My Fair Lily

by Meara Platt

  Lily muffled an anguished groan as Mr. Cameron, with Jasper bounding at his side, approached. He had on the same clothes he’d worn yesterday and appeared just as unkempt. Well, not quite as ungroomed as yesterday. His beard was neatly trimmed and boots polished to a shine. She noticed that his clothes had been washed and ironed, and even from this distance she could see that he’d bathed, for his hair gleamed only as clean hair would in sunlight, now appearing more red than brown. A rich shade of chestnut. Quite nice, really.

  “Not bad,” Dillie murmured.

  “For a heathen.” She hated to admit that he might be the handsomest man she’d ever encountered, even if he did resemble a rugged Highland rogue. “Not at all like Lord Mortimer’s son, Ashton.”

  “Oh, him.” Dillie scrunched her nose.

  “What’s wrong with Ashton? He’s a nice young man.” And a good match for her, if she were ready to settle down and marry. He was tall, blond, and decent looking. More important, he was a thoughtful gentleman who enjoyed scholarly pursuits.

  “Nice? Is that the best you can come up with? Does he make your heart sing? Your legs buckle?”

  “Love is not the same as animal attraction. Attraction is a physical response, a hot jolt as you just described, something necessary for procreation, which is why rams, stags, and stallions roam about during mating season with their male parts ever in readiness and why females of the respective species emit a scent that—”

  “Lily!”

  “The point is, attraction fades as quickly as it appears. Love is something that lasts over decades. Love grows slowly, develops deep roots over time.”

  “Over a season?”

  “Much longer.” Because it was taking her longer than expected to develop feelings for Ashton. She wasn’t certain why. He was a perfect match for her, and it didn’t matter that his hair lay a little flat and thin around his face, or that he wasn’t nearly so handsome as Mr. Cameron. He was thoughtful, intelligent, and the youngest man admitted to the Royal Society. That counted far more than good looks.

  “Good day, Lily,” Mr. Cameron called out to her.

  She cringed at the appalling familiarity.

  Dillie smirked. “Let’s have some fun with him.” She nudged her mount forward and held out her hand, expecting him to politely bow over it. “Good afternoon, Mr. Cameron. Thank you so much for replacing my spectacles and book.”

  “Pleased to meet ye, Dillie.” He shook her hand brusquely, as though they were two farmers completing a sale of crops.

  Lily couldn’t help but laugh at her sister’s comeuppance. “How did you know it was Dillie and not me?”

  “First, she’s no’ squinting. Second, Jasper’s panting and wagging his tail at you.” He let out a deep, gentle chuckle as he fixed his gaze on her. “He’s quite taken with you, lass.”

  Lily dismounted to pet Jasper, who was looking at her as though he were in love. Just her luck to be adored by a dog. She glanced from hound to owner. While Jasper’s eyes were as sweet as pools of melted chocolate, Mr. Cameron’s were emerald-dark and decidedly dangerous.

  Curiously, she felt an odd tingle in her bones.

  He smiled.

  The tingle spread throughout her body.

  “I like Jasper, too,” she hastily admitted, kneeling to hug the hairy beast before her legs turned to butter and gave way.

  Jasper responded by nuzzling his head against her chest and shedding hair all over her new riding habit. She didn’t mind. He was her anchor in a sea of turmoil. The hairs would easily brush out later.

  Mr. Cameron knelt beside her and began to tickle Jasper under his chin, something the dog obviously enjoyed because he emitted a low rumble of contentment. “Why are you no’ wearing your spectacles, Lily? Did they no’ fit right?”

  “They’re fine,” she admitted after a moment’s hesitation. “Just perfect… but I’ve asked my uncle to return them.”

  He looked surprised and disappointed.

  “Mr. Cameron.” She sighed at the unpleasant task before her, made more unpleasant by the fact that she liked the man who was a hair’s breadth away from going to prison.

  “Yes, lass.”

  “About the MacLaurin book. I really can’t accept it either.”

  He arched one dark eyebrow and frowned. “Why no’?”

  “It must have cost you a tidy sum,” she whispered, heat creeping into her cheeks. She’d learned early on that true ladies did not discuss matters of wealth or one’s lack of it. But it couldn’t be helped. How else was she to keep him out of trouble?

  “Och, lass. Dinna worry about the bodles and bawbees.”

  “The what?”

  “My finances. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  “That’s the problem,” she said, sounding harsher than intended, a mark of her frustration. She rose abruptly, startling Jasper and his owner, both of whom jumped to their feet along with her. “My uncle George intends to speak to you, but he isn’t here now and you are. The problem is… what I mean to say… I just don’t know how to say it politely.”

  Mr. Cameron folded his arms across his chest and regarded her with obvious confusion. “It’s best if you just say it.”

  She nodded. Goodness, he was big. Handsomely big. “I know you mean well. And I do appreciate the lengths to which you’ve gone in order to make amends for the damage. But imposing upon the Duke of Lotheil, no matter how wealthy he is… well, I don’t wish to see you go to prison.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just because he may not be aware of what you’ve done… oh, dear. Let’s take this one step at a time. Mr. Cameron, did you pay for the book and spectacles with your own funds?”

  “Aye, lass. How else would I acquire them?”

  She let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Very good. Now, about using the duke’s stationery to write your letter.”

  He frowned. “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that. In future, you must use your own paper. And for pity’s sake, how did you get the duke’s messenger to do your bidding?”

  “I asked him.”

  “And he obliged? Just like that?”

  He finally seemed to understand. “Of course, next time I’ll deliver the package myself. I still owe you a new frock.”

  Perhaps he didn’t understand at all. Goodness, the man was dense. “No… no… never mind. Just promise me you’ll not use the duke’s supplies, or messengers, or… his purse, any more.”

  He let out a soft, rumbling laugh. “Och, Lily.”

  “And you mustn’t call me Lily or lass. It implies an intimacy we do not share. How much of it do you have left?”

  “The letter paper? Lots.”

  She began to nibble her lower lip. “Oh, that’s not good. Indeed, that’s very bad. We must return it to him, somehow.”

  “Him?”

  “The Duke of Lotheil, of course. Well, not directly to him. I doubt he’d grant us an audience, but to his man of affairs. I think it best that I return it, let him think it was delivered to me by mistake.”

  “He’ll know it was no’ so.”

  She shook her head sadly, wondering how this poor man was going to survive in London. He had no sense of etiquette and an impossibly casual regard for property rights. No doubt he was still homeless. “Did Lady Dayne find you a place to stay?”

  His lips began to twitch, tugging upward in a smile. “Och, lass. You’ve a good heart, but you’re obviously misguided.”

  “Me, misguided? It’s you who needs to be taken firmly in hand.”

  His eyes glistened with mirth and he cast her a wickedly attractive grin. “Lass, you ought to lift your pretty nose out of your books on occasion. You know shockingly little about men. And I wouldn’t offer to take a man firmly in hand if I were you. It will get you into a lot of trouble.”

  “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

  He sighed. “Didn’t think so. No matter. The point is, you have no need to save me. I happe
n to be staying at Lotheil Court.”

  “Are you visiting a relative who works there? A butler? A groomsman? Perhaps the duke’s man of affairs, which would explain how you got your hands on the duke’s stationery. Mr. Cameron, was the duke’s man the one who introduced you to Lady Dayne?”

  “Lily, there’s something you should know.”

  She refused to pay attention, her mind too busy concocting a plan to keep him safe, though why she should worry about him or his friendly lump of a beast was beyond her.

  “—Duke of Lotheil,” was all she heard as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her lightly.

  “What?”

  “I’m the duke’s grandson.”

  “Oh, dear. Mr. Cameron…”

  “And the present Laird Carnach.”

  “I…” Her voice trailed off. This was worse than she’d thought. Next he’d claim to be Robert the Bruce.

  “Lass, why are you looking at me like that? I’m no’ mad.”

  Yes, he was. Mad as a hatter.

  “Well, it was delightful to see you again, Mr. Cameron. Oh, look at the time. We really must be going.” Which she might have done if she hadn’t tripped over Jasper’s big, lumpy body just then, losing her balance and falling flat on her back onto the riding trail’s soft earth… soft, muddy earth still damp from this morning’s brief rain.

  Lick, lick. Jasper was over her in a trice and running his tongue along her face, no doubt intending to be friendly, but did his tongue have to be so… wet?

  “Lily…” Ewan Cameron murmured with a soft, strangled laugh, gently pushing Jasper aside. He knelt beside her, putting his big hands on her body as he carefully helped her to her feet. “We must stop meeting like this.”

  Lily rarely was at a loss for words, but she couldn’t seem to put two words together at the moment. Bits of Jasper’s drool were slipping off her chin, her clothes were stained and wet, and her cheeks were on fire. In truth, her entire body was on fire. The pulse at the base of her throat was racing as fast as a horse cart barreling down a steep hill.

  Nothing to do with Mr. Cameron. Or the fact that his hands were still settled on each side of her waist. Or that her own hands were on his rock-hard arms, clinging to them for support… goodness they were hard.

  “You’re covered in dog hair,” Dillie added unhelpfully.

  “Och, lass. I’ve done it again, ruined your new clothes.”

  She finally found her voice. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me,” he said in a husky brogue that sent her bodily organs into happy spasms. “I’ll replace your riding habit too.”

  CHAPTER 4

  ANOTHER BOX ARRIVED for Lily the following morning.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Dillie asked, hastily closing their bedroom door and presenting the package to her.

  “No. I know what’s inside.” She turned away and began to fuss about the room, straightening drawers and pulling aside the cream lace curtains to allow in the sunshine. Despite an earlier rain, it seemed another beautiful day in the making.

  “If you won’t look inside, then I will.”

  “Don’t!”

  But it was too late, for Dillie had lifted the cover and was digging into the box. “Oh, my! Madame de Bressard must have charged him a fortune.” She shook out an exact replica of the tea gown Jasper had ruined the other day.

  Lily glanced at the shimmering yellow silk. Goodness, it was beautiful. However, she wasn’t going to admit it to her sister, especially since Dillie was taking his side just to irk her. “Obviously, he can afford it.”

  Dillie grinned. “You’re still angry with him.”

  She stuffed her arms into the bare sleeves of an apricot-colored pelisse and buttoned it over her white frock. “Not at all. Why would I be angry with Ewan? Just because it turns out he really is the duke’s grandson? To think, I fretted over him!”

  “Needlessly, as it turns out.”

  “Nonetheless, I fretted! He might have been tossed into a dungeon, locked up in chains, and left there to rot.”

  “But there was no danger of it.”

  “He ought to have advised me of that fact sooner.”

  “He did, or at least he tried to. Does it matter who he is? He used his own funds and he’s got his own Scottish title… Laird something-or-other.”

  “Laird Carnach.”

  “Right, Laird whatever-you-said. And he’s a bachelor,” Dillie continued in that slow, pensive way their mother often used when contemplating her daughters and marriage. “If someone were to polish his rough edges, he’d make quite the suitable catch.”

  Lily glowered at her sister. “It certainly won’t be me. He laughed at me!”

  “He did not.”

  In truth, he’d appeared quite confused as she’d rambled on about her concerns, merely grinning in that infuriatingly charming way that set her internal organs tingling, as he listened to her declare that she’d spent a sleepless night worrying about him and whether he’d found a place to stay. He could have said something to stop her, but did he? No. Not a word. Instead, he burst out laughing when she offered to help him escape back to Scotland. That he’d just stared at her, seeming to devour her with that confident gaze of his while she made a fool of herself, still rankled.

  “Mo creach!” he’d finally said, once more laughing out loud. “You thought I was a card short of a full deck?”

  Yes! She had. But a lady did not show it, even when the man she considered daft, unhinged as an old gate, thanked her for her good intentions by taking her face in his big hands and kissing her on the nose. In public, no less!

  “There’s a note in the box.”

  “Rip it up.”

  Dillie rolled her eyes. “I will not.” She ripped the seal off the envelope instead. “Oh, you’ll never guess what he wishes of you now.”

  “Not funny.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Lily took the parchment out of her sister’s hands, read it, and gasped. “He wishes to know where we purchased our horses. What sort of man asks a lady such a question?”

  “I’d say, a man who wishes to know where we purchased our horses.”

  She crumpled the note. “Dillie, you know what I mean.”

  “Were you expecting a flowery apology from Ewan, Laird Something Unpronounceable with Lots of Rolling Rs?”

  “No. And it’s Laird Carnach. It isn’t that hard to remember. Ewan, Laird Carnach, grandson of the Duke of Lotheil, and holder of probably a dozen unpronounceable titles. Did you know most Scots titles originated in the time of the Druids, before the Roman, Dane, and Norman invasions? Obviously, he’s the sort who speaks plainly, revealing only what he considers important to know. He also speaks directly. If he’s curious about something, he simply asks. If he thinks something is funny, he laughs. If something strikes him as ridiculous, he promptly says so.”

  “You’re right. The man is an utter fiend.”

  “He has neither tact nor diplomacy. Just brutal honesty.”

  “Since when is honesty to be frowned upon?”

  Lily blushed. “It isn’t. But that isn’t my point.”

  “Then what is? Oh, never mind. Tattersalls is running an auction next week. Uncle George plans to attend with Laurel. We can ask her to help Ewan pick out a suitable mount.”

  “Go ahead,” Lily said, her chin shooting upward as she huffed. “Ask her, for I won’t.”

  “Fine. I will. She knows all there is to know about horses. Her Brutus is one of the finest stallions in England. Ewan’s eyes will pop wide when he sees him.”

  “Stop calling him Ewan. He isn’t our friend.”

  Dillie wiggled her eyebrows. “Though you’d like him to be.”

  Lily ignored the comment. “He probably ate in the stable with the duke’s grooms last night. Not that there’s anything wrong with the notion, though society certainly frowns upon it.”

  “We used to spend many a lovely afternoon helping Mrs. Mayhew bake pies a
nd enjoyed the spoils afterward, didn’t we?” Dillie sighed. “I don’t regret a bit of the time spent in the kitchen.”

  “Nor do I. However, Mother would be horrified if she ever found out. I suppose I sounded like her just now when complaining of Mr. Cameron.”

  “A lady’s place,” Dillie started in a high-pitched voice, a wicked imitation of their beloved, but slightly scatterbrained, mother, “is not in a stifling kitchen. She’ll wilt under the heat of those bubbling pots and blazing fires, and then no gentleman will have her.”

  Lily’s frown faded into a chuckle as she joined in. “Don’t forget her remark about our hands. They must remain as delicate and unblemished as a baby’s bottom,” she mimicked. “Perfect hands are the true mark of a lady.”

  “Of course, we’ll overlook the dreadful rash that afflicted Cousin Harry’s little bottom last spring. Or Mother’s horror when you sprained your thumb sneaking that oversized Druid fertility god into our room.” Dillie placed a hand over her brow and pretended to swoon. “Oh, the shame! The disgrace! Girls, fetch me my smelling salts!”

  Lily burst into laughter. It was impossible to remain irritated with Dillie. She always knew how to tease her out of ill humor. “Do you think Mother knows how many relatives are floating about this house? Or that Uncle Ernest and Aunt Mary left for Bath yesterday with only three of their five children?”

  “More important,” Dillie continued with a nod, “do Uncle Ernest and Aunt Mary realize they are missing two of their children?”

  “About those horses for Mr. Cameron,” Lily said, now restored to better humor, “I’ll stop by Laurel’s this afternoon on my way home from the Royal Society meeting and ask her to assist him.”

  “Och, ye’re a braw, bonnie lass, and I’m that sorry m’beastie shed his fur all over yer new riding frock!” Dillie, ever irritating, took Lily’s face into her hands and kissed her on the nose just as Mr. Cameron had done yesterday. Then she released Lily and marched out of their bedchamber pretending to play bagpipes while dancing a jig.

  Lily sighed.

  Sometimes, she hated being a twin.

  ***

  Lily spent the rest of the morning corresponding with friends and playing Duck, Duck, Goose with her cousins. When the little ones were sent up for their naps, she decided to pay a call on Eloise, hoping to learn a bit more about Ewan Cameron. Clearly, he had not been raised to assume the dukedom, for he had little knowledge of polite society and little desire to learn. He had a gruff manner and the rough hands of a man used to hard labor. He also had the brawny good looks of a warrior.