soldier. What happened to him was wrong.”
He shrugged. “Ultimately it’s the price of war. Each of us knows that when he signs on.”
“I think it admirable that you served in the army.”
He laughed. “Perhaps, but you don’t think me admirable.”
How could he so blithely put such words in her mouth, even if they were true—and care so little whether people had an unflattering opinion of him? “I think you have often preferred diversions to serious undertakings.”
“Lucky for me, then, that viscounting is providing unlimited diversions this week. Like the very interesting words written in a young lady’s journal.”
She forced down the wave of panic and shame that threatened to engulf her. She’d never wanted anyone to read those words, let alone him.
“Ingenious code, by the way. I was only able to read a bit, but I’m looking forward to more. Unless, of course, you’d like to trade it for information?”
“I’ve already told you I have nothing to offer you.”
“And yet I don’t believe you.”
She let the silence stretch out.
“So,” he said finally, “you make shawls.”
He’d noticed Delia’s mistake. “I like to knit,” she said vaguely.
“Is that so?” He ran a hand over a partially completed blue shawl that lay folded at the edge of the worktable. “Fine work indeed, the work of a careful, dedicated hand. It makes me think there was a personal reason you asked me to get rid of the Woods Fiend: the business is yours.”
Oh no.
He could make things very uncomfortable for her family. For her. She would lose standing in the community if it were known she was selling her work.
And yet this had always bothered her: that she might contribute to pulling the estate out of debt and make something worthwhile that might allow her to help girls who had so little—and that she would be looked down upon if it were known she earned the money to accomplish these things. Women of her class weren’t meant to be useful but decorative. And she couldn’t bear the thought of a life of being decorative.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Lily. It makes you go all stiff. Well, stiffer than usual. In fact, you’re looking more rigid every moment.”
“I don’t owe you explanations.”
“You know,” he started to say, but laughter sounded outside the door just then, and Delia and Eloise appeared in the doorway, much to Lily’s relief.
So the Old Duffer had made some guesses about her involvement in the business. He had no proof, and even if he did, why should he bother to spread rumors about her being in trade? She told herself that the only person’s good opinion she was likely to have lost through this conversation was his, and she could hardly care about that.
She smiled at Delia and Eloise. “Why don’t we all adjourn to the garden?”
Once outside, they passed the crab apple trees that grew at the edge of the garden, the lingering warmth of September occasionally giving way to little wafts of cool that presaged October, and followed the stone path among delphiniums and larkspur. The back of Thistlethwaite, which was more of an overgrown cottage than a manor house, made a pretty picture of stone walls overrun by pale pink climbing roses and ivy. Overhead, a flock of starlings frolicked in the endless bright blue of the sky.
Eloise talked about a recent visit to Spain, where she and Hal had visited their cousin James and his new wife, Felicity, at their vineyard.
“Felicity and James met when he won her family’s estate in a card game. And now they’re blissfully married. Isn’t that just like a fairy tale?”
They’d then journeyed on to France and Italy, which made Delia cry, “Unfair!” with cheerful frustration, as she’d never been much beyond Highcross.
The Thistlethwaite estate manager passed through the garden then, and Roxham asked if they might discuss a stream the two properties shared. The ladies continued
He shrugged. “Ultimately it’s the price of war. Each of us knows that when he signs on.”
“I think it admirable that you served in the army.”
He laughed. “Perhaps, but you don’t think me admirable.”
How could he so blithely put such words in her mouth, even if they were true—and care so little whether people had an unflattering opinion of him? “I think you have often preferred diversions to serious undertakings.”
“Lucky for me, then, that viscounting is providing unlimited diversions this week. Like the very interesting words written in a young lady’s journal.”
She forced down the wave of panic and shame that threatened to engulf her. She’d never wanted anyone to read those words, let alone him.
“Ingenious code, by the way. I was only able to read a bit, but I’m looking forward to more. Unless, of course, you’d like to trade it for information?”
“I’ve already told you I have nothing to offer you.”
“And yet I don’t believe you.”
She let the silence stretch out.
“So,” he said finally, “you make shawls.”
He’d noticed Delia’s mistake. “I like to knit,” she said vaguely.
“Is that so?” He ran a hand over a partially completed blue shawl that lay folded at the edge of the worktable. “Fine work indeed, the work of a careful, dedicated hand. It makes me think there was a personal reason you asked me to get rid of the Woods Fiend: the business is yours.”
Oh no.
He could make things very uncomfortable for her family. For her. She would lose standing in the community if it were known she was selling her work.
And yet this had always bothered her: that she might contribute to pulling the estate out of debt and make something worthwhile that might allow her to help girls who had so little—and that she would be looked down upon if it were known she earned the money to accomplish these things. Women of her class weren’t meant to be useful but decorative. And she couldn’t bear the thought of a life of being decorative.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Lily. It makes you go all stiff. Well, stiffer than usual. In fact, you’re looking more rigid every moment.”
“I don’t owe you explanations.”
“You know,” he started to say, but laughter sounded outside the door just then, and Delia and Eloise appeared in the doorway, much to Lily’s relief.
So the Old Duffer had made some guesses about her involvement in the business. He had no proof, and even if he did, why should he bother to spread rumors about her being in trade? She told herself that the only person’s good opinion she was likely to have lost through this conversation was his, and she could hardly care about that.
She smiled at Delia and Eloise. “Why don’t we all adjourn to the garden?”
Once outside, they passed the crab apple trees that grew at the edge of the garden, the lingering warmth of September occasionally giving way to little wafts of cool that presaged October, and followed the stone path among delphiniums and larkspur. The back of Thistlethwaite, which was more of an overgrown cottage than a manor house, made a pretty picture of stone walls overrun by pale pink climbing roses and ivy. Overhead, a flock of starlings frolicked in the endless bright blue of the sky.
Eloise talked about a recent visit to Spain, where she and Hal had visited their cousin James and his new wife, Felicity, at their vineyard.
“Felicity and James met when he won her family’s estate in a card game. And now they’re blissfully married. Isn’t that just like a fairy tale?”
They’d then journeyed on to France and Italy, which made Delia cry, “Unfair!” with cheerful frustration, as she’d never been much beyond Highcross.
The Thistlethwaite estate manager passed through the garden then, and Roxham asked if they might discuss a stream the two properties shared. The ladies continued
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