“No, it’s just—I didn’t expect it to be so . . .”
“Sweet? Yes, horrible, but ladies usually like sweet drinks. Can I get you something else?” He hovered.
The word Lily had been thinking of was strong, but she didn’t say so. “No, it’s fine, thank you. I was just surprised.” Now that it was down, it left a lovely warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Good. Now, here’s the first letter.” He handed it to her and sat back, watching her eagerly. “See what he says about you?”
Lily unfolded the letter and pretended to read it.
“What do you think about that, eh?” he asked when, after what she judged would be a suitable interval, she handed it back.
“Very nice.”
He blinked and the eager look faded. “Try this one.” He passed her another, and sat there watching her as again she pretended to read it.
The fire crackled and hissed gently in the hearth. The silence of the great walls of books pressed heavily on her. Her throat burned from the drink she’d just swallowed; it threatened to come back up.
It was always unbearable when she tried to read, especially with someone watching, but this was somehow worse. Deceiving this dear old man after the lovely day they’d just had.
Just tell him. Confess. Get it over with. But she couldn’t.
“Very interesting.” She refolded the letter and handed it back, hating herself for being such a coward.
He didn’t comment, just handed her another, saying, “You’ll like this one.”
She wanted to throw it in the fire. Smiling, she unfolded it and stared blindly at the unintelligible writing for as long as she could bear it.
She passed it back to him and said, “Lord Galbraith, I think I’d like to retire now. I have a headache starting, and—”
“You didn’t read a single one of those letters, did you?”
The silence in the room stretched. Lily said nothing. She simply hung her head, drowning in waves of shame.
“You can’t read, can you?”
She forced herself to admit it. “No,” she whispered.
“There, there, girlie, no need to cry.”
Was she crying? She hadn’t noticed. She took the handkerchief he pressed into her hand and scrubbed at her face, wanting to run, to hide, to just disappear.
“Does Ned know?”
She shook her head.
“Don’t look like that, my dear—there are worse things in life than not being able to read. I take it it’s not a problem with your eyes—” He broke off disgusted. “Well, of course it’s not your eyes—been out with you all day, haven’t I? Eyes like a hawk. Pretty too.”
Lily forced herself to speak. “I suppose you think I’m lazy, or stupid—”
“I think nothing of the kind!” The old man harrumphed. “Clever little thing you are—observant, and with intelligent things to say. And not a lazy bone in your body—saw that when I dragged you all over the estate today, making you talk to dashed near every person on it. And did you for one minute let on how tired or bored you were—?”
“Oh, but I wasn’t, I—”
“No, you straightened your spine and sat through it all smiling, didn’t you? Every slow-top on the estate jawing your ear off with trivial rubbish, but did you show it?” He snorted. “You’re no shirker, my girl. Proud to have you in the family. Ned couldn’t have made a better choice.”
At that, Lily’s tears flowed afresh.
“Now, now, don’t take on. It’s nothing to cry over. Perfectly sure you’ve done your damnedest—forgive my language, my dear—done your best to learn, and if you can’t, well it’s some dashed fault in the Creator, that’s all it is. One of God’s mysteries and not for us to question it. Look at me.”
Surprised, she did, dabbing at her eyes.
“Can’t for the life of me tell the difference between red socks and green ones—between red and green anything. Both colors look the same to me. But”—he flung up his hands in a gesture of cheery hopelessness—“does it matter? No, it does not.”
“There’s a big difference between not being able to read and not being able to distinguish red socks from green,” she objected.
“Pooh! Ask me—ask anyone!—if they’d rather have a scholarly girl in the family or one with a warm and loving heart, and you know what they’ll all choose. I know what matters to me, and it’s not a piffling thing like reading.”
She choked on a half laugh. “Says the man who owns the biggest library I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t suppose you’ve seen many. Why would you want to? Yes, I like books; other people like cats. Who’s to say who’s right? The important thing to me right now is that you’re going to make me very happy.”
Lily looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes. “How?” It came out on a wobble.
“Two reasons.” He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. “First, you’re going to make my grandson very happy. Second, you’re going to make me a great-grandfather.”
“How do you know?” All these expectations. Lily was fed up with them, fed up with living with the likelihood of failure always looming. “I was forced on your grandson and he’s still getting used to it. I don’t think he’s very happy. I can’t really tell.”
“If he’s not, he’s a fool, and my grandson is no fool.”
Lily left that one untouched. “As for making you a great-grandfather, what if I don’t have babies? My only two aunts are barren—well, one of them never married so I suppose she doesn’t count—and anyway, people die in childbirth all the time.”
He chuckled. “Cheery little creature, aren’t you? Shall I order my blacks now?”
She gave a half laugh, half sob.
“That’s better.” He refilled her glass. “Now, sit back, drink up, and I’ll read some of my grandson’s letters to you. I think you’ll find them enlightening.” He pulled out a letter and read, “‘Lily made me laugh today. Such a clever observer of people, but she hasn’t a nasty bone in her body. Some of the fine ladies of the ton
