“Not at all. I would love Nixon to be caught and punished.” She beamed up at him. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re trying to hunt him down. I think it’s utterly heroic.”
He stiffened and glanced away. “Don’t call me that.” He stood up. “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”
Puzzled and a little disturbed, she watched him leave. What had just happened?
• • •
Lily told Rose and George what Sylvia had done, the mischief she’d tried to make between Lily and her husband.
“More than mischief,” George commented. “It’s a vicious little plot. What did you ever do to her to make her hate you like that, Lily?”
“Nothing,” Lily and Rose said in chorus.
“Lily has been a perfect saint toward her,” Rose declared. “I’d understand if she was trying to get back at me—I never liked her and never tried to hide it. Nobody liked Sylvia at school, but Lily was always nice to her. And Sylvia took advantage.”
“No need to go into all that,” Lily said quickly. “That’s all in the past. The main thing is that I never want to speak to her again, and I wanted you both to know. And to help me if she tries anything again.”
“The woman sounds cracked in the head,” George said. “Now, what are we going to do this morning?”
“I’m going to see how the refurbishments are coming along,” Lily said. “Anyone want to come with me?”
They all three went, and enjoyed themselves hotly debating the merits of various kinds of wall coverings: painted papers, silk or brocade. But apart from the excitement of choosing designs and colors, Lily was a little downhearted. According to the man in charge, it would be at least another two weeks before they could even think of moving in.
• • •
Dammit! Ned had revealed more than he meant to. It was harder than he’d expected, being married and keeping himself to himself.
The trouble was, his wife had this way about her, a way of causing him to lower his barriers without realizing it—until it was too late.
Worse, it seemed that he needed to take his own advice about the effect of bedsport on one’s . . . emotions. Ironic, that. It was because there was only one bed in the damned hotel, of course. Never before had he had such continuous access to a warm and willing female. It played havoc with his . . . equilibrium.
Still—he glanced at the letter he was holding—the solution was in his hand. Nixon had been spotted—reliably spotted by one of his own men, not another wild-goose chase—in Southampton. And this time Ned was going after the wretch himself. He wanted the man dealt with once and for all.
Lily needed that peace of mind.
He broke the news to her that evening as they were dressing to go to the theater. “I have to go away for a week or so. Maybe longer.”
“Can you do this up for me, please? The catch is quite tricky.” He bent over the necklace fastening—a fiddly little thing—and almost dropped it, startled, when she said, “I’ll come with you.”
He was shocked. “You can’t. I’m sorry, but it’s not possible. Not—” He was going to say convenient but that wouldn’t go down too well. “It’s business. Very dull. I need to be able to concentrate and if you came . . .”
“I would distract you?”
“Yes.” It was true, but he didn’t mean it as the compliment she was taking it for, if the little smile on her face was any indication. He would have stressed the danger element, except he didn’t want her to worry.
Marriage was full of traps. The thing to do was to issue statements, not give anyone—meaning his wife—the opportunity to discuss things.
“So I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning,” he said in a brisk voice. End of conversation.
She eyed him thoughtfully in the looking glass, twirling a dusky curl around her fingers. “And what am I to do while you’re away?”
“Do? The usual things, I suppose. Ride in the park, go visiting with your Rutherford relatives, attend balls, harry builders—that sort of thing. Are you ready?”
She picked up a lacy shawl and handed it to him. “Living here, in the hotel?”
“Of course. You told me the house won’t be ready for a couple of weeks.” He arranged the shawl around her shoulders.
She considered that. “I don’t want to stay here on my own.”
“Stay with your family at Ashendon House, then. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have you back.”
She didn’t look too delighted at the idea. She stood back for him to open the door for her. “I’ll think about it.”
Later that evening, as he was handing her down from the carriage, she said, “I’ve thought about it. I think I’ll go and visit Aunt Dottie, in Bath.”
“Fine. Excellent. If that’s what you want.”
• • •
“Lily, my dear girl, whatever are you doing here?” The carriage had pulled up outside Aunt Dottie’s house, and Lily had jumped down to ring the bell herself. To her surprise, instead of hugging her and dragging her inside, Aunt Dottie was peeking past Logan, her butler, regarding Lily with a look of horror.
“I’ve come to visit you, Aunt Dottie.”
“Oh, dear—I wish I’d known! Why didn’t you write to say you were com—oh, of course, I’m sorry, my dear, I wasn’t thinking.” Aunt Dottie’s hands fluttered with distress, waving Lily back into the street. “But you cannot stay here, my love! You simply cannot!”
“But why, Aunt Dottie? What’s the problem?”
“Chicken pox,” the old lady declared tragically. “Two of the housemaids and the youngest footman are stricken already, and the scullery maid started throwing out spots this morning. I suspect the butcher’s boy,” she added darkly. “But you cannot stay even for a minute—it can be horridly disfiguring, and you never had it that time Rose was so ill with it, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“So you mustn’t risk it. You must go away at
