My Dearest Enemy (7 page)

"It's true. I have never heard a man put in his place with such elan. It is masterful."

"Yes," Avery agreed smoothly, "and that's the problem. She would be master when she should be mistress."

Mill House, Devon December 1891

"Good morning." Francesca took her seat at the breakfast table beside Evelyn. The newest member of the household, a curly-haired maid who was just now beginning to show the results of 'a trip behind the stable,' poured Francesca's tea.

"Good morning, Francesca," Lily replied absently, thumbing through a stack of envelopes.

The women fell into companionable silence, interrupted only by the genteel clink of fork tines against china and the crackle of logs blazing in the hearth. Lily looked around at her adopted family with a feeling of supreme contentment. Surely, these two women could be no dearer to her than the brother and sister she'd never seen. But then, she'd never get the opportunity to discover if that were true, would she?

The thought cast a shadow on her easy, companionable mood.

"Anything interesting?" Francesca asked.

"Not really," Lily said. "Mr. Camfield requests my opinion regarding his new sheep."

"I think our new neighbor is smitten with Lil," Francesca said.

"Nonsense," Lily said. Martin Camfield, the new owner of the adjacent farm, was not only a fine-looking man but one of the few of his gender that had the good sense to treat women as equals. "He merely wants my considered opinion and that's all."

"Mr. Camfield seems an enlightened sort of man," Francesca said nonchalantly. "The sort of man one could expect to act in a progressive manner. He wouldn't, say, be tied by convention."

"No, I dare say he wouldn't," Lily answered slowly, eyeing Francesca suspiciously.

"One could see oneself enjoying a modern sort of association with such a man."

Lily felt herself blush. That Francesca was giving voice to thoughts she herself had entertained only made her abashment worse. Martin Camfield might seek her opinion on sheep dip, but he certainly had never asked her to tea. But then, what man would? She was a bastard, without name or money. Each passing season saw her small, closely-guarded hopes for romance growing more improbable.

"Is there anything else in there?" Evelyn asked.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked what other news you had."

"Let's see. Mr. Drummond writes that I shall have to dredge the mill pond this winter and build new berms which, of course, I cannot afford. Polly Makepeace asks if the Women's Emancipation Coalition can hold its annual board meeting here come April."

"All those terrible women in their mannish outfits," Evelyn said with distaste and then after a quick glance at Lily's own bloomers added, "not that you look anything less than charming in your… those… that garment. Few women have your panache, dear."

"Thank you," Lily said. She was quite aware of how Evelyn viewed her clothing.

"It's not their clothing alone I object to," Evelyn went on. "I simply do not think they are the proper sorts of people for you to mingle with, Lil."

Lily stared. Evelyn occasionally surprised her with her unexpected impulses to mother her.

"I agree," Francesca declared, surprising Lily even more. "That Makepeace woman uses you shamelessly, Lily. She's jealous of you. You have all the attributes of a leader and she has none."

Disconcerted by Francesca's remarks, she nonetheless found them terribly sweet. And terribly unnecessary. Though Polly Makepeace did make use of her, Lily thought it was a small enough price to pay to salve her conscience. Managing the estate had consumed her attention for four years, years she could have been using to promote the equality of women. Lily considered her words carefully. She wouldn't hurt either woman for the world.

"Pshaw. I hardly threaten Polly Makepeace's designs to become the Coalition chairwoman. I'm barely involved in the organization anymore, much to my shame. All my time is taken up with the demands of Mill House."

"But to have her in our
home
, Lily! What do we really know about her?" Evelyn asked. "Or these others. They might not be nice people, dear. Who knows where they come from?"

Lily sighed. "Darlings, if you don't want them here, by all means say so. But if your only objection is their suspect antecedents, I'm afraid polite company would consider me far more likely to taint then to be tainted."

"Oh, don't ever say that!" Evelyn exclaimed in horror. "We love you, Lily. I don't know what we'd do without you. You've made this house so comfortable, a relaxed home."

"I think the word you want is 'lax' not 'relaxed,' " Lily answered. Evelyn seemed to have experienced the last four years of Lily's proprietorship as one unending girls' slumber party. "And it is not me who makes Mill House a home, darling, it is you. Once the five years is up," Lily went on, striving for a calm expression, "I'll have to leave here."

"But why?" Evelyn cried. Francesca sipped her tea, her expression unusually grave.

"If I lose, I doubt whether Mr. Thorne will ask me to stay on." The very notion brought a wry smile to her lips. "And if I win, I cannot afford to maintain the farm. It needs an influx of cash which I do not have. I'll have to sell it."

Lily carefully hid her anguish. She loved Evelyn and Francesca and she loved Mill House. She loved its bright, warm kitchen and its silent dust-shrouded bedchambers. She loved its unlikely ballroom and the incongruous stained-glass window hiding beneath the third floor eaves. She loved the ducks squabbling on the pond, the fat stupid-looking sheep that stared at her as she walked down the alley each morning, and her broken-down race horses.

Evelyn sniffed. "There must be some way."

"We'll worry about it when the time comes," Lily reassured her. "Look. A letter from Bernard. Here, Evie."

Now twelve, Bernard had reached that stage in life where a boy tries on adulthood for size. In Bernard's case it wasn't fitting too well. Though exceptionally tall for his age, he didn't weigh more than he had when he was six inches shorter. His skin was getting blotchy and his voice broke at the most disconcerting moments.

"What does he say?" Francesca asked.

Evelyn scanned the sheet. "He says he's coming to Mill House early this summer."

"He's been well?" Lily asked, trying to keep the worry from her voice. She couldn't imagine those heartless old goats allowing the boy to leave school early without a pressing reason.

"He assures me it's nothing serious. He's simply convinced the headmaster that an additional few weeks of rest will serve him well." Evelyn's brave face crumpled. "Oh, Lily. If he's not well we can keep him here, can't we?"

"Of course," Lily assured her, feeling helpless. Horatio's myriad notes and the instruction left in the bank trustees' hands ruled the boy's life.

"It will be good to have him here with us for the summer, won't it?" Evelyn asked, pathetically grateful for Lily's assurance.

"Delightful," Francesca said. "One can't have too many men about."

"Francesca!" Evelyn chided. "She simply can't talk this way in front of Bernard."

"No, of course not. Do behave, Fran," Lily murmured distractedly. Her gaze had fallen on the final letter in the stack. It was from Avery Thorne and it was addressed to Miss Lillian Bede. Not She Who Must Be Obeyed, not the Emancipated Miss Bede, not Herself. A little tingle of trepidation raced through her; something was wrong. She tucked his letter away at the bottom of the stack to be read later.

Fifteen minutes later she stood at the window of her office looking outside. Beneath her window the Michaelmas roses were blooming, their creamy petals bright as snow against the green foliage. She opened the letter.

Adversary Mine,

Karl Dhurmann died yesterday. We were dog-sledding across the Greenland snowfields. He wasn't far ahead. Twenty yards or so. One minute he was there, the next gone. He'd fallen into a crevasse that had been breached by a drift of snow. It took us the day to retrieve him.

I thought you should know he died. He often stated his intention of marrying you. Your letters made him laugh and laughter was rare for Karl. He'd lost everything and

died without country, home, or family. But you made him laugh.

I think he would want you to know he'd died and I thought perhaps you would spare him a smile for his ridiculous intention of marrying you, for his appreciation of your letters, or for whatever reason you like. I am not a religious man and your smile is as close to a prayer as he
V
likely to come
.

Avery Thorne

Lily slowly folded the letter. For a long time she gazed outside her window and when she finally turned away, she did not leave the room. She wrote a letter.

The Dominican Islands April 1892

@

The childish, careful hand drew a smile from Avery.

Dear Cousin,

@

I trust this letter finds you well. I have enjoyed indifferent health this year and shall go up early to Mill House this summer.

Mother says we should take care to enjoy the manor while it's still a Happy Home. She says that Miss Bede means to sell Mill House if she comes into possession of it though I don't think that likely since the fields flooded and the entire crop of spring wheat was drowned.

Poor Miss Bede was greatly upset. Mother wrote that she found her crying. Miss Bede is not a crying sort of female.

I wish I could do something for her but it will be ten years before I can offer her my protection. Mother says Miss Bede wants to protect herself. Why would she even want to do such a thing do you suppose? Mother could offer no illumination. I believe Miss Bede is simply being brave.

I therefore must point out that if you were a gentleman, you would offer her your protection. I'm sure you will do so on your return which I very greatly hope will be soon.

I just read the serialization of your trip down the Amazon. Sensational! Miss Bede is impressed, too, and you are wrong about her thinking your trips are self-indulgent. When I quizzed her about this she immediately wrote back stating most emphatically that she could think of no man who belongs in a jungle more than you.