My Fair Lily (3 page)

“Though your months here will be on the quieter side, it surely cannot hurt to attend an occasional soiree or musicale. There are several fine Scots families in town at the moment. Why, even my grandson is here with his wife. You remember Graelem, don’t you?”

He nodded. “A decent chap.”

“He’s married to Lily’s sister, Laurel.”

“Is she as… er, unusual as Lily?”

Eloise frowned. “There is nothing wrong with Lily. She’s a dear
girl, and has been a good friend to me these past five years since they moved next door.”

“You mistake my meaning, Eloise. I meant to compliment the girl. She’s different, that’s all.” Ewan realized that the well-meaning old dowager was probably quite bored living alone in this grand
home and
eager for young company. He was glad that Lily often visited her. He hoped Meggie would make her as good a companion as that pretty bluestocking.

“I shall accept a few engagements on your behalf,” she continued, “but only those I think will best distract Meggie and allow for quiet amusement.”

“Very well.” His hatred for his grandfather had blinded him to the practical implications of their visit. How would he and Meggie endure all that time under the old man’s roof? Eloise’s suggestions had merit. “I’ll rely on you to guide my sister. Spare no cost to make her happy.”

“What of you?”

He laughed. “I’ll leave you ladies to the business of going about the shops. I’ll find other ways to pass the time.”

Eloise cast him another stern glance. “And abandon your sister?
It
is important for Meggie to have you close at hand. She can’t attend
any of these social engagements alone.”

“She’ll have you.”

“As much as I adore her, I’m not family.”

Ewan scowled. “This isn’t some trick of yours to turn me into a
proper English gentleman, is it?”

“Heavens, no. Even if I wished to, you’re far too stubborn for me to succeed. No, I quite like you as you are. You’re a handsome man, or rather, you will be pleasing to look at once you’ve properly
cleaned up. At the moment, you look shaggier than Jasper.”

Ewan eased back, laughing softly. “Very well, but don’t you dare take your matchmaking aim at me. I will not have an English bride.”

Eloise’s butler walked in just then carrying a tray laden with cakes, a teapot, and the makings for a proper tea. Assuming the role of hostess with elegance and obvious ease, Eloise poured Ewan a cup
of tea before
resuming the conversation he preferred she would forget. “Well,
you’re almost twenty-nine years old and have never been married.”

He dropped two cubes of sugar and a lemon slice into his cup. “Never found the right girl.”

She handed him a slice of plum cake. “What harm can there be in searching for one here? There are many young ladies who come down from Scotland at this time of year. Any one of them will make an excellent wife. And not all English girls are detestable. Take Lily, for example.”

“Her again.” Ewan let out another rumble of laughter. “She’s a
pretty lass, but also very young. I do no’ rob from the cradle.”

“She’s almost nineteen.”

In truth, he’d noticed her womanly curves. How could any man miss the way she was put together? Slender waist, long neck… soft shoulders. Even softer lips. Nor could he overlook her nicely shaped breasts, not with Jasper’s paw prints clearly stamped atop them.

He shook out of his wayward thoughts. “She seems a very clever girl and a decent sort. I would have been ranting had someone—or someone’s dog,” he added, casting a scowl in Jasper’s direction, “dropped me into a puddle. But she did no’ get in the least ruffled
and said it was
no’ necessary to rectify the damage. I will, of course. So I’ll be
needing the name of her dressmaker.”

“That would be the same as mine, Madame de Bressard. She
runs the busiest fashion establishment in town.”

He pursed his lips. “Busy, you say? Then it will take a bit of
doing to have Lily’s gown replaced by tomorrow.”

“Quite a bit,” Eloise said with a grin, obviously referring to the coin he’d have to spend to achieve the intended result. “Her prices
are little more than sanctioned thievery.”

“I’ll no’ pinch pennies when it comes to setting things right with the lass. There’s also the matter of the book she intended to return to you today.”

“That might be a little harder to replace,” Eloise said, handing him another slice of plum cake. “You see, it was a first edition
acquired by
my husband shortly before his death. You know how he loved
shopping for these little finds.”

Ewan’s heart twisted into a knot, understanding the sentiment attached to the book above and beyond the financial outlay. “I’m truly sorry. A greater loss than I imagined, for I can never replace the
memory of his joy in its acquisition.”

“No, no, dear boy. He would not have blamed you, nor do I. In truth, I’ve never read the book and don’t intend to. My taste runs to gossip sheets and scandalous novels, but Lily gets such pleasure from my husband’s library. She’ll feel responsible for failing to
return it to me in its proper condition, but I’ll assure her—”

“No.” He lifted his teacup as though it were a tankard of ale and gulped down the last of the liquid, which had now cooled. “I’ll set that right tomorrow, as well.”

“Nonsense, dear boy. I’ll stop by the antiquarian shops on Charing Cross Road sometime next week and see what they have available. It isn’t all that rare a book. I’m certain I will lay my hands
on two or three copies in no time.”

Next week? Though he did not know Lily at all, he sensed she was the sort who would silently agonize until all was properly put back in place. He resolved to browse the bookshops as soon as he finished with Madame de Bressard tomorrow morning. Perhaps squeeze both chores in between his other responsibilities this
afternoon.

Having devised a plan in his own mind, Ewan spent another few
minutes reminiscing with his hostess and polishing off the last of the outrageously tasty plum cake. As he rose to leave, he wondered whether the duke’s kitchen staff at Lotheil Court was as talented as
Eloise’s cook. He’d find out soon enough. “Eloise, I’ve enjoyed your company, but there’s too much left to be done before nightfall.”

“Of course, but here’s one last matter before you go.” She rang for Watling and instructed the man to bring in certain papers she’d left on her desk.

“What are these for?” Ewan asked as the butler returned and
handed them over.

“The first sheets are letters of introduction to your father’s London solicitors, Dumbley and Sons, and bankers, Lord Guinn and Mr. Ashfield at the Royal Bank. I can vouch for both since my late husband and I have used their services for years. They still represent
my interests.”

“And these others?”

Eloise took a deep breath. “I suspected that you were too caught up in your duties to think of these small matters, so I took the liberty of making lists of the best men’s clubs, tailors, employment agencies. You’ll need to acquire a valet. Obviously, you’re in dire need of one to dress you properly.”

“I do no’ need some
Sassenach
wanker—”

“Ewan! Your language!”

“Och, Eloise, I’m sorry. You know I do no’ belong here, dressing like a peacock and sipping tea with my little finger daintily pointed into the air. I can no’ tiptoe around, for I’m a big oaf. I’m already struggling
to be on my best behavior, and even my best is abysmal. No matter, though. I’ll have work enough to keep me busy and out of trouble sorting out the last details of Father’s estate.”

She cast him an indulgent glance. “Of course. And I’ll busy myself entertaining Meggie. But I’ll have to make some tactical changes if you will not always be at her side. Would you mind if I introduced her to Lily? Encouraged a friendship between the two
girls?”

He arched an eyebrow and laughed. “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

“I suppose, as her brother,” she said, but the determined gleam in her eyes warned that he didn’t really.

He nodded. “She’s about Meggie’s age and seems to be a steady lass.”

“She is. I’m sure Meggie will like all the Farthingale girls.”

“Are there more than just Laurel, Lily, and her twin?”

Eloise nodded. “Five of them. The twins, Lily and Daffodil.”

“Daffodil?”

“Everyone calls her Dillie.” Eloise shook her head and sighed. “Goodness, what were her parents thinking when they named her?
Anyway, the twins are the youngest daughters and still unmarried. There’s Rose Farthingale, the eldest, who is married to Julian Emory, the present Viscount Chatham. Laurel is married to my grandson,
Graelem Dayne, who is next in line to the baronial estates of Moray. Daisy recently married my other grandson, Gabriel Dayne, who was made Earl of Blackthorne as reward for his bravery in battle.”

A lot of fancy titles, Ewan thought, but are they decent in their
hearts? He was acquainted with Graelem, liked and admired him.
“Do what you think best, Eloise. I trust your judgment.”

He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek before heading
for the door. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me and my sister. I
do no’ know how we can ever repay your kindness.”

A blush crept up her lightly wrinkled cheeks. “Nonsense, dear boy. That’s what old friends are for, and I do mean old.” she said with a chuckle. “Our families have known each other for decades. I shudder to think how many!”

He bussed her cheek again and left.

Papers in hand, he descended the front steps in a hurry, for he had much to do before the day was through. Eloise had arranged for
her
carriage to take him to his grandfather’s residence, Lotheil Court,
and even allowed Jasper into the gleaming conveyance for the ride.

“You’d better no’ piss on the fine leather,” he warned his
happily
slobbering companion as they drove away. Jasper ignored him,
instead poking his head out of the window and whimpering as they turned through the gate onto Chipping Way. “What now, ye big looby?”

Ewan glanced out and saw Lily, now wearing a simple white gown with a peach shawl over it, searching for something by the puddle into which she’d fallen. She looked as tempting as a peach ice on a hot summer’s day.

“Bollix. Her spectacles,” he suddenly realized, reaching into his
breast pocket and starting to instruct the driver to bring the carriage
to a halt so he might return them. But a lens popped out as he withdrew the spectacles, and so did the tiny screws attaching the nose piece.

“Jasper, ye looby.” He’d have to replace those too.

EWAN’S GRANDFATHER
summoned him into his library shortly after Ewan had settled into the quarters assigned to him. “How do you
like your rooms?” the old man asked, not bothering to rise from his chair. The blasted monstrosity was as big as a throne and situated
behind a
large mahogany desk in the center of the imposing library. A silver candelabra with scented candles sat atop the desk, gleaming as though new and never used, although Ewan knew it had been
acquired by an ancestor centuries ago.

Mahogany shelves filled with books ran from floor to soaring ceiling and covered all four walls. An exquisite burgundy carpet of oriental design covered much of the polished wood floor. The library
and the man seated squarely in the center of it exuded wealth and power.

“Does it matter what I think?” It did not escape Ewan’s notice that the old man had failed to give him permission to sit in either of the two chairs placed in front of the desk. He considered taking a seat anyway, but decided against it. He wasn’t planning on staying in his grandfather’s company a moment longer than was necessary. No point in getting comfortable. When he challenged his grandfather, it would be over something more important than the offer of a seat he didn’t want in the first place.

“I suppose not. But this was your father’s home, and can be yours if you’ll allow it. You may not like me, but I’m your grandfather, and there’s no denying the family resemblance.”

To Ewan’s disappointment, the old man did bear a striking resemblance to Ewan’s father… as did Ewan. The duke was not as
broad in the shoulders as he was, or as his father had been. However, the
old man must have been formidable in his earlier days. Ewan noticed the portrait of the duke as a young man hanging over the
fireplace mantel and inwardly shuddered. Damn. He could have been gazing into a mirror.

He studied his grandfather. The duke still had a full head of hair, though now a snowy white. His stern lips had yet to crack a smile.

In truth, Ewan wasn’t smiling either.

“I put you in your father’s bedchamber. Thought it might please you. Margaret will have the rooms next to yours. You’ll both join me in the summer salon for breakfast each morning at eight. Promptly. Do as
you
wish the rest of the day.” He rose and stepped around the desk to
approach Ewan, his movements showing none of the frailty often associated with old age. “Is there anything you need?”