The Apothecary's Daughter (20 page)

When Fletcher showed Dr. Graves in, he entered top hat in hand.
Fletcher held out his hand to take it, but Dr. Graves did not seem to
notice.

“Won’t you sit down?” Lilly offered.

“Thank you, no.” His gaze focused on the carpet. “Miss Haswell,
I have been thinking. I wanted to say … that is, I believe I understand
why you were not forthcoming about your background. Of course you would respect your guardian’s wishes in the matter. I want to apologize
for my … unfortunate reaction.”

“I am sorry for keeping it from you for so long,” she said. She was
attempting to form the words to tell him of her other secret when he
forged ahead.

“But now I think …” He looked at her. “Well, do you not see?
It makes such sense. Is it any wonder I think you and I so perfectly
suited?”

Lilly felt her mouth gape open and quickly closed it. She stared
at him, saw his pale cheeks redden.

“That is … I do not view your father’s trade as necessarily a disadvantage. Your experience lends you a level of understanding … of
the hours and time away required of my profession.”

It was not the most flattering of offers. Was he offering for her?
Or merely expressing interest in continuing to court her?

On some level, the idea appealed to her. That she might be able
to understand her husband’s struggles and even help him in his work.
Might this not make for the best of both worlds? Whom else could
she marry and not count those years in her father’s shop as absolute
loss? As a physician, Dr. Graves would make a good living and still
be considered a gentleman, welcome in her aunt and uncle’s world. If
not by Ruth Elliott herself.

“Speaking of my profession,” he said awkwardly, “I had better take
my leave. I do not wish to be late for my shift at hospital. But I do hope
we might speak further soon. Will you be attending the Bromleys’
rout and card party? They have kindly included me.”

“I believe we will be,” Lilly said. If their invitation was not withdrawn after recent revelations.

“Then I shall see you then.”

Lilly had no interest in cards, but she was interested in the Bromley
home, which the family seemed forever to be redecorating or improving-knocking down walls, adding or connecting chambers, retiling floors. Currently the home followed the Greek Revival style, though
the gallery and main floor rooms also displayed exotic Egyptian art,
Chinese lanterns, Italian oil paintings, silhouettes and etchings, all of
which imbued the place with a museum-like atmosphere.

Lilly entered the crowded vestibule Friday evening in time to see
Susan Whittier shake her head and turn from Roger Bromley. As
the lovely blonde walked away, she slowly fanned herself, the gesture
signaling, Don’t waste your time. I don’t care about you.

The pitiful look on Roger’s face worked on Lilly’s heart. She wove
her way through the crowd and smiled at him in empathy. “At it again,
is she?”

“Miss Haswell. What a delight.” He sighed. “Yes, I am afraid
so. If only every woman could be as agreeable as you are.” He bowed
deeply. As she curtsied in return, she felt her aunt and uncle’s eager
eyes upon them.

“Will you walk with me?” He indicated the long gallery with a
sweep of his hand.

“Very well.”

He offered his arm and she took it. She hoped Susan Whittier
was watching.

He led her along the gallery, pointing out two new paintings his
parents had purchased during their last holiday in Rome. “You are
right, of course,” Roger began quietly. “I cannot deny I have long
and ardently admired Susan Whittier. I suppose everybody knows it
and pities me. Including Miss Whittier herself, who seems to enjoy
tormenting me.”

Lilly could not contradict him.

Progressing further along the gallery, he paused to show her a
primitive wood carving brought back from Jamaica by his mother’s
brother, Admiral Roth.

He then led her into the library, where woodwork and leather
spines gleamed softly by the light of suspended oil lamps as well as
two candle lamps on the desk.

He turned to face her, keeping hold of her hand. “But I do have
a strong regard for you, Miss Haswell,” he said in plaintive whisper. “I don’t suppose you would accept my suit while my heart is fettered
elsewhere? “

How kind he was. How gentleman-like. For a moment she was
tempted, but then she thought of her mother and Quinn and felt a
chill run up her neck. Sadly, she shook her head. She would not marry
a man who would always pine for another.

“Roger, there you are.”

Roger’s mother stepped inside the library. Behind her, Susan
Whittier entered the room and, seeing Lilly, hesitated. Lilly could
well imagine the tableau she and Mr. Bromley made, standing hand
in hand in a candlelit tete-a-tete. She hoped the scene had a desired
effect.

Mrs. Bromley smiled thinly. “Susan and I wondered where you
had gone.”

Miss Whittier passed her fan from hand to hand. I see you are
looking at another woman. Did Roger notice this expression of jealousy
as well?

Mrs. Bromley begged Lilly’s pardon, but insisted Roger come and
stand with her to greet guests, as his father had already abandoned
his post for a game of faro in the saloon.

Roger Bromley smiled apologetically and excused himself, both
of them knowing that his mother was relieved to have reason to call
him from her side.

Alone, Lilly slowly walked the perimeter of the library, pausing
to admire a beautiful globe on an ornate wooden stand. As usual, the
sight of a globe brought to mind the spheres on her mother’s creased
world map.

Moving on, she scanned the impressive collection of volumes,
which would rival any subscription library, and was astonished to see
an entire shelf of Steele’s Navy Lists. Would the Bromleys mind if she
perused them? She could not think of any reason why they should.
Running her fingers along the narrow spines, she found the dates she
was looking for. She pulled several from the shelf and carried them to
the candle-lit desk. Opening the first volume, she skimmed the listing of commissioned officers of first one edition, then a second, then a
third. In the last she found the name, Captain Ernest Quincy, and a
number. Paging through, she found the corresponding ship name and
its list of officers. Captain, Lieutenant, Paymaster, Surgeon, Gunner,
Boatswain, Midshipman …

She returned the volumes to the shelf and pulled an older edition
and repeated the process. Again she found the name Ernest Quincy
and the corresponding ship upon which he had served. And there it
was. Captain: Ernest Quincy. Lieutenant: James Wells.

Was this the Wells? Or was it merely coincidence that a Wells
had served under Captain Quincy? Lilly was not sure she believed
in coincidence anymore.

Footsteps startled her, and she closed the book as though a thief,
caught.

“Miss Haswell.” Dr. Graves bowed, looking quite dashing in his
black tailcoat and white waistcoat. “Mrs. Bromley said I might find
you here.”

Lilly could well imagine the woman’s eagerness to send another
man to divert her attention. As she curtsied, she pressed the book
against the folds of her skirt, hoping to conceal it.

“What is that you are looking at?” he asked. Reaching out, he
turned the volume in her hand to better read its title, his fingers brushing hers.

She lifted it as though just remembering the book was there. “I
was just curious,” she said and backed away from him, returning the
book to its place on the shelf. “Admiral Roth is uncle to Roger Bromley,
you know.”

“And what, may I ask, is Roger Bromley to you?”

Two aging spinsters entered the library, sparing her the need to
reply. The four exchanged polite greetings and praised the Bromleys’
collection for several moments, until Dr. Graves cleared his throat.

“Miss Haswell, I understand the Bromleys are eager for their
guests to walk their maze. Would you like to give it a go?”

Understanding he wished to speak with her alone, she agreed.
“Indeed. It sounds fascinating.”

They excused themselves, then walked without speaking into the
gallery and down a second corridor. While cards were being played in
the saloon, in the other rooms dining room, sitting room, and both
drawing rooms the furniture had all been taken away or moved to
the walls, to allow hundreds of people to stand and mingle about.
As they passed the open doors of the dining room, Lilly saw Roger
Bromley hand Susan Whittier a glass of punch and stand close to her
in intimate conversation.

When she and Dr. Graves neared their destination, they passed
a couple just leaving, the man whispering in the lady’s ear, the latter
giggling. Dr. Graves frowned at the oblivious couple and ushered
Lilly into the gothic conservatory. A dozen wax candles flickered in
the darkness, reflecting back on the windows and illuminating the
maze of red and black floor tiles.

Lilly looked with fascination at the pattern. “Where does one
begin?”

“I am not certain. You begin there and I shall try from this point.
Mind your gown near the candles.” He walked around to the opposite
side.

Lilly began tiptoeing the narrow path outlined by black tiles amid
the red, arms gracefully extended as though she traversed a circus high
wire. Dr. Graves’s polished shoes filled the width of the path, and he
took the corners none too neatly.

Lilly bit back a smile. “They say it is a rectangular version of the
Hampton Court hedge maze. In miniature, of course.”

He narrowly missed kicking over a candle lamp. “Do they. I say
it is a colossal waste of time.”

Keeping her focus on the tiles, she began, “I have thought about
what you said, Dr. Graves. That with my background I might be of
some help to you as you treat patients and seek to establish yourself
in the medical profession.”

“Well dash it.” He came to a dead end in the tiles and had to
turn back around. “That is, of course, an agreeable, suitable wife can
only help a man medical or otherwise.”

She felt an odd flutter at hearing him say the word wife.

She continued to delicately walk the line, reaching the center of
the maze before he did. He retraced his steps, then chose another path.
Realizing she had halted, he stopped where he was, a few steps away.
He stood there, considering the tiles of the maze between them.

“Mustn’t cross any lines,” she warned in a whisper.

He looked at her intently. “Mustn’t we?” He took a step closer.

Around them, the candles flickered, casting shadows on the perfect
planes of his face and light on his golden hair and bottle-blue eyes.

Drawing near, he looked warmly at her, his gaze lingering on her
hair, her eyes, her lips. She expected him to kiss her at any moment.
Willed it. For though the lines of the maze were merely flat tiles on
the floor, she felt something very real between them.

“What unusual eyes you have,” he whispered. “Green and brown
both.”

He leaned closer still, and she felt her eyelids flutter closed of their
own volition. What would it be like to kiss a man with a moustache?
she wondered fleetingly. Or any man, for that matter?

A throat cleared. Lilly turned her head and saw Will PriceWinters in the doorway, watching them with marked interest. Lilly
felt her entire face heat in a blush. Beside him was a tall, dark-haired
man she recognized with a start.

“I thought I saw you passing by with golden boy here,” Will began,
barely suppressing an amused smirk. He turned to his companion.
“May I introduce Sir Roderick Marlow.”

Sir was his father’s title, but Roderick did not correct him.

“This is Dr. Adam Graves,” Christina’s brother continued, and
the men nodded to one another. “And this lovely creature is Miss
Haswell.”

She curtsied and Roderick Marlow bowed, though he kept his eyes
on her all the while. “Miss Haswell and I are already acquainted.”

“Well, dash it,” Will said peevishly, “Then why did you insist
we find her and beg an introduction?”

“I thought my eyes deceived me,” Mr. Marlow said. “She is far
more handsome than I recall.”

“But how are you acquainted?” Will asked him. “You are not a
London man, I understand?”

“Indeed no. I make it to town but rarely. Miss Haswell and I grew
up together in the same village.”

Together? Lilly thought incredulously. Hardly that.

“We be Wiltshire born and bred, ey?” Roderick Marlow’s exaggerated accent surprised her, yet was music to her ears. ” ‘Ow bis en’,
my lovely? “

She laughed appreciatively.

“Miss Haswell and her father have often been guests at Marlow
House,” Roderick Marlow explained to Will, with a pointed look at
Dr. Graves.

Not unless one counted house calls, Lilly thought, but forbore to
comment.