Page 31 of Lyon on the Loose

“I would thank you not to insult me when I have only just arrived, Felicity! I do not behave like a boor.”

“It is my job as your sister to insult you—or had you forgotten?” She pushed him lightly on the shoulder.

The mask he wore remained in place for a moment, then his expression relaxed, and his shoulders dropped. He gave her a brief peck on the cheek.

“Greetings, sister. I had forgotten how forthright you tend to be. How is Mama treating you—still like an unpaid skivvy?” He gazed up at the trailing ivy.

“No. Not so much. I went to Cousin Sarah’s to visit a sick friend in London—you’ve probably heard about that. I think Mama realized she had quite enough people running around after her and didn’t need me to do it all.”

In truth, since their recent conversation, Mama had been almost . . . pleasant. She’d even shown her daughter something akin to respect. Which was surprising, considering all Lissy’s misdemeanors.

God forbid Mama should ever discover what had passed between herself and Roland Chetwynd! Although Mama was going to learn eventually, when they began courting in earnest.

“Are you happy being back in your old room?” she asked Latymer.

“Yes—and very comfortable it is. My own home is somewhat drafty. Yes, I know—it’s hard to believe there is anywhere more drafty than a medieval castle with an Elizabethan house tacked onto it, but the walls here do at least protect us from the wind. Where I live, there is no protection from the wind at all.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have chosen to live in the Fens. They always struck me as very bleak. Shall I call for some tea?”

“I shall wait until Mama calls for it. You know she doesn’t like us taking tea without her.”

“I always knew you were a stickler, Latymer—but I didn’t realize you were still afraid of Mama.”

“I’m not afraid of her. Whatever has got into you, Lissy? You are determined to tease me.”

Lissy felt her cheeks grow hot. She could hardly admit to the real reason she was so happy. She would have to be far more circumspect if the truth about herself and Roland was not to escape before they were ready.

“I suppose I may as well help with the ivy, even though it’ll be wilting in two days’ time. Should have used dried flowers instead. I’ve always thought of ivy as a pagan symbol, and therefore it has no place in a Christian house.”

“I am going to love having you help me and lecture me on morality at the same time!” she said tartly. Still, he would make the work go faster—and that meant she’d have more free time to spend with Roland—as soon as the latter escaped his duties.

Latymer ascended the stool, steadied himself, pushed the dangling ivy into place, and reached down for a pin. “That new secretary of Mama’s—what do you know about him?”

Lissy’s throat went dry. Why was Latymer asking about Roland?

“Oh, not very much. Only that he replaced Mr. Dashwood. He hasn’t been here long.”

“I was just curious. I found him examining the old palstave attached to the sewing room doorway. The sword that hangs above the door had also been disturbed—it was put back the wrong way round—and I noticed one or two other weapons had been handled. When I asked him about it, he joked that he wanted to make sure the castle could be protected in case of attack. But I cannot help thinking he was examining them for the purpose of putting a value on them.”

“Perhaps Mama asked him to do some valuations,” she said lightly. “She may be thinking of selling things. Ancient armor and weapons are not the most fashionable of decorations.”

“Do you have the shears? I’m going to snip this bit, so it doesn’t dangle.” Latymer held out his hand. “You may be right, but he gave a guilty start when I came in. Why would he do that unless he was doing something nefarious?”

She handed him the shears. That did sound odd. But all she said was, “Oh, I’m sure he wasn’t up to anything untoward.”

“There.” Latymer stepped down from the stool and surveyed his handiwork. “That will do—assuming you don’t want to change your mind and put up something less heathen.”

“No, brother. I’m very happy with it. Now, perhaps we can persuade Mama that it’s time for tea.”

“Yes, indeed. But I must warn you, I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach about that Mr. Cowley. I do not feel he is a man to be trusted, and I’m certain he’s concealing a good many secrets. I shall be keeping a watchful eye on him while I’m here, and I suggest you do the same. If I see anything else suspicious, I shall report it to Mama immediately.”

Unfortunately, she couldn’t wholly disagree with his opinion. Roland was hiding things—just not the sort of things Latymer imagined. Or so she hoped. She didn’t bother to counter her brother’s assertions as she followed him out of the room.

Why—just when she had finally decided to give her heart to Roland Chetwynd—had Latymer come along and sown a seed of doubt in her mind? She would have to confront Roland about his examination of the weapons and pray that he had a proper explanation.

Roland, however, had made himself scarce and was no longer joining the family for meals—claiming, so Hugo informed her, that he preferred to eat as he worked. Certain he must be avoiding her, she was beginning to worry she’d made a complete fool of herself—and that Roland held far more secrets than he had yet been prepared to reveal.

Her uncertainty deepened when Hugo engaged her in a whispered conversation at luncheon on the day before the ball.