side and her place was opposite Sir Benjamin's.
Only yesterday she would have been delighted by the impression that she was already mistress, but now it simply seemed awkward. Conversation faltered until Mistress Abbotsford began to chatter about local goings-on. Lily saw that this was the usual way of things, and perhaps how Sir Benjamin kept in touch with the area.
Lily listened for mention of aristocracy or Town people nearby and heard none.
Could she hope?
She hadn't thought herself a wild dreamer, but crushed hope unfurled again.
Hope and a will to fight.
If she married Sir Benjamin, she'd become Lady Brook, and that name would trigger no memories. If no one in the area recognized her, she would be safe. She'd never be tempted to go farther afield, and clearly Sir Benjamin rarely left this area. He'd told her that the quarterly meeting of botanists in Birmingham was his only travel.
If anyone from the grander world visited here, Lady Brook should still be safe from all except those who'd known her well in London. In London, she'd generally dressed finely, and for evening affairs she'd used paint, as was the fashion.
Would Lady Brook, sober of dress, neat of cap and apron, admired for her charity and virtue, stir any memories? If she did, would they be believed? People did sometimes resemble others, but no one leapt to conviction that the two were one.
When the guests had gone, Sir Benjamin said, "You look thoughtful, ma'am. And not happily so. If that was unpleasant for you, I apologize."
She smiled at him. "Not unpleasant, no, but a little difficult. We should talk about my future."
His chin rose. "I've sent letters. We shall have to wait and see."
He stalked off to his library.
She hurried after, entering his room without a knock. "Did I offend you? I would not like to think so."
He was facing the window. "No, ma'am."
Lily weighed her option and gambled. She went closer, so close as to be only a foot or so behind him. "You are being so kind, sir, especially to my children. The hobby horse for Tommy, playing chess with Michael. Their father was never so kind."
He turned, as she'd hoped he would. "He was cruel to them?"
"No, not that. But he didn't like children, not even his own. They learned to stay out of his way."
"He must have been a foolish man."
"In many ways he was." She decided to give him some of the truth. "I confess that I wasn't sorry when he died, only for the manner of it. I'd have been sorrier if I'd known how his money was tied up, that it would end with him. You must think me a cold, heartless woman."
He took her hands. "Never! He was clearly a brute."
"Others didn't think so. He put on a good front. In truth, he was your opposite, Sir Benjamin. To many you may seem harsh, but those who know you know a warm heart and a most noble soul."
"Ma'am!" he protested.
"Do I embarrass you? I won't apologize. My husband was surly and cold at home, but amiable and warm to the world. Thus no one understood..." Heaven help her, she'd almost slid into the snake pit of truth. "I will leave you now, sir, to your peace and quiet."
She hurried away. Truth was the most perilous thing.
And yet, she hated lies.
***
Ben watched Mistress Gifford leave, wishing she'd stayed. He'd always valued his privacy here, his solitary contentment, but now the room seemed lonely. He'd like to ask her to sit here with him whenever possible, but she had her children to care for.
They were remarkably fine children to come from such a home. She'd raised them well.
He wished he could give her something to lighten her load, but what? To offer trinkets would suggest immoral intent. He felt immoral urges, but he'd never subject her to insult. In a kinder season, he'd pick flowers for her room.
All he had was books. He went to a section he visited rarely and considered poetry. He thought women liked poetry, but he'd never had a taste for it. His tutor had made him learn Latin poetry, but that would hardly serve.
The
Only yesterday she would have been delighted by the impression that she was already mistress, but now it simply seemed awkward. Conversation faltered until Mistress Abbotsford began to chatter about local goings-on. Lily saw that this was the usual way of things, and perhaps how Sir Benjamin kept in touch with the area.
Lily listened for mention of aristocracy or Town people nearby and heard none.
Could she hope?
She hadn't thought herself a wild dreamer, but crushed hope unfurled again.
Hope and a will to fight.
If she married Sir Benjamin, she'd become Lady Brook, and that name would trigger no memories. If no one in the area recognized her, she would be safe. She'd never be tempted to go farther afield, and clearly Sir Benjamin rarely left this area. He'd told her that the quarterly meeting of botanists in Birmingham was his only travel.
If anyone from the grander world visited here, Lady Brook should still be safe from all except those who'd known her well in London. In London, she'd generally dressed finely, and for evening affairs she'd used paint, as was the fashion.
Would Lady Brook, sober of dress, neat of cap and apron, admired for her charity and virtue, stir any memories? If she did, would they be believed? People did sometimes resemble others, but no one leapt to conviction that the two were one.
When the guests had gone, Sir Benjamin said, "You look thoughtful, ma'am. And not happily so. If that was unpleasant for you, I apologize."
She smiled at him. "Not unpleasant, no, but a little difficult. We should talk about my future."
His chin rose. "I've sent letters. We shall have to wait and see."
He stalked off to his library.
She hurried after, entering his room without a knock. "Did I offend you? I would not like to think so."
He was facing the window. "No, ma'am."
Lily weighed her option and gambled. She went closer, so close as to be only a foot or so behind him. "You are being so kind, sir, especially to my children. The hobby horse for Tommy, playing chess with Michael. Their father was never so kind."
He turned, as she'd hoped he would. "He was cruel to them?"
"No, not that. But he didn't like children, not even his own. They learned to stay out of his way."
"He must have been a foolish man."
"In many ways he was." She decided to give him some of the truth. "I confess that I wasn't sorry when he died, only for the manner of it. I'd have been sorrier if I'd known how his money was tied up, that it would end with him. You must think me a cold, heartless woman."
He took her hands. "Never! He was clearly a brute."
"Others didn't think so. He put on a good front. In truth, he was your opposite, Sir Benjamin. To many you may seem harsh, but those who know you know a warm heart and a most noble soul."
"Ma'am!" he protested.
"Do I embarrass you? I won't apologize. My husband was surly and cold at home, but amiable and warm to the world. Thus no one understood..." Heaven help her, she'd almost slid into the snake pit of truth. "I will leave you now, sir, to your peace and quiet."
She hurried away. Truth was the most perilous thing.
And yet, she hated lies.
***
Ben watched Mistress Gifford leave, wishing she'd stayed. He'd always valued his privacy here, his solitary contentment, but now the room seemed lonely. He'd like to ask her to sit here with him whenever possible, but she had her children to care for.
They were remarkably fine children to come from such a home. She'd raised them well.
He wished he could give her something to lighten her load, but what? To offer trinkets would suggest immoral intent. He felt immoral urges, but he'd never subject her to insult. In a kinder season, he'd pick flowers for her room.
All he had was books. He went to a section he visited rarely and considered poetry. He thought women liked poetry, but he'd never had a taste for it. His tutor had made him learn Latin poetry, but that would hardly serve.
The
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