Four

“Isn’t it a stunning day,” George declared. The sunshine glistened on the lush grass and sparkled on the water. He protected Lilith’s Keats volume in the crook of his arm and beat a steady rhythm with his walking stick. “It inspires one to write poems about the beauty of nature and such.”

“Hand me my book, you vile toad,” Lilith spat. She trailed a foot behind him.

“That’s Lord Vile Toad to you. Or perhaps Lord Vile Fusty Frog is more appropriate. I will also answer to Your Exultant Fusty Frog and Your Fusty Frog Eminence.” And he couldn’t help but add with an arched brow over his shoulder, “And it’s rumored that if you give me kisses, I’ll dispense golden balls.”

“Is that what you call your little surprise last night?” A challenging light burned in her eyes.

That devil inside him, who always came out to play in Lilith’s company, volleyed back. “Little surprise?” His words were inappropriate and ungentlemanly, but he enjoyed seeing her mouth drop. Don’t play with fire or my manhood and not expect to get burned. Frog, indeed.

Alas, his humor was short-lived. Ahead, a cluster of fashionable people strolled, surrounded by several ladies and gentlemen on horseback. George could make out Mrs. Pomfret, the wife of a powerful Tory MP from Yorkshire, and her daughter Cecelia. Guests at his upcoming house party. If he continued down this path, introductions would have to be made, evoking curious inquiries. Lilith, in her angry state, might make a scene. Correct that thought; she would make a scene even if she didn’t open her mouth. She was like a rare white tiger. Stunning, but deadly. He couldn’t release her into genteel society until he had properly trained her.

He seized her arm and veered onto a smaller path protected from view by spreading trees.

She wasn’t fooled.

“Oh, Georgie, were those some of your dear society friends?” Her voice was all saccharine and innocence. She tugged at his arm. “Shall I ask them if they know about your little golden balls? Or will you give me my book back?”

“Truce.” He offered up the book.

“Victory.” She closed it to her bosom.

For several minutes, they walked in silence. He struggled to keep from glancing at her, taking in the way sunlight, filtered through the leaves, fell like lace upon her skin and how the breeze blew her hair willy-nilly about her cheeks. He wanted to somehow preserve this moment. He remembered her words from the other evening: “It’s about capturing the ethereal and fleeting…” In his mind he saw this moment painted, all the colors and textures of the brushstrokes.

“George, why are you staring at me?”

He didn’t realize he had fallen down a rabbit hole of thought. A mental leather strap slapped his wrist, and he hastened to cover his slip. “I’m thinking about what kind of husband would suit you.”

“You mean what kind of husband would suit you for me? Does England have a bachelor diplomat in Siberia or Bangkok?”

“You may laugh, but now is your chance. What kind of man do you desire? What respectable man’s society would represent the pinnacle of your existence so that I may find a genteel version of him for you? Or you can leave me to my own devices. Tell me, how do you feel about musty cigars or reading religious tracts?”

He casually chuckled to hide his curiosity. If she had ever fancied a man, she had never told him about it. He wondered what she found desirable.

“You’re a bachelor and a marquess. It’s more important for you to marry than me, so you can get busy creating a little marquess, and spare marquesses and daughters to barter for powerful clanlike alliances. Tell me what kind of wife you desire.”

“No more games, Lilith. It’s your future we are deciding.”

“It’s not a game. You tell me about you, and I’ll tell you about me. A fair trade.”

“Very well.” He stopped walking. Behind him, ducks skimmed along the water’s surface.

“I prefer…” He paused. On the tip of his tongue was Colette. But he wouldn’t admit he desired a fictional character. That bit of lunacy he kept to himself. “I prefer…a gentle lady possessing pleasing manners and a clear mind,” he said. “She must be charming but never vulgar. She must never embarrass me but assert herself in quiet ways.”

This was harder than he thought. He couldn’t explain that what he wanted was a woman to hold him safe to her body, soothe the restlessness inside him, say the words he couldn’t express, tell him that she loved him only and fully. Instead, he said, “She should be tasteful and understated in her appearance.”

The edge of Lilith’s mouth hiked up in a way that said Are you jesting? “I’m shocked that you are not already married. There are many eligible ladies, as well as sofas, chairs, and ornamental rugs that fit that description.”

“I answered your question,” he said hotly. “And you mocked me.”

She flinched as if he had stung her. When would he ever learn to stop playing her games? He was so busy mentally berating himself that he almost didn’t hear her speak. She was using that unsettling quiet voice again. “I prefer a man who is kind.”

“Merely kind? Not wildly romantic? Handsome in a severe Gothic manner? Brooding? Poetic—a modern Keats? A misunderstood artist?”

“You don’t know me at all.” The wind blew a strand of hair across her mouth. Again he felt the sensation that he was staring at one of those insane Impressionists’ paintings. All the beauty and light assaulted his senses.

“Kindness,” she continued, “loyalty, and a home.”

“Only kindness, loyalty, and a home?”

She thought for a few seconds more. He could see the machinations of her mysterious mind working behind her eyes. “Yes.”

“What about love?”

“I didn’t realize it was in the offering.”

“It could be. I could introduce you to a brooding poet of excellent breeding, competent accounting skills, and deep funds, and you could fall madly in love with him. And then you would have me to thank.”

She walked on. “I think your definition of love and mine are very different.”

“What is your definition?”

“You wouldn’t understand, and you would mock me if I tried to explain.”

He clasped her elbow, halting her progress. “I promise to be deadly serious.”

She clutched her book tighter. On the river, a male duck raised high in the water and beat his wings to challenge another duck. George studied her as she watched the ensuing water fight and heated pursuit across the river.

“I’ll just take kindness and loyalty in a husband,” she said, still looking out at the river. “He must provide me a home, a true home, and he can’t leave me.”

“You should have told me this earlier. There are many more-than-suitable gentlemen who meet the bare requisites.”

“Are there?” she whispered, no hint of the usual derision in her voice. When she turned her head, her large eyes earnest, the tears were starting to collect in the corners. He felt her pain in his own heart again. He longed to hold her, comfort her. Good God, this woman lit up his emotions. One minute he was furious at her and the next filled with sadness.

“Lilith, you could have…bloody hell!”

“What?”

“It’s the Duke of Cliven and his son, Lord Charles.” He nodded to two men strolling down the path. Both men sported canes and carefully tailored clothes.

The elder was tall with powerful shoulders, well-trimmed gray lambchop whiskers, and somber eyes in a lined face. He said very little, but when he did, bills were passed, prime ministers made, and treaties signed.

His third son, Lord Charles, was trim and athletic. Lord Charles was the most dashing, most witty, most sought-after man in London, according to George’s sister. George knew him as his tormentor at Eton, rallying the other boys to ape George in the corridors and hide his Latin work. Now he and his father were the most powerful Whigs in Parliament, their influence spanning both houses. They sat on the fence regarding the Stamp Duty Extension Bill, enjoying letting George toad-eat them.

George had to make a decision of national importance in a matter of a few seconds. Stay, introduce Lilith, and put the tax bill in jeopardy, or hurry along and pretend not to see them.

He seized her elbow and spun her around. “Time to go back.”

“Afraid to be seen with me?”

“Not at all,” he lied, affecting a pleasant voice while trying to drag her along.

“Hello there, Lord Marylewick,” Lord Charles called. “Wait up, my good man.”

“Fuckery,” George growled under his breath.

Lilith giggled. “I didn’t know you were capable of such vibrant language. I rather like it.”

“This is no laughing matter,” George hissed under his breath. “I need their votes for an important bill. I’m begging you, Lilith. For once in your life, behave.”

He affixed an amiable expression on his face and waved at Lord Charles. “Fine day, is it not?”

“You think I can’t behave?” Lilith asked.

“I really don’t have the time for this discussion,” George growled through his pleasant countenance. “Don’t ruin this bill for me, Lilith. Or you will regret it.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes.”

What happened next took on that odd sensation George always experienced when tumbling from a horse. Time slowed so that he could notice every detail: the mischievous smile that snaked over Lilith’s lips. The father’s and son’s expressions as the dazzling lady turned her mesmerizing gaze on them. The guile darkening Lord Charles’s eyes. The burning fist twisting in George’s gut when he bowed and the fatal words fell from his lips. “Your Grace, Lord Charles, may I present my…er…cousin, Miss Lilith Dahlgren.”

Time returned to its normal speed as the conversations collided.

“Miss Lilith Dahlgren!” Lord Charles stopped in his tracks. His predatory expression was momentarily knocked away before returning stronger than before. “We meet at last.” He bowed, a head-flinging, hand-sweeping act worthy of the stage.

“At last?” She blinked and performed a graceful curtsy.

“You attended school with my sister, Evangelina. For years, all we heard was Miss Lilith Dahlgren said this, Miss Lilith Dahlgren wore that. You made quite an impression on her.”

“I had no idea.” Lilith smiled, a gracious, polite one that George hadn’t seen before.“Miss Evangelina certainly didn’t require my fashion sense. She is quite the beauty. And so thoughtful and kind.” This last compliment she addressed to the father, melting his usual grave countenance.

“Ah, she is but a slave to society’s whims, a mere follower, not a leader such as yourself,” Charles said. “All these last months, I’ve walked into art galleries to find to my dismay you had just been there. In fact, we missed each other by mere minutes at Paris last summer. I met your cousins instead—Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Dahlgren, no? I hope I don’t put your nerves on edge when I admit I’ve been quite desirous to meet you. But you know, the more you desire something, the more elusive it becomes. I was beginning to believe that you were a dream.”

“But now you have met me,” she said, a bright twinkle in her eye. “Do you not think our dreams are far better than harsh reality?”

“Even in my dreams I could not imagine such magnificence as you.”

Lilith laughed, a musical sound.

George was offended. He would never dream of being so fast with one of his sister’s classmates whom he had just met. But the duke only chortled at his son’s outrageous behavior, clearly as bamboozled by Charles as the rest of London society.

“Ah, I’ve made you blush prettily, which was really my objective,” Charles said. “How has it escaped my notice all these years that you were Lord Marylewick’s dear cousin? Marylewick, I demand that you meet me at dawn. You, my lord, must eat grass for this unpardonable offense of omission.”

The man needed a proper set-down, but damned if George could deliver it.

“You are deliciously absurd,” Lilith told Lord Charles. How easily she slipped into his breezy urbanity.

“Absolutely absurd,” Charles assured her. “I once tried sense and rationality, but I stuck out like a sore thumb in society.”

“I, for one, don’t understand a word of sense and rationality. Lord Marylewick keeps trying to teach me, but alas, it is going as poorly as the time I tried to teach myself Siamese. However, I’m quite fluent in absurdity, and proficient in ridiculous, should I find myself traveling there.”

“Ridiculous is my favorite holiday spot,” Charles declared. “The views are stunning and the locals utterly charming.”

George wished they would stop this silly conversation at once. He hated when people talked in this nonsensical manner. Say something of value or say nothing at all.

“My dear, I see that you have a book,” Charles observed. “I must know what it is so that I might purchase it immediately.” He slid it from her hands and examined the cover. “Ah, Keats. And well-loved, if I may judge from the worn condition.” He began to quote: “‘O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung / By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, / And pardon that thy secrets should be sung / Even into thine own soft-conched ear: / Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see / The winged Psyche with awaken’d eyes?’”

“Very nice,” Lilith said of his recitation.

“What is your favorite Keats poem?” asked Charles. “I must learn it by heart.”

George expected her to break out in quotes as she usually did. But she remained elusive, drawing her book back and cradling it to her chest. “I do not give away such things so easily.”

“You leave me a mystery that I cannot resist,” Charles said. “I must endeavor to solve it at Lord Marylewick’s annual house party.”

“House party?” She blinked and then raised a brow at George. “Annual house party?”

“The zenith of the season, of course,” Charles answered for George. “Politicians and young debutantes alike swoon to receive an invitation. It’s all political and romantic intrigue, and lawn tennis.”

Lilith continued to gaze at George. The words “why have I never been invited to this party?” hung in the air. George tugged at his tie. He had always assumed she knew about the party but would rather lose an eye and limb than attend. And his mother had made it clear that she would sooner be laid in her cold grave before that “atrocious, recalcitrant girl” Lilith Dahlgren would cross the Tyburn threshold again. Thus he never mentioned it.

But he could tell from her expression she now included “omitted from family annual house party” to her list of perceived injustices he committed against her.

Charles’s glance flickered between Lilith and George, a realization lighting their shallow depths. “Father and I have been looking forward to it with great anticipation,” he said slowly. “We are having our gowns done up, so to speak. But this year, let the other guests chase balls with racquets or sticks. I shall monopolize Miss Dahlgren’s company until I discover her secrets, for I am an intrepid detective.”

Blooming Hades! Lord Charles’s little political maneuver was insidious. He knew full well that Lilith wasn’t invited, and he subtly moved his bishop and knights, boxing in George’s king.

Lilith couldn’t go to the house party. He hadn’t properly educated her yet. In her current feral state, she was capable of single-handedly destroying the entire Tory party’s agenda, not to mention killing his mother.

George had to be subtle, protect his king with the few pawns he had left. “I’m afraid that Miss Dahlgren has a prior en—”

“Why, of course I shall be there!” Lilith cried. “After all, it’s the annual Marylewick house party and family is family. I take my familial obligations very seriously,” she assured Lord Charles. “I should never want a Maryle member to feel shunned by me. How it would break my heart.” George received a hurt flash of her eyes.

“It shall be a fine party,” the duke said. “Come, let us walk and enjoy the day. You look anxious, Lord Marylewick. You are far too serious, my boy. It will do you a world of wonder to relax in God’s creation, listening to the birds chirping and bees buzzing.”

If the birds chirped and bees buzzed, George didn’t hear them. The duke immediately dove into a deep political conversation about the war in Afghanistan, which George, and Samuel Johnson, would hardly define as relaxing. Behind him, Lilith and Charles were engaged in violent flirtation.

If Charles had been George’s son, he would be mortified by his offspring’s outrageous conduct. The duke only laughed indulgently and waxed about the short, bright days of youth. Whenever George tried politely to check her behavior, Lilith would say something such as, “Lord Marylewick, you are a darlingly old-fashioned chaperone,” or “Yes, Papa, dearest.” The duke would chuckle.

The small, private path turned out to be a tiny tributary trickling to hell. It merged into a larger lane that was clogged by the cream of society out sunning themselves. The duke was knee-deep in a discussion of the proposed rectification of a boundary between Greece and Turkey, leaving George no room to wedge in a polite How interesting, but we really must be going. Stuck in the conversational mud, he was powerless to stop Lord Charles from dragging Lilith into the crowd. She glanced back at George, and her smile widened to its full gravitational force. He knew she was putting on a little production to vex him. A tiny revenge. She turned around and allowed Lord Charles to present her.

She was all “How enchanted to meet you,” “What a stunning gown,” “I attended school with your daughter. Such a kind girl. How is she doing? A new baby? You must be very proud,” and “Why yes, I shall be at the Marylewick house party. How lovely that we should meet again.” All the while, Charles kept a possessive hand on her shoulder, as if having finally met her, he was determined to keep her captive.

When His Grace finally paused a moment to rub his whiskers and contemplate the tariffs on New South Wales, George dove into the conversational hole. “Thank you for suggesting the stroll. I say, listening to the chirping birds truly relaxes the soul. Unfortunately, I have some papers to read over before attending Parliament. I’m afraid I must whisk my cousin away.”

“A high-spirited filly, that one.” The duke gazed to where his son had wrapped Lilith’s hand around his elbow. “But she’ll make a fine lady when she’s tamed.”

Lilith would most certainly be tamed and not by Lord Charles. George would be the one to “bleed her wild heart dry” and “destroy her gentle, yearning soul.”

The duke turned to George. “I look forward to your house party and meeting the charming Miss Dahlgren again.”

George bowed and muttered a nicety to excuse himself, instead of the curse he wanted to utter.

His plans to polish up Lilith over the course of a few months and quietly pop her off had exploded. He plunged into the crowd to fish her out before she could make any more of a mockery of him. It was no easy task. He had to answer as to where he had been hiding her all these years. And yes, she was a dear lady. And so very charming.

“Enough of this little show,” he hissed in her ear when he finally reached her.

He managed to untangle her from Charles and forcibly escort her away until he had put a safe distance between her and her impassioned suitor.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused.

“Did what?” she asked, so innocently. “Martyr myself for your political career? Really, you should be grateful. A tiny ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be out of order.”

“You did no such thing. You’re angry because…” He faltered. Admitting the truth was too damning.

She stopped and faced him. “What reason would I have to be angry? That you’ve ejected me from my home? Or the little annual Marylewick house party to which annually I wasn’t invited? In fact, I hadn’t even heard of it. You said you were my family, but we are not related after all. Stop pretending.”

“Did you not once say—no, shout is the better word—that Tyburn was the tenth circle of hell—that Dante had forgotten one? I hope you are quite satisfied with yourself. And don’t think of displaying yourself as boldly as you did with Lord Charles ever again.”

“Why? Am I too lowly for him? Could you not believe that I, Lilith Dahlgren, supposedly devoid of all proper manners, could win the admiration of a duke’s son?”

“I have no doubt in the powers of your charm when properly directed. But the simple truth is that Lord Charles is neither kind nor loyal, although he may give you an impressive home.”

“Really? What terrible thing has he done?”

She searched his face. He heated under her scrutiny. “He…he made sport of me.”

“In Parliament? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“No, at Eton.” He couldn’t explain the humiliation of having books hidden so Charles and the band of school boys who orbited him could delight in knowing George received the paddle, hearing snide little ditties made up about him echoing in the corridors, or wiping dog defecation from his bedcovers. Those episodes really shouldn’t matter almost twenty years later. He shouldn’t still think of them.

“Eton! George, people change from when they were twelve,” she said, as if he were an idiot.

“Truly? Because you’re still as unmanageable and hard-headed!” he fired back out of frustration.

She flinched. “I—I don’t want to talk to you for a while,” she said slowly. “You’ve hurt my feelings.”

She spun on her heel and walked away—her shoulders drooping. Her gown was so tight that it formed tight creases along her back. She appeared frail and sad. He wanted to run to her and assure her that he would make everything well. But he checked himself.

Then she peered over her shoulder at him. The sunlight formed a halo of light around her, like a medieval painting of the Madonna. The beauty flooded his senses and he hastened toward her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why, but when I’m with you, I’m—”

“A consummate arse!”

“I would say unbending and prone to anger in certain situations.”

A burst of laughter shook her body. “Certain situations?”

“You’re not innocent either. And historically, you have never liked Tyburn—”

“Historically, it’s been made abundantly clear to me that I was never wanted at Tyburn.”

George couldn’t refute the hard truth. So he said nothing. Words didn’t seem to be helping their situation.

“I’m so tired,” she said, finally. She closed her eyes and somehow all her wild, magnetic energy drained away. It was like watching a play end, the audience leave, the usher snuff the lamps, leaving an empty theatre and a bare set. “I want to go home.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “But I don’t have one anymore.”