Lily and the Lion (2 page)

Julian cleared his throat and began.

"Dear Mama,

I daresay you'll be deuced surprised to hear from me, as I suspect you were informed of my death some weeks ago! I'm dreadfully sorry if you've suffered, Mama, but I'm very much alive and itching to come home in time for Christmas! I'm staying in the vicarage at Whitfield, a town just north of Dover. I've been abed here for some time, but—don't worry!—I haven't any permanent injuries. I did sustain a bullet wound at Waterloo, and in the confusion directly after the war, I was unable to get word to you of my safety. I reached Dover in quite good health, but was set upon by a footpad that first night while I was awaiting some means of transportation home. I confess, Mama, I was in my altitudes and not exactly in prime twig for fending off a thief. He knocked me out and stole all my money and clothes. I was unconscious off and on for several weeks before I recovered sufficiently to tell the good Vicar Clarke who I am and to write you a letter. The vicar and his family have treated me like royalty and have looked after my every need. I'm especially grateful to their eldest daughter, Lily—a darling girl! Such a vision I woke up to with her sweet face poised above me! I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven! But I digress. Tell Julian to come and fetch me! I'm still weak and needs must bring a nurse along on the journey. My directions are..."

"Et cetera, et cetera." Julian leaned back and drew Winifred against him in a fierce hug. "The rascal!" he growled. "Even if the handwriting had been unrecognizable, there's no mistaking that this is a letter from Peter. No one but my maggoty nephew awakes from a concussed brain and falls immediately in love!"

"Don't you dare call him names, Julian!" Winifred chided playfully. "I've plans to spoil him shamefully when he arrives home!"

Julian raised a tawny brow. "As if he isn't already spoiled beyond redemption! Do you suppose this Lily Clarke is the nurse he means to bring along on the journey? I hope he won't be too disappointed when her parents quite wisely refuse to allow her to accompany two bachelors on a protracted journey requiring at least one night at an inn! I wonder if it was the vicar who found Peter, or if someone else found him and took him to the vicarage? And where was he shot? In the arm, or perhaps a leg? He doesn't give many details."

"I'm just thankful he's alive and tolerably well, if we may believe his report," Winifred said, a small frown puckering her forehead. Then her brow cleared and she smiled archly. "Mayhap he's truly fallen in love with this Lily. I had hoped he would choose one of the Cavendish twins, but I shall be happy with whomever he finally chooses if it means I can become a grandmother at last!"

"I shouldn't count on a match just yet, Win. A passing fancy, I suspect," Julian cautioned her.

"Just because you've never fallen in love doesn't mean Peter can't," Winifred retorted as she pushed herself up from the sofa and turned to face her brother.

"Don't be naive, Winny. Peter's in a vulnerable position just now. And upon reflection, he'll probably realize that Miss Clarke would not be a suitable wife. They move in very different circles, you know."

Winny crossed her arms and looked at him consideringly. "You aren't dismissing her as eligible simply because she's a vicar's daughter, are you? They might come of quite good family and enjoy a comfortable living at Whitfield."

"It's not a matter of genealogy or funds, Winifred," her brother scoffed, waving an elegant hand. "It's just-"

"It's just your personal prejudice against the clergy," Winifred asserted quietly, "and this from a man who once intended to make the Church his livelihood."

Julian's gaze shifted and his eyes clouded with unwelcome memory. "But that was before I inherited the title. Before Tom and Richard were killed."

"But I'll wager you'd still rather be a vicar than a viscount," Winifred persisted.

Julian's expression grew cold as he gave his jacket sleeve a tug. "Why would any sane man wish for such a thing? However, if it could bring back our brothers, I'd happily take my vows! But it won't. Nothing will. And things being as they are, I've no desire to embrace a profession that beguiles gullible people into believing that the world is a benevolent place."

"Oh, Julian, you're hopeless!" said Winifred, throwing up her arms in exasperation. "You've become the most dreadful cynic! You must admit that Providence has been merciful in returning to us our dear Peter!"

"Yes, in this instance we were lucky," Julian agreed with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. Then he added, with a hint of a smile, "I suggest that you count your blessings and do not hang your happiness on the slim chance of snagging a daughter-in-law!"

"Oh, I shan't, Julian. I'm too happy and too blessed to dare hope for anything more than Peter's safe return! And I am eternally indebted to the Clarkes for taking such good care of him. After all these weeks of imagining him in some shallow grave on foreign soil, I can hardly believe..." Winifred pressed a hand against her mouth, tears springing to her eyes as emotion overcame her.

Julian stood and draped a long arm about his sister's shoulders. "You will certainly believe it when I pull up in front of Ashton House with Peter in tow. I want you to spend Christmas there, Winny. Besides, Peter's estate in Derbyshire is so much greater a distance, he would be fagged to death by the time he got there. After the holidays, he should be rested sufficiently to resume his journey. Oh, and you had best advise your solicitor that Edward's nephew, Reginald, must be informed that his inheritance has been stymied by Peter's miraculous return from the grave! What else should we discuss before I go? You will begin packing immediately, I suppose?"

"But I want to go with you, Julian! I want to see Peter as soon as possible," Winifred protested, pulling away to turn pleading eyes to Julian.

"You know I can travel much more expeditiously alone, my dear. And it is wretchedly damp and cold. Peter would not wish you to become ill. I suspect your health is a little frail just now. Your time would be best spent supervising the decoration of Ashton, eating Cook's most nourishing dishes and sleeping every day till noon. Let Peter come home to a cheerfully bedecked house and a plump, rosy mother!"

Winifred propped her hands on her small hips and shook her head, a wide, resigned smile lighting her face. Julian's heart swelled with gratefulness for the return of that girlish smile. "You'd persuade the very devil to do your bidding, Julian Winslow! I'll stay at Ashton, and I'll decorate every chamber in that grand old house till every holly bush in Hampshire is pruned nearly to the roots. But you'd better have my son home for Christmas, or I'll have your handsome hide to hang in Edward's trophy chamber! You have a little less than a fortnight to accomplish it, you know!"

Julian threw back his head and laughed heartily, the deep basso tones echoing down the hall and into the kitchen, where the scullery maids exchanged sighs and smiles. Julian's laugh was as rare as a snow flurry in August, and it had been a long time since the servants at No. 12 Albemarle Street had had the delight of hearing "The Lion's" roar.

"Oh, Winny. How I've longed to hear you threaten and scold me, just as you used to do. Will you never see me as more than your little brother?" he teased.

Winifred's eyes softened. "If I did not think you the most capable, caring man ever born, next to my dear Edward—God rest his soul!—I would not entrust to you my invalid son."

"Your perception of me is singular, Winny," Julian said caustically, showing a sudden change of mood. "You're blinded by our sibling bond, I suppose. I'm not known hereabouts as a particularly 'good' man. Most people think me a cold, uncaring devil." He paused. "And by my own estimation, I do believe they're right."

"They don't know you as I do, Julian," Winifred informed him sternly. "And you don't know yourself, either, for that matter!" she added, poking his waistcoat buttons with a small finger. "Inside that lion's chest beats the heart of a—"

"Lord, don't say it!" Julian protested with a good-natured grimace. "What an unmanly thought to possess the heart of a lamb, or an angel, or some such sentimental claptrap!" Then, before she could say more, Julian bent down and kissed his sister on the forehead. "I'll leave first thing in the morning. Where's my coat? I've much to do! Ah, thank you, Flimwell!"

Flimwell, who had been watching from the door the entire time, rushed forward with Julian's greatcoat and hat and assisted the gentleman into them. With one last hug and kiss for Winny, Julian strode to the door with a jungle cat's easy, muscled grace. Flimwell opened the door and Julian passed through, touching the rim of his hat in a friendly gesture to the thin, middle-aged butler.

Julian descended the steps and traversed the short walkway to the gate of the wrought-iron fence surrounding the small front court of the angular Town house. He lifted his head to the leaden skies. Soot and fog commingled and hung over the city like a funeral shroud. Or so it had seemed to him on his way to Winifred's. Now he imagined the thick grey air as a downy wool blanket, seeming to buffet the buildings against the cold.

Julian's footsteps echoed in the empty neighbourhood, while in the distance a watchman chanted the time in a resonant monotone. Most of the windows of the elegant Town houses were shuttered and the knockers removed from the front doors. The ton were in the country for the holidays, leaving the more fashionable areas of London all but deserted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Julian saw a flickering shadow across the flagged walkway. He turned, but perceived nothing out of the ordinary and no one skulking in the dark. However, he still reached inside his greatcoat pocket and curled his fingers round the comforting handle of the small pistol he carried with him at all times. He'd not be caught unawares like his too-trusting brother, Richard. No, not he.

After a time, Julian grew more relaxed and pulled his hand from out of his pocket to rub the tip of his cold nose. His extremities might be cold, but for the first time in a long time, his heart was heating his in-sides like a balmy summer sun. Peter was alive! And he had only to fetch him home to bring laughter and hope back into his sister's life.

Julian's brows furrowed. But what about this Lily Clarke? He fervently hoped that she would not prove to be a nuisance. A passing fancy, that's all it was that Peter was feeling for her, he was sure. She might very well be moralistic and parochial—certainly no match for Peter, who lived life with a dash of deviltry that would probably offend a prissy vicar's daughter. She'd only known him as an invalid—weak and compelled to stay abed. She wasn't really acquainted with the real Peter at all.

Ah well, as soon as he got Peter away from the Whitfield Vicarage, Julian was quite sure Miss Lily Clarke would be soon forgotten.

* * *

"
D
R.
P
AYNE,
don't you dare use those slimy little beasts on Captain Wendover!" Lily remonstrated as the doctor leaned over Peter's bed. "He's never been leeched and, as you know yourself, he's done very well without resorting to such extremes."

White-haired, stout Dr. Payne straightened and eyed Lily sternly. "I know your opinion about leeches, Lily. And though I've brought a jar with me today, I had not intended to use them on Captain Wendover. I merely set them on the table so that I might have better access to the other instruments in my bag. No need to fly into a miff, m'dear! I've kept the fellow alive this long, haven't I?"

Lily tucked a stray wisp of glossy chestnut hair behind her ear and smiled with relief. "I beg your pardon, sir," she said repentantly, though her brown eyes twinkled merrily. "But when I saw the jar sitting upon the table, and with the morning sun glinting off the glass so brightly, making those, er... least comely of God's creatures look so
ghastly,
I could not prevent myself from offering comment!"

Dr. Payne lifted a large, rough hand and lightly pinched Lily's cheek. "You can always prevent yourself from speaking, Lily, and many a time would have done yourself a great service by keeping silent."

"Lily can't help being outspoken," came a youthful voice from behind the doctor. "And she's always right, y'know! Knows more than any sawbones
I've
ever clapped eyes on!"

Dr. Payne turned back to the bed and scowled at the pale, fair-haired young man reclining against two plump feather pillows. Though Peter was all of five-and-twenty, in his present frail condition he looked much younger. "Excepting yourself, of course," Peter amended, his hazel eyes wide and ingenuous.

Lily dropped her gaze to the rag rug that covered the wood floor and stifled a giggle.

"I never said she didn't have a good head on her shoulders," grumbled Dr. Payne. "However, I
do
think her heart sometimes overrules—"

"A good head, indeed. A pretty head, too," Peter interrupted, in the admiring voice he sometimes used when he was behaving like a mooncalf. Lily's urge to laugh quickly dissipated. She did not like such a tone of voice in Peter. His obvious tendre for her disturbed her very much. She did not return his feelings and had always worried that his infatuation for her might interfere with her duties as nurse. Above all else, she wanted Peter to get well and be taken home to his grieving mother. Thank goodness Peter's uncle was expected to arrive today to do just that.