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.