“You speak figuratively?” Thomsett asked politely.
“I would prefer that I were. Bullies…” He blew out his cheeks. Then he stirred and touched the letter. “It appears you’re dealing with a bully yourself.”
“Of a type,” Thomsett admitted.
Dalehouse looked at Lilly. “If my memory is accurate, you are the daughter of the late Earl of Innesford, yes? Marblethorpe married your mother quite recently.”
“In the October before the last, my lord.”
Dalehouse nodded. “I knew Seth. A sensible man. My God, he could drink, though. Speaking of which.” He picked up the flagon. “Would you care to join me?”
“Not I, thank you, my lord,” Thomsett replied. “My lady?”
“May I have some tea?” Lilly asked.
Looking disappointed, Dalehouse put the flagon back down. “Afraid the cook is not on just yet. We’re only a small house here.” He pulled the letter out from under the flagon and studied it again. “There’s a cottage on the edges of the estate, up against the bluff, so there’s protection against the wind. I’m told it’s a pretty location, although I never get there, myself. When we had an estate manager, he lived there. You could have the run of the place. Would that meet Marblethorpe’s conditions, do you think?”
Thomsett considered. “A companion for the lady?” he said.
“Here? In this benighted neck of the woods?” Dalehouse shook his head. “I could spare a maid from the kitchen to see to your needs, Lady Lillian. However, most ladies with any sense and will of their own head for London as soon as they are able to secure a position there. Eligible young things are rare in Dalehouse.”
“A maid will do,” Lilly told him. “I’m afraid I cannot cook at all, so if she has any skill in the kitchen, that would be appreciated.”
Dalehouse nodded. Then, as if he had come to a decision, he gripped the neck of the flagon and poured himself a glassful of the deep red wine. “Morrow will show you the way there.” He picked up his glass.
“Thank you,” Thomsett said. “We will also need food, my lord. Also, bedding for the lady. Candles and other supplies.”
Dalehouse looked as if he was about to protest. Lilly guessed his estate was not as abundant as other better-situated estates like Innesford. It would explain why he no longer had an estate manager and his cook worked limited hours.
Lilly straightened her back and shoulders. “Do you travel to London for the season at all, my lord? I’m sure my step-father would want to thank you in person for your kindness.”
Dalehouse let out another heavy sigh. “Dash it all. Very well. I’ll have Morrow round up some supplies for you, too.”
Thomsett bowed. “Thank you, my lord.” He helped Lilly to her feet and she appreciated the assistance. Her whole body ached, now.
Morrow, the butler, was already dressed for the outdoors when they moved back out to the hall. He was either prescient or had boldly eavesdropped. Lilly didn’t care. It moved things along quickly.
They climbed back into Arnold’s carriage, which had waited for them. The butler sat next to the driver to direct. As they moved away from the house, the rain began again.
Thomsett looked through the window. “I had forgotten just how damp it can get, here,” he said, his voice low.
“You haven’t been back since you were a child?”
“I was eighteen when my…when I began my commission. That was the last time I saw Yorkshire.” His gaze shifted to her. “Thank you for backing my demands, with Dalehouse.”
“You asked that I do so.”
“I appreciate your support, regardless. I think we are here.”
The cottage was larger than Lilly expected, although in the low light she could barely see any details. The rain forced them to hurry into the house. It was even darker inside, with barely enough light to see where they were going.
“There is wood in the kitchen, through there,” Morrow said, pointing. “This fireplace feeds heat through the house, although it hasn’t been lit for weeks. The beds upstairs may be damp. You’d be better to air the mattresses before you use them, right here in front of the fire.” He picked up something off the mantle over the fire. “Matches.”
“Thank you,” Thomsett said, holding out his hand.
Morrow dropped them into his hand and turned to go.
“I’ll come and see you tomorrow, to acquire anything that is needed,” Thomsett called after him.
“Aye,” Morrow said dourly, pulling up the collar of his coat. He stepped out into the rain and the door shut on him.
“Hold still,” Thomsett told Lilly. “I thought I saw over here…” A match flared and Lilly saw his face as he looked around. “Yes, there,” he said and carried the match over to a table. A lantern sat on the table. He blew out the match and lit another, then lifted the funnel and turned on the gas and held the match against it. It caught and burned and the light in the room brightened.
Lilly looked around as he adjusted the flame and put the glass back in place.
Apart from the large fireplace, that still had the original cooking pot arm tucked inside it, the table held up the lamp in the corner, a rocking chair sat just behind Lilly, next to the kitchen door, and a sofa sat in front of the fire, on an old rug with faded colors and missing tufts.
The front wall of the house had a large window with a seat beneath it. On two walls, front and side, were shelves and on the shelves were—
“Books,” Lilly breathed.
Chapter Ten
That first night, Lilly slept on the sofa in front of the fire. Thomsett insisted upon it. He spent the night in the rocking chair.
Shortly after dawn, which rose bright and cheerful, the sky washed clean of everything but blue, there came a quick knocking on the door and a breezy, “Hello, the house!”
The maid, Shelby, carried a heavy basket over her arm and another slung across her back. She was an older woman, with pink cheeks, a big nose and bright, happy eyes. As Lilly tried to rise from the sofa and Thomsett took her baskets from her, Shelby announced she would have breakfast served in a jiffy. She bustled into the kitchen and Lilly could hear her exclaiming over the mess and the dirt as she set the fire going in there and called for Thomsett to bring her baskets in.
Soon, good cooking smells were wafting from the kitchen. Lilly had not felt hungry until that moment. Now her stomach rumbled anxiously.
Sitting, though, was painful. Overnight, her hips and knees, even her leg, had seized. She felt as though rust had them locked in place. Moving was painful. Sitting was worse.
Yet she couldn’t get up off the sofa, either.
Desperately, she said: “Thomsett…please…do you mind?” She held out her hand.
He made a soft sound that might have been impatience. “Yes, of course. How inconsiderate of me.” He gripped her hand. “Up you come.”
He lifted her onto her feet and she groaned at the motion and held still once she was standing. “I’m not sure that is any better,” she admitted. She could not grope her hips through her petticoats. It was already scandalously close to inappropriate that she had taken off her hoops in order to sleep. Her skirt hung in folds about her feet.
“Movement will ease the ache,” Thomsett said.
“That sounds illogical. Movement is what caused the ache.” Violent movement, she added to herself.
“I have suffered through such aches myself, when I first joined the army. The training was merciless and every morning I felt much as you do now. We were not coddled. The training continued regardless. By the end of the day, the ache had always gone.”
Shelby hurried into the room, carrying a heavy tray that she put on the table. “A walk on the moors is just the ticket, my lady,” she added, as if she had heard the whole conversation. “Stretch everything out and get the blood moving. It’s such a lovely day and all, too.”
Lilly was distracted by the heavenly scent of tea rising from the pot on the table and her throat tightened longingly.
&n
bsp; Shelby patted the pot as if she had read Lilly’s mind. “Have some tea. I’ll finish breakfast and be right out with it.”
That was how the custom began. After breakfast, Lilly forced herself back onto her feet and slowly and painfully climbed the narrow stairs to inspect the bedroom, above. With Shelby’s help, she changed into a walking dress. Every movement hurt. Even breathing hurt, yet once she was changed, she could feel energy building from her slow movements.
“There’s a lovely little waterfall about a mile away south, my lady,” Shelby told her. “It will be roaring after all the rain yesterday, too.”
Lilly set out south for the waterfall, not entirely sure where she was going, yet willing to keep moving, if it would help. That was when she discovered Thomsett was trailing her.
She felt a touch of exasperation. After yesterday’s travels and trials, she had been looking forward to a few minutes alone. At least he was lingering far behind her, so she could pretend she was alone if she didn’t look over her shoulder.
When she returned to the cottage, her aches had eased and walking was not the tribulation it had been when she started out. She was also hungry again. She walked around the ridge rock that jutted out from the bluff like an accusing finger. The rock helped protect the cottage from the wind. She stopped, drawing in a delighted breath.
The sun was shining fully upon the cottage and now she could see it properly. It was a charming building with white walls and a thatched roof, mullioned windows and a green painted door. The yard in front of it was graveled and flowering honeysuckle grew up the outside of the house, tangling with ivy and roses.
A stout bench had been placed against the front wall, where one could sit and soak up the sun. The wood of the bench was faded to silver, worn smooth by countless sitters.
The door of the cottage stood open. Sunlight struck the worn stone floor inside. All the windows had been flung open. Lilly could hear Shelby humming, somewhere in the house.
“It will do, will it not?” Thomsett murmured, next to her, surprising her. He moved silently.
Lilly nodded. “Yes, I think it might,” she admitted.
It was almost the last thing Thomsett said to her that day.
Lilly slept in the bed in the big room upstairs that night, under an eiderdown that smelled of lavender and mint. The next morning, after breakfast, she walked across the moors again. This time, she went farther than the waterfall.
The days fell into a simple routine, with the major event of the day being Lilly’s walks upon the moors. In the afternoons, after a simple lunch, she would find a book to read. Where she read depended upon the changeable weather. Sometimes she would settle on the bench outside. Sometimes, she would read by the fire while toasting her toes.
In the evenings, after an early supper, she would read for a while longer, until the long day turned into night, then go to bed.
Thomsett kept his own routine. When he was not shadowing her upon the moors, he and Shelby worked to bring the cottage into a state that Shelby considered fit for human habitation—a degree of cleanliness that required scrubbing from top to bottom. For days, the smell of lye was strong in the little house. As Shelby cleaned, Thomsett reattached shutters, cleared chimneys and other odd jobs, including clambering about the thatched roof, adding more brush and tying it down with a competence that astonished Lilly.
“I didn’t think anyone knew how to thatch a roof anymore,” she admitted.
“I learned how when I was much younger. There are still many thatched roofs in Yorkshire, including the one on the house where I lived.”
Every day, Thomsett walked up to the big house, to check for messages and arrange for any supplies they needed. Usually, he made the journey in the afternoons, after lunch, which left Lilly in the house with Shelby, who could be cheerful without saying a word.
The peace and stillness about the cottage, particularly on balmy days, would have been complete if not for the reason she was here. Lilly’s contrary mind wanted to be back in London. It felt as if she had been banished, the disgraced daughter. As banishment was a particularly appropriate punishment for her misdeeds, Lilly promptly resented it.
She wanted to go home. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted both at once.
The walks upon the moors grated upon her, for even there she could not be properly alone. Thomsett’s silent figure, always somewhere behind her, was a constant reminder of why she was here. She could not enjoy the wild variation of colors and textures, or the race of cloud shadows across the slopes, when she was painfully aware that she was not here to enjoy herself.
It did not help that her sleep was not good, for the memories were back. They had returned with the same intensity and breath-robbing ability as they’d had just after Blackawton had first had his way with her. She would find herself staring at the text of a book, unblinking, her heart racing and her skin prickling painfully, as the memories let go of her. Or she would come to, almost as if she were waking, to find herself halfway up the stairs, frozen mid-flight, or sitting on her bed, her stockings in hand, or any of a dozen other ordinary, mundane daily things.
She could now recall details of that horrible night that she had not realized had dimmed. It was as if seeing Blackawton again had revived them and repainted them so the colors were once more vivid.
They will ease. They faded once before, they will fade again, she told herself and forced herself to go about her day regardless.
She realized she was losing weight when Shelby had to adjust her corset laces. “You’re meeting in the middle, my lady,” Shelby remarked. “I cannot tighten it any more. Do you have a smaller one?”
“There would be no point. My dresses are all made for a twenty-one inch waist,” Lilly pointed out.
A loose corset, though, was worse than wearing none at all, for it rubbed and chafed and dug into her in odd places when she sat and moved. Eventually, she put the corset aside. “There is no one to notice, here, anyway,” she told Shelby, as Shelby dabbed buttermilk on the places where she was raw.
Five weeks after they had arrived in Yorkshire, the heather burst into flower, turning the hills and dales purple all at once, as if someone had thrown a brightly colored tablecloth across the moors. One day after the heather bloomed, Lilly chose to sit on the bench at the front of the cottage to read for the afternoon, for the roses and honeysuckle were also in bloom and the scent was rich and heavenly. It was a warm day, with no wind. The view from the bench out across the purple moors was breathtaking.
The memories caught her there, as they found her anywhere. Lilly could feel them intrude upon her reading, snatching her breath and making her heart pump hard. Her head throbbed as the memories took her.
That first moment, when she should have guessed what Blackawton intended. Being pulled into the carriage. The hand over her mouth and the muffled laughter as he tore her dress. The groping. His weight upon her, then the sharp pain….
“Lilly!”
She gasped, coming to herself with a jolt and a gasp.
Thomsett was crouched in front of her, his hand on her wrist. His fingers tightened. “The memories are back, aren’t they?” he said softly.
It always took a moment for the nausea to pass. She swallowed, forcing herself to speak. “I deserve them. All of them.”
His brow furrowed, as if he was in pain, as he looked at her. “You are wrong,” he said, his voice low. He rose to his feet with a quick movement and stood there, his fists tight. Then he turned and walked away.
The next day was one of the nicest she had experienced since arriving in Yorkshire. The sky was perfectly clear as she set out for her walk. Lilly climbed the first long, slow slope and paused at the brink, to look down at the valley below. It was lovely, in an untamed way that she had seen nowhere else in England. All at once, she wanted to share that view with someone.
She turned to look at Thomsett where he stood twenty yards away, his hands in his pockets. “If you must keep me in sight, at least walk
beside me so I do not feel like a sheep to your shepherd.”
Thomsett’s jaw flexed. Silently, he walked up the slope to where she stood. His gaze met hers. “You know that is not what I am doing.”
“It feels that way to me.” She turned and waved her hand toward the valley in front of them. “There. Is that not magnificent?”
He looked. “It is merely the place where I played as a child.”
“You do not like the moors?”
“They are too wild to care if I like them or not,” he said, his voice low.
“What view do you like, then?”
“Me?” He seemed startled. Then his eyes narrowed and his gaze turned inward. “The sea,” he said at last. “The coast right here in Yorkshire. The cliffs that endure.”
“Is the coast close?” she asked, startled.
“Quite close. Barely three miles from the cottage, I should think.”
“I had no idea. I would like to see this sea you like so much. Could we go there? Tomorrow?” Now she yearned to smell salt and hear the cry of gulls and waves.
Thomsett didn’t answer at once.
“Is it…dangerous?” she asked, her throat tightening.
His gaze took in her fright. “It is a risk, but a small one. I think an outing to Staithes would put some color in your cheeks. Yes, tomorrow, we can walk to the sea.”
She almost clapped her hands in joy. She could not wait for tomorrow. She turned back toward the cottage.
“Are you not going to walk to the far dale, Lilly?” Thomsett asked.
“Not today,” she told him. “I have things to do, if I am to be seen in public tomorrow.”
“You look perfectly lovely already,” he murmured.
Lilly nearly tripped. She wondered if Thomsett had intended for her to hear what he said. Then she decided that discretion would serve her best. She walked on, as if she had not heard at all.
When they reached the turn about the outcrop of rocks that shielded the cottage from the strong easterly winds, she saw they had a visitor. A handsome carriage with its top down stood in the yard.
“Who would visit us here?” she asked Thomsett, her chest tightening with worry.
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