How to Impress a Marquess(17)
It was Lilith’s turn to be silent. The only time she had visited Tyburn Hall was for holidays. Young and so full of anger, and desiring to feed that churning, simmering rage, she had only seen the Maryles as she wanted to: perfect. Was it all truly a play? Had she been buying a ticket all these years?
“That’s sad,” Lilith said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“George received the brunt of it. He was supposed to be manly like Papa. If he didn’t ride his horse correctly or refused to shoot his rifle, he was spanked and not fed dinner. Then Father became so frustrated with George he told Nurse to toss all his art in the grate.”
“No!”
“But she couldn’t, at least not all of it.” A devious grin that Lilith had never seen before lit Penelope’s face. She slid forward in her seat. “Because I hid it.”
“You did!”
She nodded her head, her eyes gleaming at her act of rebellion. “I could be rather naughty then.”
“You? Naughty? Have you met this horrid little girl named Lilith Dahlgren? I understand she is a hellion of mythic proportions.”
“Pray, I was quite naughty and wild. Only, George would take the blame for things I did, so no one knew. He figured he was going to get punished for something else anyway.”
Lilith’s throat burned. “W-where did you hide the artwork?”
“In a trunk in the back attic room of the original fortress wing. No one goes there.”
Penelope sipped her glass of wine and fixed her gaze on a spot on the wall behind Lilith. “After that, George stopped painting. He turned quiet and did everything Father told him. Papa was finally proud.”
Lilith’s heart hurt for young George. Did a tiny bit of him still remain in adult George? Could she find it? Could he be saved or was too much damage done? She made a vow to herself that she would be nicer to George, no matter what he said to her.
“Penelope, I’m sorry I cut your lovely hair all those years ago,” Lilith said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you play with my dolls. I had outgrown them by then.”
Lilith flicked her wrist back. “I would have ruined them anyway.”
Both ladies chuckled and then an awkward hush fell over them, both unsure how to maneuver now that honesty had spilled onto their relationship.
“I dread this house party,” Penelope mused. “Fenmore will be there, and Mama, she doesn’t understand.”
“Well, I shall be there,” Lilith said, truly committing herself to the party. “And we can always sneak away to a tea shop and have wine. We naughty ladies.”
“Yes, let us,” Penelope said, her eyes bright. She finished her wine and fished the crumpled list from her reticule. “So what is the next item on the list?”
Lilith resisted saying, I think it’s “toss this list in the fire and go to a gallery.”
“Ah, millinery!” Penelope grinned, all her delicate features at ease.
Lilith returned her smile. “Wonderful!” she lied.
Eight
George eased back in his carriage’s squabs and watched the wet blur of buildings and pedestrians passing outside his window. The beautiful afternoon had ended in abysmal gray rain. He had remained out as long as possible, keeping himself away from her because he knew any conversation between them would flame up like a match to dry straw. He had forced himself to concentrate on the business at hand, because in any idle moment, Lilith came to his thoughts. Yet all day, he turned at the sound of hurried footsteps, thinking his footman had come rushing with news of some Lilith-related disaster which required his immediate attention.
But he had received no word. He hoped a minor miracle had occurred and that the warnings he had issued to Lilith that morning managed to keep her in check for the entire day. But he wasn’t an optimistic man. He had a niggling fear that Lilith was waiting, biding her time for some enormous revenge that probably involved destroying the Stamp Duty Extension Bill, not to mention his family’s honor.
He circled his hat in his hands, feeling both dread and anticipation as the carriage rambled into Grosvenor Square. Parliament had run until seven. He had just enough time to check Lilith’s progress and then he could safely remove himself to another insipid musical evening.
Firm, he thought as the carriage halted. I will be firm, calm, and fair. He would not let Lilith’s outrageous behavior provoke him and suck him into her little games.
As he stepped over the threshold into his home, his gut tightened, his jaw clenched, steeling for an epic battle of wills. But something was different about his home. Everything appeared in shipshape, gleaming precision, but the atmosphere felt light and relaxed.
As the footman removed his coat, hat, and gloves, female laughter rang out from the parlor. Penelope’s laughter. A sound he hadn’t heard in years. He edged quietly toward the parlor like some stealthy thief, afraid his presence would shatter the moment.
The door was open and Lilith, dressed in her blue floral robe—the one he remembered from that notorious night of the pillow fight—reclined on the sofa, holding a small square of paper before her. On the carpet, a bottle of wine and a glass rested atop the books he had asked her to study. Penelope sat on the opposite sofa, holding her wine, her other hand pressed to her giggling lips. The light from the lamps and fire bathed the ladies in hues of gold.
Lilith glanced up, catching him staring. Her expression faltered. He stiffened, waiting for the gentle glow in her eyes to turn to a dangerous glitter. Yet a small, welcoming smile curved her lips. “Good evening, Lord Marylewick. Did you enjoy a fruitful day in Parliament? How is that bill coming along?”
He stepped forward, feeling the pull of her magnetism, then stopped. Why was she being nice? What was her game?
“Have you completed your tasks?” he asked in a firm tone, determined not to give her an inch.
“I have completed your entire list for today.” She drew the page from the side table and held it up. “I’ve checked off each item: modiste, millinery, shoes—ah, but we added bookshop, print shop, and confectionery—I appended those at the bottom. Now Lady Fenmore is tutoring me in etiquette. We’ve even made a game of it. Care to play?” She patted the empty place beside her on the sofa.
Who was this woman who outwardly resembled Lilith? “I don’t think—”
“Do play, Brother,” Penelope implored. “It’s great fun.”
With his sister, who had been so listless for months, who hadn’t responded to any of his attempts to cheer her or let him inside her thoughts, now smiling, he couldn’t refuse.
“Maybe for a few minutes.” He took the seat Lilith offered. “I must leave shortly.”
“You must select a question.” Lilith picked up a stack of tiny squares of paper. She leaned in, close enough for him to smell her musk perfume. His pulse quickened.
“But don’t look at the back, for it has the answer,” Penelope cautioned.
“That’s right.” Lilith wagged her finger. “No cheating.”
He cautiously picked a piece of paper so as to avoid any accusations of duplicity. A strange sensation, like painless, hot electricity radiated out from where their fingers met.
“You read it,” he said, handing it to Lilith. He sat back in the cushion and tapped his fingers on the armrest.
“This is a very serious etiquette question indeed.” Lilith’s face grew grave.
A tiny giggle burst from Penelope, but she quickly composed herself again.
“You are at a dinner party,” Lilith began in a somber voice. “And you can’t help but notice that the gentleman or, in your case, the lady across from you is exceedingly handsome. How do you signal to her that you desire to rendezvous on the dance floor later?” Both women dissolved into giggles.
“What?” he cried. “This wasn’t in the books I gave you!”
“We found those books rather antiquated,” Lilith explained. “So we purchased The Lonely Suitor’s Guide to the Romantic Arts, or How To Get Married Within a Year—A Comprehensive Guide to All Areas of Flirtation Including Handkerchiefs, Parasols, Rings, Flowers, Gloves, Linens, and Utensils. George, I didn’t realize people flirted with their utensils. How could I have missed it all these years? I wonder if a man has been secretly signaling that he loves me and all the while I thought he was bathing his parsnip in cream. Have you ever flirted with your spoon or linen?”
He was about to say something censorious about mocking his instructions when his sister helpfully supplied, “Oh, George doesn’t flirt with his spoon or anything.”
He was torn. Which did he want more? For Lilith to obey his dictates or not to think he was a flat. All the while, Lilith waited.
“I see you don’t know the answer,” she said, as if she expected as much. “Now you must—”
“When I want to rendezvous with a ravishing lady on the dance floor,” he said, “I draw my linen slowly through my hand as if I were caressing her as we dance.”
Lilith’s mouth dropped. She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe he was capable of anything romantic. He winked at her to further discombobulate her.
“Lord Marylewick, you’re right!” She gave his arm a gentle swat. “Have you read The Lonely Suitor’s Guide?”