When Anselm returned with a cup of steaming beef broth, Theo still sat slumped on the edge of the bed.
“Here’s a bit of broth, Theo. Drink it, please.”
Theo took the cup mechanically and stared at it. “Were you here a few minutes ago, Anselm?”
“Yes, sir.” The servant looked at him in concern. “Don’t you remember?”
Theo swallowed. “Yes, I do. I just… wasn’t sure.” He drank a little from the cup, then lowered it and stared at the broth again. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon.”
Theo looked up, surprised. “Have any messages come?”
Anselm regarded him with misgiving. “No, sir. Please drink your broth.”
Theo rubbed a hand over his face, then drained the cup. “No messages,” he murmured. His hand shook when he handed the cup back to Anselm, who set it on a nearby table.
“You’re sure there were no messages?” he asked again. “Cedar was going to check on Lady Araminta again to be sure she was safe.”
“It has been an hour since I checked. I can go look again.” Anselm frowned. “Let me get you to the bath first.”
“I’m fine,” said Theo in vague irritation. He rose, then staggered and would have lost his balance except that Anselm caught him by the upper arms and steadied him.
“Sure you are, sir, and I’ll just have you put your arm around my shoulders while we go downstairs to the bath for my own amusement,” said Anselm grimly.
“All right.” Theo made no more protest, and said only, “Anyway, I’m going to be dancing tonight, so I’d better save my strength. It’s embarrassing, Anselm.”
The servant huffed a laugh under his breath. “Why? I won’t tell anyone you leaned on me.”
Theo steadied as they walked, but Anselm didn’t trust him on the stairs.
Anselm added, “Anyone else would be dead, you know. You have the hardest head of anyone I’ve ever met.”
Theo grinned. “I am truly superlative.”
This good-natured jibe reassured Anselm, as Theo had intended. He was thinking more clearly, though the pounding in his head had not abated and the ground seemed to shift beneath his feet with every step.
He managed to climb into the bath without losing his scant broth lunch or falling in headfirst. He soaked in the warmth until the water grew cold, scrubbed in the chill, and rinsed with water nearly hot enough to scald him. By the time he finally dressed, he felt almost functional, despite the ever-present throb in his head.
“How is Lily?” he asked in a low voice.
“Quiet and troubled.” Anselm added, “I’ll bring you lunch in your room, if you aren’t up to seeing anyone yet.”
Theo sighed and closed his eyes. “I feel like a coward.”
Anselm’s lips twisted in dismay, but he said nothing.
“I think I’ll eat on the private patio, if you don’t mind bringing lunch out. Would you let her know she is welcome to join me?” Theo consoled himself with the thought that the decision was now hers, but the guilt remained. She wanted to be pursued, and he was withdrawing.
Anselm walked with him out to the patio, ready to lend a steadying hand, if necessary, but Theo didn’t need it. He let himself gently down into one of the padded chairs and nodded when Anselm quietly excused himself.
Anselm walked first to the sunroom where Lily was sure to be found reading. “Mrs. Overton, Mr. Overton has elected to take lunch on the private patio. He invited you to join him, if you’d like.”
Lily looked up at him and bit her lip. “Would he like me to, or was he just being kind?” she asked quietly.
“I’m sure he would be delighted to see you,” Anselm lied without a twinge of guilt.
Lily rose and brushed a hand over her skirt. Why should she be shy about seeing her own husband? It was ridiculous. But the tension of the past few days, coupled with Anselm’s obvious unhappiness, played upon her nerves. She clasped her hands together, trying to steady them, but they kept shaking. Her stomach turned over.
It wasn’t as if Theo would be cruel to her. Even in his disappointment he had not said anything outright unkind. It was that deep, soul-crushing grief and regret in his eyes that had wrung her soul. Yet did she not have just as much reason to be disappointed?
She followed Anselm into the hallway, then turned toward the patio while Anselm hurried to the kitchen.
She looked out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo before seeing him face to face. She told herself it would calm her nerves.
He was sprawled in one of the chairs, which was turned to overlook the garden. He was slouched so far down that his auburn curls barely peeked over the back of the chair, and his long legs were stretched out in the sun.
Anselm emerged from another door and approached with a tray, which he put on the table near Theo’s right hand. Lily couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was surprised to see Anselm kneel at Theo’s side, listening with a concerned expression on his face.
She shifted, wishing she had the courage to go outside, and the movement must have caught the servant’s attention, for he suddenly glanced her direction. His eyebrows lowered, and he gave the slightest beckoning motion, as if he wanted to command her but knew it would be inappropriate.
Theo must have said something, for Anselm looked back at him, then shook his head. He did not look at her again.
Lily stepped back from the window.
Maybe she would have gathered her courage by evening.
Chapter 31
A Brave Farewell
Oliver arrived in a hired carriage just after lunch. He greeted Lily with badly concealed impatience, asking for Theo. There were dark shadows under his eyes.
“I haven’t spoken with him today. He’s probably still out on the patio. Have you slept at all, Oliver?”
“Not really. I must speak with Theo, Lily. Please.”
With a pang, she recalled Theo’s oddly slouched posture and wondered whether he still had a headache. Still, Oliver seemed to think it was important, so she led him toward the patio.
They met Anselm in the hallway. “Is Mr. Overton still outside?” Lily asked tentatively.
“Yes. Does Mr. Hathaway wish to speak to him?” Anselm looked between them.
“Yes, please.” Oliver answered hurriedly.
Anselm hesitated, then said, “Please wait in the study. I will let him know you are here.”
Oliver said, “I can come to him!”
Anselm shook his head. “Please wait in the study, Mr. Hathaway.” His voice had assumed the calm air of competency that encouraged even the highest-ranking noblemen to cooperate.
Oliver hurried away, and Lily followed in his wake. “Lily, I actually need to speak to Theo privately. I’m sorry.”
She blinked at him. “All right.” With a frown, she walked to the front parlor with her head held high. Yet another layer of disillusionment settled like gauze over her heart.
Why should Oliver be more interested in talking to Theo than to her, and indeed wish to leave her out completely? She would not have minded had it been a jaunty afternoon ride over the hills or a hunting trip with other young gentlemen. But to so blatantly ask her to leave, when she already felt so ill at ease!
Lily did not mean to be angry. She did not want to be angry. She stuffed down the feeling and focused on Araminta’s plight. Was there a way to help her from here?
Oliver paced anxiously in the study. It seemed to him to be suddenly small and close, the air stifling.
Theo entered with a murmured thanks to Anselm, who had apparently walked him to the very door of the room. The servant bowed and shut the door.
Oliver stared at Theo with wide, anguished eyes. “Did you see her?”
“No.” Theo crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, as lean and elegant as ever. “However, a trusted friend and ally saw her from a distance earlier in the day, and said she appeared to be fine. There were complications, and I was unable to reach her last ni
ght.”
“Complications?”
Theo nodded once, then decided it would be wiser to sit down on the chaise lounge before he fell over. He sat half turned so that he could see Oliver. He gestured toward the chair across from him, and Oliver sat, one leg bouncing a nervous rhythm.
“Are you all right? You look rather pale.” Oliver looked more closely at Theo.
“I have a bit of a headache,” Theo admitted quietly. “Don’t worry, Oliver. My friend will let me know if Lady Araminta’s situation becomes dire. In the meantime, please trust me.”
Oliver buried his face in his hands. “I am trying to, but I cannot think of anything but how frightened she must be, and how horrible Lord Willowvale is, and how I must do something immediately.” His voice cracked.
Theo sighed softly. His head ached dreadfully, and the pounding made it difficult to think. “I swore to you I would bring her back, and I will.”
“Can I help?” Oliver asked in a low voice. “Please tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.”
Theo said, more sharply than he intended, “Don’t ever say those words, Oliver! Not to me, not to anyone, and especially not when a fairy might hear you.” Sudden nausea rose, and he closed his eyes and swallowed. “Go get some sleep, Oliver, if you can.”
Oliver shuddered and stared at him. “I can’t sleep, knowing she’s a prisoner of that horrible Willowvale.”
“Nevertheless, please try to trust me.” Theo held Oliver’s gaze until the other man nodded. Theo stood then. “I am sorry to be so rude, but my headache is actually rather vicious. I think I would like to lie down before the party tonight. Please do make yourself at home here, if you like. Just don’t tell Lily what we discussed.”
Recognizing the obvious dismissal, Oliver stood as well. “Thank you, Theo,” he said dully.
Anselm was waiting at the door and, after having been volunteered by Theo to provide Oliver a ride back to the Hathaway residence whenever he was ready to leave, followed Oliver and Theo back to where Lily was waiting.
“I thought we might walk in the garden a little,” said Lily hopefully.
“All right.” Oliver’s shoulders slumped.
Theo bowed solemnly to her and turned away without another word. She watched him go, trying not to feel hurt.
Oliver and Lily walked through the garden for some time without saying anything. The sun was still high overhead. After the darkness of the study, the brilliance was almost disorienting.
Lily finally said, “How did your talk with Theo go?”
“I… it doesn’t matter.” Oliver ran his hands through his already thoroughly disheveled hair. “I can’t stand it, Lily!” His voice broke. “I have to go to her.”
She brushed tears from her eyes. “What if Lord Willowvale catches you? Or someone worse?”
Oliver firmed his jaw and turned to her. “Then I will be brave. If the Wraith cannot save her, I must at least try. I would rather die trying to do what I know is right then stay here in safety, waiting for someone else to save the woman I love.”
He pleaded, “Please, Lily. Please help me get into the veil. I’ll do the rest.”
“What if you don’t come back?” she whispered, anguished.
“Then at least I tried!”
Lily was unable, despite her best efforts, to refuse her brother’s heart-rending plea. She trembled and shook her head, but it was futile.
“Please, Lily.”
“There’s magic here in the gardens, though I don’t understand it all.” She swallowed hard. “There’s probably an opening just over there, I think. It’s not open, though.”
Oliver pulled her in the direction she had indicated, and she followed reluctantly.
She stopped at the hedge, feeling the tingling edges of magic. The door was not open, but it was waiting for her, as if it knew she wanted it. She put her hand up to the leaves nervously, and the door opened as if eager to oblige her.
“I don’t like this,” she whispered. “I don’t like that it was so easy. I don’t like you going.”
Oliver nearly crushed her in a quick embrace. “Thank you, little sister. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“What if you’re not?” Her voice cracked.
Oliver said firmly, “Tell your husband. He might have a good idea or two. But don’t worry. I’ll back in a few hours, I hope. If not, well, I’ll face whatever comes bravely. Don’t tell Mother and Father until tomorrow, if I’m not back before then.”
“Do you have a weapon or anything?”
He indicated a dagger hidden in his jacket. “Don’t worry.” He leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead, then stepped into the veil.
The door closed behind him before Lily was ready.
The afternoon grew warmer. Thin white clouds skidded by high above without providing much shade at all. At last a cool breeze danced through the leaves of the camellias and gardenias nearby, bringing sweet scents and a promise of rain that night.
Lily waited by the hedge, sitting on a bench just opposite the vanished door for hours. She lay on her back and looked at the sky, admiring the shades of blue as Theo had once described.
As he had told her in happier times.
Anselm eventually found her and said, “My lady, Mr. Overton asked if you would like to refresh yourself and have dinner before departing for the ball tonight.” He looked at her with concern, but did not inquire as to why she had been sitting, or lying, on the same stone bench for five hours now.
“Thank you.” She walked beside him back to the house.
“My lady, I never did take Mr. Hathaway back to his residence in the city. Where is he? I will have one of the stablemen take him.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Lily swallowed. “He left already.”
“Oh.” Anselm pondered this.
Lily bathed and dressed simply, then went upstairs to prepare for the ball. There was a tray with a lavish dinner waiting for her in the little sitting room, along with a vase of goldenrod, orange ranunculus, amaranthus, dark hellebore, and ivy. Before she ate or dressed, Lily got out her little book of flower meanings to try to interpret Theo’s message. Goldenrod was encouragement and healing. Ranunculus told her that she was charming and attractive. Amaranthus signified unfading love. Hellebore either referenced a scandal, or meant that Theo still held hope despite darkness. And ivy meant marriage, fidelity, friendship, or affection. Or all of them together.
This was the first bouquet that had, however indirectly, referenced what had happened between them. She almost found it encouraging, but for the firmly closed door to Theo’s side of the apartment.
Anselm entered with a bow, then let himself in to Theo’s side without knocking.
She ate alone, staring at the hellebores and wondering if their darker meaning was the only true message. Eleven times in that hour she got up to look out the window, hoping to see Oliver in the garden. She couldn’t quite see the right hedge from where she stood, but if he headed toward the manor he would be visible.
Her grief and disappointment rose in waves.
At last she left the tray and went to her room, where she sat at the lovely vanity and stared at herself in the mirror. She tried to apply the minimal makeup she wore, a little powder for her nose and rouge for her cheeks and lips, but the motions felt alien.
She felt tingly and sick with fear for Oliver, while grief for herself surged more deeply within her.
Through her closed sitting room door she heard the muffled sound of Anselm leaving Theo’s room and walking out to the shared space. Theo said something to him about the phaeton, and he replied, then his steps receded down the hall.
There was a knock on her sitting room door.
Chapter 32
An Offer of Help
“Come in.” Lily marveled that her voice sounded so serene, so peaceful. Nothing felt peaceful.
Theo opened the door quietly. He was already dressed for the party, resplendent in green and pale gold that set off his aubur
n hair.
Lily suddenly felt so very angry that for a moment she could not breathe. Why was he so ridiculously pretty, so beautifully attired, so carefree, when her brother and Araminta were lost in the Fair Lands?
“Did you have a good afternoon?” she managed. She did not know what sort of answer she expected, or even desired, from him. Maybe she only wanted reassurance.
He smiled brightly. “Indeed! I selected a new cut of jacket which Mr. Eccleston will make for me. I think it will be quite popular.”
Lily swallowed and looked back at the mirror, as if seeing him in the glass would give her some new insight.
A jacket! The emptiness of it took her breath away, and her voice shook when she said, “I wish you were the kind of man a woman could come to if she were in trouble.”
In the brittle silence that followed, Theo caught her eye in the mirror. The intensity of his look startled her, and he said, with infinite care, “Are you in trouble?”
His eyes were so tender, so kind, that she almost, almost, confided in him. She wanted to trust him. Oliver had said to tell Theo if he didn’t come back.
But the man who spoke of a jacket, as if she cared about fashion now, while her friend was captive, could not be expected to understand or take seriously Oliver’s plight either.
She let out a tremulous breath. “I… no. No, everything is fine.”
Her voice betrayed her, full of desperate fear and self-loathing. Why had she let Oliver go into the veil at all? How could she have refused him, when Araminta was in danger? Every swirling thought brought more self-condemnation.
“I would serve you, if I could,” he murmured. His hand hovered just above her shoulder, as if he wanted to touch her but was too shy, or too unsure of her, to risk it. His gaze held hers in the mirror.
She caught her breath on a sob and looked down. Those eyes could charm a stone, she thought furiously, and yet he would disappoint her. Her brother would die, and Araminta with him. Maybe even the Wraith as well.
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