The duke probably had them in his pocket as well.
***
Lily was about to change out of her morning dress and into her new riding habit for a jaunt in Hyde Park to take advantage of the fine April afternoon when her maid dashed into the room, quite breathless and excited. “What is it, Gladys?”
The girl paused but a moment to adjust her pert white cap. “Two boxes just arrived for you, Miss Lily! And there’s a letter with them!”
“From the Royal Society?” she asked, her heart rushing into her throat. Was it possible they’d had a change of heart and accepted her research paper for publication?
Gladys shook her head, her blonde curls bobbing like corks upon a stormy sea. “No ’um. Lady Sophie recognized the crest on the messenger’s livery and claims the boxes are from the Duke of Lotheil!”
Lily frowned lightly and resumed changing into her riding habit. “There must be some mistake. The duke and I are not acquainted.” Still, he was on the board of directors of the Royal Society. Could it be? No, she decided with sinking heart. He’d spoken out loudest against her admission into that male bastion.
“I don’t know, yer mother’s rarely wrong about such matters. It must be ’im for sure. Yer Aunt Julia agrees.”
She groaned, suddenly realizing the effect correspondence from a duke would have on her boisterous and extremely meddlesome family. “Who else knows about the packages?”
“Everyone. They’re all waiting for you downstairs.”
“Good gracious. All this fuss over one of Dillie’s tricks.”
“My tricks are never that subtle,” her sister said, choosing that moment to enter the room they shared. She proceeded to poke about the enormous armoire that spanned the length of one wall, searching for her own riding clothes. She tossed several gowns across their neatly made beds, messing the cream satin counterpanes. “Putting honey in your shoes, a toad in your bed, sewing up your sleeve cuffs, that’s more my style. Who is E.C.?”
“I haven’t a notion. Why do you ask?” Lily helped Gladys to pick up the gowns and put them back in order. Then she finished fastening her black velvet skirt and riding jacket, donned her polished boots, and looked closely into the mirror to inspect herself. Her eyesight wasn’t all that bad, nor was it very good. Too much reading, her mother had insisted, was to blame.
She could see clearly when squinting, but that wouldn’t do. One could not go about in society looking like a mole just come out of its burrow.
Drat. She had to find her spectacles.
“Mother said something about an E.C.”
Lily shook her head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Aha! Here’s my riding habit. Wait for me. We can march downstairs together.”
She watched as Dillie quickly changed into her riding attire. The two sisters then turned to each other with matching sardonic grins, for they were mirror images, both dressed in black velvet skirt and jacket, and polished black boots.
“You look nice, Miss Lily. The black velvet brings out the shine in your dark hair and deepens the blue of your eyes. Why, they almost look violet. And I like how you’ve styled your hair.”
“Thank you, Gladys.” She’d pulled it back in a fashionable French braid. Nothing too fancy or complicated. She peered into the mirror once more while she pinched some pink into her cheeks and lightly nipped at her lips to add a little flush and fullness to them.
Dillie nudged her out of the way. “My turn. Are you sure you don’t know what an E.C. is?”
“I’m certain. Why do you keep asking?”
“Because the envelope is addressed to Miss Lily Farthingale from E.C.”
“Not a what, but a who,” Lily corrected her sister. A thought crossed her mind, but she quickly shook it off. No, it couldn’t be Mr. Cameron. Surely, he had no money. And what was his name? Alexander? Malcolm? Angus? Perhaps, James? “An E.C. with a duke’s crest?”
Dillie and Gladys nodded.
“Right, time to solve the mystery.” She descended the stairs, ready to face the horde of aunts, uncles, and cousins, ranging in age from six to sixty, who were gathered in the entry hall for the sole purpose of finding out why the duke had sent her those boxes.
It was to be expected. Farthingales were notorious for prying into everyone’s business but their own, which they tended to leave in shocking disarray. Though the Farthingale townhouse was a large, gray stone affair with equally large and impressive rooms, right now it felt quite small and oppressive.
Her mother stepped forward. “Here they are… er, Lily?”
“Yes, Mother. It’s me.”