Not Wicked Enough (4 page)

“Last night,” the duke said.

“I meant Lily, not you.”

“Never mind that,” Lily said to her friend. “Let me see you.” She raised her hands so that Ginny would stop, which she did. She was not pleased with what she saw. She had expected to see Ginny recovering from the loss of her husband. She wasn’t. Sadness inhabited her eyes, and she was too thin in a gown black as night and drab beyond words. “You should be glad no one woke you when I arrived,” she said to cover her shock. “It was well after midnight.”

“Last night?” Ginny crossed the black-and-white tiles, hands extended. “Good heavens, Lily. So late. You must be exhausted.”

“I,” said the duke, “am not in the least tired. Thank you for asking after me, Eugenia.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Lily said. She took Ginny’s hands while her friend made a face at her brother. “But I’m here, and I’ve just come back from a bracing walk and feel ready to face a bit of tea and something to eat. Will you join me? I’ll tell you everything that’s happened since you left me bereft at Syton House.” She glanced at Mountjoy, standing by the door. “You, too, duke.”

Ginny enveloped Lily in a hug. Lily breathed in her perfume of roses and citrus. A new scent for Ginny, but she liked it very much. “How wonderful,” Ginny said, “that at last you’ve come to visit after so many months of my pleading with you.”

“I ought to have come sooner.” Indeed she ought to have. If she’d had any idea the case was so dire, she’d have come immediately. She kissed Ginny’s cheek. “You know how I am. Never as organized as one ought to be.” Lily tightened her arms around Ginny and softly said, “My darling, you are far too thin.” She stepped back and released Ginny.

Mountjoy said, “Doyle, bring us tea, won’t you?”

“In the Oldenburg salon,” Ginny said.

“Yes. There.” The duke gestured. “Something to eat as well.”

Lily added, “A substantial something if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Your grace. Lady Eugenia.” The butler bowed at the waist, but he was smiling, which seemed auspicious, though Lily wondered who had decided Ginny was not to be called Mrs. Bryant. “Miss Wellstone.”

Ginny put her arm through Lily’s and headed for the stairs, ignoring her brother. He followed them despite that. “You have the room next to mine, did you know that?”

“The Lilac room I was told. It’s lovely.” Heavens, but she was glad to be here. In Exeter, Ginny had become a very dear friend. “I am now determined to have a room with lilac accents when I’m back at Syton House.”

“I knew you’d love the view of the garden.” They continued walking arm in arm until the stairs were too narrow, and Lily took the lead. She was far too aware of the duke behind them. “They’re not the gardens at Syton House,” Ginny said. “That goes without saying, but we do very well here, all the same.”

Lily walked backward up the stairs so she and Ginny could face each other. His grace continued up the stairs, a pleasantly bland expression on his face. “You were right that I would adore the view. I gazed for several minutes upon the prospect when I arose.” After all this time, Ginny still wore black. There was no question Lily was needed here. Ginny must not be allowed to founder here as she had been. “How have you been, my dearest Eugenia?”

“Oh, very well, thank you. Do you still not sleep well at night?”

“Abysmally, I fear.”
Oh, Ginny
, she thought,
you should not be so sad
. She touched her left hand to the stone wall and held her skirts out of her way with the other as she continued her backward walk up the stairs.

“We keep country hours here,” Mountjoy said.

“I’m sure you do, your grace. Everyone but me keeps them at Syton House. I assure you I’ll muddle along whilst I am here.” She waved her left hand then returned to skimming the wall with her fingertips. “I always do, don’t I, Ginny?”

“Yes, Lily.”

She looked past Ginny to her brother. “Don’t dream of changing your schedule on my account, your grace.”

“I shan’t. Right at the top,” Mountjoy said.

“Right, is it?” She reached the top of the stairs well ahead of Ginny and her brother and turned. She took several steps before she realized the corridor looked familiar. That couldn’t be correct.

“Right,” said the duke from somewhere still on the stairs.

“Lily?” Ginny’s voice came from behind her. “You’ve gone left. It’s the other way.” Lily returned to the stairs and found Ginny and her brother waiting for her. “I should have pointed,” Ginny said.

“No harm,” she said. “For here I am. Safe and sound.”

They reached the Oldenburg salon without further incident. The salon proved to be a smallish room set in a tower at the west end of the house. While not strictly a castle, Bitterward was an old enough structure to have been built with two round towers at the east and west. The Oldenburg salon had the architectural advantage of having windows along the curved outer wall that overlooked the very garden that had attracted her admiration before. The early roses were in bloom, and she wanted to walk outside again just to breathe in the scent.

The salon was charming, with a fireplace mantel of carved mahogany polished to a sheen, as were the paneled walls and ceiling. Very pretty, though she would have preferred if the room had retained more of its Gothic decorations rather than a Tudor character. “This is a newer part of the structure, I presume?”

“Relatively,” Ginny said. “I believe this wing was remodeled during the reign of Charles I. Mountjoy would know.”

“Yes,” the duke said. He tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat, but nothing was going to improve the lay of the fabric except for a pair of scissors and needle and thread. “This wing was extensively redone.”

Ginny put her palms on Lily’s shoulders and slid her
hands down until they were clasping hands. “She adores ruins, Mountjoy.”

“Does she?”

“Yes,” Lily said, looking at him from over Ginny’s shoulder. “She does.”

“After we’ve eaten,” said Ginny, “perhaps you’d like a tour of the church? It’s not far, and I’ve been told it’s Anglo-Saxon.”

Lily gave Ginny’s hands a squeeze before she released her and strolled to a love seat upholstered in dark green velvet. The green would make a striking contrast with her primrose gown. She was never going to marry, for her heart was no longer available for such emotion. But that was no reason not to show herself to advantage when the opportunity arose. Life ought to be lived with due consideration for the beauty of one’s surroundings, and that included the elegance of one’s attire.

“I should adore that,” Lily said.

Ginny sat on an upholstered chair that made her look even more drab and wan than she had in the hall. Lily made a mental note to speak with her brother the duke at her earliest opportunity regarding his lack of attention to his sister. Surely, he had not brought her home to her family only to abandon her to loneliness all these months? She feared he had.

The duke moved a chair nearer his sister and sat. He did not seem much at ease, and yet he was the most vital man she had met in her life. Full of repressed energy.

“I don’t know how much we shall see of Mountjoy,” Ginny said. “He’s the parish magistrate, and the Sessions are on. He’s forever doing this and that about the property. Always meeting with someone or attending to business that keeps him from home.”

His eyebrows rose. “The responsibilities of an estate like Bitterward are not ones I care to delegate.”

“Then I imagine we’ll see very little of you, your grace.”

He nodded. “To my great regret, of course.”

Though she did not say so to Ginny, industrious and useful occupations seemed in keeping with the man. She suspected as well that a man as vital as him had a mistress or a lover or two somewhere not far away.

“He’s going to marry the daughter of one of our neighbors. Miss Jane Kirk. You’ll meet her by and by. You’ll like her exceedingly. She’s two younger sisters, both delightful. You won’t meet Miss Caroline Kirk, though. She’s away just now.”

“Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials, your grace.”

“Thank you, though your good wishes are premature.”

“Come now, Mountjoy, of course you’ll marry Jane.”

“I will,” he said.

Lily leaned against the sofa, stretching an arm along the top and extending one leg. She considered what Ginny had said and the manner of her delivery. “I take it this is one of those situations in which everyone agreed the match was a splendid idea even before you’d met.”

“Yes,” Mountjoy said. “That’s it exactly.”

“You love her madly, I hope.”

Ginny leaned forward. “Everyone loves Jane.”

“I adore a romantic tale. She loves him madly, too, am I right?”

“How can she not? He’s Mountjoy, after all. He has a way of getting what he wants.”

She looked to the duke. “Indeed, your grace?”

“Yes, Miss Wellstone”—he smiled—“I do.”

A servant brought in the tea and refreshments, and while the tray was set on a table near the sofa, Lily used the silence to study her friend. “Ginny.” She extended her hand, and after a moment, Ginny took it. Lily drew her to the sofa. “Have you been ill?”

“I enjoy very good health.” At twenty-three, Ginny was two years younger than Lily, and though they were both blondes, Ginny’s hair was much lighter than hers, and her eyes were blue, not brown.

“I can’t say the evidence supports you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You miss him,” Lily said. “I know that.” She handed Ginny her handkerchief. Ginny shook her head, but took the handkerchief anyway.

“I do.” She pressed the embroidered silk to her eyes.

She understood loss, and Ginny knew that. She glanced at the duke again, meeting his gaze as she spoke. “You have your family to rely on, and that is something fine, Ginny.”

“Yes, yes, I do.” She balled up the handkerchief. “I do know how fortunate I am.” Ginny knew about Lily’s estrangement from her father, and that, until her father came to Syton House, she had lived on her own from quite a young age.

When the tea was ready, Ginny, being the excellent hostess that she was, poured while Lily prepared plates of food for herself and the others. Cucumber and watercress sandwiches, cold ham, bread, crackers, and cheese. The butter was stamped with Mountjoy’s crest, a swan, wings spread and wearing a duke’s coronet with a broken chain around its neck. She arranged and rearranged the food on the plates until she was satisfied with the placement and balance of colors and textures.

“I will engage to fill your mind with happier thoughts,” she said when she’d handed out the food and sat with her plate. Though she was hungry, she didn’t eat right away. She wanted time to admire the palette of her breakfast plate. “One does not easily recover from the loss of a deep and abiding love.”

“No,” Ginny said.

“I am proof one can go on and even be happy.” She leaned to cup a hand to Ginny’s cheek. “We must, you know, even when we’ve lost the person we love most in all the world.”

“Have you suffered such a loss, Miss Wellstone?” The duke set his plate and his tea on a table near him.

“I have, your grace.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you.”

Ginny covered Lily’s hand with hers and gave it a squeeze. “I’ve told everyone about you. Even Mountjoy, when he was here before.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She cocked her head. Lord, Ginny must get out of black. “What have you said, Ginny?”

His grace sipped his tea then answered for his sister. “That you are wonderful and amusing, and the best friend she could ever have.”

“I adore being flattered.” She intended to discover why Ginny’s brothers had neglected her until she’d become this pale, wan creature devoid of the spirit she so loved about her. Had neither of them seen how heartbroken and unhappy their sister was? Had they even tried to entertain her? To occupy her hours? Introduce her to suitable and compatible gentlemen and women who would befriend her?

“Now that you’re here,” Ginny said, “we’re going to have such a lovely time.”

“Oh, indeed we are. Depend upon it.” Lily crossed her ankles to one side and ate what proved to be a devilishly good watercress sandwich. The rest of the food was just as superlative, better than what her own cook produced, and he was so French she barely understood a word he said. The crackers were crisp and flavorful, the bread fresh, and the Brie and Stilton first-rate. “Does your dairywoman make a Devonshire cream? If she does and it’s as lovely as this, I warn you, I may never leave.”

“She does, it is, and you are welcome to stay here for as long as you like.”

“You’ll regret saying that.” Lily ate another sandwich. “If only it were possible.”

Ginny picked at her food while Lily eyed another watercress sandwich and wondered if she ought to simply get another plate before she’d finished her first. “I shan’t,” Ginny said. She gave her brother a defiant look. “In fact, I wish you would live here.”