My Fair Lily (4 page)

“No,” Ewan said.

“Let me know if I’ve overlooked anything for Margaret’s comforts.”

“I’ll provide
Meggie
with whatever she needs.” Ewan tried to
recall the last time anyone who truly knew his sister had called her by that given name.

“Ewan, I—”

“Will that be all, Your Grace?”

The old man sighed. “Yes, I suppose. For now. Breakfast is at
eight o’clock sharp.”

***

Ewan arose at daybreak the next morning, annoyed to find his clothes cleaned and pressed, and boots polished to a perfect shine
despite
the fact that he had come in late the night before and not left them
out for the duke’s servants to tend.

Someone must have come into his quarters during the night and taken them.

Jasper, his trusted watchdog, was stretched out like a lump on
the
cool marble tiles in front of the hearth, sound asleep and snoring in
that rheumy, whining way that only Jasper could manage.

“Wake up, ye looby. Did I no’ teach you to bark when a stranger enters?”

Jasper forced one eye open and shot him a look.

“Right, we’re the strangers. Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Still, you could have warned me.” In truth, Ewan was just as irritated with
himself. He’d been pleasantly surprised to encounter a friend down
from Scotland, a hard-drinking companion who happened to be passing through London on his way to Dover. Before Ewan knew it, he was stumbling back to Lotheil Court in the wee hours of the morning. He
barely remembered taking off his clothes before his
head hit the pillow.

Most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in.

Best sleep he’d had in months.

Then again, he was piss drunk and would have felt as
comfortable collapsing into a coal bin.

His throat was parched and his head pounded louder than a war drum. Not even the hot bath he’d taken before joining his friend for the evening had worked to soothe the tension in his muscles.

“Stuffy in here, isn’t it, Jasper?” Ewan strode across the room, drew aside the drapes, and opened a window. The hazy glare of sunlight and a hot breeze assaulted his senses. “Bollix! Wind’s blowing off the Thames.” He shut the window and sighed. “Three
months o’ this? Don’t know if I can take even one more day.”

Someone rapped lightly at his door.

“Go away,” Ewan said at the same time a thin, impeccably groomed gentleman a few years younger than his grandfather
opened the door and stepped in.

He stifled an oath and quickly donned his pants. “I told you to go away.”

“I’m Jergens,” the gentleman replied, “your valet while you’re here. May I assist you with your clothing?”

Ewan let out a soft growl. “Put a hand on me and that’s the last you’ll ever see of it.”

The man took a step back. “My lord, you appear to be out of sorts this morning. I took the liberty of preparing a… er, remedy for the headache I expected you to have upon awakening. The glass is
sitting on the table beside your bed.”

“What’s in it?” He followed the direction of his valet’s gaze.

“It’s best you don’t know,” Jergens replied without so much as a blink.

Ewan stepped to the table and lifted the glass to his nose. His
eyes
instantly began to tear and he let out a gagging cough. “What the
hell is this? Smells worse than a horse’s arse!”

“An old Scottish remedy,” Jergens said. “I gave the same to your
father whenever he came home a little worse for wear.”

“You knew my father?” Ewan glanced at the man in surprise. “How long have you been working here?”

“Oh, well over forty years. I started as a lad of sixteen.” He paused the length of a heartbeat. “Yes, I knew your father. I was his
valet, too.”

“And now my grandfather’s ordered you to spy on me.”

“Yes, my lord. I’m required to provide details of your every movement.”

Ewan, still holding the glass and its vile contents, arched an eyebrow.

“He ordered me to spy on you, not lie to you,” Jergens said smoothly. “Is there anything else you wish, my lord? Shall I take
Jasper for his morning walk?”

Jasper wagged his tail.

“I’ll walk him.” Ewan drained the contents of his glass. If Jasper trusted Jergens, then he might as well give the man a chance. Surely his grandfather had the entire household staff under orders to watch him and Meggie and report their every movement. Probably had
Bow Street runners watching him as well. “Bollix, that stinks.”

Had they seen him enter Madame de Bressard’s dress shop to order the replacement gown for the lass, Lily? And purchase the MacLaurin book on Charing Cross Road? He intended to visit his father’s London bankers and solicitors today.

The duke probably had them in his pocket as well.

***

Lily was about to change out of her morning dress and into her new riding habit for a jaunt in Hyde Park to take advantage of the fine April afternoon when her maid dashed into the room, quite breathless and excited. “What is it, Gladys?”

The girl paused but a moment to adjust her pert white cap. “Two boxes just arrived for you, Miss Lily! And there’s a letter with them!”

“From the Royal Society?” she asked, her heart rushing into her throat. Was it possible they’d had a change of heart and accepted her
research paper for publication?

Gladys shook her head, her blonde curls bobbing like corks upon a stormy sea. “No ’um. Lady Sophie recognized the crest on the messenger’s livery and claims the boxes are from the Duke of Lotheil!”

Lily frowned lightly and resumed changing into her riding habit.
“There must be some mistake. The duke and I are not acquainted.” Still, he was on the board of directors of the Royal Society. Could it be? No, she decided with sinking heart. He’d spoken out loudest
against her admission into that male bastion.

“I don’t know, yer mother’s rarely wrong about such matters. It must be ’im for sure. Yer Aunt Julia agrees.”

She groaned, suddenly realizing the effect correspondence from a duke would have on her boisterous and extremely meddlesome family. “Who else knows about the packages?”

“Everyone. They’re all waiting for you downstairs.”

“Good gracious. All this fuss over one of Dillie’s tricks.”

“My tricks are never that subtle,” her sister said, choosing that moment
to enter the room they shared. She proceeded to poke about the enormous
armoire that spanned the length of one wall, searching for her own riding clothes. She tossed several gowns across their
neatly made
beds, messing
the cream satin counterpanes. “Putting honey in your shoes, a toad in your bed, sewing up your sleeve cuffs, that’s more my style. Who is E.C.?”

“I haven’t a notion. Why do you ask?” Lily helped Gladys to pick up the gowns and put them back in order. Then she finished fastening her black velvet skirt and riding jacket, donned her
polished boots, and looked closely into the mirror to inspect herself. Her eyesight wasn’t all
that bad, nor was it very good. Too much reading, her mother
had insisted, was to blame.

She could see clearly when squinting, but that wouldn’t do. One could not go about in society looking like a mole just come out of its burrow.

Drat.
She had to find her spectacles.

“Mother said something about an E.C.”

Lily shook her head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Aha! Here’s my riding habit. Wait for me. We can march downstairs together.”

She watched as Dillie quickly changed into her riding attire. The two sisters then turned to each other with matching sardonic grins, for they were mirror images, both dressed in black velvet skirt and
jacket, and polished black boots.

“You look nice, Miss Lily. The black velvet brings out the shine in your dark hair and deepens the blue of your eyes. Why, they
almost look violet. And I like how you’ve styled your hair.”

“Thank you, Gladys.” She’d pulled it back in a fashionable French braid. Nothing too fancy or complicated. She peered into the mirror once more while she pinched some pink into her cheeks and
lightly nipped at her lips to add a little flush and fullness to them.

Dillie nudged her out of the way. “My turn. Are you sure you don’t know what an E.C. is?”

“I’m certain. Why do you keep asking?”

“Because the envelope is addressed to Miss Lily Farthingale from E.C.”

“Not a
what,
but a
who
,” Lily corrected her sister. A thought crossed her mind, but she quickly shook it off. No, it couldn’t be Mr. Cameron.
Surely, he had no money. And what was his name? Alexander? Malcolm? Angus? Perhaps, James? “An E.C. with a duke’s crest?”

Dillie and Gladys nodded.

“Right, time to solve the mystery.” She descended the stairs, ready
to face the horde of aunts, uncles, and cousins, ranging in age from six
to sixty, who were gathered in the entry hall for the sole purpose of
finding out why the duke had sent her those boxes.

It was to be expected. Farthingales were notorious for prying into everyone’s business but their own, which they tended to leave in shocking disarray. Though the Farthingale townhouse was a large, gray stone affair with equally large and impressive rooms,
right now it felt quite small and oppressive.

Her mother stepped forward. “Here they are… er, Lily?”

“Yes, Mother. It’s me.”

“Good. Are you certain you’re not Dillie?”

“I ought to know myself.” She breezed past her relatives,
scooped up the boxes, and made for the stairs.

Dillie blocked her path. “We do not keep secrets in this family.”

More precisely, one tried to keep secrets but never succeeded in this household.

She heard the word “duke” whispered several times. Finally, her uncle George folded his arms across his chest and said, “You’re not going to win this battle, Lily.”

“Even you, Uncle George?” All was lost if her most reliable ally had deserted to the enemy. Not that her family was that…no, she
loved them all dearly…most days.

Sighing, Lily opened the smallest box. “My spectacles! Wherever did he find them? You see, I lost them yesterday,” she started to
explain, but quickly saw that no one cared.

A collective rumble of disappointment resounded through the
entry hall. Had they expected diamonds?

“Open the other box,” her mother urged.

Lily smothered a smile. Having established three daughters in brilliant matches, the matriarch of the Farthingale family obviously believed a fourth was at hand. “I’ve never met the duke, and he’s only aware of my existence because he wishes to keep me out of the
Royal
Society,” Lily said while unwrapping the second, a slightly bigger
and heavier box. “The MacLaurin book!”

“A book!” Her mother turned away in disgust. The other relatives soon lost interest, too, leaving only Dillie and her uncle George at her side.

“Open the letter,” Dillie urged. “Is it from the duke?”

“No, it’s from Mr. Cameron. Ewan Cameron.”

“Of course! I saw you with him… the man with the overly
friendly
dog.” Dillie grinned wickedly. “Large fellow. Nice looking. How did
he get hold of the duke’s stationery?”

“Or the duke’s messenger.” Lily nibbled her lip with concern. The letter contained little more than another apology and no indication of where he had settled. “He knows Eloise. I’ll show her this note and ask her to speak to Mr. Cameron. He’s a Scot, a
Highlander judging from
his dress and demeanor, and may not understand about… er,
borrowing writing paper from a duke.”

Her uncle began to stroke his chin. “When did you happen to
meet this Mr. Cameron?”

“Yesterday when I—” She stopped in mid-sentence, realizing no one but Dillie knew she had missed Lady Turbott’s function. “Just before we all left for the tea.”

He pinned her with a stern glare. “Which you obviously missed, though you would have your family believe otherwise. Dillie
pretended to be you.”

She nodded. “Let me explain about—”

“No need. Your little secret is safe with me for now.”

Lily threw her arms about his neck and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you, Uncle George.”

Her uncle, sharp as a tack and dogged as a bull terrier, shook his head soberly. “Girls, your parents have gone to great expense to introduce the two of you into society. They believe you’re both
attending
the many functions held, meeting eligible gentleman, the finest
London has to offer.”

Lily glanced down at her feet, feeling a little ashamed, for her
parents
had indeed expended great effort on her behalf. “I know. I never
meant to trick them.”

“You’ve been spending too much time in Eloise’s library, poring over musty science chronicles while Dillie, your partner in crime, has been covering for you.”