The Apothecary's Daughter (27 page)

I will not dwell upon ragouts or roasts,
Albeit all human history attests
That happiness for man the hungry sinner!
Since Eve ate apples, much depends on the dinner.

LORD BYRON

he evening passed more pleasantly than Lilly would have guessed.
Roderick Marlow was a gallant host, skillfully including everyone
in a conversation that ranged from the London season to fashion,
books, parliamentary affairs, and the war with France. Roger Bromley
was also a master conversationalist, and managed to compliment both
Lilly and Susan in equal measure, so that by the second course, Susan
Whittier was smiling with genuine warmth at both Roger and Lilly.
Miss Whittier’s chaperone ate silently but voraciously for such a small
woman. Toby Horton drank too much and spoke his opinions too
loudly, but otherwise the meal passed very agreeably. Even red-haired
Cassandra Powell made an effort to show interest in the others, as
though she were already mistress of Marlow House.

The meal was finer by far than the plain fare soups, stews, beef
and kidney pies she’d either prepared or been given since returning
home. Finer even than most of the tables she had seen laid in London. For the first course they were served green-pea soup, crimped perch
with Dutch sauce, stewed veal and peas, lamb cutlets and cucumbers.
Then came a second course of haunch of venison, boiled capon in
white sauce, braised tongue and vegetables. Finally, there arrived a
third course of lobster salad, raspberry and currant tart, strawberry
cream, meringues, and iced pudding. Lilly took only tiny portions
from the serving dishes nearest her but still could not eat everything
on her plate. Giving herself a respite, she paused to touch a linen
serviette to her lips.

“Is the meal to your liking, Miss Haswell?” Roderick Marlow
asked, raising his goblet.

“Indeed, sir. Mrs. Tobias is to be commended. I had not a finer
meal in all my time in London.”

Roderick Marlow dipped his head appreciatively.

“And how long were you in London?” Miss Powell asked. “A
fortnight?”

Lilly ignored her pointed condescension. “A year and a half.”

“Miss Haswell lived with her uncle and aunt, Jonathan and Ruth
Elliott,” Roger Bromley said warmly. “Fine people and friends of my
parents.”

Even Susan Whittier added a kind word. “Miss Haswell was quite
a favorite with the Price-Winters family, Cassandra. You were guest
in their grand home on at least one occasion.”

Miss Powell nodded slightly but sipped from her wine glass in
lieu of responding.

When the ladies withdrew to allow the men to drink port and
smoke their pipes in private, Miss Powell led the way to the drawing
room. Lilly followed reluctantly, knowing it would be rude not to join
the ladies for at least a short time. Miss Powell went directly to the
pianoforte and sat gracefully upon its bench. She ran her fingers over
the keys with a flourish, then began playing a dramatic piece. Susan
Whittier followed her chaperone’s example and sat on one of the settees. She picked up a book lying on its arm but quickly laid it back
down. She and Lilly exchanged an awkward smile. It was difficult to speak over the music, but Lilly sat on a chair near Susan and attempted
it anyway.

“Your gown is lovely,” Lilly said, eyeing the evening dress of
willow-green crepe with gauze flowers around the hem.

“Do you think so? When I saw Cassandra’s silk was green too, I
feared we would clash horribly.”

“It is beautiful, truly.”

Miss Whittier smiled self-consciously. “Thank you.”

Lilly could almost believe Susan an agreeable young woman, when
not jealous, vexed, or bored. She hoped so, for Roger’s sake.

Susan leaned closer. “Do not mind Cassandra. I am afraid she
wields her disappointments like claws.”

Her tongue as well, Lilly thought.

“She was engaged once, you see, but her fiance was-“

Miss Powell halted mid-stanza, the chords fading under her words.
“How amusing to see the two of you sitting together all politeness.
Two rivals under the same roof.”

“One might say the same of two others, Cassandra,” Susan said
cryptically.

What did that mean? Lilly wondered. Two sets of rivals?

Miss Powell’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Susan dear.”

Susan Whittier rose. “Please excuse me, ladies. I am just going
to dash to my chamber and freshen my toilette.”

“Good idea.” Miss Powell smiled archly. When Susan and her
matronly companion had gone, Miss Powell resumed playing this
time a quiet, moody piece. “Poor Susan. Only wants what she cannot
have.”

Lilly thought this quite perceptive. Susan Whittier certainly
seemed to only want Mr. Bromley when she thought she could not
have him.

“You are a shopkeeper’s daughter, are you not?” Miss Powell
asked.

“An apothecary’s daughter.”

Miss Powell lifted one hand from the keys in a dismissive wave.

“That explains a great deal.” She played a few more bars, then paused.
“But not everything.”

Lilly rose, deciding she had better take her leave before she said
something foolish.

“I shall bid you good-night, Miss Powell.”

Cassandra dipped her head slightly, but kept her eyes on the sheet
music before her. “I shall be going up in a moment myself. I want to
visit Sir Henry. The baronet was up and about all day yesterday. Bested
us all at archery, went riding. Quite exhausted himself, I am afraid.
Such a pity he was not feeling well enough to join us tonight.”

“A great pity. Do greet him for me.”

Cassandra paused in her playing. “You are acquainted with Sir
Henry? “

“Yes, although I have not seen him in nearly two years.”

She nodded, though Lilly had the distinct impression the woman
would not bother to pass along the greetings of a mere shopkeeper’s
daughter.

Lilly let herself from the room, closing the door behind her.

She asked a housemaid, a girl she did not know, where Mr. Withers would have put her wrap. The girl bobbed a curtsy and ducked
through a door. A moment later, the butler himself appeared, holding
her mantle while she put on her straw hat. Roderick Marlow appeared
in the hall and, seeing her there, quickly strode over.

“Leaving already, Miss Haswell?”

“Yes, I must be getting back.”

He took her wrap from the butler and arranged it over her shoulders himself. She swallowed, uncomfortable with his familiarity, especially in front of Mr. Withers.

She self-consciously took a step away from Mr. Marlow as she
tied the bow around her neck.

“Well, good evening,” she said. “Thank you for including me so
generously.”

“You are more than welcome. Has Withers called for your
carriage?”

Roger appeared in the hall and walked toward them just as Miss Powell came out of the drawing room. So much for slipping away
quietly.

Lilly said, in what she hoped were low tones, “No. I walked actually. It is not far.”

Even so, Roger heard her. “Marlow, send for your carriage, will
you? I shall escort Miss Haswell home.”

“Never mind, Bromley,” Marlow said. “I shall see Miss Haswell
home myself.”

“Really, Roderick,” Cassandra Powell said, passing by on her
way to the stairs. “You have guests. The groom can take her perfectly
well.”

“Yes, please,” Lilly urged. “I do not wish to trouble you further.
I can walk, or if Cecil has time … ?”

“Cecil?” Cassandra swung back around, brow arched.

“Cecil Briggs. The groom.”

“Ah,” she said. “Do you know all the servants?”

Lilly lifted her chin. “Yes. I know everybody in the village. Or at
least I did at one time.”

“How quaint.”

“As host, I insist on escorting you home,” Roderick Marlow said.
“Bromley, if you will be so good as to entertain Miss Whittier while
I’m gone. Horton is out cold, I’m afraid. I shall have Withers and
Stedman see to him.”

“Oh, very well,” Roger said, as though it were a burden to have
Miss Whittier all to himself. His warm gaze fastened on Lilly. “I cannot tell you what a delight it has been to see you again, Miss Haswell.
Shall we have the pleasure of your company again tomorrow?”

“No. But I do hope you enjoy the rest of your stay, Mr. Bromley.”
Lilly curtsied and he bowed.

Cassandra Powell was already halfway up the stairs without a
backward glance.

Roderick called for his curricle and waved off the groom. “I’ll
handle the ribbons myself.”

Discomfort flooded Lilly. Alone, unchaperoned with Roderick Marlow, at night? Did he not realize, or did he simply not care? She
said, “I think, Mr. Marlow, that given the hour ..

“Of course. You are quite right. The landau, please, Withers, and
Briggs to drive. No use rousing the coachman at this hour.”

Lilly might have walked home in the time it took to harness the
horses and bring the carriage around, but Mr. Marlow would not
hear of it. When hooves sounded on the crescent drive out front, he
escorted her outside. Cecil Briggs helped her up into the seat, and she
did not miss the groom’s speculative expression. He and Charlie had
been boyhood friends. When Mr. Marlow leaned close to the groom
and delivered some low instruction, Cecil darted a look at her that she
could not quite decipher. Surprise? Worry?

As soon as Mr. Marlow was seated beside her in the front-facing
bench, Cecil climbed up to his perch and started the horses into a
mild pace, seeming in no great hurry. It was quite late, but the moon
shone brightly on the summer night, and she could see both men
quite clearly.

“When I first saw you in London,” Roderick Marlow began, “I
thought I was imagining things. Why did you run from me?”

“I should think that somewhat obvious.”

Is it? n

“Well, I worried you might …” She darted a look at him. “That
is, I thought you would…”

“Ali.” He nodded his understanding. “You thought I would
stand on the orchestra stage and tell the venerable assembly that Miss
Haswell was not the privileged, accomplished young lady they imagined her, but rather the cleverest, loveliest, most loyal lady in all of
Wiltshire.”

That was not the response she’d expected. What had come over
the man? Was he foxed? Did she need remind him of the exquisite
redhead waiting at Marlow House?

She acted on this notion. “And when I first saw you in London,
you were with Miss Powell.”

“I suppose she is rather hard to miss.”

“She is very beautiful.”

Marlow looked off into the passing countryside. “Yes, and very
aware of that fact.”

‘All the lads in the village are quite agog, I understand. My brother
and my father’s apprentice that is, his former apprentice are both
quite taken with her.”

“I suppose the young men in this county have rarely seen such
a woman.

“Will they be … seeing her often?” Lilly was curious about the
former fiance Miss Whittier had mentioned, but knew it would be
impolite to ask him.

He looked at her and smirked. “If she has her way, yes. I believe
they will see a great deal of her. You know we Marlows live to please
the villagers.”

She raised her eyebrows.

Feigning indignation, he said, “My father is highly respected
among them do you deny it?”

“Of course not. Sir Henry is admired by all.”

“It is only me you take issue with?”

“You do seem improved with age. You certainly appear
charming.”

“You find me charming. I am pleased to hear it. But you think it
only a surface charm? That beneath this facade, I am … ?”

He looked at her, waiting while she studied him. She thought of
the pills they made in her father’s shop, with their sugar pastes and
silver coatings. Pretty to look at, sweet on the surface, but still just as
bitter within.

“I pray I am wrong.”

Surprisingly, he let that go. “Pray often, do you?”