L&A: 9

Neville road across the fields to the Spencers’ house, eschewing the well-kept roads for the longer route. He needed to think.

He was attracted to Lily, that was undeniable. Who wouldn’t be? She had freshness, youth, and a vitality that he didn’t see in too many girls. He had wanted to marry for years, but had put it off as he established his medical practice. Lily was just the kind of girl he wanted to marry. She was, perhaps, a bit headstrong, but he was fairly sure she would calm down after they were married. Running a household as big as the Manor would take up enough of her time. As the youngest son, he should be looking for a place of his own, since Archie would inherit the Manor once their father died. But he was certain his brusque, solitary older brother would never marry, and he would need someone to run the household for him. Perhaps he could talk Archie into allowing some more social events at the house—in fact, any social events would be more than they had now. He missed the activity of their life in London. Perhaps Lily would like to live in town, after a few years. He could certainly afford a house there if his practice kept expanding, or if he took up his old professor’s offer to join him at the Royal Hospital. With a wife like Lily, they would certainly be among the crème of any society. Her name and our money would make a formidable alliance. And she is quite beautiful.

His arrival at the Spencers’ house these days brought a great deal of excitement, since he was their only contact with Lily. He was still not allowing them to visit her, on the grounds of her being contagious and potentially dangerous to Lady Spencer and her unborn child.

“How is she?” Rose asked as Neville began examining her mother. “I wish I could see her.”

“In due time, Rose,” Lady Spencer said from the couch.

“She’s doing better,” Neville said, his hands moving slowly across her Ladyship’s taut abdomen. “You are doing quite well, Lady Spencer. Although this baby seems to be breech...positioned bottom-first,” he explained to Rose.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Hopefully the baby will turn about before he—sorry, she—decides to appear,” he said, remembering Lady Spencer’s certainty that the baby was a girl.

“And if not?”

Neville shook his head. “We’re going to think good thoughts,” he said, standing and smiling. “Don’t worry, Lady Spencer. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Not too much longer now.”

“Any day, I imagine,” she said as Rose helped her to a sitting position.

“I believe you’re right. And remember to call for me as soon as you feel anything,” he said.

“Of course.”

“Mother’s got the servants on constant alert,” Rose said. “She’s even posted Charles outside her room at night, so he can come straight away.”

Neville chuckled. “Anything to report? Complaints? Anything?”

Emma shook her head. “No. But I am quite anxious for her to be born.”

Neville nodded. “That’s understandable. Not too much longer.”

“When can Lily come home?” she asked.

Neville picked up his bag and adjusted his glasses. “Soon, I hope. A week at least. She’s weak and needs to be eating a bit more before I’ll let her come back.” Emma nodded, but Rose paled. “Don’t worry. We’re taking very good care of her. She’ll be fine. Archibald has madder her recovery his top priority.”

Emma smiled and Rose tried to hide a grimace. “I’m sure he’s doing an excellent job. He does a very good job keeping the Manor running while your father recovers,” Lady Spencer said.

Neville’s face went blank and he nodded curtly. “Yes. Well we don’t know how much hope there is of that.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emma said. “He is a wonderful man. I miss him. He would come to visit often when the girls were small.”

“I remember,” Rose said. “He brought us those china dolls, once. From Paris.”

“Yes,” Emma said, smiling. “And he brought Richard the pony!”

“He loved that pony,” Rose added, laughing. “He rode it every day, rain or shine…until he got too big for it.”

Neville laughed. “Yes, I remember seeing him on it. An excellent rider.” He headed for the door of the parlor. “Well, good day, ladies. I will tell Lily you are doing well.”

“Please, let us know when we can see her,” Rose pleaded. “I miss her.”

“You miss having her to torment,” Emma chided. Rose glowered.

“I will let you know the moment she is recovered sufficiently,” Neville said. He tipped his hat to them and let himself out, then headed to the village.

* * *

Lily paged through the copy of King Lear that was left on the bedside table. It was one of her favorite plays, and she found comfort in the familiar words, their constant rhythm. “ ‘I cannot heave my heart into my mouth…’” she said, feeling the taste of the words on her tongue, remembering the time she and Rose and Richard had acted out various Shakespeare scenes for their parents in the morning room.

“ ‘ I love thee—‘”

“ ‘According to my bond, no more, no less.’” She looked up, startled, as Archibald entered the room, finishing the lines. “ ‘Why have my sisters husbands if they say they love you all?’”

She smiled broadly and he was glad to see the color and animation in her face. “You have quite a memory,” she said.

“I love Shakespeare. Especially Lear.”

“My siblings and I used to act out scenes for our parents when we were children. Our governess made us memorize several passages, but Lear was always a favorite.”

“And you were Cordelia?” He asked, sitting down near her.

She nodded. “Of course. I am the youngest daughter, after all.”

“I do not think that Rose is as fiendish as Regan and Goneril,” he said.

“No,” she agreed, “but she is not exactly all sweetness and light. I am too much of a tomboy for her.”

Archibald laughed. “Yes, I can see that.”

“She fears for my matrimonial prospects.”

“As Neville fears—or feared—for mine. I imagine he’s given up by now.” He stood and removed a package from his coat pocket. “I thought you might like this.”

Intrigued, she unwrapped the brown paper parcel and removed a small book. “The Horticultural History of England,” she read. She turned the pages carefully; it was an older book, and some of the edges were a bit yellowed. “Mr. Craven, this is—“

“I saw it in a shop, thought you might like it,” he said. “I believe books and gardens to be your great passions.”

She nodded, a smile spreading slowly across her face. “You are right. This is wonderful.” She ran her fingers lightly over the cognac-colored cover, and smiled. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Gently he laid his hand atop hers, and their eyes locked. Neither of them moved. Suddenly Lily grimaced.

“Is it time for more—“ she began to ask, then coughed.

Archie poured some of the bottled medicine, conveniently located on the night table, into a glass. “Here,” he said, pressing it to her lips. “You should’ve told us it was time for more. I don’t want you to be in pain.”

She swallowed quickly, the coughing dying away. “I don’t want to be a nuisance, and I didn’t feel that bad.”

“I don’t care. You should have it as soon as—“

She raised her hand. “Archibald, really. I’m fine. I’m not as fragile as you take me for.”

“You should rest,” he said, standing and reaching for a fresh washcloth. He dipped it in the basin, wrung it out, and placed it gently on her forehead.

“Thank you,” she said as she closed her eyes.

“Once you’re rested, I’ll bring you some paper and a pen, so you can write your mother.” She nodded and he stroked her hand for a few minutes, until she was truly asleep.

Once she is strong enough, I will take her to the garden. That will help her, maybe more than any of these tonics Neville can turn out, he thought. He vowed to go again tomorrow morning, to continue the progress he had made the other day.

L&A: 8

The next morning, before Lily was awake, Neville met his older brother in the main hall as he was putting on his heavy cloak, preparing to go out.

“Where are you off to?” Neville was shocked to see him anywhere but the East Room, keeping watch over Lily.

“That’s my business,” he said evasively. “If Lily asks, tell her I’ll be sure to be back by luncheon.”

“That’s hours from now. Archie, what are you doing?”

“It’s private,” he said, more sharply now. “Don’t worry about me.” He swung open the main door and Neville saw one of the stable hands holding Orpheus’s reins. Neville shook his head and went down the hallway to check on Lily.


* * *

Lily was right to fear for her garden; the storm had made a fearful mess, and even with the help of a few of the Manor’s best gardeners it was likely to take some work to revive it. It was obvious no one had been there since Lily had left it a few days ago.

Archie was not much familiar with the workings of gardens, but he had always found them beautiful and had often watched his mother tend to the massive grounds at Misselthwaite when he was a boy. He opened the small tackle box full of tools and began to work on the roses in the far corner while the others took the more fragile plants.

Mrs. Craven had often asked Archie to prune her roses, since his hands were smaller and therefore could get in the prickly bushes better than hers. He had since grown, and it was harder to prune the bushes than he remembered, especially since he had no gloves and the stems seems exceptionally resistant to any cutting. Still, he made the best attempts he could, knowing that he was no gardener, as Lily seemed to be instinctively. Her father had been right to give her this little plot.

The roses took longer to prune than he’d imagined, and by the time he was done with the modest group the sun was high. Straightening, he turned to evaluate their progress. The few men he had brought with him had cleared the debris left by the storm and replaced some of the loose soil around the flower beds. Tree branches that had fallen had been removed, and even the benches had been cleaned of leaves and petals.

He drew his pocket watch and realized that Neville should’ve returned from town by now. His brother’s religious tendencies didn’t both Archie as much as they amused him; he had given up on all of that long ago, when their mother died. Neville, however, still clung to their Anglican upbringing, even though Archie was fairly sure it was out of habit and not inner devotion. And it couldn’t hurt business, he thought sardonically.

After rounding up the crew he’d taken out, he rode back to the Manor, hoping that lunch was ready and that Lily was doing better. He didn’t relish the idea of Mrs. Medlock watching her while both he and Neville were gone, but he supposed that wasn’t to be helped. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to talk Neville out of church-going. And at least one of them should be on familiar terms with the Almighty.

* * *

Lunch was served by Lucy in Lily’s room, with Archibald and Neville finishing their lamb joints before pressing Lily to take some of the chicken broth Lucy had prepared by the kettleful. Neville sat near the bed as Lily slowly took the soup from the shallow bowl, which was precariously balanced on a wooden tray.

“It’s good,” she said tentatively as she sipped the broth. “But I’m not very hungry.”

“That’s to be expected, but you have to eat,” Neville said, somewhat sharply. Archie caught Lily’s eye and shrugged. Neville was in full-fledged doctor character, and would not hear a word of contradiction against his plan of treatment.

She swallowed another spoonful. “How’s my mother? And Rose?”

“They’re both fine, or at least they were yesterday. I’ll be going over tomorrow to examine your mother,” Neville said as he fidgeted with the silver buttons of his waistcoat.

“Is Rose helping? I know she can be reluctant.”

“She’s been fine. Very anxious about you.”

“I wish they could visit,” she said quietly.

Neville shook his head adamantly. “No. You may still be contagious, I don’t even want Archie—“

“Perhaps you could write a letter?” Archie broke in. He didn’t need Neville blabbering on about his health. Lily looked sharply at Archie as if she’d detected the sudden interjection was meant to cover something more. “Then Rose and your mother could know how you get on. I could take dictation if you don’t feel capable of writing.”

“Perhaps I could manage a pencil,” she said, smiling at him. “I make a mess with my pens even in a normal state.” She laughed. “That’s a lovely idea. Thank you, Mr. Craven.”

Neville stood. “I’ll bring in some supplies. I will take the letter with me tomorrow.” He headed for the door. “I’m going to get your next draught. Finish that,” he said sternly, indicating the half-full bowl.

She nodded. Archie took the chair that Neville had vacated. “You may call me Archibald, you know. We do not need to stand on formality.”

“Are you sure?” She didn’t want to be presumptive.

He waved her concerns away with his hand. “Positive. Mr. Craven is my father.”

“It does seem to suit you, as well,” she said. “You can be quite formal.”

Archie was quiet for awhile, and she was afraid she had offended him. “I’m sorry—“

“I have always had much responsibility in the manor,” he said. “My father has never been in good health and I was brought up, from a very young age, to know and execute the responsibilities and duties that fall to the Manor’s owner.

“I don’t socialize much with others, partially because I was so busy when I was young. I don’t enjoy parties or balls. I never have. Your sex does not look very favorably upon me, Lily. I’ve known that since I was young. In many ways, having so much work to do is a blessing. Formality is the only way I can deal with people, and since I do so much work for my father, the only interactions I have are often ones of business.”

“What happened?” He knew that she was obliquely referring to his health.

He shrugged. “We don’t know. The hunchback began to manifest itself as I grew. There’s no treatment. I’ve often thought it’s the reason Neville entered medical school. Mother worried constantly, and Neville took up that mantle once she died. It causes some tension between us,” he admitted. “I won’t pretend pride and vanity haven’t had something to do with my love of solitude.”

“Is that why you went to London?”

He laughed derisively. “No. That was father’s plan, to get me married off. He thought I’d have a better chance in London, more women, maybe some desperate girl who was in her last season and wanted the wealth and prominence that a marriage to me would supply. We aren’t titled, but we have more land than many of the gentry, and my inheritance, as I’m sure you know, is not insubstantial. He wanted me to have an heir to the place. He knows Neville doesn’t understand it the way I do, and that he has never really loved the Manor.

“Neville wanted to go to London for school, so he supported the move. Father needed to settle some business. We stayed two years. The first year was essentially a loss—father was very ill, and I had to run the accounts.”

“And no desperate debutantes in the second?” she asked, aiming for levity.

He hesitated. “One. Amy Moore. Although she wasn’t desperate. It was her first season, and I was amazed that, as pretty as she was, she seemed to have chosen me. Her family owned land in Hertforshire, her father was a naval captain, there was talk of an elevation to the peerage. I was happy. I thought she was, too. I was planning a proposal.

“One night she happened to see me as I was taking off my coat. You know the season in London is during the fall and winter,” he said, “ and I often wore several layers of clothing when dancing, to attempt to mask the hump. It was fairly successful. Of course I never waltzed,” he said, “but the set dances often worked to my advantage. As did the low light of the ballrooms, and the sheer number of people one sees at Almack’s.

“She had accompanied me home. I was going to introduce her to my father. Seward was helping me off with my overcoat, and then my jacket, and she seemed to realize exactly what it….what I…looked like.” His voice broke and he settled it before continuing. “She pulled me into a side parlor and asked me what had happened. If it would affect our children. I didn’t know. Who did? There was no family history of it before me. No one knew.

“She said I had tricked her. She had wondered why I was as old as I was and never married. Now she knew. And she said that all the money in the treasury wouldn’t convince her to marry me.” He closed his eyes, sighed, and continued, his voice heavy. “She left immediately. I never saw her again. Of course, she told all the other ladies of her acquaintance, and London was ruined for me.”

Lily’s heart cried out for him, for the intense pain the rejection of the pretty Miss Moore had brought him. Fortunately she didn’t know the girl, so she couldn’t incur Lily’s wrath. The hump was noticeable, certainly, but it wasn’t overwhelming. He had a handsome face and warm eyes. He was a consummate gentleman. She thought Amy and Rose must be of the same mold.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hating the inadequacy of the words. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “It was a long time ago. I’ve too much to do to think about the past.”

“I think you’ve thought about it quite a bit.”

He looked at her, as if she had unmasked him. “Why do you say so?”

“It’s clearly had an effect on you,” she said. “Everyone around here has always heard that you do not like company, or the society of others. I think it’s because of her.”

“She certainly didn’t help,” he said. “I’ll give you that. But I was always quiet.”

“Not all women are like her, Archibald.”

“That’s what Neville tells me. But then I imagine them to be the fortune hunters. As unpractical as it sounds, I would like to know I had other qualities besides money.”

“That’s not unpractical. We all want that,” Lily said.

“You will have many options, I assume, now that you are on the marriage market.” His voice was tinged with bitterness.

“And, like you, some will only see the material gain to be found in marrying me. Even though my father does not have as much money as before, there is still the name. The desire to be a member of the peerage.”

“Then we are in similar positions,” Archie said. “Although I think Neville is the only chance we have for any sort of matrimony. I’m getting too old for it.”

“You are not,” she said, as she took another sip of the broth. “Men have a much longer time for marriage than the women do. Rose was practically frantic when she wasn’t engaged by the time she was nineteen.”

“But she is soon to be married, isn’t she?”

Lily nodded. “To Albert Lennox—he’s a captain in the army. Stationed in India, wants to move up in the ranks and then come back here and settle down.”

“Rose is going to India?” Archie didn’t know much about Lily’s older sister, but he knew she liked her comforts. “She will be in for a surprise.”

Lily shrugged. “Rose wants to be married, and Albert is a nice man. I don’t think she’s really thought about India yet. There are to stay here a few months while Albert gets a new assignment.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, toying with the spoon. “Marriage, I suppose. Helping mother with the new baby. Trying to stay out of trouble. I’m not nearly as ‘marriagable’ as my sister, or at least my family says.”

“I think you have many fine qualities,” Archie said, trying to keep his voice even. If she showed any interest in him, he would…

She smiled shyly. “Thank you. Although you don’t know me very well.”

“I can tell a lot about people quickly,” he said.

“You must be able to, given that for most of our acquaintance I’ve been unconscious, delirious, or otherwise out of my senses,” she said. Her wit was endearing.

The door opened and Neville returned, carrying another draught. “Here you are,” he said, handing her the glass. He eyes the soup bowl suspiciously. “Not much eating going on there.”

“I’m sorry, we’ve been talking,” Archie said, standing. “I should leave you,” he said to her as she drank Neville’s concotion. Neville picked up the bedtray and set it by the door.

“Will you stay, until I fall asleep? It is still very odd being here alone,” she said to Archibald. Relieved to have been asked, he nodded.

Neville stood awkwardly at the threshold. “Well I’ll head over to the House, then,” he said. “Go check on your mother.”

“I will try to have a letter for them tomorrow,” Lily said as she closed her eyes. “Thank you, Dr. Craven.”

L&A: 7

“We usually pay her about a pound a sennight, a bit more, perhaps, if there’s fresh meat included,” Seward said as he sat across from Archie in the large study. “Lucy keeps the records of what she brings to the kitchen.” Archie was examining the kitchen ledger, which noted the Manor’s fees paid to Mrs. Sowerby.

“Let’s make that two pounds, shall we? We can afford it, and Lucy does a good job running the kitchen. I notice our spending has dropped since she’s been acquired.” Seward nodded.

“She is a very thrifty cook. Quite a good addition. I will make the change immediately. Do you need anything else?” Archie shook his head and Seward stood.

“How is Miss Lily?” he asked before he left.

Archie put down his pen. “I hope she’s better. When I left her Dr. Craven had just given her the first dose of the new drugs.”

“I am sure she will improve.” Seward nodded to Archie and left him to the books.

But Archie couldn’t concentrate. He kept thinking of Lily in contrasting images—her hair blown about in the storm; the way she looked the first time he met her, dirt on her blue gown and her eyes bright; the way she lay so still upon the bed, and how she had cried out for him not to leave her.

She’s just a girl, he said, trying to train his thoughts on the Manor’s massive account books. He owed it to his father to keep the Manor running as smoothly as he had, all these years. “A wonderful landlord,” Mrs. Sowerby had called him.

She pushed the ever-present thoughts of Lily from his mind and focused on the next ledger, examining income in and expenses out for the next month. But the numbers blurred in front of him and he slammed the book shut.

* * *

“How is she?” Archie asked, stumbling into the room. Neville was taking Lily’s pulse and intently watching the sweeping hands of his pocket watch.

He turned toward his brother, his expression relieved. “Much better. The fever is down, and her pain has subsided.”

Archie let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“That’s a name I haven’t heard you mention in awhile,” Neville said, standing. “Did you eat?”

He nodded. “And did some of the books. Lucy’s got a wonderful soup in the kitchen, if you’re hungry.”

“Excellent,” Neville said, indicating the table as he rolled his shirtsleeves and stood. “I’m going to eat. Now that you’ve been out of here for a bit, I suppose you can stay with her. If she wakes, call me.”

“Surely,” he said.

“Speaking of God,” Neville said, a bit cautiously, “I was planning on attending services tomorrow.”

Archie nodded absently.

“Do you wish to join me?”

Archie looked at his brother. “Have I ever wanted to join you at church, Neville?”

“No. But I thought it might be good for you.”

“I can decide what’s good for me. I am engaged tomorrow morning,” he said, his voice heavy with finality.

After Neville left, Archie resumed his seat on the bed and took up Lily’s hand, which was blessedly cool and soft. Her face was relaxed and she looked like she was sleeping peacefully for the first time. At least she wasn’t tossing about and crying out.

Her eyes opened suddenly and focused on him—clearly focused, not through a haze of fever as they had earlier. “Mr. Craven…” she said, licking her lips slowly. Her mouth felt parched. Archie stood to pour her a glass of water from a nearby basin.

“Thank you,” she said after he had helped her take a sip. “I’m so thirsty.”

“You’ve been running a high fever,” Archie said. “I’m not surprised. But I would imagine it’s best to go slowly while you drink that.” Lily was taking big gulps of water. “Dr. Craven has been giving you some medication that should help you get better.”

“I feel so small,” she said softly, closing her eyes briefly. “Like I’ve shrunk.”

“You haven’t eaten in days,” he said. “But you’ll be all right now.”

She coughed weakly and he braced himself for another paroxysm, but it didn’t come. “That hurt,” she said weakly.

“It will. Neville says you have pneumonia.”

She sighed. “Mother will be so worried…”

“Don’t think about that. We’ve seen messages to the house,” he said soothingly. “You will stay here until you are able to go home. We can take care of you very well.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble….” she murmured.

Archie waved his hand. “Trouble! No. You are a neighbor, it is our duty to help each other. We couldn’t have left you there, to freeze or worse, in that storm.”

Lily wanted to think it was more than duty that made Archibald so insistent that she stay. “Father will make me give up the garden, I know it.”

“No,” he said. “You’ll be back in no time. I’m sure Ben is taking care of it.”

“I hope so. I don’t want it to die…all of the work.” She coughed again, harder this time.

“Don’t talk anymore; you need to rest. Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “Not really.” Archie didn’t force the subject, although he knew Neville would.

“Have you stayed with me all this time?” She asked, looking at him with a quiet intensity.

He nodded, almost shyly. “You asked me to. So I did.”

“Thank you, Archie,” she said, lapsing into familiarity. “I knew someone was here…”

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone,” he said quietly. “I know what that’s like.”

Her look pierced him, and their gazes held for a few moments. “Yes,” she said softly. “I think you do.”

He smiled slightly and kissed her hand. “You had better rest. You’re tired.”

She nodded. “I am.” Another cough, but fainter, and she leaned back against the pillows. She closed her eyes, gathering strength, and looked at him again. “You are quite an unusual man, Archibald Craven,” she said as she closed her eyes.

L&A: 6

“How bad is it, Dr. Craven?” Emma’s eyes were huge and pleading, and her hands rested on her large stomach. Her husband rubbed her shoulders reassuringly as they sat on the sofa, facing Dr. Craven.

He knit his hands together. “She has pneumonia. That is quiet serious, Lady Spencer. But she is of good disposition, and she is strong. She should pull through just fine. I am not sure how long it will take…and hopefully there will be no complications. I am wiring to London straightaway for some additional supplies and to consult my old professors.”

“May I see her?” Rose asked, perching anxiously on the edge of her chair.

“You heard Dr. Craven,” her father said sharply. “She’s contagious. And I need you here to help with your mother.”

“Your time is close, Lady Spencer,” Dr. Craven said. “Rose will most certainly be needed her, when the time comes. Of course I shall come to assist you as soon as I hear word.”

Emma nodded. “Oh, poor Lily…”

“Try not to worry. Her ankle will knit quite well, I think, and, like I said, she is young and healthy. My brother is keeping watch with her and he is to send word for me if anything should happen whilst I am out today.”

“You are not going to London, then?” Lord Spencer asked.

Neville shook his head. “I will wire, and see what the response is. I am hopeful that one of my colleagues can come up to assist me.”

Lord Spencer nodded and Neville stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be off to the apothecary, to see what he has in stock, before I wire.”

Emma nodded and Lord Spencer shook Neville’s hand. “I will escort you out,” he said, leaving Rose with her mother.

“Please, do everything you can,” he said quietly as Neville’s horse was brought around. “Lily is her mother’s favorite…”

“Of course I will,” Neville said, not adding that she was a favorite of his, too. “All possible methods will be tried.”

“Is she comfortable? Is she in pain?” Her father asked haltingly.

“No. I’m giving her draughts to help her sleep and relieve the pain,” Neville said. “That is quite foremost in my mind right now. And Archibald—my brother—insists on it.”

“Good man.” Neville took the reins of his horse and tipped his hat. “I will send a messenger tonight, to keep you abreast of developments,” he assured Lord Spencer before he rode off.

* * *

By evening, Neville had still not returned and Archie was growing frantic. He had sent several servants off with messages, but to no avail. Lily’s fever had shot up, and she was in intense pain, moaning and crying out. Archie could barely stand it.

Mrs. Medlock bustled in, carrying a Chinese bowl of ice water and a linen cloth. Archie set them on the table next to him and began bathing Lily’s brow with the rose-scented water.

“Anything else, sir?” She asked. Archie shook his head and she left the room quietly.
Archie squeezed Lily’s hand and continued to wipe her forehead, wringing out the cloth and adding cool water. If only Neville was here! If only he knew what to do. His Oxford education had not included medicinal courses.

“Neville’s coming,” he said to her. “Just try to hold on…”

If only her fever would break! If only Neville would come with the right medications…

Minutes passed; Archie didn’t know how many. His movements became a ballet of dampening her forehead, wringing out the cloth, rewetting it, and replacing it on her feverish face. But the pain was more disturbing to him; he felt like he could do something, however rudimentary, against the fever. But he was powerless against her pain, and he hated to see her tortured by its relentlessness.

Is it possible I love her? He thought. I hardly know her. And yet I would do anything to make her open her eyes and smile at me. I would do anything to relieve her of this pain.

He hadn’t had feelings for a woman since Amy Moore in London, so many years ago. But her betrayal and callousness of heart had hardened him toward women. Yet somehow this girl had slipped through the barriers he’d erected. Was it her youth? The fact that she was clearly free of any sort of malice, and seemed incapable of deception? He didn’t know, and didn’t know if he wanted to know, right then. All he knew was that she could not die. He would do everything he could to prevent it.

Neville burst in, carrying several packages and a bottled container. “Move,” he said, pushing Archie aside as he poured the draught into Lily’s mouth. “Damn the post.”

“Is that what kept you?”

“I received a wire saying I’d receive the packages immediately,” Neville said, opening the boxes as he spoke. “‘Immediately’ is apparently not immediate in London.”’

“What happened?”

“The others agree--pneumonia. They sent me the best things they had.” He examined the bottles and laid out several syringes. “These will help.”

“She’s been in terrific pain…”

Neville wiped off the top of the one of the glass bottles with alcohol and prepared a syringe. “This will help. It’s a relatively new drug…” He injected the solution into Lily’s upper arm. Archie cringed but Lily didn’t move. “I’ll give her some more in a few hours. I’ll have to re-read the letters to make sure I do this right.” Neville placed the articles on the bedside table and studied his brother’s face. “Have you eaten all day?”

“A little,” he said absently.

Neville grabbed his brother’s arm and hauled him out of the room. “Listen,” he said firmly once they were in the hall, “you must get some rest. You have to eat something. Go for a ride, read, do the books, I don’t care. But you have to get out of that room. It’s not doing her any good.”

“I promised her, Neville,” he said pleadingly.

“And I will stay with her until you get back. I am sure she will understand.” Neville didn’t add that Lily would be too groggy from the medications to even notice Archie’s absence. “Pneumonia is highly contagious.”

Archie sided and rubbed his temples. He was tired. And he knew the estate’s books needed calculated. “All right, Neville. But I won’t be long.”

Neville smiled. “Good. Go to the kitchen and have Lucy prepare you some food, straightaway.”

Archie nodded and headed for the kitchen area, bypassing the enormous dining room where he and Neville usually ate.

“Good evening, Lucy,” he said as he entered the dark kitchen, illuminated by the roaring kitchen fire and a few gas lamps. The small cook jumped and gave a hasty curtsy.

“Master Craven,” she said. “I had no idea—will you be wanting—can I get you anything?”

He waved his hand and took a stool near the high countertop. “Just whatever’s about, Lucy. Neville insists I eat.”

“A good thing he does, too,” a voice said from the corner. “I’ve heard about Miss Lily, poor thing! And you must be sure to take care of yourself.”

“Susan was just dropping off this week’s vegetables,” Lucy explained. “I’ve got a nice soup going, and some bread.”

“That’s fine, Lucy,” Archie said. “So you’re Mrs. Sowerby?” he asked the stout, red-haired woman.

She nodded proudly. “That I am. Mrs. Medlock said you needed a new woman to help supply produce. I don’t have much, but my garden does produce some wonderful vegetables, it does, and I’m always happy to contribute to the Manor. Your father’s always been a wonderful landlord. How is he?”

Archie was taken aback by the woman’s gregariousness. “He’s…he’s in London. Staying with relatives.” It was the story they had agreed upon before he’d left.

Susan nodded. “Good for him to get away. Although I’d wager Ramsgate or Bath would prove more restorative?”

“It’s not the season yet…perhaps in the autumn.”

Susan nodded. “I went to Bath as a girl, a maid to a wealthy family, and I’ve never forgotten it. Very lovely.” She turned to Lucy. “Well, if you need more, be sure to send word, and I’ll see what my children can gather.”

“Thank you, Susan,” Lucy said. “Would you like some soup?”

Mrs. Sowerby shook her head. “No, thank you kindly. We had a lovely rabbit stew this ev’ning, my husband brought home some great meat. I’ll bring you one of them once it’s been smoked, if you’d like.”

“That would be excellent. Miss Lily will need something substantial, once she’s up to eating again. So thin she is,” Lucy said.

“Poor girl. I’ll say a prayer for her at church tomorrow.” She stood, gathered her now empty baskets and curtsied to Archie. “Good e’ven, sir,” she said, going out the back door and into the foggy night.

“She’s quite chatty,” Archie said as Lucy placed a steaming bowl in front of him, along with a plate of bread and a mug of ale.

Lucy smiled. “She is, sir. But she grows some of the best vegetables in the country, and the meat she brings us is wonderful.”

“Do we pay her well enough?”

Lucy looked startled. “Well enough?”

Archie swallowed his mouthful of soup, which was hot and filling. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. “She has a husband, children. I want to make sure she is well-compensated.”

She nodded. “Seward would be the one to talk about that with, sir,” she said. “He pays her every sennight, I know that. How much though, I don’t know.”

“I will talk with him when I am though here. The books are in a dreadful state.”

“Miss Lily must take up a great deal of time, her being so ill. It’s only right that you are concerned.” Lucy turned to the produce on the countertop and began to wash it in the deep sink. “Will Mr. Neville’s medications be effective?”

“He hopes so. The London doctors suggested this course of treatment.”

“My brother had the pneumonia last year, but he’s all right now. A bit slower of step…his heart was affected, they said. But he is alive.” Lucy meant this to be consoling, but dread settled into Archie’s stomach like a stone. He hadn’t considered the thought of Lily impaired, unable to work in her garden, or ride her horse about the House’s grounds.

He finished his bowl of soup and stood. “Thank you for obliging me, Lucy. You may want to check with Neville, and see if he needs anything. He’s only just come home and probably didn’t eat a bite all day either.”

She nodded. “Anytime, sir.”

L&A: 5

The fire Seward had built was certainly large, and Archie hoped they wouldn’t become uncomfortably warm. He didn’t want Lily to burn up, not after almost freezing.

She was tucked tightly under the sheets, and her face was still contorted with pain. Archie wanted to relieve it, but he didn’t know how. She looked so small and fragile in the big bed. Her breathing appeared labored, and her head tossed against the pillows, lips moving soundlessly.

Her hands were folded on top of the heavy quilt, and Archie ran his fingers along them, feeling her tiny bones and the softness of her skin. So pale and cold, still.

Don’t, he scolded himself. He settled into a parlor-chair nearest the bed and began to read one of the books haphazardly placed on the night table. King Lear. He found it a fitting choice. Reading always gave him pleasure, and he hoped it would take his mind of Lily.

It didn’t. He read disjointedly, a few pages at a time, but inevitably found his head drawn to her, watching her breathe, counting the seconds between her breaths. He began pacing the room like a great caged cat, going to and fro in front of the hearth, watching her.

The small mantle clock chimed the hour and Archie was surprised to notice it was two a.m. Time seemed both compressed and elongated. He had never felt this way before.

He managed to stop his pacing and sat on the bed, taking her hand. It seemed warmer now, but she was still distressed, her lips still moving, soundlessly pleading for something Archie couldn’t guess. He could tell she was not well.

“What could I do for you?” He asked softly. He felt her forehead; instead of the iciness that had worried him earlier, now it was becoming uncomfortably warm. If she developed a fever…

A fit of coughing shook her again, deep and violent. He moved to support her head; she was having trouble breathing as the spasm seized her and he gently lifted her torso, to ease her breathing. The coughing continued unabated, sending her body into spasms, and he held her tightly.

“It’s all right,” he said, trying to comfort her, but not knowing if she even heard him. He felt her body give way and he knew that the episode was over. He laid her back against the pillows, and her eyes opened.

For a moment their gazes locked. Archie couldn’t tear his eyes away. Her eyes were huge and glassy in her pale face. “Mr. Craven?” Her voice was a thin thread.

“You’re at the Manor,” he said. “You took quite a fall. You’re ill. Neville and I are taking care of you.”

“I—I feel so strange,” she said, closing her eyes briefly. “Like I’m not quite here…”

“Neville will be in to check on you shortly,” he said. “Don’t worry. You need to rest.”

“I’m so hot,” she said, fidgeting with the blankets. “Take these away—“

“No.” He said firmly, grabbing her hands. “You need to stay warm. You almost froze in the rain.”

“I’m too hot, take them off,” she said, her voice rising in agitation.

“Lily. No.” He knew that if she did have a fever she needed to stay covered to break it.

She acquiesced to his grip and licked her lips carefully. “I’m so tired…”

“Try to sleep. You need rest.”

She closed her eyes. “Stay with me…” she murmured. “Don’t leave…”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and continued holding her hands. He knew he’d have to summon Neville soon. But he was so enjoying this moment, the moment where a woman had asked him to stay with her, to comfort her, that he didn’t want it broken by the machinations of his younger brother. He wanted to bottle it and keep it safe somewhere. It was surely an illusion.

As he pondered her face, and her request, Neville entered the room and came behind him. “Sleeping?”

“She had a violent cough a few minutes ago,” Archie said, his eyes still on Lily’s face. “It was awful, Neville. Really horrible. I thought she’d shatter with the force of it.”

Carefully Neville listened to her lungs. “We’ll have to be cautious,” he said. “And she has a fever.”

Archie nodded. “I know. She wanted to throw off the blankets. I had to hold her hands so she wouldn’t.”

“Good. That will just make the situation worse.” Neville rubbed his eyes. “I’ll have to wire London tomorrow. This case may be more complicated than I thought.”

“She’ll be all right though, won’t she?” Archie turned his eyes on his brother.

Neville hesitated. “I hope so. I think so. She’s young.”

Archie’s focus went back to Lily. “She asked me to stay with her, Neville.” His voice was so low that Neville wasn’t sure he’d heard him right.

“She did?”

He nodded. “She…she’s just…”

Neville nodded and placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I know. I will do my best, Archie. She’ll be fine. I’m going to prepare something for her fever, and give her something to help her sleep. I’ll be right back.” He slipped out of the room, but Archie didn’t notice.

* * *

Neville re-entered the East Room at dawn to find Archibald folded over on the bed, his hands still holding Lily’s, and his patient still tossing restlessly. He went and gently prodded his brother awake.

“Wh—Oh, Neville.” Archie sat up, wincing, and looked about him. “What time is it?”

“Dawn. Anything happen after we last spoke?” Neville asked as he began to examine Lily.

Archie stood and adjusted his clothing. “More coughing. It’s awful, Neville.” Neville listened to her chest again.

“I can hear it,” Neville said, straightening. “It’s probably pneumonia.”

Archie closed his eyes. Last winter pneumonia had killed many in London. “Are you sure?”

Neville nodded. “With all probability. She’s going to need more medications than what I have on hand. And perhaps another doctor.”

“London?”

Neville thought. “I’m not sure. I’ll wire this morning. Maybe I can get what I need from the village. If I do have to go to London, of course I will.” He looked at Lily, thinking. “Oh, Mrs. Medlock is having breakfast brought in here for us,” he added.

“Good,” Archie said absently.

“Lily should eat something,” Neville said. “If we can get her awake…”

“Perhaps after we eat.” Archie stood stiffly and fell into the chair near the bed.

“We never did have the lamb,” Neville said absently.

“No.” Neither of them had noticed hunger. And Archibald wasn’t very hungry now.

“On my way to the village I’ll stop by the Spencers’. They should know what’s happening. Of course none of them will be able to stay here…she’ll be contagious. And Archie, I’ll take the watch tonight.”

“I don’t mind Neville, really.”

“I don’t want you to get sick,” Neville said, somewhat insistently.

“For God’s sake, Neville, I’m not your child. I can decide what I am and am not capable of around here.”
“I know you can, Archie. But I don’t need two patients.”

“I was healthier than you as a child.”

“Archie—“ Neville was interrupted by the arrival of the breakfast trays, which a maid set on the Queen Anne table by the large bay window that overlooked part of Misslethwaite’s massive park. “Thank you,” he said to the girl, who bobbed a curtsy, took a cursory and curious glance at the motionless Lily, and scurried out.

“That’s enough, Neville. You will be far too busy and need rest more than I do. Without you, it’s hopeless. I know nothing of medicine.”

Neville sighed, exasperated, and sat at the table. “Let’s eat.”

The brothers ate in silence, although both only picked at the large platter of eggs, bacon and ham that had been placed before them. Archie nibbled mindlessly on one of cook’s biscuits and Neville drank three cups of coffee in quick succession. “What should we give her?”

Neville surveyed the tray. “Perhaps some of a biscuit. It’s dry and there’s not much to it. It shouldn’t hurt her.”

Archie took one of the china plates and placed half of a biscuit on it. He moved over to the bed and gently sat beside Lily. “Lily…” he said softly, not wanting to frighten her. He didn’t know if she remembered anything from the previous night.

After a few agonizing seconds her eyes fluttered open. Her face was flushed and her eyes bright with the fever Neville said she had. Even Archie could tell that pneumonia was a correct diagnosis. Her breathing was shallow and labored.

“Mr. Craven…”

“Do you think you could eat something?” He extended the plate and Lily eyed it warily. Her stomach was feeling queasy and she didn’t need to be sick in front of him.

“I don’t know…”

“You should try,” Neville added from the table. “It will do you good.”

“I feel rather nauseous,” she said, her eyes pleading with Archie.

He retracted the plate and took her hand. It filled her with a strange sensation. “How do you feel?”

“My chest hurts,” she said, as she coughed slightly.

“We think you have pneumonia,” Neville said, coming over to them. “You’ll need to be watched carefully. And you have a fever.”

“You’ll stay here and rest. We’ll take care of you,” Archie added, trying to reassure her. “Your family has been informed, so you have nothing to worry about.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head weakly against the pillows. “What happened to my leg? It feels so heavy.”

“You broke your ankle,” Neville said. “I had to place it in a cast last evening.”

“Stupid boots,” she said, shutting her eyes briefly. Another coughing fit began and she writhed in pain, crying out. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Neville went to the door. “I’m going to make her another draught,” he said. Archie held her hand and tried to soothe her as the coughing continued.

“It’s over now,” he said softly as he saw her body relax. “You’ll be all right. Neville knows what he’s about.”

She was panting with the effort of the coughing and the conversation. “It hurts so,” she said. “I was a fool to stay out…”

“Don’t,” Archie said. “Nothing good comes from thinking about past actions.”

She nodded slowly. “May I ask a favor?”

“Certainly.”

“Will you stay with me? I…this may sound foolish, but I don’t want to be alone…” her eyes betrayed her fear and Archie knew he’d never be able to refuse her anything. He was sure she didn’t remember asking him the same thing before, but he trusted the request more now, since she was awake and somewhat lucid.

“Of course. Anything you need, anything you want, you will have,” he said. “I promise.”

She smiled, the first smile he’d seen from her since the ordeal began. “I’m so tired…and…”

Neville entered, carrying another draught. “Drink this; it will help with the pain,” he said. Lily took the glass and drank the contents down quickly. “Is anything else the matter?”

She shook her head slowly. “No.”

“That will make you sleepy. But you need your rest,” he said. “I’m going to the village to send a wire. I will stop by your house on the way to talk to your parents,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be with her, Neville,” Archie said. His brother nodded and left the room to head for the village.

“Do you like plays?” Archie asked Lily. “I could read aloud to you.”

She nodded. “That would be lovely.”

“I’m afraid we only have King Lear, to start,” he said.

“That’s fine. I am partial to that one.”

“So am I.” He pulled the chair closer to the bed and opened the old text, changing his voice with the different characters; he had a gift for mimickry, although it was not often displayed. As the draught took effect, her eyelids grew heavy and finally closed, but Archie read on until he was sure she was asleep.

She looked more peaceful than she had last evening; the draught’s calming effects were evident. At least she wasn’t tossing and crying out. He took her hand and held it, running his thumb over the top, wanting to reassure he that he would fulfill her wishes and stay with her.

L&A: 4

After the music lesson, in which Lily’s playing was roundly praised while Rose tortured Chopin, Lily found Ben, and a wide-brimmed hat, and headed for her garden. (The hat was her concession to Rose’s fears about what the outdoor activity would do to her complexion.)

“Miss Lily, it looks like rain,” Ben said as they left the outbuilding that housed the gardening staff and their tools. “Shouldn’t we ask your father for a carriage?”

Lily scoffed at that comment, lifting her skirt to clear a way for her boots. “No. It’s not that far and it’ll take too long.”

“All right, miss,” Ben said, toting a bag of tools while Lily held her basket of seeds and stakes.

“Besides, a little rain won’t hurt me,” she said. “Rose made me bring the hat.”

Ben chuckled. He knew of Rose’s obsession with appearances.

They reached the plot quickly, and the sky, although pewter and heavy-laden with clouds, held. Lily unlocked the gate and took up in the south corner, where the roses were ready for attention.

“Oh, Ben, thank you for these bushes,” Lily said. “They will look wonderful.”

“They just came up this morning, while you were at breakfast,” Ben said. “I thought you’d want them in as soon as possible.”

“I did. What now?”

“I can begin pruning them.” Ben hunched down and began to dig through his toolbox for pruning shears.

“Thank you. I’ll be over with the lilies,” she said teasingly.

“Suitable,” he muttered.

She set to work, humming quietly as she worked, and initially failed to notice the rain falling around her.

“Miss Lily, we’d better head back,” Ben said. She turned and saw that he had packed up his box and that the wind had picked up.

“You can head back, I’ll be there soon,” Lily sid. “It’s not the bad yet and I’m almost done here.”

“Your father—“

“It’s hours until dinner,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

“All right, miss,” he said reluctantly. He knew better than to argue with Lily, even when it may mean incurring the wrath of Lord Spencer.

Lily kept working, even as the rain increased, and she felt the drops soaking her hair under the straw strands of Rose’s hat. “Darn,” she sighed as she looked up, the rain pelting her face. “There’s no way I’ll get home in one piece now.”

She stood, noticing the pools of mud everywhere, and the wind whipped her skirts fiercely. The rain fell faster and she heard a thunderclap in the direction of the Hall. Wishing desperately that she had brought an umbrella, she struggled against the wind toward the gate.

Keeping one hand on her hat to steady it, she began to make her way down the path. The going was slow, since the downpour cut her vision and the wind made it hard for her to walk in her rain-sodden skirts.

The rain pelted her in every direction and she stumbled over the rough terrain. She vainly searched for a place to stop, but she knew that there wouldn’t be one until she reached Manor grounds. Why had she been so foolish?

A strong gust of wind blew her off balance, sending her basket tumbling down the moor. Swearing, she went after it, and felt her foot catch on a rock, sending her tumbling down the incline and into a small ditch.

She tried to stand, but shooting pain in her leg prevented her from doing so. She must’ve broken her ankle, or worse. And now she’d be stuck here until someone noticed she was gone…at least until dinner…which was, as she’d reminded Ben, ‘hours away.’

Shivering in her thin dress, and wishing she had a pelisse or a wrap, and a bonnet better than her inadequate hat, she tried to curl into a ball to stay warm. The rain was fiercely cold by now and she was almost totally soaked through.

The sound of hoof beats on the path above her gave her hope that maybe Ben had returned. Ignoring the pain in her leg she stood and waved frantically. “Ben!” She shouted against the storm.

The two men weren’t of her father’s livery, but they were men just the same, and they’d help; they turned toward her. Thankfully she sank against the ground as the pain became overwhelming and she began to cry.

“Twice in one day?” Archie Craven was above her, on the same horse he’d ridden that morning. When he saw she was crying, he dismounted, his face becoming grave. “Miss Spencer?”

“I---I think I’ve…broken something,” she said. She was freezing by now and it was hard to talk.

“Neville!” Archie shouted as he picked up Lily and placed her carefully on his horse. “We’ve got to get Miss Spencer back to the house. She’s hurt. Go on ahead.”

“Right.” He nodded and began to ride towards the manor.

“We’ll get you warm soon, Miss Spencer,” Archibald said, mounting behind her. Gratefully she leaned against him, closing her eyes and trying to ignore her painful leg and the rain that continued to assault them.

The ride to the Manor was swift; Archibald was a skilled rider and his horse was well-bred. At the massive entrance, he dismounted and carried her inside, to the cavernous front hall.

“Seward, where is Dr. Craven?” His voice echoed off the marble.

“The parlor, sir.”

“Thank you.” He carried Lily down the well-lit hall and into a sumptuously designed room, with a frescoed ceiling and sky-blue walls trimmed with elaborate gilt work. Gently he placed her on a blue velvet couch and began to remove her hat.

“Forgive me for my forwardness,” he said. “But you are soaked through. We must get you warm and dry.”

She nodded languidly; her head felt so heavy and she had a massive headache. She was aware of his hands unlacing her boots and carefully slipping off her stockings.

“Neville, can we get a change of clothes?”

“I’ll ring Mrs. Medlock.”

Archie noticed that Lily was shaking and her lips were a dangerous shade of violet. “Lily?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“I’m so cold….and my head…” she murmured, her eyelids fluttering.

Archie went to his brother, who was giving orders to Mrs. Medlock. “Hot water, some linens—“

“Neville, there’s something wrong with her,” Archie said, his voice low. “She’s all blue and shivering.”

“Blankets,” he said to Mrs. Medlock. The brothers went to the couch.

Lily was shaking as Archie draped a thick cashmere blanket over her.

“Archie, hold her, until Mrs. Medlock gets back with the water and other items. I’ll prepare a draught for her head, and I’ve got to set that leg. She’s got a broken ankle,” Neville said. “Damn storm…”

“I have to hold her?”

“Yes, Archie,” Neville said impatiently. “Unless you’d rather watch her freeze.” He turned sharply, like a soldier on maneuver, and went to prepare his draughts.

Self-consciously, Archie picked up the freezing girl and held her against himself, wrapping them both within the blanket. She moaned softly and huddled close to him, semi-conscious and vaguely aware of his presence. He began to rub her arms, trying to warm them, and not think about how lovely her body felt against his.

She’s so cold. …but so beautiful, he thought, looking at the still, pale face. Pain carved lines between her eyes; he could tell it wasn’t just her ankle that was hurting her.

“For God’s sake, Neville, can we give her something for pain?”

His brother looked at him over his glasses. “Archie, she’s barely conscious. Let’s get her warm first. She probably doesn’t feel anything.”

“She’s in pain,” Archie insisted. “I can tell.”

He sighed and began to mix some powders in a glass, adding water to constitute it. “She can drink this. It should help.” He brought the draught to Archie.

Archie tried to rouse her. “Miss Spencer? Lily? Drink this.”

She stirred slightly; her eyes were hazel slits in her face. “Wh—“

“Drink.” He pressed the glass to her lips and she obeyed, swallowing with difficulty, and leaned her head against his chest. He lay back against the couch, trying to find a good position; he was in some pain himself, but he wasn’t going to show it. Not to Neville, and not to her.

“Mrs. Medlock,” Archie called. The housekeeper scurried over, her eyes deferentially focused on the ornate wooden floor. “Send a servant to Spencer House and tell them that we’ve Miss Spencer. I’m sure they are quite anxious.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, dipping her odd curtsy as she left the room.

Neville approached the couch, stethoscope in hand. “Pull the blanket back,” he said, adopting the imperious “doctor” tone that Archie had only heard a few times before. He complied and Neville listened intently to hear heart, then her chest, then felt her skin. “She’s doing a bit better. Once she’s warmer I’ll set that ankle. And I will give her something for it,” he said, looking at Archie. “I don’t want her to suffer any more than you do. And she will feel it, when I set it.”

A violent fit of coughing erupted from Lily, and Archie held her tighter to make sure she didn’t hurt herself. “That’s to be expected,” Neville sighed. “It’ll be a wonder if she doesn’t get pneumonia from this. She’ll be with us a week, at least. I can’t let her go home.”

“Home’s not that far,” Archie noted.

“Still. I want her here. She couldn’t be moved, anyway. Stability is the best thing for her.” He went back to his table and shut his eyes, wincing. A broken ankle would be enough. The fact that she was probably going to have a fever, pneumonia, or something else on top of it was adding to his worries. He would have to consult his teachers in London if anything more serious developed.

Lily continued coughing in spurts, and the deep rattle worried Archie. Just this morning she’d been a fine, vivacious girl. Now she was barely conscious, her head drooping against his chest, lips still pale and her face cold.

An hour passed, Archie still holding the girl against him, when Neville came over to check on them. “She’s warm enough now,” he said. “I’m going to set that leg.”

He wheeled over the mahogany teacart, which was serving as a makeshift medical table. The water Mrs. Medlock had prepared was steaming in the kettles and bandages lay cut and ready. As Neville rolled his shirtsleeves, Archie pulled up Lily’s gown and exposed the twisted left ankle. He winced; no ankle should look like that.

“I’ll have to reset the bone. This will hurt her,” Neville said. Archie could see the pain in his eyes. With a swift motion he reset the bone, and Lily cried out feebly, fresh tears coursing down her face. Her eyes, instead of opening, shut even tighter.

“It’s all right,” Archie said to her softly as Neville began to work. “He had to set the bone. You’ll be all right.” A soft moan was the only response he received, and he began to wonder how conscious she was of anything happening to her.

Soon Neville had fashioned a thick cast for the ankle and began to wash the paste of his arms. “That went better than I hoped. First time I’ve done that since medical school.”

“Always comforting to hear,” Archie said. “She looks so cold.” Lily had stopped shivering, but she looked frozen.

“She’s doing better now. Really. But let’s put her in a room. One, preferably, with a big fireplace.”

“Have Mrs. Medlock and Seward prepare the East Room,” Archie said. “I’ll bring her.”

“Excellent.” Neville hurried to deliver the orders as Archie stood, took Lily in his arms again, and headed down the corridor where the sprawling East Room lay. He and his brother had been born in this room; it held his mother’s Queen-size bed and had a large hearth, perfect for birthing children—or recovering from it.

Mrs. Medlock was pulling back the heavily starched linen when Archie arrived. “Oh, sir, your back--” she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth. No one was supposed to mention anything concerning Archie’s deformity.

“It’s all right, Medlock,” he said. “I’m fine.” He placed Lily gently on the bed. “Do we have fresh clothes for her?”

“I managed to find a shift from one of the maids,” Mrs. Medlock replied, pulling a cotton nightdress from atop the bed. “It’s surely not as fine as she’s used to, but—“

“It will serve. Can you dress her in it?” She nodded. “Very well. I will be outside; let me know when you’ve finished.”

She bobbed her head, and Archie noticed Seward building a large fire in the grate. “We need that warm, Seward,” he noted. “Make sure it will last.”

Outside he found Neville polishing his glasses on his waistcoat. “She’ll need watched tonight. I’ll talk to Seward—“

“I’ll do it.”

“Archie, it’s hardly something you need to worry about. And you need rest yourself. How do you feel? All that carrying around…”

Archie waved his hand impatiently. “I’m fine, Neville. What else was there to do?”

“You don’t want to hurt yourself, you know. If anything else should happen to you—“

“I am fine. And I will stay with her.” Archie was adamant.

Neville sighed. “It is not what I would suggest.”

“I am your brother, not your patient.”

“Not today, anyway.” Neville pulled out his watch. “I will be in to check on her every few hours. Try to sleep.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to, Neville,” Archie said. “It’s been a long day.”

Mrs. Medlock emerged, carrying Lily’s crumpled gown. “ I’ll take this to the launder, sir, and have the maids do it up proper.”

“Thank you. I will be staying and keeping watch. Can you see that I am supplied with some coffee?” Archie said.

“Certainly. And I’ll have Seward bring in a more comfortable chair.”

Archie shook his head. “My comfort is of little importance. Did the messenger go to the Spencers’?”

Seward nodded as he emerged from the room. “Yes, sir. They have sent a batch of clothing and thanked us for the trouble we are taking. Lord and Lady Spencer were quite concerned.”

“I will ride over in the morning with a report,” Neville said. “I do not need to have Lady Spencer agitated, not this close to her time.”

“Excellent, sir. Anything else?”

Archie dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Well, I’m to bed, for a bit,” Neville said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“You will be sure to find me here.” He placed his hand on the knob.

“She is quite lovely, isn’t she?” Neville said.

Archie swallowed. “Yes. Quite.”

L &A: 3

“I’m back, Archie,” Neville said, entering the cavernous library, and immediately felt foolish for saying it. His brother instilled in his a type of awe that was not easily overcome, and he always felt stupid and slow-witted in his presence.

Archibald looked up from the heavy leather ledger. “Tea? Coffee?” He waved his hand and indicated the sterling tea service resting on the mahogany cart near his desk.

“Thank you.” He poured himself a cup of Earl Gray tea from the elaborate tea pot and took a seat in front of the Queen Anne desk. His brother sighed and shut the ledger.

“I think our father has completely abdicated control of the estate,” he said. “These are all in disarray.”

“I can help,” Neville offered. “It has been a bad time, since his illness.” He sipped the tea, grateful for the distraction.

“Fortunately London was successful. We’ve straightened out the accounts there and everything is in order. Have you thought of practicing there?” Archibald poured himself a scalding cup of coffee, the steam pouring from the kettle’s neck.

Neville shrugged. “I have. Perhaps after I see some of the local patients through. I was at the Spencer house this morning.”

“How are they?” He asked absently.

“Lady Spencer is expecting another child. I’m a little anxious about it.”

“She’s a little old, isn’t she?” Archibald asked.

“She is. That’s why I’m worried. She already has three children, including an heir for the estate.”

“I met her youngest daughter this morning,” Archibald added, rather blandly. “She was quite lively.”

“Yes, I met her this morning as well. She was assisting her mother.” Neville felt a small thrill thinking of Lily and her deep hazel eyes, her lovely figure. “She’s quite lovely. I much prefer her to Rose.”

“She likes to garden,” Archibald added. “Has a lovely plot along the road.”

“She said she met you there. I’m surprised you talked to her,” Neville added, in a teasing tone.

“Why?”

“Well you’re not exactly social, Archie. Never have been.”

“She seemed decent enough. Besides, Orpheus was tired.”

“You’ve never taken the horse’s welfare into consideration before.”

“First time for everything, Neville.”

“I hear she gardens several times a day. Has quite a passion for it.”

“Well I’ll support that as opposed to a girl who sits mindlessly over embroidery all day.”

“She doesn’t seem to be that type,” Neville said. “Although we didn’t speak much. Perhaps we should pay a visit…sort of a neighborly thing to do, you know. And it would be good for you to get out into society.”

Archibald nodded. “I suppose. If I’m going to be running the manor I might as well get to know the neighbors.”

“Although you take no pleasure in it?” Neville teased.

Archibald drained his saucer and sighed. “Neville, I’ve had too much social experience.”

“You’ve hardly had—“

“What I had when we lived in London was enough for me.” Archibald re-opened the ledger and slipped on his glasses.

“Archie,” Neville said gently. “Not all women are like that.”

“I’m going to take a ride out later; do you want to join me?”

Neville sighed. “I may. See you at luncheon?”

“Yes. I’ve asked Mrs. Medlock to ask for some lamb for dinner. Does that suit?”

Neville loathed lamb. “Perfectly.”


* * *

“Miss Lily, you must try to enjoy these pursuits,” Mrs. Lord said. “Embroidery is an art.”

“I know, Mrs. Lord,” Lily said as she studied the lace in front of her. “But other people can do it so much better than I. That’s why there are London shops.”

Mrs. Lord waved her hand. “Don’t you want to have your table set with your own linens? Husbands enjoy seeing their wives’ art grace their table.”

“Oh Lily will never get a husband at this rate,” Rose said, looking up from her large tambour frame, where she was working on an exquisite linen table cloth, festooned with cascades of roses.

“What if you had a garden theme? Instead of the regular patterns,” Mrs. Lord suggested. “You can take drawings from your own garden, if you’d like.”

“You’d let me sketch something?” Lily had to admit that would be more interesting.

“If you turned it into an acceptable embroidery scheme, like your sister has done. I think that might be something innovative for you, while still retaining a certain…traditional aspect.”

“I will try it. And I promise to make something of it.”

“Anything that gives you time in your garden,” Rose said, but this time she was affectionate.

“Rose, why don’t you join her? Perhaps you can add something else to the center of the table cloth. The roses you’ve done on the corners are beautiful but you have no plans for the interior.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. She didn’t crave being outdoors as Lily did. “I think it would broaden your horizons, dear. Besides, you should know something about gardening. All well-bred women keep a garden.”

“I believe it is impossible in India, Mrs. Lord.”

“You will come back to England some day, dear,” the tutor said consolingly. “And then you shall have acres and acres.”

“Only if Albert makes his fortune in the foreign service,” Rose said gloomily. “He’s a younger son.”

“Amazing you even fell in love with him, Rose,” Lily teased.

“Well he does have other qualities,” her sister said, tying off a thread.

“All right, you are both dismissed to your music lessons,” Mrs. Lord said. “I believe Mr. Mahler is coming for you soon.”

“And Rose hasn’t practiced, as usual,” Lily taunted as she victoriously put down her frame.

“Not all of us are musical prodigies!” Rose shouted as Lily went to her room to retrieve her music books. Besides her mother’s love of flowers, she had inherited her musical ability, which made her love the bi-weekly lessons she had with their tutor. Rose, on the other hand, was a dogged music student; she was more devoted to it out of duty to her mother than love of the practice.

L &A: 2

Continued:

The trip back was not nearly as pleasant as the journey out had been, with her potential trouble hanging over her. Running along the uneven terrain she burst into the kitchen, hair flying madly about and her face flushed bright pink. Running was not something the Spencer girls typically did.

“Lord have mercy!” Lucy exclaimed, seeing the sigh of her mistress. “You better hurry and change. Your father will be down any minute… Martha’s just about done with the table.”

“Is Rose--?”

“No, your sister’s still doing her toilette. You are certainly lucky. But hurry.” Lucy turned to the griddle cakes as Lily scampered up the back stairs.

Entering her bedroom she flung off the soiled dress, hoping Carrie wouldn’t notice it until later, and chose a new one, more befitting of a young lady than a runaway gardener. She powdered her face in a vain attempt to bring down the color and ran her hands through her hair, arranging it as best she could. She didn’t have time to do a more proper job of it.

Smoothing her skirt and adjusting her petticoats, she made her way down the front staircase this time, trying to appear as if she’d just woken up and hadn’t been gallivanting about the countryside for hours.

“Out this morning?” Lily froze at the bottom of the stairs as her mother emerged from the music room, her voice mildly reproaching her daughter.

Lily ran her hands over her skirt nervously. “What makes you think—“

Her mother came over and plucked a small leaf from Lily’s hair. “This?”

She blushed, hard. “It was such a beautiful morning—“

Her mother held up her hand in what Lily thought was her most imperious gesture. But she was smiling. “I understand. Just as long as your father doesn’t know you were unaccompanied.”

Lily exhaled, grateful for her mother’s understanding. “Thank you.”

She smiled and took her daughter’s hand. “Come, I think breakfast is ready. At least I think I hear Rose coming out…”

“She takes longer than anyone I know to get ready,” Lily grumbled.

“She’s just particular about her looks,” her mother said mildly as they entered the large dining room. It could seat 50 at a formal dinner, and the table was too big for their morning breakfasts, with just the four of them; well, five, once Richard returned this afternoon.

Her father was, as usual, seated at the head of the table and reading the London paper, his half glasses perched on his long nose. His graying hair was brushed back and his waistcoat was, as usual, perfectly pressed and tailored.

He looked up as the women entered. “Good morning, Emma,” he said, kissing his wife’s hand as she took her seat next to him. “Productive practicing?”

“Adequate,” she said. Her mother has never given up her love of music and still practiced her piano every morning before breakfast. She often performed at church and at local functions.

Lily took her seat across from her mother, her napkin draped across her lap, as she waited for Martha to bring in the breakfast platters. Large breakfasts were a staple of the Spencer household.

“Sorry, sorry.” Lily turned to see Rose bustling in, her hands tidying her strawberry blonde hair as she took her seat next to her mother. “Carrie was so slow this morning. And she didn’t even have to dress you,” she said pointedly to Lily.

Lily shrugged. “Maybe the storm kept her up last night.”

Rose tsked. “Well maybe she should go to bed earlier.”

“Oh, Carrie’s always been afraid of storms,” Emma said mildly. “You should take it in stride, Rose. Be glad you have a lady’s maid to help you.”

“I don’t know if Albert will be able to afford one,” Lily teased. Rose glared at her and twisted her engagement ring. Albert Lennox, a young Army Captain, was Rose’s intended, and they were to be married in December, when he returned from his station in India.

“Albert says that I will have plenty of help,” Rose said primly. “He wouldn’t leave me to my own devices.”

“Good thing,” Lord Spencer muttered. Rose shot him a confused glance, but her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the breakfast trays. Lily smiled at Martha, who winked at her, but Rose gave a heavy sigh.

“What is it?” Edward asked, in a tone that suggested her didn’t really want to know what was burdening his eldest daughter.

“Must the food always be so heavy? I’ll never fit into my gown at this rate,” Rose said as she picked at a platter of bacon and ham steaks.

“Then just have eggs, or something,” Lily said as she served herself. “You’re thin as a twig, Rose, always have been. Don’t worry so much.”

“You are not the one getting married,” Rose shot back as she gave herself a miniscule helping of eggs. “Is that dirt in your hair?”

Lily quickly brushed her head before her father had time to look at her. Rose sighed. “You’ll never get married with behavior like this.”

“Rose, stop it,” their mother said mildly. “Lily’s younger than you are, she’s only just out. Give her time.”

“Well this is interesting,” Edward commented, shaking out the paper. “Seems like one of our neighbors has returned.”

“Is it Ralph Ellison?” Rose asked, excited. “He’s such a catch. Too bad he had to take up the church…”

“You’re engaged, Rose,” Lily admonished her. “Stop setting your cap at every bachelor in the county. Indeed I never will get married if you keep this up.”

“No, not the Ellison boy. Archie Craven.” Lily colored at his name and hoped no one noticed.

Emma gave a gasp of surprise. “Archibald? I haven’t seen him since before Margaret died. That’s a surprise.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “He’s awfully solitary. And so rude. And his back!”

“Rose!” Emma said. “I raised you better than that.”

“What’s wrong with his back?” Lily asked.

Rose laughed. “Obviously you’ve never met him. It’s evident right off.”

“I have met him. This morning, as a matter of fact.” Oh, dear… Lily squeezed her eyes shut. Now she was in for it.

“You have?” Her father asked. “Where?”

“Oh, he was passing by on the road. I was out walking.”

“Out working, you mean,” Rose said. She rolled her eyes and took a tiny bite of egg. “You just can’t leave that dirt patch alone since Father gave it to you.”

“It’s not a dirt patch,” Lily said. “At least it won’t be once Ben and I are done with it.”

“Girls,” their father said, sighing. “Lily, you know I don’t like you to be out unaccompanied.”

“I’m sorry, Father, but it was such a perfect morning—“

“Your dress is probably all dirty,” Rose said.

“--and I just had to see how things were getting on.”

Edward sighed and nodded. “All right. Just don’t make a habit of it? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Lily nodded, grateful to be spared a lecture. “Anyway, I thought he was quite nice.”

“Nice?!”

“Yes. We talked.”

“He spoke to you?” Emma said.

Lily nodded. “You seem surprised.”

“Well, your sister didn’t put it in the best way, but she was right; he is a bit, um, reclusive. Hardly speaks to anyone. I’m amazed you got some conversation out of him.”

“He was quite pleasant, really. And I thought he was rather good-looking.”

Rose gave an outright laugh. “Lily, you must have been dreaming. No woman in her right mind would call Archibald Craven good-looking, no matter how much money he has.”

“And that he has,” their father noted. “The paper says he’s to inherit 50,000 a year.”

“Fifty thousand?” Emma said. “I didn’t think Misselthwaite was worth that much!”

“Oh, Henry has done numerous improvements. And his investments in mining have done well. Used to be worth just half that.”

“Money or no, he’ll never marry,” Rose said. “No woman will have him.”

“Why?” Lily asked. “He did seem a bit aloof, but---“

Rose sighed impatiently. “Obviously you missed the lump on his back. He’s a hunchback, Lily, has been since he was born. Deformed. How could it have escaped you?”

Lily thought a moment. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t notice. I thought he had a nice face. His eyes are lovely. Dark brown.”

“You were gazing into them too much to notice the glaring deformity, apparently.”

“It’s not that bad, Rose,” Emma said. “Honestly. You make him sound like Hugo’s protagonist.”

“If he’s a nice man, why should it matter?” Lily said hotly.

Rose arched her eyebrow and studied her younger sister. “Are you in love with him?”

“No! We only had one conversation, for heaven’s sake.” Lily crammed some of the ham into her mouth to avoid speaking further.

Rose nodded archly. “A ha. You’re taken by him, aren’t you?”

“If he was kind to Lily then she should find him a nice man,” Edward interjected. “I like any man who treats my daughters well.”

“Perhaps we should invite them for dinner, now that Archibald is back,” Emma suggested. “Maybe after my confinement.”

“Mother, do you really need to be confined?” Rose asked.

Edward looked at Rose sharply. “Yes. Doctor Craven suggested it.”

“Dr. Craven?” Lily asked. “Is the owner a doctor?”

“No, his youngest son, Archie’s brother, Neville. He’s just taken the oath and begun to practice,” Emma said. “Haven’t you met him?” Lily shook her head. “Well when he comes today, you shall meet him. He’s a nice temperament.”

“Unlike his brother,” Rose muttered. “Too bad he isn’t the heir.”

“Then he most certainly wouldn’t be in medicine,” Edward noted. “Men with 50,000 a year don’t need a profession.”

“Wish someone would leave us fifty thousand a year. Or even a fifth of that,” Rose moaned.

“Rose Spencer, don’t you dare be ungrateful for all your father has done for you. You’ve been brought up quite well and you know it,” Emma said sharply.

Rose looked down, chastised into silence at last. Their father’s fortune was set on their brother, and there wasn’t much left of it now, since the costs of running the hall and keeping up the family had meant there would be little for the girls’ dowries. But their family name and lineage kept them admitted into the best circles.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Mrs. Wentworth, the housekeeper, stood in the doorway. “Dr. Craven is here to see you…”

Emma swallowed her water quickly. “Already? I have never met a more punctual man.” She rose, removing her linen napkin from her lap and smoothing her gown. “All right. I will see him in my morning room.” She looked at Lily. “Lily, you will accompany me this morning.”

Obediently Lily rose and followed her mother into the bright parlor she used to receive guests. It had a long, deep velvet couch that her mother claimed was “perfect” for Dr. Craven’s examinations, and several tapestry chairs near a Queen Anne table that were excellent for the tea she provided afterwards.

When they entered, a tall, thin man stood quickly and gave a little bow before kissing Lady Spencer’s hand. “You look well this morning, ma’am,” he said, his eyes on her abdomen. “Not too much longer.”

“I hope not. This one has been a burden to carry, I don’t mind saying.” She settled herself on the couch as Lily moved to one of the side chairs, catching the doctor’s eye.

“Who is this?” he asked, approaching her. She offered her hand, as always. “Another daughter?”

“That’s my Lily,” Emma said, pride in her voice. “She just turned seventeen in January.”

“How do you do,” Lily murmured, eyes cast down. Certainly he was not so handsome as his brother. But he had a certain charm.

“Neville Craven.”

“I had the opportunity of meeting your brother this morning,” Lily noted as Neville opened his bag and prepared for the examination.

“Archie?” Neville’s head bobbed up in surprise. “That’s odd. He didn’t mention it.”

Lily felt a strange pang at the thought of not being mentioned. She had hoped the visit had made some impression. Neville continued, “But I hardly had a chance to speak with him. He arrived shortly before I left. He’s been in London for months, you know, handling the business affairs of our father.”

“How is he, poor man,” Emma asked as Neville began to examine her.

His face changed and became grave. “It is not a good case. The paralysis from the fever has left him much diminished. He hates to go out and sends Archie in his stead.”

Odd, since he avoids people, Lily thought.

“Any pain?” he asked. Emma nodded.

“At night, a little. I’m guessing she’s just active.”

“She?”

“I think it’s a girl. I’ve carried two others, Dr. Craven, I think I’d know.”

“Far be it for me to question mothers,” he said in easy surrender.

“Lily, I think, would like another sister,” Emma said.

Lily blushed. “I don’t care what you have, mother. I’m fine with either. I know Richard is quite longing for a brother.”

“He’s never here, I don’t think he’d even notice the new baby if he wasn’t home right now,” Emma said blithely. She looked at Dr. Craven and added, “my son, Richard, comes home from his Eton term today.”

Neville nodded, concentrating on the baby’s size. “Now this might hurt…” he gently prodded her abdomen, feeling the outline of the baby within. “She seems to be positioned just right, and about the right size. The pain is unusual. I will consult with another colleague and see what I can find out.”

“Oh I’m sure it’s nothing,” Emma said, waving her hand to dismiss the comment. “Really, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“You’re older than I’d like—no offense, Lady Spencer, but it’s true—and I want to be cautious.” He rose, adjusting his glasses and waistcoat. Lily noticed that he always seemed to be fidgeting with something, like he wasn’t quite secure in himself.

“Whatever you think best,” Lady Spence said. “I won’t argue with you.”

“Good. I’d say you’re due in about another month.” He rose from the couch. “I will be back in about two days with an answer for you. I want to know if you have any more pain. We could end up having an early delivery.”

“Rose was early, Lily was late and Richard was right on time,” Emma said. “Nothing my children do surprises me anymore.”

Neville laughed. “Well, good. I like that.”

“Will you stay for coffee?” Emma asked.

Neville shook his head. “As much as I’d like to,” he said, stealing a quick glance at Lily, “I must go home. Archie will want to talk to me, I’m sure.” He packed his bag and nodded to the ladies. “Until later week,” he said.

“Mrs. Wentworth will see you out,” Emma said. The doctor nodded, smiled at Lily, and left.

“Well?” Emma asked once she heard the front door close. She sat herself at the tea table and rang the bell. “Coffee, Mrs. Wentworth?” The maid nodded.

Lily sat across from her. “Well what? He is not as well-spoken as his brother.”

“Hmm. I had thought the reverse would be true.”

Lily blushed. “He’s quite a nice man. I don’t know what Rose was talking about.”

Emma shook her head. “Rose is quite taken with surface things, you know that. If a man isn’t handsome, he isn’t worth her time.”

“But he is fantastically wealthy, apparently.”

Emma shrugged. “That apparently does not make up for his appearance.”

Mrs. Wentworth brought in the coffee tray and Lady Spencer began to pour. “You’ve always been my happy child, Lily. So friendly and open. I’m not surprised you and your sister have different tastes in suitors.”

“Oh, I like Albert all right,” Lily said, thinking of her sister’s distinguished military fiancé. “He dances well and likes to laugh. He’s more human, somehow, than Rose. Kinder.”

“I agree.”

“I also heard he wants a lot of children,” Lily said as she took the steaming cup from her mother.

Emma sighed. “I have heard that as well. And Rose isn’t as well-dispositioned towards children as you are. Hopefully she’ll be more so after the baby is born.”

“Assuming they have children.”

Emma looked at Lily sternly. “Rose knows her duty. She’ll do it.”

“Besides, she can always pass it off to a nanny,” Lily said cheerfully as she nibbled on a biscuit.

“Lil!” Rose’s voice echoed through the house. “It’s time for lessons!”

Lily sighed and finished her coffee. “Isn’t Rose too old for lessons, now?”

Her mother smiled. “I believe she’s working on her trousseau.”

“Her embroidery is beautiful. It doesn’t need more work.”

“Well she has a lot to do. Albert apparently has quite a house in India.”

“Will they be going back?” Lily asked.

Emma nodded. “Unfortunately. Albert has quite a station there, he’s hoping to rise faster in the foreign service. Younger son, you know. Has to make his way somewhere.” Lily could see the disappointment etched on her mother’s face. “But he has said they won’t go right away…they’ll be a few months here before he’s due back.”

“That’s comforting,” Lily said. “Well I’m off for more French and Latin. And probably embroidery…which I do not do as well as my sister.”

“Then you can improve,” Emma said wryly as her daughter kissed her on the cheek. “And if you go out again today—take Ben, will you?”

Lily rolled her eyes behind her mother’s back. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I know you’re exasperated, young lady. We’re just thinking of you,” she admonished.

Lily smiled. “I know.”

Lily and Archibald: 1

Here is the first part of a novel I'm writing based on the novel and the musical The Secret Garden. I haven't made any edits yet, but I am very open to comments!

A perfect day for gardening, Lily thought as she awoke, the sunlight taking on the colors of stained-glass window in her bedroom. Adorned with crocus and pansies, she had begged her father for the window the minute she saw it in the London shop. Her sister, Rose, had thought it gauche, but her father was accustomed to giving his youngest daughter what she asked for, as long as it was in reason.

That included the garden. Their Yorkshire estate was, of course, filled with them, all carefully tended by a slate of gardeners, undergardeners, and groundkeepers. In fact, the gardens of Spencer Hall were some of the finest in the country. So from a very young age, Lily had been exposed to a love of flowers that her mother espoused in almost everything, including the names of her two children. As long as she kept “reasonable” (her father’s word) hours in the garden, it was fine with him. Early morning rising, however, was not reasonable.

Quietly getting out of bed so as not to disturb Carrie next door –she would have a fit if she knew where Lily was going at this hour of the morning—she began to dress in her gardening clothes, adding her large straw-brimmed hat in a vain attempt to shield her complexion, at her mother’s insistence. It was going to be hot again, so she chose a simple muslin gown, without many flounces and that didn’t require being laced into one of the corsets she dreaded. Rose would kill her if she knew she was going out in this “indecent” manner. Oh well. Rose wouldn’t know. She never got up until Carrie woke them right before breakfast and lessons.

The small French clock on her vanity told her she had at least two hours before breakfast, which was served promptly at nine, at her father’s wish. Lord Spencer was a very schedule-driven man, and expected his household to be the same.

The halls were dark and silent as Lily slipped down the large back staircase that ended in the kitchen. Lucy, the cook, and Martha, her assistant, already had a fire going, but their backs were to their sneaky mistress, so they didn’t observe her; at least, not until Lily dropped her shoe.

The boot clattered on the stone floor and Lucy whirled around, flour flying off her hands. “What in the name of ‘eaven, Miss Lily? ‘Tis not time for you to be up.”

Lily hushed them impatiently. “I know. But I wanted to go to the garden before everyone woke up. It’s going to be busy today, you know.”

Lucy sighed deeply. “I know. What with doctor coming for your mother…”

“And Richard coming home from Eton—“ Martha interjected.

“And she’s depending on Rose and I to run the house during her confinement.”

“You’d think this was the Regency, woman bein’ all confined. She’s not the Queen. Even Victoria ‘ated being confined,” Martha grumbled.

Lucy eyed Lily. “I guess I’ll give you somethin’ to eat.” She went into the larder and pulled out a few biscuits and a jar of plums and filled a small bottle with the sun-brewed tea she’d made yesterday for her mother. “This’ll hold ya. And don’t spill the honey all over the basket as you’re gallopin’ around.”

Lily nodded, her brown hair escaping its careless updo, and she seized the basket. “Thank you, Lucy.”

“You better be back before breakfast or your father’ll have words for you!” Lucy called as the girl scurried out the door, heading for the moors.

Don’t need to tell me that twice, Lily thought as she headed outwards. Her garden wasn’t too far from the main grounds of the Hall, but it was far enough to make her father anxious when she went out alone. Usually Ben, one of the groundskeepers, went with her, to make sure she was “properly supervised,” as her father said. Lily sighed. She didn’t like being “properly supervised,” although she did admit that Ben’s knowledge of the Yorkshire countryside and its ways with plant life were invaluable to her efforts.

The sun was still rising, sending away some of the early morning mist, and Lily was beginning to feel a bit hungry. She broke off some of the biscuit and was grateful that Lucy had given her something to eat.

Her garden was placed in between two small hills, near the main road that cut through the countryside. Ben had been instructed by her father to build a small fence with a gate around it, so that it was properly marked, and Lily fished around in her dress pocked for the small iron key she kept that unlocked the gate.

“Good morning,” she said to the small rabbit and blackbird that had gathered in her absence. The bunny looked at her with its wide eyes and hopped away, disappointing Lily. She loved animals and wished they would stay more often when she was there. Oh well. It was a new garden and it would likely take some time for them to get used to her.

She had left her spade and a few packets of seed here yesterday and was determined to finish planting her vegetables. Ben had promised her a rose bush for one of the corners and the thought was heaven to Lily. She loved roses (she often wished she was the older sister, so she could’ve had the name), more than any other flower, for their extravagant beauty. But roses were tough, too; they had to be, in order to survive in this landscape.

She began to work in earnest, with a regular, even pace that she brought to everything, from her music to her cooking (her mother insisted that she and Rose know how to cook), and soon was making progress, a growing line of tiny, dark mounds trailing behind her skirt (which, she was sure, was covered in dirt, since she was kneeling and not bothering to bustle her dress).

At the end of a row, she stood and attempted to brush the dirt from the dark blue fabric, with minimal success. The sun was hot now, reminding her that she should be getting back. But it was so peaceful in her garden, and some of the crocuses and daffodils were in perfect bloom…

“Lass?”

She turned, startled, and her hat dropped off her head and onto her back. Hastily she covered her head with her hand and shielded her eyes with the other. The sun blinded her view of the speaker, but she knew it was a man.

“Yes?” She was wary, but still polite. She was, after all, the daughter of an Earl. She wasn’t the daughter of some London fish-monger who could be easily taken.

“Would you mind if I rested here a moment?” He indicated the small bench her father had placed in the garden under one of the yew trees. “I’ve ridden quite far this morning and my horse is tired.”

She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. He sounds decent enough. She looked around, hesitantly, then nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” He dismounted and began to tether his horse to the gate. Lily went and lifted the latch, allowing him entrance.

On closer approximation, she could see he was tall, thin, and relatively well-built. His hair was ebony-colored and he had a good complexion, his cheeks red from the wind and the effort of riding. His dark eyes studied her.

“Are you Lord Spencer’s daughter?”

She nodded. “The younger. Lily.” She dropped a small curtsy as he gave the cursory bow. Some things in British society would never change, she thought. Men and women have probably been doing this since time immemorial.

He sat on the bench and she noticed there was something odd about his posture. It wasn’t quite right and that was disconcerting for a young man of his obvious wealth. Most of them had mastered the ability to look as commanding and formidable as possible by the time they were fifteen, and this man was certainly older than that.

“Would you care for some tea?” She asked, remembering the basket. If he was tired he must be hungry.

He smiled and nodded. “Yes, please. That would be wonderful.” She poured a small glass and handed it to him, which he drank quickly. “It’s been quite a ride.”

“Where are you going?”

“Misslethwaipe Manor,” he said. “I’m coming up from London.”

“And there was no train? No car or carriage?”

“There was. But I wanted to ride. I enjoy the freedom it gives me. I did take the train halfway, though.”

“Are you a relative of the Cravens?” Lily knew them slightly; they were neighbors, and though not gentry, it was rumored that the heir had over thirty thousand pounds a year.

“I’m Archibald. I’m the oldest son.”

Lily’s eyes widened. She had heard of him but they had never met, not even at one of her parents’ annual balls, which the entire county seemed to attend.

“You probably think it’s strange we’ve never met,” he continued, taking another sip. “I am not one for balls and dancing.”

“Oh.” Lily took this into consideration. Most young men, as a matter of course, weren’t. But it was one way to get a wife.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“I have yet to meet a man who enjoys a ball,” she said. “And men with a great income must know that women will seek them out, no matter how reclusive they may be inclined to be.”

He laughed. “That is so. My absence from the London season has hardly failed to produce some eligible women. Are you out?”

She nodded. “Last year.” She didn’t add that her mother was in a hurry to get her married, now that Rose was seemingly closing in on an engagement with an army officer from a good family.

“So you’re what? Seventeen?”

“I was in January.”

He laughed again. “You are quiet young to speak with so much authority.”

She blushed. “I can be too forthright, at times. My mother despairs of it.”

“I would imagine so. A witty debutante can create a problem with many men.”

“I still have a few more seasons, though. Mother will see that the rough edges are polished off, believe me.”

He appraised her shrewdly and she felt like a horse under her father’s scrutiny at market. Her eyes dropped to the bench.

“Are you feeling uncomfortable?” He asked, teasingly.

She shook her head, not meeting his gaze. “No. Just…scrutizined.”

“Sorry. Bad habit.”

She looked up. “It’s all right. I should be used to it by now. Men look at women the way they look at horses. Looking for the flaws.”

“I assure you, I was not looking for the flaws.” He drained his glass and handed it back to her. “Thank you for that. It was good.”

“Our cook’s a wonder,” she said, getting up and replacing the glass in her basket. Suddenly she looked up and realized she was very late for breakfast. “Oh, father will be so angry…”

“Are you late for an appointment? A suitor, perhaps?” His tone was playful.

“No, just breakfast. But father can be so stern on it…”

“Well, I won’t keep you.” The two walked to the gate and he re-mounted his horse, a strong Bay. “Perhaps we will meet again.”

“I’m here almost every morning…perhaps.”

“I hope you don’t get into too much trouble.” He winked at her and then moved away, the horse breaking into a smooth cantor as they headed up the hills towards where the Craven manor lay.

Lily felt a strange shudder go through her as she watched him. Then she turned, hiked up her skirt, and ran back towards the Hall, hoping that Rose and her father had overslept and she wasn’t going to be given a verbal lashing.