Nineteen

“Muse, these need to be the best pages I’ve written in my life.” Lilith opened her portfolio, her body still bearing George’s scent and the feel of his love-making. “We need to approach the brilliance of Milton and Shakespeare. We may even consider iambic pentameter.”

She leafed through what she had written, her horror increasing. Her art wasn’t nearly as good as George’s. Her words floundered like dying fish on the land. Not the light and lushness of George’s work, but page after page of stinking, dying fish.

She had a vision of handing him the pages and exclaiming, Guess what? The sultan is redeemed. He was good all along. Only to have George say, Dear Lord, you mean you wrote that hideous chapter? I couldn’t possibly marry the author of such claptrap.

Still, Lilith dipped her pen and forged on, desperate for the life George offered. “Brilliance or death, Muse.”

* * *

Lilith came down to catch the last of breakfast. She slowed her steps as she wove through the labyrinth of corridors. Her nerves were giddy at the prospect of seeing George again. This frightened her. Her life couldn’t possibly be this good. Something bad was clearly going to happen.

Lady Marylewick’s tinkling laughter flowed from the open breakfast room. Lilith’s stomach clenched. Was she really ready to have Lady Marylewick as a mother-in-law? But George could tell her to trek across the burning sands of the Sahara and she would do it for him.

The room was alive with a crackling, wild current or perhaps it was only Lilith’s nerves. Warm morning sun bathed the walls and tables. From all corners, she could hear the rustling letters and newspapers, the scents of tea, sugar, and cream, and the murmur of excited conversation. The servants were beginning to carry away the empty serving platters from the sideboard. She glanced about, finding her heart’s obsession conversing with the Duke of Cliven, their heads down, eyes serious as if engaged in deep, parliamentary contemplation. George glanced her way for the tiniest of moments, long enough to let her know he saw her and remembered all the delicious details of last night. Lilith’s heart wanted to do things that would make a chemist marvel—rising, melting, and bursting into flames all at the same time.

“Miss Dahlgren, you shame the very sun.” Lilith jumped. Lost in sweet memories of George holding her safe and snug, she didn’t see Lord Charles materialize at her side. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. “Ah! Can you feel it?” he asked. “Is not the air alive with romance, or I do mean to say ambition. All the ladies are abuzz like honeybees in spring about the ball tonight. Crazy for the sweet taste of the title marchioness. Will the mighty Lord Marylewick finally fall this year? The suspense! It just bores me.” He leaned closer. “We must steal away from the maddening frenzy this evening, Miss Dahlgren. We true romantics.”

Oh no. She knew what he meant. In her real life—her life away from Tyburn and among her artist friends—she could say, I would never consider marrying a man who maliciously enjoys taunting others and thinks himself more clever than everyone else. But now she had to come up with the words that gently let him down, without upsetting George’s political aims. In that moment, a future of political intrigue, as twisted and tangled as the old French court, opened before her. Was this what her life was going to be like? Careful, lithe words and smiles that concealed? Would she get her head lopped off at the end like Marie Antoinette?

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. “Can—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.