Six

The morning light warmed Lilith’s face. She wasn’t ready to wake up yet. She wanted to loll in this peaceful, drowsy feeling longer. She snuggled into the soft sheets and drifted back into her dream where she was clad in Colette’s robes and veil and dancing in a flower garden. She was completely free, her spirit unencumbered. She lifted her smiling face to the brilliant sky.

Tap tap.

Colette stopped. How did a door suddenly appear in her garden?

Tap tap.

“Miss Dahlgren, Lord Marylewick requests your presence at breakfast,” a timid female voice said.

Lilith’s lids shot open. Brilliant light flooded in from two huge windows on the opposite wall, hurting her eyes. She wasn’t dancing in a garden. Where was she? And how did she get in this nightgown?

“Shall I help you dress?” the voice said.

Lilith pressed her hand to her thundering heart. What was happening? Her sleep-dulled mind slowly sharpened. The previous day’s memory returned. She had been betrayed again. Frances and Edgar had deserted her. Her lovely life in the world of art and words had been ripped away.

She drew her knees to her chest. She didn’t have the strength to get up.

“Miss?” The determined young servant slipped into the room. “Are you well?” she cried when she spied Lilith huddled on the bed.

An anxious thought exploded in Lilith’s mind. The story! Where was the story? If George found out…

Lilith bolted up. “Where are my…my things?” Oh God! She studied her chamber—a bright, airy room in George’s Grosvenor Square prison. She had slept in a large mahogany canopy bed. On the left wall stood a mirrored wardrobe, and on the other wall, a washing stand and carved bureau writing desk sandwiched the chimney-piece.

“I put your clothes and toiletries in the wardrobe,” the maid said.

Lilith rushed to the wardrobe and tore open the doors. Her gowns and chemises were neatly pressed and hung. Her reticule dangled from a hook. The drawers housed her folded stockings and pantalets. But her portmanteau and portfolio remained missing. She released a panicked squeal.

“I’m Lucy,” the servant said, not commenting on Lilith’s frantic fossicking. “I thought your nightgown was too worn. Lord Marylewick’s sister kindly lent one. Shall I help you dress?”

“My portfolio!” Lilith cried. “Dear God! Where is my portfolio? Did George take it?”

Lucy blushed. “I-I don’t recall Lord Marylewick visiting your chamber last night. I placed it in the bureau. I thought that’s where you would want it, miss.”

Lilith pulled down the bureau desktop to find the portfolio still locked and resting in a cubby below her volume of Keats. She yanked them out and hugged them.

“Thank you, Lucy,” she whispered, sinking into the chair. Tears formed in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Lilith picked up the pen from the inkwell. Her fingers were shaking around the point. She had to write. It was the only way she knew to make sense of what had happened, else she would fall apart. “P-pray, tell Lord Marylewick that I’m indisposed and desire a nice pot of tea—and toffee if available—brought to my room.”

The servant’s mouth dropped open as if she had been asked to climb onto the roof and then jump. “You…you really want me to tell my lord that? Are you quite certain, miss?”

“Yes, please.”

Lucy swayed on her feet as if waiting for Lilith to change her mind. When Lilith didn’t, she curtsied and edged fearfully out of the room.

Lilith felt sorry for Lucy. No doubt Lord Marylewick marched about his house like Lewis Carroll’s Queen of Hearts, cutting off the heads of anyone who dared to defy him.

She couldn’t face him yet. She had to gather her emotions and plant them in neat rows of prose. She crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out her key from her reticule. Back at the bureau, she unlocked the portfolio and then grabbed a piece of stationery with a big gold M embossed on it.

She marked through the M until she couldn’t see it anymore. “Please be present for me, Muse. I need you.”

Colette blinked, drowsy from the poison the sultan had forced her to drink. She could make out vivid drapes in deep reds and purples and the gleam of gold ornaments.

A shadow moved from the dim corners of the tent. “You’re awake, my fair one.” The sultan came into the sparse light.

She struggled to rise, clutching at the blanket to cover her bare skin. She had never felt more vulnerable in her life—her clothes, her identity, everything that was hers, stripped away. “What are you going to do with me?”

He shrugged. “Take you to my palace.”

“You’re not going to…to…”

He raised a black brow. “To what, my lovely dove?”

She raised her head boldly, refusing to show fear. “Ravish me?”

He chuckled darkly, a strangely musical sound. “You think me a monster.”He twined her hair about his finger. Her body trembled with terror…and pleasure. “I will ravish you in good time,” he growled. “Rest now, soon we will travel.” He strode to the tent’s entrance. “And don’t think of escaping.” He opened the flap with his sword and strolled out. She heard him order the guards outside,“Give her anything she desires, but don’t let her leave.”

Colette buried her head in her hands and wept…

and wept…

and wept…

and wept some more.

“Muse, I realize she’s distraught, but how does she get out? She needs a plan. She needs hope.”

“Why have I lived only to know pain?” Colette cried out. “I can go on no longer. My soul is tired and desires to rest in the heavens.”

What? Lilith stared at the pages. Colette couldn’t die. “No, no, Muse. She must live. This can’t be a tragedy. Tell me she escapes.”

Her pen waited, poised on the page. But no words came.

“No.” Her eyes grew moist again.

Tap tap.

“Pardon, Miss Dahlgren,” Lucy called.

She jammed the pages into her portfolio, locked it again, and wiped her eyes on the nightgown sleeve. “Yes.”

The door cracked enough for Lucy to slip through. “His lordship still requests your presence downstairs.” She kept her gaze averted.

“Tell him that I’m sorry, but I prefer my presence in this chamber.”

“He said…” Lucy swallowed. “He said that we don’t practice the loose and lazy hours you are accustomed to. If you don’t come to the dining room, he shall personally drag you there.”

“Ooh,” said Lilith after a beat. “Very well, then.” She rose and marched from her room.

“Miss Dahlgren, wait!” Lucy scurried behind her. “You’re still in your nightclothes. I think your blue gown would be lovely. Shall I put it on you? And your hair? Please, miss, please!”

Lilith continued down the grand stairs. “I’m sorry, Lucy. But I would be loath to keep Lord Marylewick waiting over something as trivial as clothing.”

* * *

Lilith flung open the dining room doors. She interrupted what appeared to be a serious conversation between George and his sister across the vast table. Stacks of books crowded about a plate set between sister and brother.

“Good morning, Georgie!” Lilith cried. “Isn’t it a glorious day?” She twirled on her toes, the motion lifting her hem.

The ever proper Penelope shrieked and then pressed her hand to her mouth, no doubt shocked to have emitted a sound above a feminine whisper.

George shot up from this chair, splashing his tea onto the pristine tablecloth. “Lilith, go put on decent clothes immediately.”

“But I had to hurry down in terror of being dragged to breakfast. Really, George, you are positively barbaric.”

“Y-you shouldn’t say such things about Lord Marylewick, especially after all he’s done for you,” Penelope ventured and then looked to her brother to see if her words met his approval.

“Is this my seat?” Lilith asked. “By these books? How lovely, I shall be hidden.”

“Lady Fenmore has graciously lent those to you,” George said through his tight jaw.

Lilith picked up a volume. What Every Young Lady of Quality Should Know Upon Entering into Society and Marriage: A Guide to Gentle Breeding. Then she saw the document resting beside her plate—The Education of Lilith Dahlgren.

1. Daily calisthenics. 2. Practice manners of better society…

Lilith’s mouth dropped.

“Shall I pour some tea, Miss Dahlgren?” the footman asked.

“No, I’ll have hemlock with two lumps of sugar.” Lilith turned to George, her face aflame with anger. “What is this?”

“It is a schedule for your improvement,” he responded, taking his seat again and placing his linen back in his lap.

“My improvement!” She rattled the paper in the air—written proof that she wasn’t good enough for the Maryles. Yet she was no longer a hurt, turned-away child but a woman with her own mind and sense of worth. “George, this is insulting!”

Penelope’s jaw dropped. No one was supposed to speak harshly to George. “Now, Lilith…”

“Insulting, assuming, and ridiculous,” Lilith expounded.

George calmly sliced into a mushroom. “If you desire to attend the house party, then you shall adhere to those items.”

Ah yes, that stupid house party that she’d used against George yesterday. “I may have been rather hasty on that point. And coming to stay here, for that matter.”

His face jerked up. “What do you mean? Where else would you go? Who would take you in?”

That was the heart of the problem. “I know of s-several colonies where artists—”

“If you care to see a penny of your monies, you will not set foot in an artist colony.” He was on his feet again. Cordlike tendons bulged on his neck. “I’m tired of your antics, Lilith,” he thundered. “You shall attend the house party, and you shall behave like a proper lady for its duration.”

Penelope flinched. Lilith narrowed her eyes. This was the unyielding, arrogant George—a typical Maryle silverback ape—to which she was accustomed. Now that he had entrapped her in his home, he assumed he could do what he may with her. Just like the sultan.

She knew better than to get in a shouting match. She would plan her escape later when she could think. For now, she needed to buy a little time.

“I’m sorry, Lord Marylewick,” she said sweetly, gazing up at him, pouting her lips. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I especially love item four, Ensure that Miss Dahlgren only consumes appropriate literature and art. I’m certain I’m the way I am because of all the bad art I’ve consumed.”

He studied her, his eyes suspicious slits. “You will not distract me from the issue at hand. I am not a tyrant, but you will not listen to reason. You don’t know what is good for you. You have proven that over and over.”

“I’m such a mindless little thing.” Lilith directed a giggle at Penelope, who appeared to be relaxing now that no one was shouting and all the women had returned to their proper submissive places.

George continued to stare suspiciously. Lilith continued to smile sweetly.

“I’m going to the club early to converse with the Prime Minister,” he said slowly. “You will don proper clothes and meet Penelope in the garden for calisthenics. Afterwards, when the shops open, she will assist you in having gowns made—I have given Penelope a description of the types of gowns I find acceptable.”

“You don’t dictate how I dress.”

He raked her up and down. “I must, if this is your idea of appropriate attire. No, aside from unbecomingly popping at the seams, your current gowns are the wrong color and fit. Then in the afternoon, you shall review the books before you. I shall check your progress upon returning from Parliament. If you give Penelope any difficulty, a footman will be dispatched to me, and I shall deal with you personally.”

“Personally?” Lilith arched a brow. “What are you going to do if I misbehave? Spank me? Maybe a little whack with the pillow?”

He opened his mouth, but thought better of whatever words he was about to utter. A beat passed before he spoke again in a measured manner. “I’m not going to play your games, Lilith. I’m not your frog. There is no golden ball. I did not advance your money to pay for your late rent. I paid for it out of my own funds. You are indebted to me for sixty-five pounds.”

Hang Edgar and Frances for leaving her! Hang her mother for marrying into the Maryle family, and hang Lilith for allowing herself to come under George’s control again. She blinked back the tears daring to form in her eyes. That hideous tyrant would not see her cry again. He would not enjoy that luxury.

“A proper, respectable gentleman courts a well-behaved lady,” he prattled on. “That is the way of the world. And the only way you will receive your trust money is if you marry according to my approval. Many eligible gentlemen will attend the house party. I suggest you follow my counsel or…” He opened his palms.

“Or?” she spat.

“Beg on the street. Now eat your breakfast. You need regular, nourishing meals.” He signaled to a footman, who rushed forward to help Lilith into her chair.

The sultan must die, Muse! Not Colette.

Lilith jammed her fork into a poached egg. Colette will plunge her knife into the sultan’s heart, piercing it like an egg yolk, his lifeblood spewing forth.

* * *

George stalked from the dining room and ordered his hat, gloves, and coat. He could see the terror in the footman’s eyes and he realized how harsh he sounded—like his father.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

He peered back at the dining room. He hadn’t intended to be so severe, but she had dared to appear in that flimsy nightgown that silhouetted her luscious contours to mock him. He had been up most of the night worrying and writing out her plan of improvement. He had panicked when she said she didn’t care to attend the house party. Typical Lilith behavior. Yesterday, she was aflame to go. But now that London society waited with bated breath for this house party because she was attending, she casually tossed the party aside.

Yet was he making her pay for his own frustration? He remembered the pain in her eyes when she realized her cousins had left her. No doubt learning she had been excluded from the house party for years had hurt. She was orphaned again, drifting, scared, and trying to survive, a bit like Colette but with sharp claws and a vicious tongue.

He considered returning to the dining room and explaining his intentions more calmly. But Lilith would only mock him if he showed weakness. She needed to learn the harsh lesson of responsibility that he had fortunately gained at a tender age. “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” his father oft said. George would never physically hurt Lilith. Or any lady or child, for that matter, but he wouldn’t spare Lilith the painful rod of his censure if it helped her.

He turned and headed out the door.

* * *

Lilith stood in the tiny courtyard, hefting a metal hoop over her head, and pondering which artist colony might take her in, how many pages she needed to write to earn sixty-five pounds, and ways to have Colette kill the sultan.

Across from her, Lady Fenmore lifted a matching metal hoop. Her stiff smile appeared tabbed on like a cut-out doll’s. The two ladies had enjoyed a strained relationship since Lilith, in one of her childhood tantrums, cut off several of Penelope’s beautiful spiral curls after Penelope refused to let Lilith play with her pristine doll collection. “You will ruin them like you ruin everything,” Penelope had sniped, prompting Lilith to reach for the clippers.

Penelope leaned her hoop to the left. “To the left, back to the center, now to the right,” she ordered like a soft-spoken drill sergeant, seemingly unaware of all the stable hands peering around the corner to enjoy the spectacle. “Do try to straighten your posture, Lilith. Turn your head to gaze up and keep your limbs slightly apart.”

Lilith couldn’t bend, much less breathe, in her corset. “I feel like a yogi from India.”

“A yogi?”

“A person who ponders the meaning of life while assuming different positions with his body.”

Penelope wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know if George thinks you should say such things.”

Lilith raised her hoop. Given her emotional instability at the moment, she opted to change the subject before she blew up in fury over the subject of George’s censorship. “Why are you not residing at your husband’s London home?”

Penelope’s brow creased, but her smile remained intact. “Lord Fenmore is at his hunting lodge. My husband loves horses and hunting. Always hunting.”

“I didn’t think it was hunting season.”

A cloud passed across her eyes. “I just adore my brother,” she said, steering the conversation away from her husband. “He requires a lady to keep his home. He unselfishly puts everyone else’s needs first. Now bend to the left.”

“A regular Atlas.”

“Atlas?”

“The Greek god carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.” Lilith lowered her hoop to demonstrate.

“I don’t know if George thinks you should say such things.”

“I don’t care what people think I should do or say,” Lilith replied, no longer able to hold her tongue.

Penelope flinched as though free will were a terrifying concept. Hers was a flat world and ships that ventured too far fell off the edge. “Ladies should always seek to please their brothers or parents or…or…husbands in all matters.”

“What if your husband, brothers, or parents are cruel monsters?”

Penelope’s eyes turned hot. “I hope you aren’t suggesting my brother is a cruel monster. He only wants what’s best for you. He’s so caring. You know nothing about him.”

Lilith, who was bending to the right, burst out in incredulous laughter, causing her to lose balance. Her staystrings popped as she fell to the ground and the giant ring crashed upon her. Penelope gazed down with a smug expression that said See what happens when you say terrible things about Lord Marylewick.