Romancing a Wallflower

by Anna St. Claire

“The food looks very good. Thank you.” Harlow picked up his glass and sipped. The ale was cool and frothy and tasted good on his parched throat. “’Tis good.” He inclined his head in appreciation.

  Both women bobbed a curtsey and left the room.

  “I have never had stargazy pie,” Max said after the door closed, “but I’m game to try it.”

  “It is a local specialty. I find it tasty, but the fish heads eyeing me thus, do not appeal. I have to close my eyes and eat.”

  Max gave a hearty laugh, causing Harlow also to chuckle. They clinked glasses and dug into their repast.

  An hour later they made their way to their rooms, stopping first at Harlow’s. They found a note on the small table next to the bed, sealed with a wax letter ‘C’, addressed to Harlow.

  Saw you arrive. Meet me at the previously discussed location at seven of the clock. C.

  Harlow passed the note to Max.

  “Good. Maybe he can shed some light on the widow’s movements. I hope everything can wait until I have at least two hours’ rest,” Max muttered.

  “The long ride and a full belly makes me crave sleep.” Harlow nodded agreement. “We have several hours before we need to be there. A nap beckons.” He looked out of the window at the quiet street. “The post office is probably less than half an hour away.”

  Max nodded and stopped at the door. “I think we should meet with Avalon soon.”

  Visions of Lilian flew across Harlow’s mind. “I agree. I would like to make sure they have arrived safely at home. I sent him a note through Haydon and indicated we would visit today if possible.” What I really want is to see Lilian.

  Chapter 13

  Lilian sat up and stretching, looked around. She felt refreshed. Nevertheless, it took a moment to get her bearings and realize that she was no longer in that dusty, bumpy coach, or waking up at a coaching inn. Her bedchamber at Elysium Manor was a welcome sight. She adored the Chinese cane furniture her grandmama had given her—a small writing desk, medallion back cane chair and a matching canopy bed. The furniture added to the elegance of the room with its gold on white wood and fabric of sky blue with large ivory and gold flowers. “Waking up in this room always makes me feel cheerful,” she muttered to herself. Determined not to waste a second of the day , she rang for her maid. The sun was shining and a soft breeze from her open window, carrying the smell of roses, stirred her senses. She looked over at Cooper, softly snoring on the pillow next to her.

  “Wake up, little fellow!” She nudged him gently, and he stood up and stretched. “That is a funny way to stretch, but I will wager it makes your back feel good. I wish I could stretch in that way.” She loved learning his personality. It had been almost a week, and he had become very comfortable. His neck was almost completely healed, too.

  Her foot itched, and she absently threw back the cover and scratched it. The door to her room opened, and Clara walked in, carrying a tray of food. Lilian pulled the cover back.

  “Good morning, Clara.” She could not prevent her voice from bubbling with happiness.

  “Good morning, m’lady. Ye seem in fine spirits today! I ’ave brought ye breakfast. ’Er ladyship wishes to go to town. She plans to leave in two hours and asked me to make ye and Lady Lydia ready. She wishes ye both to go with her. I let ye sleep as long as I dared—and may I say as how it pleases me it did ye some good,” she said jovially.

  Clara set the tray she was carrying on a table. “I ’as brought yer fav’rites—coddled eggs, bacon, buttered toast and a few slices of ham. A good meal is needful to start the day!” Her maid walked to the window and pushed the blue curtains apart, tying them open at the sides.

  “It smells delicious.” Lilian sat up. “I would love to go with Mama to town. It will be pleasant to visit the shops. I would like some ribbons and other fripperies to refresh my wardrobe and…” Lilian stopped talking when she realized that her mood was lighter than it had been in months. What has accounted for that? She glanced at her puppy. Cooper sat quietly on the floor, looking up at the tray. “As beggars go, you are very polite, are you not?” she quipped, amused at this aspect of his personality.

  Clara uncovered a small white bowl at the back of the tray. “This is fer Cooper. Yer mother suggested I bring his breakfast up here, too.” She cackled. “I have not seen yer Mama take such interest in an animal in an age.” When Lilian raised her brows at this over-familiarity, Clara added lightly, “’Tis nice to see. She has even instructed Cook on a suitable diet for him.” Sounding more like a goose than ever, she set the bowl down and stepped back.

  Cooper edged over, sniffing cautiously. He gave a quick look of appreciation and dived into his breakfast, nearly inhaling the bowl of food.

  “Was that a smile? Clara, I am convinced he smiled!” Lilian exclaimed. “My dear little friend is just the tonic for me. He lightens my heart.”

  “I think he does, but so does Lord Harlow,” Clara added softly, and her face coloured immediately. “Begging your pardon, m’lady.”

  Instead of being upset by Clara’s remark, Lilian found herself comforted. John had shared a piece of himself with her; he had trusted her. His nightmares must be terrible to keep such a happy man from sharing his life with someone. A twinge of protectiveness coursed through her. I want to be that person.

  Clara laid Lilian’s lavender and white satin day gown on her chair and placed freshly laundered undergarments on top.

  “Finish breaking yer fast, m’lady, and I will be back in a jiffy to get ye dressed.” She patted Lilian’s hand and left the room.

  Lilian loved Clara’s choice of gown. It was her favourite, mostly because of its small lavender and white floral print. Her father never failed to compliment her when she wore it, saying the dress made her eyes look turquoise. She knew from the many comments received over her lifetime that her eyes were an uncommon colour. Distractedly, she moved the tray onto her lap, and suddenly realized how hungry she was. Cooper would not be the only one to attack food this morning, she reflected as she chewed a piece of ham.

  Dressed, with time to spare, she rang for Winston and asked him to help her sit on her blue velvet window seat, so she could read A Lady’s newest novel, Mansfield Park. She often wondered who wrote behind the pseudo name, A Lady, but felt fortunate to have acquired a copy in London, as most of the bookshops had already sold out. Reaching over to Cooper, who had curled up next to her, she softly scratched him behind the ears.

  “Lady Bertram of Mansfield Park confines her little pugs to her lap. We shall not do that to you, my sweet boy. Perhaps this afternoon we may visit Danby again. I will take more apples.” His ears perked up at her voice and he wriggled closer.

  Hearing footsteps in the hall, she placed her book down in the corner. “I believe it is time to leave for town, Cooper. You will need to behave while I am gone.” She playfully touched his nose. “Do not eat too much. I fear Cook is developing an affection for you as well, and that could lead to difficulty if you grow too portly!” The small dog whimpered, and jumped down from the seat, as if protesting her admonishment about Cook. The timing of his whimper amused Lilian. “There now, I did not say she would not feed you at all!”

  The door opened and Clara came in, followed by Winston. “Are ye ready to go downstairs, m’lady?” She hated this exercise because of all it represented but was glad to have a wheel-chair upstairs and downstairs. It gave her a small amount of independence to move about the house on her own.

  When Lilian nodded, Winston picked her up from the window seat. Cooper gave a short, protective bark and followed them to the stairs.

  “I declare! I believe he’s looking after ye, m’lady. ’E clearly sees ye as ’is and his alone,” Clara commented in her usual lively tone, as she made her way behind Winston downstairs. Cooper followed closely behind Winston, which had quickly become his custom.

  “Ah, excellent, my dear! I was just about to ring for you, Winston.” The Countess stepped back. “Lady Lydia is awaiting her sister in the car
riage.”

  The burly footman nodded, and carried Lilian to the shiny dark grey coach, placing her onto the dark blue velvet seat. It was her mother’s favourite coach, perhaps because of the greys that drew it. At least it is not the conveyance we arrived home in yesterday. They are probably still cleaning it, Lilian mused as she adjusted her dress. I am sure they will need to correct a permanent dip in the seat from my sitting there so long! She peered around the curtain and saw her mother hurrying down the steps, carrying Lilian’s bonnet and the pelisse draped over her arm. There must be a bee in Mama’s bonnet, she thought wryly. Her mother did not dally when she decided upon something, but this excursion felt rather rushed. The weather was still warm enough that it felt better to travel without her coat. She had planned to place it on just before they arrived.

  “You look in high ropes today, sister,” Lydia spoke up from across the carriage.

  “I do feel more rested,” Lilian replied.

  “It seems a little more than that,” Lydia added in a droll tone.

  “Really, that is all,” Lilian protested, keeping her voice light. She was unwilling to allow Lydia to draw her into a discussion about Lord Harlow, especially with Mama present. What if he has changed his mind about giving us opportunity to develop a connection? I would never hear the end of the subject.

  “I did not mean to upset you yesterday, Lilian,” Lydia intoned, eyeing their mother. The Countess was giving last-minute instructions to Clara in front of the steps leading to the house.

  “Beg pardon, I… Oh, do you mean giving me that cane? It is beautiful. I will try, but I do not want to disappoint everyone. I have no feeling in my legs. I am afraid to stand and fall.”

  “I am convinced that will not happen. I would like to help you try, if you will let me.” Lydia moved the curtain on her side of the carriage. “Mama is coming. We will discuss it later.”

  The Countess entered the conveyance and sat down next to Lydia.

  Mama prefers having her back to the driver, Lilian thought, then shook her head, dismissing the notion.

  “Mama, do you think the Confectionery Shop still serves ices?” Lilian asked. “I should love one if we have the time. She remembered John’s comment in the park about raspberry ices and wondered if that was his favourite flavour.

  “That would be nice; it might also be a pleasing way to complete our excursion. I hope you girls do not mind being hurried along. Your father suggested this trip to town, thinking it would do us all good, and I should like to take the opportunity to order us all a new gown each. I was thinking a deep lavender for you, Lydia, and for you, Lilian, perhaps a cyan blue or even magenta silk,” she proclaimed. “However, the colours will be your choices.”

  “That sounds lovely, Mama,” Lydia piped up. “Lord Yarstone said he would pay a visit shortly. I have not been so forward as to offer, of course, but do you think he might be able to stay here instead of taking rooms at an inn?”

  “I daresay that could be arranged, my dear. We all enjoy Lord Yarstone’s company,” her mother responded.

  Any minute now, she will turn to me. Lilian glanced at her sister and noticed her hoydenish smirk. Kicking up larks, are you? I will delight in repaying you, little sister, Lilian promised, giving Lydia a sardonic smile when their mother was looking the other way.

  “Lilian, your father made mention of the fact that Lord Harlow plans to visit Tintagel. We must not be behindhand with our hospitality. I should be happy to offer him accommodations also,” her mother added.

  Lilian pretended astonishment. “Thank you, Mama. That is most kind, I am sure. However, although Lord Harlow informed me that he and Lord Worsley had business in Cornwall. he made no declaration of a specific visit, as Lord Yarstone has done.” Gently, she skirted around the topic.

  “How odd. Perhaps he meant it as a surprise,” her mother added gaily. “For indeed, your father received a missive today, from Lord Harlow, asking if he could receive both he and Lord Worsley later this afternoon.” Lady Avalon fiddled with her gold-coloured pelisse and gave a slight tilt to her bonnet.

  Without conscious thought, Lilian’s mouth formed an O. What could he be about, meeting with Father? She knew he was not ready to offer for her. A light quiver shook her as she felt a sense of apprehension.

  The smell of sea salt and the sound of sheep baaing softly in the background meant they were approaching the village. As the carriage advanced into the town of Tintagel, the earth road soon changed to cobblestone, making the ride somewhat bumpier. Thatched roofs and slate ones adorned the tops of small white limestone and dark timber buildings, lined up in rows branching from the main road. The sight cheered her, and she refused to think anything dreadful could be about to happen. Mama’s voice cut into her musings.

  “My darlings, I think two hours in town should be sufficient, do you not agree?”

  I should have known something was amiss when Mama insisted on leaving so early. She was obviously up to her old tricks, hoping we are home in time to entertain Lord Harlow. Lilian was aware of a certain irritation but found it difficult to maintain. Her mother’s dream for her had become her own dream, but she would never admit to it. She could not take disappointment.

  Her mother tapped the top of the carriage and it stopped in front of Madame Chandos’ shop. Their friendship had spanned the two ladies’ lifetime, and Mama always commissioned several dresses when they returned from London. Madame Chandos’ seamstresses turned out very elegant work, at a fraction of the price to be found in London. Mama could spend hours poring over patterns and fabrics, especially if a new shipment of lace had arrived.

  Winston assisted Lilian into her wheel-chair, and then pushed her into the shop. Most of the shop’s light came from the large glass window at the front and two oil lamps at the rear, behind a long counter. Fabrics and laces covered large, flat, waist-high tables. Shelves lined the walls with hundreds of bolts of fabric standing side by side, arranged according to colour and texture. High tables flanked the counter on each side with tall stools, giving space for the patrons to examine large pattern books. The back wall opened to two small dressing rooms for the clients and a tiny office. Lilian looked around her, secretly hoping that Mama’s sense of urgency would aid them in leaving here quickly. The shop door tinkled when they entered, alerting the modiste to their presence, and she hurried to welcome them.

  “Bienvenu, chères amies,” the shop owner gushed. “It is my pleasure to see you, my friend. How may I assist you?”

  “Madame, it has been an age. We arrived home only yesterday, and I wanted to make this my first call.”

  “I am so glad to see all of you, my lady. Did you have a good stay in London? I had planned to visit, but I have been very busy of late,” the modiste replied.

  “My daughters and I need new morning and evening dresses. Perhaps two each. I have some colours in mind, but of course, the final selection will be theirs—unless their usual good taste deserts them.” A fabric near the corner of the table caught their mother’s eye, and she walked over to it.

  “Your girls are so beautiful,” the proprietress flattered. “Lady Lydia adores the pinks, but perhaps a gown of cream and lavender would be pretty.”

  “That is just what I had imagined,” oozed Mama. She turned to Lydia, who was fingering some lace.

  “Ah, you have good taste, Lady Lydia. That has only just arrived. It is my latest shipment of Belgium lace; the finest from Brussels,” Madame Chandos added proudly. “It would make a beautiful overdress with this lovely lavender satin.” She held the fabrics together, the sheen catching the light from the window.

  Lydia nodded her approval. “That would be lovely, Mama.” She had spotted a magenta velvet off to one side and directed their mother’s attention to it. “Might I have a new riding habit, Mama? This is beautiful.”

  Mama put her finger to her lips. “I had a similar colour in mind for your sister, but if you have set your heart on it, and if Lilian has no objection, I see no reason to
refuse. It would be most charming on you.”

  All eyes turned towards Lilian. “I am happy with whatever you decide, Mama, truly.”

  “Ah, chèrie, you will be happy. Wait and see.” Madame Chandos shepherded her mother and sister to view the pattern books.

  Lilian did not feel any real need to choose. Her mother and Lydia knew her taste, and it was uncomfortable with the wheel-chair. Instead, she moved over to the counter where the ribbons and other fripperies were arranged, just as the door tinkled open. A blonde woman entered, wearing a yellow and black striped satin gown and a matching black hat with large black feathers. She turned, and Lilian recognized her immediately as Lady Poinz. What was the widow Poinz doing here? Lilian had never noticed her before the ball in London earlier in the month—but then, the woman had only come to her attention because of her flirtatious behaviour towards Lord Harlow. A cold tremor ran over her body.

  “Good day.” The woman stepped in her direction.

  At that moment, Madame Chandos hurried to the front of the shop. “Lady Poinz, may I be of assistance?” she asked nervously.

  Mama and Lydia walked up from behind. “Madame, I believe that you have an understanding of our requirements. I shall await your pleasure in due course. We must away; I am expecting guests.”

  Lady Poinz looked first towards Mama and then at Lilian. “There is no need to hurry away on my account, but if I might ask a tiny favour?” Pausing briefly, she continued, “Lady Lilian, when you next see Lord Harlow, please be sure to give him my sincerest regards.” A smile flickered on her lips.

  Her mother drew herself up and stepped closer to Lilian, meeting Lady Poinz’s stare. “I am sure you can drop him a note, should you have a message to deliver, Catherine,” she said in hushed tones. Her eyes flashed with anger.

  A moment of silence ensued as the women appeared to take measure of each other.

  “Countess, I do not care for your tone,” the woman hissed.