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“Oh no, not Lord Lambton’s seance.” He raised his monocle and bent to whisper in her ear before moving on, “The other one.”
Chapter 14
Lily’s optimism was fast subsiding from the heights to which she’d allowed it to soar. Yes, she had a key and an address. These were necessary practical considerations that would help her achieve her ends.
But how could she begin to entice a gentleman she barely knew to visit her, alone, at a strange house?
Was it even wise, for who knew where it would lead?
How far was she willing to go in order to make a bargain that would depend on a priggish man’s desire for her, and his honour when it came to any agreement?
Disconsolately, she tossed a crumb of bread from a stale fruit bun to a family of ducks swimming in the pond. The park was nearly deserted, and dark clouds scudded across the ashen sky. The landscape looked as bleak as she felt.
The Wednesday seances were becoming monotonous, though that Lord Lambton’s emotional distress at the loss of his daughter didn’t seem to be abating. He happily paid Mrs Moore and Mr Montpelier a handsome sum each week so he could commune with his dead daughter.
And every week he wept more bitterly than the last.
It made Lily feel guilty, though she could rest easier in the knowledge that she wasn’t about to be thrown into the street while she was still so valuable.
Lily looked about her, the hunk of stale bread heavy in her hand. Most people were probably at home, and that’s where she would be if she had a home. Right now, she had as much wish to return to her tiny room in her noisy, unpleasant boarding house as she did of returning to Robert. Or even the maison.
There was no future for her, anywhere that she could see.
She tried to dislodge the pinprick of despair that was slowly growing in her breast. The truth was, she was frightened. Everything required of her demanded that she play a role. Survival demanded that she prop up a flimsy defence of who she really was.
Because the truth would see her catapulted right back into enslavement. True enslavement where she had not even the freedom to feed the ducks if she chose.
“Mrs Eustace, what a surprise to see you here!”
Lily turned at the pleasure in the refined young woman’s voice, astonished to see Miss McTavish coming towards her.
The girl dropped her eyes and added in accents of embarrassment, “Actually, Mrs Eustace, my being here is quite deliberate, for you said you fed the ducks here most fine afternoons, and I did want to speak to you.”
Lily had indicated a location where she might be found in the hope that Mr McTavish would seek her out. As the siblings were clearly fond of one another, she’d thought it not a hopeless wish that the younger McTavish might pass on something positive about her meeting with Lily. Miss McTavish did seem to regard Lily with some admiration judging by her smile and eager manner.
“Yes, happily the ducks are always pleased to see me,” Lily said. “London can be lonely when one doesn’t know anyone.”
“What did bring you to the metropolis?” asked Miss McTavish, coming to stand beside her. Lily was conscious that the young woman’s blue and white princess-line dress, while plain and demure, had all the trimmings that brought it right up to the minute. Unlike Lily’s gown. Mr Montpelier hadn’t the funds to supply her with a modest wardrobe less than two years old, and in her lodgings, and such a modest income, it was difficult to keep her clothing properly laundered. “I imagine you’d have had dozens of suitors where you hailed from.”
“You did? That’s a nice compliment.” Lily smiled. “But I was not interested in suitors after my mourning was finished.” The lies again. But what could she do? “Not for some years, in fact. But,” she shrugged, “I think that might be changing. I will admit to being lonelier in London than I had expected.”
“My brother is lonely too,” Lucy said artlessly, accepting a hunk of bread from Lily with which to feed the ducks.
“Is that so?” Lily tried not to sound too interested. But when Lucy didn’t reply, just continued to stare thoughtfully into the pond as she tossed breadcrumbs to her noisy, squawking audience, she asked, “Has your brother ever married? Or lost someone?”
“He’s never married. But there was someone, I gather, in France.” Miss McTavish sent Lily a pained look. “Hamish and Papa didn’t see eye to eye, so Hamish went to live in France when he was twenty-one. To be an artist.”
“An artist!”
“Yes, he’s a very good one, you know. You should see some of his paintings in the house. Goodness, it’s starting to rain! Come back with me and take shelter. I live not far from here, and then you can see some of Hamish’s landscapes.”
Lily didn’t need to be asked twice. And not because the heavens really did open at that moment.
They were laughing as they rushed through the front door of a dwelling only three minutes from the park, and indeed, Lily was impressed to see the walls covered in paintings. “He hasn’t done all of them, of course, but he does love the Impressionists,” his sister said proudly. “See, that’s one of his. Isn’t it good?”
Impressed, Lily nodded as she gazed up at a brooding landscape painted at dusk. “Is that where he stayed in France?”
“I imagine so. He doesn’t talk about it much. I just know that as soon as he received my letter telling him that…something bad had happened to me…he left everything and caught the next boat back to England.” Her voice dropped, and a deep colour suffused her cheeks. “That’s when he took me to live with him. Nearly three years ago, now. But I sometimes wonder if I took him away from someone he loved, for there’s a sadness in him. He never used to be serious like he is now.”
