by Jo Goodman
“Blue Rutland’s smuggling enterprise,” Sherry said.
In the dark, Lily smiled. “Yes. The very same. It might have come to a bad end for me then—a woman onboard a ship of that sort is not in any way popular—but I had the good fortune to look remarkably like the figurehead, at least from the shoulders up, and they allowed me to stay and remain unmolested.”
Sherry shook his head, marveling at this turn. She had escaped from a gentleman who treated her worse than any whore and found shelter with old sea dogs and smugglers who treated her like a lady. “Extraordinary.”
“It was. I met Blue in London and began working at the Ruin.”
“He told me he let you use one of the sleeping rooms.”
“And you thought I was bedding lodgers there.”
“At the time I did.”
She shook her head. “It’s where I taught some of the children. I helped them with their letters. Sums. Whatever I thought might be of use to them that was not part of the rough trade.”
“The lads told me you were their teacher. I thought they meant you taught them the finer points of thievery.” He felt her shoulders shake lightly and knew she was laughing. “It was not an unreasonable assumption.”
“No, but I’m only a fair to middlin’ thief myself. I learned the trade for survival and barely survived it. On two occasions the Charlies had me by the collar and were set on taking me to the assizes. Blue offered a bribe that made them reconsider the necessity of it.”
“Both times?” When Lily had hesitated, Sherry broke the promise he made to himself not to press her. “You would hold this back after telling me all of the other?”
“Ned Craven,” she said finally.
“I see. Then I imagine that he expected some favor for obtaining your release.”
“He expected me to whore for him.”
Sherry did not ask the obvious question.
“Is it that you do not want to know the answer?” asked Lily when he remained silent. “Or that you think you already do?”
“Neither. I can bear to hear whatever you can bear to tell me, but what you say must be said freely.”
Lily simply lay very still in his arms. “I agreed to do it,” she said quietly. “I set the terms that it was to be only once to clear the debt and I would choose my own gentleman. He said he accepted that. At the breaking of the spell in Drury Lane—that is, intermission—I found a gentleman ripe for what I was offering and led him away from his friends and into the mews. I was not expecting that Ned would follow me. I suppose he wanted to be certain he would collect what was owed him, but knowing he was there . . .” Lily’s voice trailed off, and she required a moment to find her voice again. “I could not do it, not with him watching from the shadows. It was like before, with him.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Do not be so certain. I would have discharged my debt to Ned in that alley, my lord, had he left me alone. It was only his presence that made it impossible.”
Sherry could not imagine there had been no consequences. “What did he do?”
“Beat me.”
“And the gentleman?”
“He tried to flee. Ned caught him and served him a worse beating than he gave me. I am not certain he survived it. He didn’t move or make a sound when Ned stripped him of his valuables.”
“Bloody hell,” Sherry said softly. It was comment enough.
Lily turned her head slightly so her cheek rested on his shoulder. “I haven’t stolen anything since. It has always struck me as a terrible irony that Ned Craven was the one who set me on the straight and narrow path, but there you have it. I could not risk being in his debt again. You know I have tried to keep others out of it as well.”
“Then he accepted what he took that night as payment.”
“It is still a matter disputed between us. He says I reneged on our agreement; I contend he was more than compensated for bribing the Charlies. In any event, like the other, it is not for you to do anything.”
Sherry merely grunted softly, offering no promise.
“They are dangerous, my lord, each in his own way. I would not have you hurt—more likely killed—on my account. I have managed to make my own way, and I shall continue to do so if I cannot have your word that you will not interfere in my affairs.”
“You want a great deal, Lily.”
“I do not apologize for it.”
“And I will not make such a rash pledge under threat that you will leave. You are here because you interfered in my affairs. Has that ever occurred to you?”
“I did not know you then,” she said. “It was not interference in the strictest sense, it was—”
“Interference,” Sherry said.
Lily’s sharply indrawn breath transformed itself into a yawn. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “It is unfair of you to make this argument when I am all but asleep.”
Sherry did not believe that she was so close to sleep but rather that she was offering some version of an olive branch. He elected to accept it. “Certainly it is unfair, but I find that when pressing my point with you, I must seize every advantage.”
Lily snuggled more deeply into the shelter of his arm. “Your lordship is kind to say so.”
That was when he had given her shoulders a light squeeze and determinedly offered nothing else that might prolong their conversation. He’d felt her body grow heavier as she relaxed against him, and in time he sensed the change in her breathing. Waiting until he was certain she was deeply asleep, he had slipped his arm out from under her and eased himself away.
She didn’t stir when he finally left the bed. Closing the door quietly behind him, he thought her sleep would be considerably less troubled than his own.
Crutches did not keep Lily from the schoolroom. Over the course of the next three days she learned to use them to great advantage when she required the attention of one of her pupils. Out-of-door activities were strictly forbidden to the boys until she was able to manage with only a cane. Even Pinch agreed this was a better punishment than being banished. They also had to help with chores in the kitchen to compensate for the inconvenience they had caused to the servants. Lily suspected they were acquiring more in the way of biscuits and scones than they were work, but she did not interfere in Mrs. Bennet’s domain.
Mr. Wolfe presented her with a cane that he’d used earlier in the year after taking a spill on an icy patch outside the village church. The scoundrels had a vested interest in Lily being able to abandon the crutches in favor of the butler’s gift, and they offered her considerable encouragement each time she hobbled around the schoolroom with it.
Three days of rain confounded their efforts to get her and themselves out of doors, but at the end of a sennight it seemed the planets had at last aligned themselves in their favor.
Lily was sitting on the grassy bank by the lake, observing the boys as they untangled their fishing lines, when she sensed that her week’s respite was truly about to end. She saw Dash turn his head in her direction but focus his attention on something behind her. He raised an arm and waved.
“Good afternoon, m’lady,” he called cheerfully. “’Ave you come to fish wi’ us?”
“It is a splendid offer, young man,” Lady Rivendale said, “but I think I should like to sit here on the bank for the nonce.” She came abreast of where Lily was sitting and glanced down. “You don’t mind, do you, m’dear? I find it is intolerably stuffy indoors today.”
“No, of course not,” Lily said, “but I have no blanket and your dress will be quite . . . ” Lily did not finish because it was abundantly clear this was no deterrent to her ladyship’s plans as she was already dropping gracefully to the ground. There was also no excuse that she could present to leave.
“I have no intention of rolling about,” Lady Rivendale said. She extended her legs in front of her and arranged her dress so it fell smoothly across her ankles. In a tone that brooked no refusal, she added, “I brought this for you,” then
produced a parasol. “I saw from the window that your hat is not at all the thing.”
Lily stared at the parasol while her hand flew to her straw hat. “I know it is not the first stare of fashion, but—”
Her ladyship’s hearty laughter interrupted. “Oh, my dear, the first stare? No, it certainly is not that. One might well be struck blind by it.” She thrust the parasol forward a second time. “I saw also that you seem to have no more need of the cane, but you might find this useful for traversing the uneven ground.”
Lily could think of no way she might politely refuse. As soon as she removed her hat her hair would be brilliantly displayed in the sunshine. Every curl she’d tucked under the band would spring free; every heavy lock that she’d anchored with combs would be loosened. Still, there was nothing for it. There was no way to avoid bringing Lady Rivendale’s attention to what was certainly her most singular feature. She would be surprised if that was not her ladyship’s intent from the outset.
Lily set her hat aside and quickly took up the parasol. She had not yet opened it when Lady Rivendale offered her initial observation.
“It is striking, Miss Rose, but then I suspected it would be. Your fair complexion and green eyes made me think you might be a redhead, though it was difficult to tell from your brows. I am not one of those who believe it is an unfortunate color, though perhaps when it veers toward orange one’s choice in dress fabrics is limited.”
Lily held the parasol in one hand and fumbled with the combs with the other. It seemed to her that Lady Rivendale was working her way to a particular point. Lily prepared to be stuck by something every bit as painful as the shiv she’d taken for Sheridan.
“But orange does not describe your hair, does it? Auburn, I have heard it called, yet I believe that color has not the same tone of dark copper. Nor is it so vibrantly red as Titian painted it, I think, though that may be closer to the mark. Can you credit it, Miss Rose, that I once had a friend with hair your exact shade and in all your abundance?”
Treading carefully, Lily said, “If your ladyship says you did, then I can credit it.”
“Her mother also, for I knew that woman as well when I was young. She is gone now, as is my friend.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
Lady Rivendale inclined her head forward, acknowledging the remark, then went on. “I was struck by your resemblance to them when Sherry made the introduction. It was unfortunate, I thought, that you spent so much time this week in your room and I had no opportunity to inquire.”
It was just as Lily feared. The question her ladyship had immediately raised in regard to Lily’s parentage was not of idle interest to her. Sherry had directed his godmother to the lateness of the hour on that occasion and had been successful in diverting her while Lily was recuperating, but he was far afield now and unlikely to make a timely rescue.
“So I have applied myself to this matter of your family,” Lady Rivendale was saying, “and I am now firmly of the opinion that you must be a limb on their tree.”
“Perhaps I am, though I think we will discover it is a very short limb.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I have no brothers or sisters. No grandparents.”
“Sherry tells me your parents are gone.”
“Yes.”
“And you were raised for many years in an abbey outside Paris.”
“Yes.” Lily realized that whatever story she might present to Lady Rivendale, it could not veer sharply from what she had already told Sheridan. She had hoped he would be less forthcoming with his godmother. “L’Abbaye de Sacré Coeur.”
“That is unusual, don’t you think? An English girl being raised in a French abbey?”
“I never thought about it growing up.”
“But you see it now?”
Lily could not very well deny it. She had been the only girl of English parents enrolled in the school, just as Sister Mary Joseph had been the only English nun. “Yes, of course it was something out of the ordinary, but since it was my life, it seemed unexceptional.”
Lady Rivendale’s comment was cut off by Pinch’s cry that he’d hooked a big one. She turned her attention to the boys and watched as Pinch fought with his catch. “He is not unlike Sherry was at that age,” she said as if to herself. “The dark hair and solemn eyes, all arms and legs that do not quite seem to move in concert. I wonder if Sherry realizes it.”
Her ladyship did not seem to expect a reply, so Lily did not offer one. She was not so certain, however, that the words were idly spoken.
“Look at how he takes care of the others,” Lady Rivendale said as Pinch allowed Midge to grasp the pole. “Sherry did the same with his sister, even before their parents died. Afterward, well, you could not often find Cybelline without Sherry nearby.” Her voice turned a shade wistful. “And now she is to have a child, and Sherry . . .” She did not finish, but allowed her voice to trail off with this last thought contained.
Lily drew in her bottom lip, worrying it. Lady Rivendale’s manner of speaking to her without quite addressing her directly was unnerving.
Lady Rivendale applauded Pinch and Midge when they proudly held up their wriggling fish for her inspection, and she called encouragement to Dash. “Sherry knew I would not be able to harden my heart to them,” she said, turning back to Lily. “They are perfect rascals, but it is all part and parcel of what makes them so appealing. Did you have doubts when Sherry engaged you that you could teach three young ruffians?”
Lily knew herself to be in very dangerous waters now. Except for a few particulars about her parents and her abbey education, Lily had no idea what else Sherry might have told his godmother. “I am always plagued by some doubts,” she said, “when I take a position, but it is never about my pupils’ ability to learn that I question. I suppose that if they cannot, the difficulty lies with me.”
“That is a progressive notion.” She nodded slowly as though giving it consideration. “You will have noticed, I believe, that Sherry is progressive in his thinking.” She did not wait for Lily to comment. “Consider your own employment at Granville. One might easily form the opinion that in hiring you, Sherry showed himself to be remarkably progressive. You must admit, Miss Rose, that you are hardly the usual thing. A tutor would not have caused comment, but a female teacher? For all his advanced thinking, Sherry does not do things that invite notice—until now.”
“I was not aware there was notice,” Lily said cautiously.
“I have noticed.”
“Yes, of course, but you are his lordship’s godmother.”
“That is neither here nor there. It will come to the attention of others. Sherry’s reputation will not suffer, you understand. Quite the opposite, I would imagine, yet I wonder that you did not think of your own when accepting this position.”
“I did,” said Lily. “I came to the carefully considered conclusion that I would not be compromised by relying on Lord Sheridan’s good judgment. Is it your ladyship’s contention that I was wrong?”
Lady Rivendale said nothing for a long moment while her light gray eyes became visibly sharper. “Sherry said you were clever.”
“I should hope it is one of the reasons I was able to secure this position.”
“Lillian Rosemead,” Lady Rivendale said. “She was clever, too.”
Lily managed to school her expression, but she could do nothing about the flush that stole over her features. Lady Rivendale was an adept at conversational sleight of hand, and Lily felt her ladyship’s point being thrust home.
“You do know who I mean, Miss Rose,” she said. “I hope you will not pretend it is otherwise. What I cannot understand is why you would disassociate yourself from that connection. You are from a good family on both sides. It is more than a little curious that you use but a portion of your mother’s maiden name and none at all of your father’s. It begs the question why.”
“I suppose it does.” Lily felt as if fists had been plunged into her midsection. Drawing breath
was difficult; the boys’ chatter came to her as if from a great distance. “But I cannot explain.”
“That does not surprise. I cannot like it that you are deceiving my godson.”
“I do not think I am deceiving anyone in a way that is of consequence. As your ladyship points out, I am from a good family.”
Lady Rivendale pursed her lips, not satisfied with this response. “I will want you to tell Sherry the truth. He has given you a position of great responsibility. I will insist that he study your references again. I think the matter of your name is of some importance.”
“You may tell him whatever you wish, but I cannot speak of it.”
“Of course you can speak of it. You are being willful.”
“If you like,” Lily said quietly.
“I do not like.”
It seemed to Lily there was nothing she might say to calm Lady Rivendale’s nerves or temper her annoyance. An apology was unlikely to be looked upon with favor, especially since there was nothing she was willing to do differently. Lily started to rise as her ladyship made to get up but was waved back down.
“Do not trouble yourself,” she said, brushing off her skirt. “I would not regard it as sincere. Good afternoon . . . Miss Sterling.”
Lily could not find it in herself to offer the same in reply. Miss Sterling. Her ladyship had been quite deliberate in her use of the name. Lily did not turn to watch her trek across the wide lawn and through the terraced gardens; instead, she watched the boys race along the edge of the lake and carefully reviewed the plans she’d made for her departure from Granville.
Sherry let himself into Lily’s room, realizing once again that in some ways she was perfectly predictable. It was difficult to appreciate this aspect of her thinking and deportment when it ran counter to his own. He stood just inside the doorway for a long minute and watched her carefully pack the valise open on her bed. It was only when he sighed audibly that he finally drew her attention.
