’ she continued with her usual asperity.
‘No, I do not believe they are senile either,’ Lily dismissed patiently when her attempt at diversion obviously failed. ‘I am merely—I am afraid my lack of position in Society does not encourage many suitors,’ she finally explained with a sigh, knowing of old that Mrs Lovell was too direct in manner to tolerate any attempt at prevarication from others.
‘What does that mean, your “lack of position in Society”?’ the old lady repeated with obvious scorn.
‘Exactly as it sounds.’ Lily smiled ruefully. ‘It is well known in these parts that I am a foundling. It is not what a gentleman might expect of his wife and the future mother of his children.’ She shrugged without rancour.
‘I never heard of such a thing!’ Mrs Lovell gave another dismissive snort. ‘In my day a pretty face and child-bearing hips was all as was required to be a wife and mother!’
Lily held back another smile with effort, knowing that the old lady had not intended to cause amusement with the bluntness of her remark. ‘Do you have children of your own, Mrs Lovell?’ The old lady had been a widow for as long as Lily had known her, nor did she recall ever having been introduced to any children from that marriage.
‘I did.’ The other woman busied herself stirring more herbs into her stew pot. ‘As fine a son as any woman ever had.’
Lily sensed sadness beneath the statement. ‘He is not with you any more…?’ she prompted gently.
‘He died right here in Castonbury almost twenty-one years ago,’ Mrs Lovell revealed gruffly.
A pained frown appeared on Lily’s brow. ‘I had no idea— Oh!’ She gave a breathless gasp as memory stirred; she had heard tales of a young Romany man who had met with an accident in the woods here twenty or so years ago, believed to have been shot by mistake by the then Rothermere gamekeeper, and buried in the churchyard across the lane from the vicarage. She had never seen the grave, nor the name carved upon it, but it seemed too much of a coincidence for it not to have been Mrs Lovell’s son.
‘It will be exactly twenty-one years in two days’ time.’ The old lady’s gaze met hers unflinchingly.
Lily’s eyes were wide. ‘Is that the reason you always arrive here some days or weeks ahead of your tribe?’
‘Maybe,’ the other woman conceded gruffly.
She gave a pained wince. ‘I am so sorry for your loss—’
‘It was long ago and a different time.’ Mrs Lovell straightened with brisk dismissal. ‘But I don’t recall him as being stupid enough not to marry the pretty woman he fell in love with, no matter what her breeding,’ she added caustically.
Lily smiled gently, moved by the things Mrs Lovell had not said, able to see the pain of the los
s of her only child still raw in that lady’s expressive hazel eyes. ‘I am afraid that a gentleman requires a little more than prettiness and child-bearing hips in his wife.’
‘There ye go again with that “I am afraid.”’ Mrs Lovell frowned her disapproval. ‘What is there for one as beautiful as you to be afraid of, except the stupidity of men?’
This time Lily could not hold back her laughter. ‘You are very good for my self-esteem, Mrs Lovell.’ She chuckled merrily.
‘Self-esteem, is it?’ The elderly woman gave a disgusted shake of her head. ‘The men in these parts must be stupid, as well as blind and senile, is all I can say!’
‘Your assessment appears to be harsh, Mrs Lovell, but quite possibly a correct one!’
Lily turned so sharply in the direction of that familiar, mocking voice that she was in danger of falling off the log on which she sat, only just managing to catch herself in time, and feeling the colour drain from her cheeks as she stared wide-eyed at where Giles Montague stood on the edge of the clearing, his tall hat once again throwing his face into shadow.
But Lily was more concerned about how long he had been standing there, rather than how he looked. And exactly how much of the frankness of Mrs Lovell’s conversation he may have overheard….
Chapter Six
Lily gathered her wits enough to stand up awkwardly before making an abrupt curtsey. ‘My lord.’
Giles nodded briefly in response, his smile humourless as he easily discerned the emotions that had flickered across Lily’s expressive face at the unexpectedness of his appearance at Mrs Lovell’s fireside—alarm, quickly followed by surprise. The former could be—and no doubt was!—attributed to seeing him again so soon after their stilted parting yesterday evening, and the surprise was no doubt due to finding Giles visiting Mrs Lovell at all, when Lily made no secret of the fact that she considered him to be not only arrogant but toplofty.
He quirked his brow before turning his attention to the elderly Romany as he stepped forward into the clearing. ‘I brought over some tea and honey for you, Mrs Lovell, and Tom Anderson also sent over some of the liniment for your horse that he says you covet.’ He presented her with the sack he carried.
‘Kind of ye both, I’m sure.’ The elderly woman nodded her thanks as she checked the contents of the sack. ‘Perhaps the two of ye would like to join me in a cup of the tea?’ she prompted even as she sat forward to hook the stew pot from over the fire and replace it with a blackened kettle.
‘I believe my father will be expecting me back at the vicarage.’ Lily instantly refused the invitation, having no real wish to cut short her visit with Mrs Lovell but also having no desire to spend any more time in Giles’s unpleasant—and unsettling—company.
‘Nonsense.’ Mrs Lovell briskly dismissed her excuses. ‘I am sure Mr Seagrove enjoys yer company enough that he can spare ye for the short time it will take to drink some tea with me.’
How could Lily refuse when Mrs Lovell put forward her argument in such reproving tones! ‘Well, of course, if you insist…’ she agreed weakly.
‘I do,’ the old lady said firmly.
Lily sank back down upon the log, keeping her gaze averted from Giles…even if she was completely aware of his presence only feet away from her!
* * *
Giles had walked over from the house, checking to make sure the work he had ordered to be done at the lake was in progress on the way, only realising that his approach to Rosa Lovell’s camp must have been masked by the undergrowth as he heard the two ladies in candid conversation.
And he had not particularly liked what he had overheard, knowing that in all probability he was responsible for the opinion Lily obviously now had of herself. A less than flattering opinion, which Giles had expressed a year ago when he had told Lily of all the reasons she was unsuited to being the wife of his brother Edward, or any other gentleman of Quality….
‘Sit ye down beside the yag, lad, and stop making the place look untidy!’ Mrs Lovell’s eyes twinkled merrily as she gave Giles a gap-toothed smile and drew up another log with the obvious intention of having him sit down upon it. ‘And afterwards I’ll do a little dukkering, if’n it pleases ye both,’ she added with a sly glance at first Lily and then Giles.
The elderly lady looked so mischievous that Giles could not help but chuckle. ‘Do we have to “cross your palm with silver” first?’
‘Gold would be better,’ Mrs Lovell came back cheekily.
‘No doubt.’ Giles smiled ruefully.
‘Unless Miss Lily thinks that Mr Seagrove would not approve of her indulging in such pagan practices as fortune-telling…’ the elderly lady added teasingly.
Lily gave a rueful smile. ‘I am sure my father’s clerical profession dictates that he should not approve, at the same time as he would admit that his innate curiosity makes him eager for any and all knowledge!’ she conceded affectionately.
Giles’s gaze was guarded as he turned to her. ‘You would not consider it an intrusion if I were to join the two of you?’
She barely glanced at him from beneath her straw bonnet as she shrugged dismissively. ‘I believe we decided some time ago that I am the intruder here, and that it is your property to stay or go as you see fit.’
Giles should have expected to receive such a reproof after all that had passed between them, but even so his mouth firmed at the flat disinterest in Lily’s tone. ‘It would only please me to join the two of you if you were to assure me I am welcome to stay.’
Then go, Lily wished to tell him, and go now. Her nerves were already frayed to breaking at this unexpected encounter with the man whose very presence now caused her discomfort, and moreover a man who had made it more than obvious he could not abide to be in her company for any length of time either.
But she could not speak so bluntly to the future Duke of Rothermere with the ever-curious Mrs Lovell as watchful witness to the exchange. ‘Mrs Lovell made the invitation, not I,’ she answered huskily.
‘Even so…’
‘Will you stop dithering, lad, and sit ye down!’ Mrs Lovell lost all patience with their stilted politeness. ‘The tea’s made now, and I’ll not have it go to waste. I’ll not be a minute finding the mugs.’ She left the two of them alone as she disappeared off to her brightly coloured caravan.
Lily smiled at hearing the haughty Giles Montague referred to as ‘lad’—anyone less like a lad she could not imagine! But no doubt it was how Mrs Lovell thought of him, having been coming to stay at Castonbury Park since before he’d been born. No doubt the elderly Romany probably also remembered him as being the ‘mischievous scamp’ Mrs Stratton had referred to some days ago.
It led Lily to question how long he had been in the habit of visiting Mrs Lovell’s fireside; Lily would never have believed it of the disdainful Giles Montague if she had not witnessed it with her own eyes. Perhaps she did not know the haughty Giles Montague as well as she had thought….
* * *
Giles knew that he really should not have intruded once he became aware of Lily’s presence at Rosa Lovell’s fireside, and instead returned later in the day when he was sure the elderly lady was alone. Except, having heard the husky warmth in Lily’s voice as she chatted so easily and warmly with Mrs Lovell, he had been unable to resist joining them. In the hopes, perhaps, that some of that warmth might spill over onto him.
Even wearing that unfashionable gown of faded blue cotton and an unbecoming straw bonnet that had also seen better days, Giles knew he could not look at Lily without feeling the same stirrings of desire that had kept him awake long into the previous night, stirrings which now resulted in him shifting restlessly upon the log as he sought a more comfortable position that would not expose the direction of his thoughts.
‘Here ye are!’ Mrs Lovell returned triumphant with three mismatched metal mugs before proceeding to pour the tea, all in apparent ignorance of the strained silence between her two guests. ‘Drink it all down, my chivvies,’ she encouraged gleefully as
she handed them their steaming mugs of honey-sweetened tea. ‘And then I’ll look at your palms and see what the future holds in store for the both of you!’
Giles did not need a crystal ball to ‘see’ that his immediate future held a soaking in the coldness of either the lake or bath in order to cool his thoughts.
‘One of my reasons for visiting was to ask if you will kindly do the fortune-telling at the well-dressing again this year.’ Lily concentrated all of her attention on Mrs Lovell.
Which was not to say she was not still entirely aware of Giles sitting on the log beside her own. Or immune to that faint hint of sandalwood and lime of his cologne, that same masculine smell which had surrounded her the evening before when he had wrapped his jacket about her for warmth. A warmth which, seconds later, and for totally different reasons, Lily had found almost unbearable!
She had every reason to dislike the man intensely, and yet still she could not deny the heat and trembling she had felt at his close proximity yesterday evening, or that sudden sensitivity of her breasts pressing against the bodice of her gown. An aching sensitivity that still made Lily blush to think of it!
‘Of course.’ Mrs Lovell nodded in answer to her request. ‘Some of the tribe have decided to resume the pilgrimage to Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer this year, now that the fighting is over and we can travel across to France again, but I’m too old for such things.’ She grimaced dismissively.
And, Lily realised after their earlier conversation, if the elderly lady had gone on the pilgrimage to France with the rest of her tribe, then she would not have been able to visit her son’s grave on the anniversary of his death.
‘I am sure we will appreciate your company all the more because of it.’ Lily smiled warmly at the older woman, determined to visit the grave of Mrs Lovell’s son herself, and place some wildflowers upon it, now that she was aware of its existence.
‘Get on with you!’ Mrs Lovell snorted at the compliment. ‘Put aside your tea now, my chivvy, and let me take a look at your palm and tell ye what the future holds.’
Castonbury Park 01 - The Wicked Lord Montague Page 7