The Apothecary's Daughter (10 page)

“Admiral Asher, of course I do. How fares your Dora?”

Admiral Asher was uncle to Roger Bromley, Lilly knew, and
she was careful to speak kindly to him. The older man smiled and
informed her that his daughter had just presented him with a charming granddaughter and that both were getting on extremely well. Lilly
assured him she was happy to hear it and moved on.

Her aunt joined her at the refreshment table. There, they were
approached by an elegant matron. Lilly did not miss the wrinkle
between Ruth Elliott’s eyebrows as she began, “Lillian, have you
met ? “

Lilly smoothly supplied, “Mrs. Langtry. Of course. We met at
the Willoughbys’ last summer.”

The matron’s eyebrows rose. “How kind of you to remember. And
I am pleased to see you again, Miss …”

“Haswell.”

“Quite.”

When her uncle went off to acquire something other than punch
or ratafia to drink, Lilly also excused herself, stepping away from her
aunt and Mrs. Langtry to greet her approaching friend.

“Christina, there you are. What a lovely gown.”

“It is nothing to yours, and you know it.”

“Nonsense.”

A year older than Lilly, Christina Price-Winters was plump and
well-endowed, and her mauve dress dipped low to reveal more cleavage than Lilly would have felt comfortable exposing even had she
that much to expose. Christina’s face was broad, with prominent eyes
and expressive brows that often rose and fell in dramatic punctuation
during conversation. Her wide mouth was given to smirks and sardonic
one-sided grins.

“Zee gown eez mag-nee-fee-sawwnt,” Christina said, mimicking
her French dressmaker. “Ew-la-la, eet transforms votre fille, madame.
So svelte. So graceful …” Christina snorted. “She is more skilled
in opening Mother’s purse than in stitching seams that much is
certain.”

“That explains why your neckline is so low,” Lilly quietly teased.
“Or perhaps Madame Froissant ran out of material?”

Christina grinned. “This is my current scheme to encourage
Edward to propose. Do you think it will succeed?”

Lilly glanced at the balding but highborn lord who was staring at
Christina with frank admiration. “I believe it already has.”

Though not a beauty, Christina’s family, connections, and deep dowry supplied her with a promising number of most eligible suitors.
Far more than Lilly enjoyed.

Christina’s ginger-haired brother, William, walked across the
room toward them. Secretly, Lilly had shared her aunt’s keen disappointment when he had announced his plans to wed last year. He had
been the first man in London to catch her eye and raise her hopes.
She found him amusing and sweet-natured and had briefly believed
he admired her as well. Perhaps he had. But with Will, and the few
suitors that followed, she had quickly learned that she had neither the
rank nor wealth to hold the interest of a gentleman of quality nor
of his parent with the purse strings. Men enjoyed dancing with her
and flirting with her, but in the end went on to marry girls with better
connections and richer dowries.

Will Price-Winters bowed before her. “Miss Haswell.”

She curtsied. “Good evening, Mr. Price-Winters. What a fine
ball this is. And where is your lovely new wife?”

He shrugged. “Some earth-shattering calamity with her hair, I
understand. No doubt she shall be down directly.” He frowned at
something over their heads. “I say, who is that?”

Christina followed his gaze and rolled her eyes. “Mr. Alban.”

“Your old tutor?”

“And recently Lillian’s as well.” Christina hunched over, rubbing
her hands together in imitation of Mr. Alban, parroting his stammering speech. “Miss … Miss Has-s-s-well. Do decline the vairb to be
onc-c-ce more.

“Christina, please,” Lilly admonished. Christina’s imitation was
spot on, but Lilly did not wish to injure the man’s feelings or reputation.

“What is he doing here?” William asked.

Christina shrugged. “He all but begged an invitation, and Mother
hadn’t the heart to refuse him.”

Mr. Oscar Alban was educated, mild-mannered, and patient. He
was also short, balding, and wore thick spectacles and ill-fitting clothes.
It was little wonder parents trusted him with their daughters.

Mr. Alban bowed before Christina’s parents, who now stood conversing with Lilly’s aunt and two older couples. “Mr. and Mrs.
Price-Winters. Thank you for your generous-s-s invitation. I cannot
remember when I’ve enjoyed mys-s-self more.”

Mrs. Price-Winters was reserved in her reply. “You are welcome,
Mr. Alban.”

The tutor turned to those assembled around his host and hostess.
“I had the privilege of instructing Miss Price-Winters s-s-some years
ago. And now Miss Has-s-well also. It as been a rare honor indeed to
teach two s-s-such fine and gifted ladies.”

“Thank you, Mr. Alban.”

“Miss Has-s-well’s progress with the romance languages has
s-s-surpassed every expectation, although Miss Price-Winters can
proudly claim the s-s-superior accent.”

“That is Christina,” Mr. Price-Winters interjected. “Our little
myna bird.”

“But Miss Has-s-well has memorized French and Italian vocabulary more quickly than any s-s-student I have ever had the pleasure
of teaching.”

William leaned near Lilly and teased quietly, “Bluestocking.”

“I s-s-suppose her background and her familiarity with
Latin-“

Aunt Elliott interrupted abruptly. “Mr. Alban, why do you not
dance with my niece? I am sure she would benefit from instruction
there as well.”

“Ah … well … I do not claim to be a dancing master. But, of
course, I s-s-should be pleased to dance with Miss Has-s-well.” He
turned toward her. “If she would oblige me.”

Lilly forced a smile. “Of course.”

As he escorted her to the dance floor, he asked quietly, “What
was it I s-s-said to offend?”

“Please forgive my aunt, Mr. Alban. It is only that she prefers as
little as possible said of my background. Not everyone sees knowledge
of Latin and physic as a credit to accomplished young ladies.”

“I s-s-see.”

“I ought not to have mentioned my past to you. It was just … you struggled so to account for my progress, and I didn’t want you
to think “

“That I am a more gifted teacher than I truly am?” he wryly
supplied.

“No! I did not mean-“

“There, there Miss Has-s-well. I understand. Do not fret -I shall
take all the credit for your amazing progress from here on.”

When the dance ended, Lilly excused herself from Mr. Alban
and rejoined Christina and her brother.

“And where is Mr. Bromley this evening? ” Christina asked.

“I have yet to see him,” Lilly said. She still held out hope for this
suitor. Roger Bromley did not seem put off by her lack of title or sizeable income. But then again neither he nor his parents likely knew her
father was in trade, nor were they aware of her mother’s disgrace. Lilly
wondered how long his interest would last once they knew.

“I see the swell,” Will said, “there by the door.”

Lilly followed Will’s gaze and saw Mr. Bromley, stylishly dressed
in black tailcoat and white waistcoat. He stood before a willowy blonde
in blue satin with an overdress of white netting. “Who is that he is
talking to?”

“Susan Whittier …” Will breathed, staring.

Lilly stared as well and felt a stirring of dread. “I have never seen
her before.”

“She was away much of last season,” Christina explained. “Touring Italy, I believe.”

“She is very beautiful,” Lilly acknowledged, and swallowed a
lump of envy.

“Is she?” Will said innocently. “I had not noticed.”

Lilly was unsuccessful in restraining her sarcasm. “And neither,
I see, has Mr. Bromley.”

With a dismissive wave, Christina said, “Oh, he tried to engage her
affections two years ago but was soundly rebuffed. You have nothing
to fear from her, Lillian.”

Had she not? Lilly saw Mr. Bromley’s awestruck expression and
did not feel reassured.

As they watched, Roger Bromley offered Miss Whittier his arm.
She patted it as though it were the head of a child, laughed, and twirled
away in a flutter of blue satin. Even from across the room, Lilly could
not miss the man’s crestfallen countenance.

He glanced their way.

To pretend they had not witnessed his rejection, the three quickly
feigned engrossed conversation. By the time Bromley had crossed
the room and stood before them, a bright smile had transformed his
handsome face.

“Price-Winters, you old hound,” he began. “Monopolizing the two
handsomest ladies in the room, I see. The missus would not approve.”
He bowed to Christina. “Miss Price-Winters.”

“Bromley.”

He turned toward Lilly. “And Miss Haswell. What a delight. I
do hope you have saved at least one dance for poor me?”

She answered warmly, “Of course I have.”

Mr. Bromley had become one of her most frequent partners. He
was an elegant, slim young man of middling height and excellent
bearing. Straight brown hair framed classic English features. He was
also the only son of a wealthy family, as her aunt often reminded her.
As though Lilly needed reminding.

“Excellent,” he said. “Then I shall have the next and the last and
as many as I can in between, when the chaperones aren’t looking.”

She smiled at him, and his answering smile almost reached his
eyes. She studied his face, wondering just what was between him and
the lovely Miss Susan Whittier.

At the end of the evening, Lilly found herself alone, surreptitiously
searching the crowd for Mr. Bromley, who had requested the last dance
with her. The first notes of a slow, ceremonious minuet began.

William Price-Winters hurried by. Seeing her, he paused. “Miss
Haswell. Not sitting this one out, I hope? Oh, that’s right. Bromley
claimed the final. Where is that chap?”

“I do not know.”

At that moment Roger Bromley and Susan Whittier walked past
and joined the dance.

Will saw them too. “Oh. Well, I say.”

“She has agreed to a dance after all,” Lilly said. “How nice for
Mr. Bromley.”

Will was not fooled. “I am sorry, Miss Haswell. My wife is waiting, or I “

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Price-Winters. I have enjoyed a great
deal of dancing this evening.”

“Wait,” Will said triumphantly. “Graves here will dance with
you.

“Really, I am fine-“

Will grabbed the arm of a nearby man she had never seen before
and turned him around to face her. And a very handsome face it was.
Thin nose. Pale blond hair swept over his right temple. A faint moustache, not in present fashion, shadowed his upper lip. “May I present
Adam Graves. We were at Oxford together. This is Miss Haswell.
Most sensible girl in the room, I assure you.” Will winked at her.
“Even if she is my sister’s friend.”

Lilly curtsied to the newcomer. When she looked up, the blondhaired man still stood as he was, stiffly staring at her with startled
blue eyes. After a tense moment, he gave a jerky nod.

Will clapped Graves on the shoulder. “Good man.” Will walked
away to find his wife, who had finally made an appearance.

Still the man made no move. Did not offer his arm nor open his
mouth. An awkward silence followed, and Lilly felt her cheeks burn.
How mortifying.

She turned slightly so that she was facing at an angle between Mr.
Graves and the dance floor. Blindly, she gazed toward the other couples
moving gracefully through the delicate steps of the dance.

“It is all right, Mr. Graves,” she said without looking his way.
“You needn’t dance with me. Mr. Price-Winters was only acting the
part of protective brother. I do not mind sitting out.”

“Graves! ” Will hissed as he and his wife stepped near, then away
again.

Finally, Mr. Graves woodenly offered his arm. “Will you
dance?”

She had long ago promised herself never to reject a man who’d
gathered his courage to ask for a dance. The automatic response, “I’d
be delighted,” would not come forth, however. She took a deep breath
and forced out a quiet, “Very well.”

They joined the minuet in progress. He led her to an open space in
the ballroom and took up the movements with stiff, minimal precision.
She tempered her own steps accordingly. He kept his gaze averted.

She sighed inwardly. Throughout the previous season and now this
new one, she had danced with dozens of gentlemen she secretly found
disagreeable or unappealing. But never, she hoped, had she made her
disinterest as plain as Mr. Graves made his now. Everyone in the room
undoubtedly saw how loath he was to dance with her.

She discreetly glanced around at the other dancers. There at the
front were Roger Bromley and Susan Whittier. Roger beamed at his
partner, though Susan stared aloofly off in the distance. Miss Whittier
and Mr. Graves ought to be dancing together, Lilly thought, since both
appeared to be enjoying themselves equally.

Suddenly, over Roger’s head, Lilly glimpsed a familiar profile.
She started, drawing in a breath and turning her face away quickly.
There was no mistaking that imposing figure nor those sharp features.
Roderick Marlow? Here? Now? To witness her humiliation? To reveal,
to her aunt and uncle’s mortification, her identity as an apothecary’s
daughter, which to most in attendance, granted her the status of a
mere shopkeeper’s daughter?

On the next turn of the dance, she stole another glance. Roderick
Marlow stood talking to Mr. and Mrs. Price-Winters. On his arm was
a stunning woman with splendid maple-leaf-red hair. Mr. Marlow
glanced up and his eyes narrowed. Again she averted her face. Had
he seen her?

As the musicians reached the final stanzas, Lillian stepped closer to her partner. “Please excuse me, Mr. Graves. I fear I must take my
leave.”