“Nonsense, it was excellent strategy. He doesn’t care about us, Lily. He’s just like Papa and Henry—he doesn’t give the snap of his fingers about us, or how we feel, as long as we’re no trouble to him. He’s not even staying in England.”
“Perhaps, but—”
“Ten years he’s been gone, with barely a word, and what’s the first thing he does when he comes home? Stays up late to trap us and yell at us.”
“He didn’t actually yell,” Lily pointed out. “He was scary, but very quiet.”
Rose grinned. “Like your tears.”
“I wish you hadn’t told him I get nightmares.”
“You do sometimes.”
“Yes, but not often.” Lily hung up her dress, a leaf-greenhail-spot muslin with dark pink piping. “I remembered him as such a kind big brother.”
“The few times we ever saw him.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t his fault. He was away at school most of the time, and then he went to war.”
“And the war’s been over for several years now, but did he come home? Did he show any interest in us? Or did he leave us here to... tostultify!” Rose hung up her own dress, a cerulean-blue polished cotton, and smoothed it with a longing hand. “Last year’s fashions and I still love this dress. I am sosickof wearing black! I’ll be more thantwentyby the time we’re out of our blacks next year, Lily. I want to start my lifenow, not next year!”
Lily sighed again and tucked her socks, one inside the other. “I know.” She pulled her nightgown over her head. “Do you think Aunt Dottie really did cry about us being out?”
“If she did, it was his fault. She might not like us going out from time to time, but she doesn’tfuss, not since that time we climbed out the window. And she knows we can look after ourselves. She, at least, cares about us and doesn’t see us as inconvenient nuisances.”
Lily nodded. “Aunt Dottie is a darling.”
Rose glanced at her. “You’re a lot like her, you know.”
Lily sighed and pressed her hands over her rounded stomach. “I know. I try not to eat so much, but I’m still fat.”
“Silly, I meant that you’re kind and loving and sweet-natured. And how often do I have to tell you, you’re not fat, you’re curvy.”
“I’d rather be beautiful, like you.”
“Hah! I’d rather be free to do what I want.”
***
The following morning, Cal sat down before breakfast to pen some letters, the most important of which was to Aunt Agatha in London. He should have paid a call on her when he first arrived in England—she was a high stickler for correct form—but it was too late for that.
Aunt Dottie was famously softhearted; her older sister was frankly feared. He couldn’t see the girls getting the better of her.
He also sent a note to Phipps, informing him he was in Bath for the next three or four days, and to forward any mail here. There were several more men on his list he could check on from Bath.
He found some wax to seal the letters, signed the outside with an army free frank and realized that he could frank them as Lord Ashendon now. He added a brief note to the outside of the lawyer’s letter requesting he find the Ashendon seal and send it on to Cal.
The clock in the hall chimed ten as he placed the letters on the hall table, ready for the post. At that moment his aunt and the two girls came down the stairs.
It was like a parade of crows. Each of them was dressed in unrelieved black. Cal blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but the girls had not been wearing black the previous night.
Black quite suited Rose, setting off her bright coloring, but it sapped any color from Lily’s cheeks. Or perhaps her pallor was the result of nightmares, courtesy of her long-lost brother.
He stifled the pang. Better a few nightmares than the kind of thing that could happen to young girls out at night alone.
“Good morning, Aunt Dottie, Rose, Lily.”
Beaming, Aunt Dottie turned to her nieces. “See, girls, this is the delightful surprise I promised you—it’s your brother Cal, returned at last from the wars.”
