“Ooh,” said Lilith after a beat. “Very well, then.” She rose and marched from her room.
“Miss Dahlgren, wait!” Lucy scurried behind her. “You’re still in your nightclothes. I think your blue gown would be lovely. Shall I put it on you? And your hair? Please, miss, please!”
Lilith continued down the grand stairs. “I’m sorry, Lucy. But I would be loath to keep Lord Marylewick waiting over something as trivial as clothing.”
Lilith flung open the dining room doors. She interrupted what appeared to be a serious conversation between George and his sister across the vast table. Stacks of books crowded about a plate set between sister and brother.
“Good morning, Georgie!” Lilith cried. “Isn’t it a glorious day?” She twirled on her toes, the motion lifting her hem.
The ever proper Penelope shrieked and then pressed her hand to her mouth, no doubt shocked to have emitted a sound above a feminine whisper.
George shot up from this chair, splashing his tea onto the pristine tablecloth. “Lilith, go put on decent clothes immediately.”
“But I had to hurry down in terror of being dragged to breakfast. Really, George, you are positively barbaric.”
“Y-you shouldn’t say such things about Lord Marylewick, especially after all he’s done for you,” Penelope ventured and then looked to her brother to see if her words met his approval.
“Is this my seat?” Lilith asked. “By these books? How lovely, I shall be hidden.”
“Lady Fenmore has graciously lent those to you,” George said through his tight jaw.
Lilith picked up a volume. What Every Young Lady of Quality Should Know Upon Entering into Society and Marriage: A Guide to Gentle Breeding. Then she saw the document resting beside her plate—The Education of Lilith Dahlgren.
1. Daily calisthenics. 2. Practice manners of better society…
Lilith’s mouth dropped.
“Shall I pour some tea, Miss Dahlgren?” the footman asked.
“No, I’ll have hemlock with two lumps of sugar.” Lilith turned to George, her face aflame with anger. “What is this?”
“It is a schedule for your improvement,” he responded, taking his seat again and placing his linen back in his lap.
“My improvement!” She rattled the paper in the air—written proof that she wasn’t good enough for the Maryles. Yet she was no longer a hurt, turned-away child but a woman with her own mind and sense of worth. “George, this is insulting!”
Penelope’s jaw dropped. No one was supposed to speak harshly to George. “Now, Lilith…”
“Insulting, assuming, and ridiculous,” Lilith expounded.
George calmly sliced into a mushroom. “If you desire to attend the house party, then you shall adhere to those items.”
Ah yes, that stupid house party that she’d used against George yesterday. “I may have been rather hasty on that point. And coming to stay here, for that matter.”
His face jerked up. “What do you mean? Where else would you go? Who would take you in?”
That was the heart of the problem. “I know of s-several colonies where artists—”
“If you care to see a penny of your monies, you will not set foot in an artist colony.” He was on his feet again. Cordlike tendons bulged on his neck. “I’m tired of your antics, Lilith,” he thundered. “You shall attend the house party, and you shall behave like a proper lady for its duration.”
Penelope flinched. Lilith narrowed her eyes. This was the unyielding, arrogant George—a typical Maryle silverback ape—to which she was accustomed. Now that he had entrapped her in his home, he assumed he could do what he may with her. Just like the sultan.
She knew better than to get in a shouting match. She would plan her escape later when she could think. For now, she needed to buy a little time.
“I’m sorry, Lord Marylewick,” she said sweetly, gazing up at him, pouting her lips. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I especially love item four, Ensure that Miss Dahlgren only consumes appropriate literature and art. I’m certain I’m the way I am because of all the bad art I’ve consumed.”
He studied her, his eyes suspicious slits. “You will not distract me from the issue at hand. I am not a tyrant, but you will not listen to reason. You don’t know what is good for you. You have proven that over and over.”
“I’m such a mindless little thing.” Lilith directed a giggle at Penelope, who appeared to be relaxing now that no one was shouting and all the women had returned to their proper submissive places.
George continued to stare suspiciously. Lilith continued to smile sweetly.
“I’m going to the club early to converse with the Prime Minister,” he said slowly. “You will don proper clothes and meet Penelope in the garden for calisthenics. Afterwards, when the shops open, she will assist you in having gowns made—I have given Penelope a description of the types of gowns I find acceptable.”
“You don’t dictate how I dress.”
He raked her up and down. “I must, if this is your idea of appropriate attire. No, aside from unbecomingly popping at the seams, your current gowns are the wrong color and fit. Then in the afternoon, you shall review the books before you. I shall check your progress upon returning from Parliament. If you give Penelope any difficulty, a footman will be dispatched to me, and I shall deal with you personally.”
“Personally?” Lilith arched a brow. “What are you going to do if I misbehave? Spank me? Maybe a little whack with the pillow?”
He opened his mouth, but thought better of whatever words he was about to utter. A beat passed before he spoke again in a measured manner. “I’m not going to play your games, Lilith. I’m not your frog. There is no golden ball. I did not advance your money to pay for your late rent. I paid for it out of my own funds. You are indebted to me for sixty-five pounds.”
Hang Edgar and Frances for leaving her! Hang her mother for marrying into the Maryle family, and hang Lilith for allowing herself to come under George’s control again. She blinked back the tears daring to form in her eyes. That hideous tyrant would not see her cry again. He would not enjoy that luxury.
“A proper, respectable gentleman courts a well-behaved lady,” he prattled on. “That is the way of the world. And the only way you will receive your trust money is if you marry according to my approval. Many eligible gentlemen will attend the house party. I suggest you follow my counsel or…” He opened his palms.
“Or?” she spat.
“Beg on the street. Now eat your breakfast. You need regular, nourishing meals.” He signaled to a footman, who rushed forward to help Lilith into her chair.
The sultan must die, Muse! Not Colette.
Lilith jammed her fork into a poached egg. Colette will plunge her knife into the sultan’s heart, piercing it like an egg yolk, his lifeblood spewing forth.
George stalked from the dining room and ordered his hat, gloves, and coat. He could see the terror in the footman’s eyes and he realized how harsh he sounded—like his father.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
He peered back at the dining room. He hadn’t intended to be so severe, but she had dared to appear in that flimsy nightgown that silhouetted her luscious contours to mock him. He had been up most of the night worrying and writing out her plan of improvement. He had panicked when she said she didn’t care to attend the house party. Typical Lilith behavior. Yesterday, she was aflame to go. But now that London society waited with bated breath for this house party because she was attending, she casually tossed the party aside.
Yet was he making her pay for his own frustration? He remembered the pain in her eyes when she realized her cousins had left her. No doubt learning she had been excluded from the house party for years had hurt. She was orphaned again, drifting, scared, and trying to survive, a bit like Colette but with sharp claws and a vicious tongue.
He considered returning to the dining room and explaining his intentions more calmly. But Lilith would only mock him if he showed weakness. She needed to learn the harsh lesson of responsibility that he had fortunately gained at a tender age. “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” his father oft said. George would never physically hurt Lilith. Or any lady or child, for that matter, but he wouldn’t spare Lilith the painful rod of his censure if it helped her.
He turned and headed out the door.
Lilith stood in the tiny courtyard, hefting a metal hoop over her head, and pondering which artist colony might take her in, how many pages she needed to write to earn sixty-five pounds, and ways to have Colette kill the sultan.
Across from her, Lady Fenmore lifted a matching metal hoop. Her stiff smile appeared tabbed on like a cut-out doll’s. The two ladies had enjoyed a strained relationship since Lilith, in one of her childhood tantrums, cut off several of Penelope’s beautiful spiral curls after Penelope refused to let Lilith play with her pristine doll collection. “You will ruin them like you ruin everything,” Penelope had sniped, prompting Lilith to reach for the clippers.
Penelope leaned her hoop to the left. “To the left, back to the center, now to the right,” she ordered like a soft-spoken drill sergeant, seemingly unaware of all the stable hands peering around the corner to enjoy the spectacle. “Do try to straighten your posture, Lilith. Turn your head to gaze up and keep your limbs slightly apart.”