“Miss Dahlgren, you shame the very sun.” Lilith jumped. Lost in sweet memories of George holding her safe and snug, she didn’t see Lord Charles materialize at her side. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. “Ah! Can you feel it?” he asked. “Is not the air alive with romance, or I do mean to say ambition. All the ladies are abuzz like honeybees in spring about the ball tonight. Crazy for the sweet taste of the title marchioness. Will the mighty Lord Marylewick finally fall this year? The suspense! It just bores me.” He leaned closer. “We must steal away from the maddening frenzy this evening, Miss Dahlgren. We true romantics.”
Oh no. She knew what he meant. In her real life—her life away from Tyburn and among her artist friends—she could say, I would never consider marrying a man who maliciously enjoys taunting others and thinks himself more clever than everyone else. But now she had to come up with the words that gently let him down, without upsetting George’s political aims. In that moment, a future of political intrigue, as twisted and tangled as the old French court, opened before her. Was this what her life was going to be like? Careful, lithe words and smiles that concealed? Would she get her head lopped off at the end like Marie Antoinette?
Some god in the heavens took pity on her.
“Son, would you care to join Lord Marylewick and me for a small discussion in the smoking parlor?” The duke strolled over with George in his wake. He bowed. “Good morning, Miss Dahlgren, you are quite lovely this morning.”
“Miss Dahlgren is lovely every morning, every hour,” Charles corrected before Lilith could thank the duke. He then shifted his attention to George. “Will my robe and wig be required for this little discussion? I really must make a note for my valet to pack them for your house party. He keeps assuming I’m on holiday.”
The duke chuckled. She lifted her eyes to George, saying in their depths: I’m sorry you must put up with two utter arses. I shall make up for it later, my poor darling.
She watched the men saunter out of the room, or more to the point, she admired George’s powerful back. Small fingers wrapped around her elbow. “Let us come away,” Penelope said. “One more word from Mother and I’ll burst into a violent rage.”
“Of course, but mind you, I would adore to see your rage.”
The ladies left the room, heading in the direction of the entrance hall.
Penelope released a long breath. “Are you sure we can’t go on that lovely holiday right after this house party?” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but I can’t keep words to myself anymore. Fenmore came to my room last night. He’s…ugh…how could I have imagined that I loved him once.”
“Please consider a divorce.”
Penelope looked at Lilith as if she had uttered something in another language. “I couldn’t do that to George. Ladies, real ladies, don’t get divorces.”
“I don’t know. Many ladies get divorces these days. And they seem very real from what I can tell—arms, legs, mouths, brains, everything—and they are very happy too.”
Penelope pressed her hands to her lips and giggled. “How do you make me laugh when I’m despairing the most?”
Lilith lowered her voice. “I have some news. Something that might cheer you up. But I can’t tell you here. Let us—”
“Penelope, there you are,” Lady Marylewick cried. Her voice was like icy fingers trailing down Lilith’s spine. “My darling, darling daughter. I was particularly disappointed in you at breakfast. How you sat there Friday-faced. I had to do all the work as the hostess. And where is your husband? What have you done with him?”
“He was too sick from brandy to leave the bed this morning,” Penelope said flatly.
Lady Marylewick gasped, pressing her hand to her chest. “Don’t be vulgar. I don’t want to see any more of this unbecoming behavior. Where are you learning it from?” Her eyes flicked to Lilith. “A lady must always strive for beauty and gracious manners. She must never give cause for reproach.”
“I…” Penelope faltered, tears sprang in her eyes. “How can you…”
Lady Marylewick’s vicious smile did not alter at her daughter’s misery.
“I believe Penelope is the perfect lady,” said Lilith slowly. If Lady Marylewick was to be her future mother-in-law, they needed to have an understanding. “She would never give cause for reproach or speculation for people of true intelligence and understanding. All mothers should be so lucky to have such a kind daughter. You should be more appreciative.”
Lilith received a blast of that Arctic smile. “How everyone flutters around Lilith. Flutter. Flutter. Flutter.” Lady Marylewick moved her fingers like little wings. “Everyone must adore you. I see you are trying to steal them away from me. You’re jealous of me. You always have been.”
“W-what?” Lilith’s shoulders shook with laughter and disbelief.
“Mama!”
“And if anyone should be appreciative, it’s you, Lilith,” Lady Marylewick continued. “For the charity this family has extended to you. Who knows where you would be without Lord Marylewick. I always tell him not to pull you from your scrapes. ‘Let that mindless dear learn the consequences of her behavior,’ I say. But he is so like his father.” She sighed, feigning a misty-eyed nostalgia. “Always taking care of everyone, no matter how ungrateful they are for his efforts.”
“I do not believe Lord Marylewick is anything like his father,” Lilith responded.
“How dare you!”
“Lord Marylewick is a greater man than his father ever was.”
Lilith could see the confusion in her ladyship’s face. She was trapped. Whatever she said would insult either the son or the father.
“Lady Marylewick!” Beatrice came running down the corridor, clutching her notebook. “Cook says that there are no proper brussels sprouts to be had!”
Lady Marylewick’s nostrils dilated. “Must I do everything! This whole party would fall apart if it weren’t for me.” She stalked off in the opposite direction of the kitchen. “You don’t care how I suffer.”
Beatrice flinched as if stung. “Did I do something wrong?”
Lilith put a calming hand on Beatrice’s arm. “No, you are well. Let’s talk to the cook.”
Cook was a wiry woman with an obstinate face and stony eyes. She yielded a large, cracked wooden spoon the way a soldier held his gun.
Beatrice had her notebook open, nervously pointing to the menu. “Lady Marylewick specifically requested brussels sprouts with the venison.”
“What her ladyship requests and what God deems the ground should grow are two different things,” retorted the cook.
Beatrice shook her head. “But—”
“Let us not quarrel over mere brussels sprouts,” Lilith suggested and then directed her attention to the cook. “What would best complement venison that is readily available?”
The cook blinked, no doubt accustomed to fighting for every inch. “Well, perhaps carrot pudding,” she stammered. “Or smashed turnips and capers.”
“I think either would be lovely,” Lilith said. “Thank you for your wise help. I have enjoyed all the meals. You and your staff are quite capable.”
The cook stared, her thin-lipped mouth flapped open.
“Come ladies, let us visit this lovely kitchen garden. You can smell the rosemary from here.” Lilith linked her arms through Beatrice’s and Penelope’s elbows and led them though the sculleries and into the yard.
Beatrice gazed at Lilith, awe on her features. “How…how did you do that?”
“Years of boarding school experience. Always value people, that is, unless they are real pains in the backside. Now let’s do something very naughty.”
“Naughty?” Beatrice said. “I-I can’t.”
“Of course you can,” Lilith said. “Let’s make everyone believe we are locked in our chambers, busy curling, powdering, and bejeweling ourselves for the ball. Meanwhile, we’ll sneak off.”
An hour later, Lilith sat beside Penelope and Beatrice on a blanket inside the old ruins. Around them cooed pigeons nesting in the crevices while overhead cottony white clouds blew across the cerulean sky. At their knees rested an open box of toffee and a bottle of red wine.
“I think this is my favorite part of the house party,” Penelope said. “Well, except when you sang the other night.”
“I was thinking of joining the Royal Opera.” Lilith took a swig of wine. “Do you think they will take me?”
“You would be atrocious, and everyone would enjoy the opera for once,” Penelope said.
“I believe all true pleasure is bad at its core,” mused Lilith. “I’m philosophical that way.”
“Did you know that Kepler advanced infinitesimal calculus by determining the volume of wine in a barrel?” asked Beatrice as she studied the bottle of wine.
“No, and that is absolutely fascinating,” Lilith said. “Have you studied calculus?”
“Secretly—don’t tell Lady Marylewick.” Beatrice twisted a strand of grass around her finger. “Can—can I confess something else? You can’t tell.”