How to Impress a Marquess Page 9

  The man’s head whipped around as a small but strong hand clamped onto Lilith’s shoulder, yanking her back into Madame Courtemanche’s entrance.

  “Don’t make a scene,” Penelope whispered.

  “What!” Lilith cried. “He’s a deceitful, turgid arse. He needs to know as much. You are the perfect lady and he dallies with…with that bright canary. ”

  Penelope pressed her fingers to her temple. “Don’t make a scene.” Her voice was breaking. “Don’t!”

  “Oh, Penelope,” Lilith whispered and tried to embrace her. “I’m sorry.” Penelope remained immobile, watching Lord Fenmore escort his mistress into a flat. When the door closed, Penelope yanked away from Lilith and rushed down the walk. Lilith and the footman hurried to catch up.

  “We must do the next thing on the list,” Penelope cried. “That’s what’s most important. Lord Marylewick gave me a responsibility.” She opened her reticule with shaking hands and frantically rooted through it. “George’s list! It’s not here. I’ve lost the list. How could I have done that? I’m so stupid. Stupid! Stupid!”

  Lilith retrieved the list from the ground where it had fallen. “Here it is,” she said quietly. “You didn’t lose it. You’re not stupid. Don’t ever think that. And look, item three is teach Lilith to drink tea properly. Let’s find a nice tea shop.” She took Penelope’s hand.

  Penelope didn’t protest as Lilith led her. Shame poured into Lilith for all her mocking thoughts about Penelope. Her expression resembled that dazed, lost look that Lilith had worn the previous day, when the outside world was a big blur and the only thing she knew was how much her heart ached.

  Two streets over Lilith found an establishment with the words Simon Brothers Tavern painted in gold letters above a large, paned window. Inside, well-dressed men and women crowded around a bar and the tables, drinking spirits and smoking. The ladies’ enormous hats shook with their happy laughter.

  “Come,” Lilith said to Penelope.

  “This—this doesn’t look like a tea house.”

  “Of course it is,” Lilith lied and let the footman open the door. The sunlight reflected on the brass fixtures, stamped tin ceiling, and glasses on the tables, spreading beautiful white light over the chattering crowd.

  “I don’t think George would approve of this place.” Penelope clutched her reticule to her chest.

  “We must remember to ask Lord Marylewick if we should not have come here when he returns this evening to check on my progress.” Lilith dispatched the footman to the bar for a pot of tea, teacups, a bottle of wine, and three glasses. She clutched Penelope’s elbow and led her toward an empty booth in the back corner of the narrow room.

  Penelope sat and ran her finger over a stain in the blue table linen. “Don’t tell George,” she finally whispered. “About seeing my husband. Promise me.”

  “If you wish.”

  Penelope continued staring at the stain. As Lilith studied Penelope’s bowed head, loneliness washed over her. She had a sense that Penelope wanted to talk and that she had wanted to talk to someone for a very long time—someone who understood and didn’t judge.

  The footman brought the wine and tea. Lilith poured the glasses of wine, gave the footman one, and asked him to leave the ladies for several minutes.

  Penelope shifted her thousand-yard stare from the table to the deep red tones of the wine.

  “My cousins on my father’s side left me yesterday,” Lilith shared. “I trusted them. I thought I had finally obtained the life that I had dreamed of. But they…they broke my heart.”

  “Fenmore broke my heart a few months after we were married.” Penelope poured a cup of tea, took a small sip, and then reached for the wine.

  “I’m sorry. How painful to witness.”

  “Yes.” She drank more of her wine. “It’s not the first time. I just wish I didn’t have to see it.”

  Lilith ran her finger down the stem of her glass. “Have you thought about a divorce?”

  Penelope’s head snapped up, her eyes hot, as though Lilith had asked her to commit murder. “I couldn’t do that to George. To Mama. It is wrong. What would people think?”

  Lilith only shrugged. “I think it’s wrong to sacrifice your happiness for something as trivial as another’s opinion. Your mother should desire your happiness. And Lord Marylewick is fully grown. You shouldn’t feel the need to please or protect him.”

  “You don’t understand George,” Penelope fired back. “You never have. You’re cruel to him like Pa…” She gazed down, not finishing her angry thought.

  “Tell me about him. I’m mad with curiosity to know about this George who creates beautiful sketches.”

  Penelope resumed studying the stain on the cloth.

  Don’t shut down, Lilith thought. Talk. I’m dying inside.

  “Tell me what you want to say, Penelope,” Lilith said gently. “It’s all right.”

  Penelope shook her head. “It’s horrid to speak ill of your parents.”

  So George’s problems began with his parents.

  “Oh dear,” Lilith said. “Pray, my father was a handsome wastrel and foolishly died in a duel after cheating at cards. My dear mother abandoned me to boarding schools so she could start a new and better family. And my stepfather—your uncle—had a higher opinion of plague-ridden sewer rats than of me.” Lilith lifted her glass and gestured to Penelope before taking a sip. “There, I daresay you can’t possibly be as horrid as I am. You are absolved.”

  Penelope flashed a tentative smile, like a fragile, tiny sea crab venturing from under its shell. “George is like you.”

  Lilith couldn’t help but spew the wine from her mouth in the most unfeminine manner. She grabbed a napkin and dabbed her lips. “Sorry. I just find that, well, a little more than shocking. And pray, never tell George you think we are alike, the man would have an apoplexy.”

  “I mean he enjoys art, or at least he did. When we were young, he was always drawing pictures and painting. This was before your mother married Uncle Reginald, so you wouldn’t know. George would make strange sculptures from twigs and objects he found about the estate. He painted on boards, on walls, on his clothes…anything he could find. When I was sad, he made books for me, all illustrations of my favorite stories because I couldn’t read then.”

  “George? Big, tall, booming, all-things-proper, don’t-you-dare-be-different George? Are you quite sure you don’t have another brother named George you’ve kept hidden from me?”

  Penelope laughed. A true, easy laugh.

  “He wasn’t always big and tall. He was once small for his age and ever so thin. He didn’t want to ride horses, shoot, or play cricket—all the things my father loved. Papa was positively terrified that George would turn into what he called a…a…” She looked about to see if anyone was listening.

  Lilith leaned forward. “A what?”

  “Molly,” Penelope whispered. “You know, a man who—”

  “Yes.”

  “Father was quite different when other people weren’t around. To everyone else he appeared congenial but…” She paused.

  Lilith could tell Penelope struggled to articulate emotions she couldn’t fully comprehend.

  “We had responsibilities because of our birth,” Penelope continued. “We had to be examples. We couldn’t be…” She gazed up, hunting for words.

  “Human,” Lilith supplied. “You were actors in a play. You couldn’t stray from the lines of the grand stage production We’re Britain’s Most Admired and Distinguished Family.”

  “Yes.” Penelope lips curled into a relieved smile. “I shouldn’t say that, but yes.”

  It was Lilith’s turn to be silent. The only time she had visited Tyburn Hall was for holidays. Young and so full of anger, and desiring to feed that churning, simmering rage, she had only seen the Maryles as she wanted to: perfect. Was it al
l truly a play? Had she been buying a ticket all these years?

  “That’s sad,” Lilith said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “George received the brunt of it. He was supposed to be manly like Papa. If he didn’t ride his horse correctly or refused to shoot his rifle, he was spanked and not fed dinner. Then Father became so frustrated with George he told Nurse to toss all his art in the grate.”

  “No!”

  “But she couldn’t, at least not all of it.” A devious grin that Lilith had never seen before lit Penelope’s face. She slid forward in her seat. “Because I hid it.”

  “You did!”

  She nodded her head, her eyes gleaming at her act of rebellion. “I could be rather naughty then.”

  “You? Naughty? Have you met this horrid little girl named Lilith Dahlgren? I understand she is a hellion of mythic proportions.”

  “Pray, I was quite naughty and wild. Only, George would take the blame for things I did, so no one knew. He figured he was going to get punished for something else anyway.”

  Lilith’s throat burned. “W-where did you hide the artwork?”

  “In a trunk in the back attic room of the original fortress wing. No one goes there.”

  Penelope sipped her glass of wine and fixed her gaze on a spot on the wall behind Lilith. “After that, George stopped painting. He turned quiet and did everything Father told him. Papa was finally proud.”

  Lilith’s heart hurt for young George. Did a tiny bit of him still remain in adult George? Could she find it? Could he be saved or was too much damage done? She made a vow to herself that she would be nicer to George, no matter what he said to her.

  “Penelope, I’m sorry I cut your lovely hair all those years ago,” Lilith said.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t let you play with my dolls. I had outgrown them by then.”

  Lilith flicked her wrist back. “I would have ruined them anyway.”

  Both ladies chuckled and then an awkward hush fell over them, both unsure how to maneuver now that honesty had spilled onto their relationship.

  “I dread this house party,” Penelope mused. “Fenmore will be there, and Mama, she doesn’t understand.”

  “Well, I shall be there,” Lilith said, truly committing herself to the party. “And we can always sneak away to a tea shop and have wine. We naughty ladies.”

  “Yes, let us,” Penelope said, her eyes bright. She finished her wine and fished the crumpled list from her reticule. “So what is the next item on the list?”

  Lilith resisted saying, I think it’s “toss this list in the fire and go to a gallery.”

  “Ah, millinery!” Penelope grinned, all her delicate features at ease.

  Lilith returned her smile. “Wonderful!” she lied.

  Eight

  George eased back in his carriage’s squabs and watched the wet blur of buildings and pedestrians passing outside his window. The beautiful afternoon had ended in abysmal gray rain. He had remained out as long as possible, keeping himself away from her because he knew any conversation between them would flame up like a match to dry straw. He had forced himself to concentrate on the business at hand, because in any idle moment, Lilith came to his thoughts. Yet all day, he turned at the sound of hurried footsteps, thinking his footman had come rushing with news of some Lilith-related disaster which required his immediate attention.

  But he had received no word. He hoped a minor miracle had occurred and that the warnings he had issued to Lilith that morning managed to keep her in check for the entire day. But he wasn’t an optimistic man. He had a niggling fear that Lilith was waiting, biding her time for some enormous revenge that probably involved destroying the Stamp Duty Extension Bill, not to mention his family’s honor.

  He circled his hat in his hands, feeling both dread and anticipation as the carriage rambled into Grosvenor Square. Parliament had run until seven. He had just enough time to check Lilith’s progress and then he could safely remove himself to another insipid musical evening.

  Firm, he thought as the carriage halted. I will be firm, calm, and fair. He would not let Lilith’s outrageous behavior provoke him and suck him into her little games.

  As he stepped over the threshold into his home, his gut tightened, his jaw clenched, steeling for an epic battle of wills. But something was different about his home. Everything appeared in shipshape, gleaming precision, but the atmosphere felt light and relaxed.

  As the footman removed his coat, hat, and gloves, female laughter rang out from the parlor. Penelope’s laughter. A sound he hadn’t heard in years. He edged quietly toward the parlor like some stealthy thief, afraid his presence would shatter the moment.

  The door was open and Lilith, dressed in her blue floral robe—the one he remembered from that notorious night of the pillow fight—reclined on the sofa, holding a small square of paper before her. On the carpet, a bottle of wine and a glass rested atop the books he had asked her to study. Penelope sat on the opposite sofa, holding her wine, her other hand pressed to her giggling lips. The light from the lamps and fire bathed the ladies in hues of gold.

  Lilith glanced up, catching him staring. Her expression faltered. He stiffened, waiting for the gentle glow in her eyes to turn to a dangerous glitter. Yet a small, welcoming smile curved her lips. “Good evening, Lord Marylewick. Did you enjoy a fruitful day in Parliament? How is that bill coming along?”

  He stepped forward, feeling the pull of her magnetism, then stopped. Why was she being nice? What was her game?

  “Have you completed your tasks?” he asked in a firm tone, determined not to give her an inch.

  “I have completed your entire list for today.” She drew the page from the side table and held it up. “I’ve checked off each item: modiste, millinery, shoes—ah, but we added bookshop, print shop, and confectionery—I appended those at the bottom. Now Lady Fenmore is tutoring me in etiquette. We’ve even made a game of it. Care to play?” She patted the empty place beside her on the sofa.

  Who was this woman who outwardly resembled Lilith? “I don’t think—”

  “Do play, Brother,” Penelope implored. “It’s great fun.”

  With his sister, who had been so listless for months, who hadn’t responded to any of his attempts to cheer her or let him inside her thoughts, now smiling, he couldn’t refuse.

  “Maybe for a few minutes.” He took the seat Lilith offered. “I must leave shortly.”

  “You must select a question.” Lilith picked up a stack of tiny squares of paper. She leaned in, close enough for him to smell her musk perfume. His pulse quickened.

  “But don’t look at the back, for it has the answer,” Penelope cautioned.

  “That’s right.” Lilith wagged her finger. “No cheating.”

  He cautiously picked a piece of paper so as to avoid any accusations of duplicity. A strange sensation, like painless, hot electricity radiated out from where their fingers met.

  “You read it,” he said, handing it to Lilith. He sat back in the cushion and tapped his fingers on the armrest.

  “This is a very serious etiquette question indeed.” Lilith’s face grew grave.

  A tiny giggle burst from Penelope, but she quickly composed herself again.

  “You are at a dinner party,” Lilith began in a somber voice. “And you can’t help but notice that the gentleman or, in your case, the lady across from you is exceedingly handsome. How do you signal to her that you desire to rendezvous on the dance floor later?” Both women dissolved into giggles.

  “What?” he cried. “This wasn’t in the books I gave you!”

  “We found those books rather antiquated,” Lilith explained. “So we purchased The Lonely Suitor’s Guide to the Romantic Arts, or How To Get Married Within a Year—A Comprehensive Guide to All Areas of Flirtation Including Handkerchiefs, Parasols, Rings, Flowers, Gloves, Linens, and Utensils. George,
I didn’t realize people flirted with their utensils. How could I have missed it all these years? I wonder if a man has been secretly signaling that he loves me and all the while I thought he was bathing his parsnip in cream. Have you ever flirted with your spoon or linen?”

  He was about to say something censorious about mocking his instructions when his sister helpfully supplied, “Oh, George doesn’t flirt with his spoon or anything.”

  He was torn. Which did he want more? For Lilith to obey his dictates or not to think he was a flat. All the while, Lilith waited.

  “I see you don’t know the answer,” she said, as if she expected as much. “Now you must—”

  “When I want to rendezvous with a ravishing lady on the dance floor,” he said, “I draw my linen slowly through my hand as if I were caressing her as we dance.”

  Lilith’s mouth dropped. She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe he was capable of anything romantic. He winked at her to further discombobulate her.

  “Lord Marylewick, you’re right!” She gave his arm a gentle swat. “Have you read The Lonely Suitor’s Guide?”

  “I have not.” He edged even closer. The phrase moth to a flame echoed faintly in his head. “These things come naturally to me. For instance, when I want to rendezvous in a quiet garden or elsewhere, I place my spoon atop my knife. Maybe give them a little rub together.” He couldn’t deny that how he used his fingers to illustrate might be deemed impertinent, but he enjoyed seeing how her blush and fluster erased the usual wry gleam in her eyes.

  “George!” Penelope cried. “You’re horrid. Lilith isn’t married. You shouldn’t say such things.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Dahlgren,” he said, but felt no contriteness. After all, she had asked him to play. Maybe it wasn’t so amusing when she couldn’t control the game. “What is my prize for my table-flirting prowess?”

  Lilith was still blushing as she reached over to open the box on the table. “You get a toffee.” She held the little confection in her palm. “Penelope and I must drink from our wine, because you answered the question correctly.”

  “Wait a minute!” Realization dawned on him. “You’ve entangled my sister in some drinking game worthy of a gin palace?”