Lily and the Lion (6 page)

Julian winked at Luke, then returned his gaze to Rachael. "And I'm so glad you informed me of your mother's disinclination to serve pudding to people who have neglected their parsnips. I'm perishing for a slice of pudding!" Then he ate all of his parsnips, enjoying them much more in the relaxed atmosphere that now prevailed.

Fourteen-year-old Matthew, a horse lover, summoned the courage to enquire after his lordship's "sweet-goers," and eight-year-old John wondered aloud if Julian were very rich.

"Very
rich," the viscount said gravely.

"As rich as Squire Winwood?" pressed the curious child, despite the speaking look Miss Clarke gave him. "He has an indoor water-closet, you know. Do you?"

Luckily, Mrs. Clarke called for the pudding to be served and the subject was allowed to drop. Fascinating as water-closets were, nothing could compete with a moist suet pudding.

* * *

T
HE BUSTLE
of the port city of Dover was barely behind them when Peter fell fast asleep. It had been quite a trick carrying him from the bed to the elegant black carriage, which boasted a boot door and two side doors trimmed with silver and which was harnessed to four splendid greys and driven by a smartly liveried coachman and groom. The smaller carriage would carry Lord Ashton's valet, Pleshy, another coachman and groom, Janet, and the luggage, leaving plenty of room for Peter to recline in the berline.

They'd used a home-made stretcher to convey Peter, and his removal from the bed and out to the travelling coach managed to be practically devoid of the sort of jostling that made one sick. But, still, Peter had grown alarmingly white and pinched about the mouth by the end of the transfer.

Lord Ashton had brought some clothes for Peter, a smart forest green jacket and fawn-coloured breeches, but they hung and billowed about him, accentuating his emaciated figure. Besides the black greatcoat wrapped about him, which reached to the floor, he was also bundled in blankets. In his weakened condition Peter got cold very easily, and though the carriage was as snug as could be and not at all drafty as Lord Ashton had hinted earlier, and they each had a heated brick at their feet, every precaution must be made to insure Peter's health.

Even Lily was warm, though her grey wool redin-gote was probably half as thick as the viscount's greatcoat and her mittens were only of a poor quality. She wore a small-brimmed, unadorned grey bonnet and sturdy boots which were not in the least fashionable. Plain and simple, she thought, a smile tugging at her lips. She doubted that anyone so plain had ever sat in Lord Ashton's carriage before. Snatching a glance at the viscount only confinned this conjecture. He was splendidly, though tastefully, rigged out in a Spanish-blue greatcoat with several capes, decorated with gold buttons.

Blankets were supplied for both their laps. They shared a seat opposite Peter and faced forward. Lord Ashton had arranged for the other carriage to precede them, so that any trouble with the road would be encountered first by the vehicle not carrying an invalid.

Peter insisted on sitting up while they threaded through the traffic of town, entertained by the scenes of everyday life he'd not been able to enjoy for weeks. A light flurry of snow fell, lending a holiday air to the sight of people treading up and down the pathways in front of the shops.

All seemed new to Peter, and the excitement of it and the removal from his comfortable bed wore him down excessively. Now his fair locks fell in a tumble over his eyes as he rested in a corner of the carriage which had been fortified with cushions, his complexion as pale as the linen covering the pillow against which he reclined.

Lily noticed that Lord Ashton watched Peter tenderly, concern showing plainly in his thoughtful expression. Moments passed with only the jingle of the carriage traces to intrude upon the silence. Lily gazed out at the scenery, which had become rather monotonous now that they were travelling past snow-covered pastures. She darted an occasional look at Lord Ashton and observed with dismay that he seemed to be sinking into a rather brooding appearance of melancholy.

"I could not believe it when your father and the doctor produced that stretcher." Lord Ashton broke the silence with the grim admission. "I had thought Peter would be able to walk to the carriage."

"He
can
walk, but he's terribly weak from lying abed for so long, and the doctor and I thought it would be best if he reserved his strength for the trip," Lily began seriously, wanting to be encouraging yet still truthful about Peter's limitations. "His muscles have become shrunken and stiff. He will need plenty of time to convalesce, and his exercise will have to be increased in moderate increments. He can walk into the inns when we stop—if he's up to it and if we support him. The trip will be exhausting for him, but he'll manage very well, I think," she said, wanting to end on a bright note. "Peter has great strength of will, you know!"

"You do not think we were precipitant in removing him from the vicarage, do you?" asked Lord Ashton worriedly. "I had thought that being home with his mother would help restore him to health sooner." He pulled his gaze away from his nephew for the first time in almost an hour, his expression indicative of the need for reassurance.

Lord Ashton continually surprised Lily. She had not thought he would require reassurance, or if he did, that he would admit to such a thing or, indeed, seek it from her. But then, she had not thought he would enjoy a meal with her rowdy brothers, either, especially after they had nearly run him down.

"It's always cheering to be tended by someone who loves you and is wishing and praying for your complete recovery," Lily readily agreed. She paused, debated inwardly whether or not she should speak of her empathy, then blurted out, "I know how you must be feeling, Lord Ashton. I have known Peter only a few weeks and it wrenches my heart to see him suffer so."

Lord Ashton once again turned to look at her, and Lily was pained by the suspicion she saw reflected in his face. Apparently, had she been inclined to be in love with Peter, she'd have found his uncle disapproving of the match. Though the Clarkes were from an old and respected family—her grandfather had been a baron—Lily supposed they simply weren't rich enough to suit Lord Ashton's notions of what Peter deserved in the way of matrimonial connections. Her father's living was comfortable and he had a small independence besides, but with so many children to feed, clothe and educate, it was forever a challenge to satisfactorily meet all of the family's needs. Lily suppressed a twinge of hurt and disappointment, and said proudly, "Do not think I've set my cap at him, for I haven't."

The hint of suspicion that lurked in Lord Ashton's golden eyes changed to appreciative surprise, as if he were impressed with her honesty. Much to Lily's dismay, she found herself enjoying such a look. But it was not of long duration. Once again his lids lowered to shade his eyes and he withdrew into a polite reserve. "What ever made you think I wished to hear such a confession, Miss Clarke?"

Lily's temper flared. "My Lord, I'm not a buffle-head! I easily perceived that you were concerned about Peter's, er, feelings for me. But you may rest assured that I have not, indeed I
will
not, encourage him!"

Lord Ashton did not react outwardly to her statement. Perhaps he thought it would be rude to clap his hands in delight! Lily turned to look at Peter again. In a calmer voice, she continued, "Often a patient is so grateful to his nurse, he thinks himself in love. But my affection for Peter is of an entirely different sort. He is one of God's creatures and—"

"You love all God's creatures, I suppose," drawled Lord Ashton. "Do you love the scoundrel who did this to Peter?"

"I pity him," Lily promptly replied. "One can only imagine what circumstances induced him to resort to thievery."

"Thievery
and
attempted murder," Lord Ashton corrected, in a voice that held not a trace of pity for the perpetrator of the crime. "You forget, Miss Clarke, the
pitiful
fellow clubbed Peter on the head and left him by the side of the road without a stitch of clothing to protect him from the bitter cold. He left him for dead. He meant to commit murder, but then I suppose you have a soft spot in your heart for murderers as well as thieves."

"I abhor the crime, my lord," Lily stated with feeling, "but I do not hate the criminal! If desperate straits brought him to thievery, even more desperate circumstances must have tainted his mind and heart to make him such a violent brute as to injure Peter."

"And how do you think such criminals should be dealt with, Miss Clarke?" the viscount asked derisively. "With kindness, with compassion, I suppose?"

Lily knew he was baiting her again, but she returned his disparaging gaze with clear-eyed conviction, and answered, "Every circumstance is different and must be dealt with differently. True murderers cannot be tolerated in society, of course, but in the case of thieves, sometimes compassion is called for. Joined with a firm push in the right direction and a willingness on the part of the criminal to reform, compassionate assistance of a criminal can sometimes completely turn his life about and make him an honest, responsible citizen."

"And if he is not, er, willing to reform?"

"A severe dressing-down, a thrashing, or incarceration are the other alternatives, my lord."

Lord Ashton surprised Lily with a sudden bark of laughter. Then, fearful that he may have disturbed Peter, he darted his nephew a concerned look. Satisfied that Peter was still sound asleep, he turned back to Lily and said in a low voice, "Good God, Miss Clarke, you're a cool one! That's an interesting creed you live by—'Love 'em first, but if that don't work, beat 'em till they repent!'"

Lily couldn't help the smile that teased the corners of her mouth. "That is not precisely what I meant, nor is it that simple. But there
are
people who are so hardened in their misconduct that the only way to reach them is to chastise them."

"That is something I would pay to see, Miss Clarke," murmured Lord Ashton, leaning back against the carnage squabs.

"My lord?" said Lily, puzzled.

Lord Ashton pulled the rim of his hat over his eyes and crossed his arms in apparent readiness for a snooze.
"You,
Miss Clarke. I would pay a tidy sum to see you delivering a blistering set-down to a hardened criminal. Yes, I would, indeed!"

Lily did not reply. She sat for some time, watching Lord Ashton's still-as-a-portrait profile. His aristocratic nose supported the brim of his hat, his lips remained firmly closed and did not quiver with the ins and outs of slumberous breathing. His chin jutted above his impeccable neckcloth in an unconscious gesture of stubbornness. His powerful arms were folded across his broad chest.

His outward appearance bespoke privilege, pride and implacable opinions. But Lily's heart stirred with compassion, because she had the strongest feeling that the elegant, unflappable exterior of this handsome nobleman hid within a great deal of disillusionment, confusion and pain. She wondered what life had dealt him to produce such steely armour to shield him from further distress.

* * *

As
THE AFTERNOON WORE ON,
the skies darkened increasingly and the sprinkling of light flakes turned into a full-blown snowstorm. Julian worried aloud that his coachmen and grooms would be frozen as stiff as pump-handles before they got to the next town, which wasKennington.

"And trudging through the slush and snow must be quite tiring for the horses," Miss Clarke added, peering out of the carriage window through the circle she'd wiped with her mitten. Julian had noticed how old and much-mended were her mittens. He feared her fingers must be as cold as ice. She had ought to keep them under the covers, but she seemed incapable of sitting idle for very long and was forever straightening Peter's blankets, or tucking behind her ear that errant curl of hers, or some such nervous activity.

"Yes, of course, the horses," said Julian, flashing Lily an amused look. "I had also been thinking of
them,
Miss Clarke," he assured her. "After all, they're God's creatures, too, aren't they?"

Peter, awake and alert after a long nap, said, "Don't roast her, Julian. She can't help being such a dear. She has a very kind heart!''

"An encumbrance which will make it deucedly difficult for Miss Clarke to travel through life without a great deal of inconvenience, I'm afraid," he opined lazily.

Peter frowned. "Never knew you to be such a sour philosophizes Uncle!" He turned to Miss Clarke, who was sitting quietly with her hands—for once—still and clasped together in her lap. "He's not usually such a crusty fellow, Lily. I swear that sometimes he's downright amusing."

"Lord Ashton does not need to amuse me, Peter," Lily gently advised him.

"But neither does he need to be continually lecturing you about life and the pitfalls thereof!" groused Peter, perhaps a little irritable from the rigours of the trip on his weakened nerves. But whether Peter's nerves were frayed or not, Julian acknowledged to himself that his nephew was quite right. For some reason he was harping on ideas that he usually reserved for his own pondering. Miss Clarke just seemed so naive that it would be a pity if someone didn't prepare her for those realities which were likely to crack the rose-coloured spectacles through which she viewed the world. But perhaps it wasn't his concern.