by Susanna Ives
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. “C
an—can I confess something else? You can’t tell.”
“Confess away to Monsignor Lilith.”
“I’ve also secretly studied astronomy, biology, chemistry, physics, Latin, and Greek. And I know more than my brothers. I could be first in the classes if I could go to college.”
“Did you know that Oxford is accepting women this year?” Lilith said.
“They are!” Beatrice sat straight up and then lowered her head. “But proper ladies shouldn’t attend.”
The plaintive tone in her sister’s voice inspired Lilith. She rose and plucked a humble white wildflower growing between the old stones. She distributed the tiny petals between them.
“What is this?” Penelope asked.
“An ancient ritual that I’ve just made up.” Lilith raised her arms and cried, “Great sun god Helios, I present thee with candidates for the sacrosanct Maryle sisterhood.”
Penelope and Beatrice broke into giggles.
“This is very serious!” Lilith admonished. “Don’t anger the sun god.” She gazed upward. “O great Helios, for you to know that I am your true servant, I shall perform the most sacred dance of the sisterhood.” Lilith began to move with the graceful motion of a ballet dancer, before breaking into a rowdy jig and then bowing to the ladies and casting her up skirts, giving Helios her pantalets-clad backside. Penelope and Beatrice clapped.
“Once you are inducted into the Maryle sisterhood,” Lilith said, “all the transgressions of the past are forgiven and you must promise to love your sisters with all your heart and keep their secrets for the remainder of your life. If you are prepared to enter this hallowed order, take ye toffee in your left hand and repeat the age-honored words which I’m making up: ‘By all the delicious bits in this toffee, I swear my lifelong allegiance to the sisterhood.’” Lilith paused while they repeated the words. “By ingesting this confection, we affirm our desires to join the sisterhood and share in the joys and sorrows of our sisters’ hearts. May our lives be sweet like sugar, filling as cream, and joyous as nuts.”
“You are wildly silly,” Penelope said, after chewing and swallowing her sacred toffee. “And I adore you.”
“Here is my secret and I hope my sisters will share in my joy.” How to say it? The words didn’t seem real. Had she dreamed last night? Yet the dull soreness between her thighs was definitely real. “Lord Marylewick—George—and I, we…” The words stuck in her mouth. “We are…going to be married.”
Penelope and Beatrice only stared. Lilith began again. “I’m going to be the new Marchioness of Marylewick.”
Penelope broke into laughter. “You are darlingly funny. I love your little pranks. You are so kind to me after Mama and Fenmore. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t laughed for years.”
Lilith cringed. “I’m not jesting. George asked me to marry him last night.”
Penelope’s laugh petered out. “You’re serious. He asked you?” She blinked, shaking her head, unable to comprehend what she had heard. “Why?”
Lilith’s feelings were rather hurt. “Because he felt it was proper.”
“Proper?” Penelope’s eyes narrowed with carnal understanding. “Did you seduce my brother?”
Lilith didn’t appreciate the outrage in her cousin’s voice. “Things just happened.”
“You mean, you…you…performed the mating dance with Cousin George?” Beatrice said, wide-eyed.
Lilith grabbed the bottle of wine, took several big gulps, and then wiped her mouth. “I love George. I love him. And I’m going to be a good wife.”
“But Lady Marylewick truly abhors you,” Beatrice protested. “Yesterday she blamed you when she tipped over a fire screen and broke a lamp. And you weren’t even in the room.”
“Never mind that,” Penelope said. “Does George love you?”
Lilith swayed on her feet. “The way he touched me and his eyes…”
“Did he say he loved you?” Penelope emphasized each word as if Lilith were hard of hearing.
“No,” Lilith confessed.
Penelope gazed off. The wind blew her hair under her bonnet. “I cannot approve. I cannot. You knew George would do the proper thing. Why did you do that to him? I know most marriages in society are not based on love, but I wanted something different for him. He deserves more for all he’s suffered.”
“I am going to make a loving home for George,” Lilith cried. “Where it is safe for him to be the sensitive man that he is inside. I thought we could all be together, including my brothers. Penelope, you could get away from Fenmore, and Beatrice, you could…could study at Oxford. We could finally be a true family with love and acceptance.” She knelt again. “We shall be happy. All of us. I will make it so.”
“You can’t be a marchioness,” Penelope said. “It’s not your station. You know nothing of finer society.”
“I love your brother with all my being,” Lilith fired back. “That is my station. I decide what society I move in. I govern my own life.”
The two ladies stared at each other.
“Um, I…I don’t think Lady Marylewick would approve,” Beatrice ventured.
Penelope’s shoulders shook. For a moment, Lilith thought she was crying. “Of course she wouldn’t approve!” Penelope broke into laughter. “Love him well, Lilith. Promise me. Never betray him or speak spitefully of him. Give him all the love he deserves.”
“I promise,” Lilith whispered, not without feeling a tinge of guilt over the horrid sultan business. But she would remedy that. She would make all of Britain know what a wonderful man the sultan was. She raised the bottle. “To the Maryle sisterhood.”
“The sisterhood,” the ladies repeated.
Lilith could hear the hesitancy in their voices.
Twenty
Lilith, Penelope, and Beatrice, all a little tipsy on red wine, sauntered back to Tyburn an hour or so later. They were giggling like schoolgirls when the long window by George’s study opened and he peered out. Lilith’s heart quickened at the sight of him. She was no better than a spoony lovesick thirteen-year-old.
“I feel there is mischief in the air,” he said. “Is that an empty bottle of wine?” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “Naughty ladies. Miss Dahlgren, may I speak with you for a moment on a serious matter? Ladies, can you pardon us?”
Lilith’s smile faded. Was he teasing? She couldn’t tell anymore. Or she was so terrified that everything would fall apart that she searched for a sign of doom in every little word.
“Of course,” she stammered.
“One moment, please.” He disappeared into the chamber.
Penelope kissed Lilith’s cheek and then she and Beatrice continued around the wing. Lilith waited, her belly tight with nerves.
What if he had changed his mind? No, he wouldn’t do that. He would sooner be tied to a medieval torture rack than rescind his word. Why was she so skittish? Where was her confidence?
He stepped through the window and closed it. His features were stony. “I’m very upset with you.”
“You are?”
“Come with me, please,” he said curtly and offered his arm.
She hesitantly latched on. “I can’t stand the suspense. What have I done to upset you? Tell me now.”
“You will see soon enough.”
Surely he was jesting. But what if he wasn’t? Her vivid imagination lit up with every possible horrible scenario.
He led her through the garden. Finches flitted about the boxwood labyrinth and the sun sparkled on the water flowing from the center fountain. He stopped by a stone bench against the back brick wall that was shaded by a conifer tree.
“Tell me,” she whispered, ready to respond to the three dozen or so disasters she had already envisioned.
“I’ve had numerous directives handed to me by the prime minister that I need to attend to. The very financing of the British Empi
re and her interests hinges on this party. I should be very busy, but instead I spent the morning doing this.” He fished out a sheet of paper from his coat and handed it to her: a sketch of a curious wren, its head cocked and tiny feet clinging to a branch. “This little fellow visited the tree by the study window.”
A smile blossomed on her lips as relief washed over her. “It’s lovely. May I keep it? I’ll treasure it.”
“Then perhaps you will be delighted by this dull decanter? I sketched it instead of seeing to my tenants’ welfare.”
“You’ve been seeing to your tenants’ welfare for years. They won’t miss a few minutes of capturing the beautiful light on the glass. The composition is perfect in its simplicity. How dare you call it dull?”
“Aye, but this one I can’t explain. My fingers just itched. I had to draw. I call this The Common Inkwell.”
“You are a master.” She laughed. “Amazing detail in the ordinary. I shall cherish it as I do you in all your amazing detail.” She didn’t know if it was a trick of the sunlight or the unguarded smile on his face and in his eyes that made him appear years younger.
“When Disraeli asks, I’m going to blame the entire debacle on you,” he said.
“Whatever can I do to make up for it?” She feigned horror. “Please don’t get me in trouble with the prime minister.” She rose to her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers. “Will that make it better?”
“Hardly.” In a quick motion, he pulled the drawings from her hands, tossed them onto the bench.
“George, no—ah!” He lifted her from the ground and slid her on his lap as he sat.
“People could see!” she cried, but didn’t stop him when he raised her skirts to anchor her thighs around him. Her crinoline formed a ridiculous humplike circle behind her.
