Lily and the Lion (5 page)

Julian watched Miss Clarke's reaction to Peter's words and was surprised and pleased to note that she did not blush or simper, but rather assumed a patient, tolerant expression of neutrality. By this lack of consciousness on Miss Clarke's part, he was led to hope that her affections were not irretrievably engaged or that her ambitions were not depending upon Peter's partiality. Because of this, Julian felt safe in expressing his appreciation to her in rather warmer terms than he had at first dared. "I thanked your parents, Miss Clarke. But it seems as though I'm more in
your
debt than anyone's. I thank you, too, most of all."

Miss Clarke modestly nodded her acceptance of Julian's gratitude.

"You'll be even more in debt to her after she's nursed me all the way to Hampshire!" said Peter.

Julian felt his good humour severely tried at the thought of the possible complications which might occur if Miss Clarke continued to remain in Peter's company. And for some reason he found the idea of her close proximity in the carriage rather unsettling to his own comfort, too. It must be the boundless enthusiasm she exuded, and that damned loose bit of hair she kept tucking behind her ear!

But besides all that, Julian was nettled to discover that Peter had engaged Miss Clarke to serve as nurse on the journey without first conferring with him. Ruthlessly and coolly, he executed his initial thrust. "Lord, with all this indebtedness floating about, perhaps we ought
to pay
Miss Clarke for her exertions! It hardly seems fair to wrest her from her snug home in Kent and entrap her in a drafty carriage for two days without some restitution being made. What do you say, Miss Clarke? Will you allow me to pay you?"

"Oh, Lord! Now you've done it, Julian!" said Peter, rolling his eyes.

Undeterred, Julian cocked a brow, saying, "What can you mean, Peter?" But no explanation was necessary. Even if he hadn't already known that he'd succeeded in doing exactly what he'd set out to do— discomposing Miss Clarke—one look at the young woman made the matter sufficiently clear.

After blinking once or twice, as if she hadn't heard Julian correctly, Lilith Clarke's dark eyes met his with unflinching resolve. "You are all kindness to thank me, my lord, but I've only done as anyone would do for another human being. As for restitution, whatever contribution you wish to give to Mr. Hobbs, the chief patron and proprietor of the nearby hospice which houses so many of our wounded soldiers, would certainly be welcome. But
I
will not accept anything from you."

Despite the soft cadence of her pleasant voice and the serene composure of her features, it was obvious to Julian that Miss Clarke was piqued. Eyes did not spark and crackle like a kindled fire without that fire being stoked. And her annoyance was justified, for he'd known very well that he'd offend her if he offered her money. He knew instinctively that she'd not want to be paid for nursing Peter, but rather drew satisfaction from the humanitarian nature of her duties.
That
realization was probably what had goaded him into being so damned vulgar! He mistrusted such generosity of spirit. It stirred up memories and feelings he'd as soon forget.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Clarke." Julian dutifully began his apology. "I only wished in some way to show my appreciation." Besides, if he paid her, he wouldn't have to be personally beholden to her. To make his apology more acceptable, Julian resorted to a method of persuasion which had always served him well. He smiled. And if the tattle-tongues who carried gossip about London could be believed, there was nary a woman in England who could resist one of Julian's rare smiles. Humility demanded that he did not truly believe such an exaggeration, but he thought it worth a try.

"Certainly, my Lord Ashton," she said graciously, "you are forgiven." Yet despite, her words, and though the kindled fire in her eyes had been tamped down to glowing embers, Julian could tell he still had fences to mend with Miss Clarke. The smile hadn't worked. It hadn't appeased her wounded sensibilities. He'd hurt her, and that made her seem vulnerable. Her vulnerability touched his heart a little, a fact that was disturbing and unwelcome. He felt a perverse determination to tear down fences rather than mend them. He said, "I'm surprised your parents approve of such a trip in the company of two bachelors."

Almost imperceptibly, she stiffened. "I shall bring along Janet, my abigail, as chaperon. My parents know Peter very well and do not fear—"

"They certainly don't know
me,
Miss Clarke," Julian stated implacably, "or they'd not be so willing to let you go."

"Good God, Julian!" cried Peter, rocking nervously in the chair. "You're going to give Lily a dashed bad impression of you! Really, Uncle, it's too bad of you to go on like this!"

"My point, Peter, is that while you trust
me
and I trust
you,
I think it peculiar and ill-advised for Miss Clarke's parents to trust anyone they know so little about. The world is not such a safe place as many people wish to believe."

"But how people choose to perceive the world is entirely their own business, don't you think, my lord?" Miss Clarke opined sweetly. "It has been my experience that one receives in kind what one gives out."

Julian was speechless, a condition in which he'd not found himself since he was six years old and his nurse had demanded to know if he'd been a greedy cow and eaten the last peach tart. At the time, Julian's mouth had been full and he'd been unable to answer without implicating himself. Otherwise, even as a child, he'd have come up with some suitable rejoinder. He'd always had a silver tongue, Richard used to say. And Tom had predicted that Julian's sermons would set the congregation aflame with good intentions. Empty words now.

Julian sighed, suddenly ashamed of himself for abusing Miss Clarke's (and her parents') philosophies, and forcing his own disillusioned views onto her notice. "I meant no criticism of your parents, Miss Clarke. You're right. How people perceive the world is entirely their own business. It appears we simply have differing ideas," Julian finally conceded. "Shall we agree to disagree in this case?"

"Of course, my lord," Lily returned, forcing a lightness into her voice. His words troubled her. Truly this was a hard, cynical man! But he'd been so happy to see Peter, had shown such a bounty of true affection at their reunion, that Lily found his expressed opinions and the apparent tenderness of his heart in confusing variance with one another. Perhaps he'd built a wall about his heart and admitted only his family within those impenetrable confines. What a pity if that were so! Lord Ashton had so much to give.

But she'd been tart with him, and she knew such behaviour was not what her papa would approve. Why Peter's uncle provoked her into such unseemly conduct was puzzling! She ought to pity him if he truly had so little confidence in the good in other people. He couldn't be very happy! But perhaps it was his slightly arrogant air that unsettled her. In Lily's estimation, all God's creatures were created equal, and she had difficulty understanding and tolerating arrogance. Then, covertly appraising his rather awe-inspiring presence, she decided that some people perhaps had more of an excuse for arrogance than others.

"We'll be travelling hours together in a closed carriage, my lord," Lily said at last, firmly pleasant. "We can exchange philosophies en route, and perhaps both of us shall be more enlightened by the time we reach Hampshire."

Lord Ashton smiled with faint contempt and bowed. Drat the man, thought Lily, he was being condescending!

Dr. Payne cleared his throat, startling Lily, who'd forgotten that the old gentleman was there, so caught up was she in her conversation with Lord Ashton. "It's more like
days
you'll be spending together, Lily. Peter must be able to lie down comfortably during the entire course of the journey and must be driven at a snail's pace." He turned to look at Lord Ashton and raised his bushy brows. "Did you bring a commodious vehicle in which to transport your nephew?"

"Indeed, I did," replied Lord Ashton. "A berline. And I brought a separate carriage for my servants and the luggage. We can drive as slowly as necessary, putting up at an inn one night so Peter can rest."

"If
rest
can be had at a roadside inn," groaned Peter good-naturedly, seeming glad the conversation had returned to a more congenial footing. "I'm desperate to get home and see Mother!"

"Your mother sent bedlinens to use on the trip, Peter, so you may wish to thank her for making your stay at a roadside inn a little more comfortable," Lord Ashton said, smiling warmly at his nephew. "Though I understand you're not as concerned with comfort as you used to be," he teased.

Peter laughed and shrugged a thin shoulder. Lily watched their friendly banter with pleasure mixed with pain. It seemed the viscount's affection for his nephew was the only thing that managed to warm the world-weary cockles of his lion's heart.

"We will not hurry at the expense of your health, Peter," Lily stressed, bending again to cover his feet, which were poking out from the bottom of the blanket. "I do not precisely understand the distance to your uncle's estate, but even
two
nights in an inn may be necessary to insure your safe passage." She turned to Lord Ashton for confirmation, sure of his cooperation at least in the matter of his nephew's well-being.

Lord Ashton quickly caught the meaning of her look and said, "Whatever is required to carry Peter safely home shall be done in a trice."

"In that we are agreed, my lord," said Lily, straightening and smiling with genuine approval.

"Indeed, Miss Clarke," he returned, inclining his head in a courtly manner. "In that, at least, we are agreed!"

CHAPTER THREE

T
HE MORNING NOT BEING
far advanced, the doctor deemed it acceptable for Peter to begin his journey home that day. With an excited Janet's distracted help, Lily packed a small bag for the two of them.

In the parlour below, the vicar remarked on how frequently Janet's peg-leg could be heard knocking up and down the hall. Mrs. Clarke smiled indulgently. "Janet's dreadfully excited to be going on this trip," she said, twining yellow yarn into a ball while Shad-rack, the black kitten, watched with singular interest. "That accounts for her pacing of the hall. The girl's never been farther than Dover."

"You do think Janet is sufficient chaperonage for Lily, don't you?" asked the vicar, lowering his morning paper from in front of his face to look doubtfully at his wife. "She's as young as Lily and not precisely as, er,
watchful
as one might wish a chaperon to be."

Mrs. Clarke tutted softly. "Do you really think Lily needs to be
watched,
dearest?"

"Well, no," replied the vicar. He lowered his voice. "But what about Lord Ashton?"

"He's an honourable man. I can see it in his eyes," Mrs. Clarke returned complacently, reaching over to pat her husband's hand. "And if something does go amiss, Lily's such a resourceful young woman I'm not at all worried about her."

"I've never known you to be mistaken about eyes, my dear," said the vicar, returning to his paper. "Therefore I shan't worry, either." And the subject was closed to both their satisfaction.

Julian's servants were fed hot beefsteak pie and cabbage soup in the kitchen, and were thereby well fortified for the trip, which, judging by the quickly darkening skies, seemed destined to be plagued by inclement weather.

Julian was induced to share nuncheon with the family while Peter napped, his insistence on greeting his uncle from the chair instead of the bed having tired him out considerably. Sitting at table with Lily, solemn, observant Rachael and their four brothers— ranging in age from eight to fourteen—proved to be quite an experience for Julian.

The children had undoubtedly been admonished to be on their best behaviour, and for this Julian was at first most grateful. However, since they were fearful of misbehaving accidentally, the chattering which would probably have taken place round the table was pretty much reduced to monosyllables and requests for second helpings. While he was used to eating alone and had not thought he would be likely to find entertainment in the conversation of children, Julian found himself wishing they would disport themselves in their usual lively fashion.

Midway through the meal, he was sorely tempted to break the tension by flinging a forkful of mashed potatoes at Mark, the bran-faced twelve-year-old sitting opposite him. This put Julian in mind of the schoolboy pranks he used to engage in with Richard and Tom, and he grew pensive.

"Thir?" said Rachael from her chair near the end of the table. "Why don't you eat your parthnips? Mama thays there will be no pudding for anyone who doth not finish hith parthnips!"

Julian laughed. This gave licence for the others to find amusement in Rachael's warning, and all of the children laughed with him. Julian noticed that Miss Clarke laughed, too, her brown eyes twinkling with merriment most attractively.

"By Jupiter," said Julian, fixing the little girl with a sapient eye, "I perceive you're the peacemaker of the family, Miss Rachael, always looking out after the other fellow."

"Takes after Lily," interjected ten-year-old Luke with a grin.