As for the kisses that haunted her dreams? He was a rake, after all. He probably had that effect on all the women he kissed.
She needed to forget about Edward Galbraith. She needed activity, entertainment, distraction.
So when Sylvia Gorrie came calling, Lily hurried to the looking glass, decided a dusting of rice powder would sufficiently conceal the fading bruise and asked Burton to show Sylvia up.
Cal and Emm had assured her that Sylvia had known nothing about her cousin’s plans, but Lily wanted to talk to Sylvia herself, in private, just to be sure.
“Mrs. Arthur Gorrie,” Burton announced, and Sylvia hurried in, talking nineteen to the dozen.
“Oh, you’re out of bed already! I’ve brought you some candied licorice root. It’s supposed to be marvelous for colds—I had the impression—but no matter, you seem to be almost recovered. No red nose, I see—it’s the worst part of a cold, I think, that scabby redness from all the disgusting blowing and sneezing. But you are looking pale.” Lily waved her to a seat, and Sylvia sat, saying, “I’m so very relieved to see you, dear Lily. I was so worried.”
“It was just a cold,” Lily began.
“I don’t mean that—though I’m glad you’re recovering; no, I meant—I suppose you heard about your brother bursting into my house in the wee small hours, demanding I produce Cousin Victor. He planted such horrid suspicionsin my mind about you and my cousin—he actually believed you two had eloped—well, how ridiculous, when you had barely exchanged more than half a dozen words. But such things weigh on one’s mind, you know. And Victorhaddisappeared—and so had you.”
“Yes, I—”
“Oh, I know, you took ill and ended up in the wrong bed—Rose’s, was it not?—and confused everyone. I was never more relieved when I ran into Miss Wes—Lady Ashendon in the park the next day and she told me you were ill—not that I was pleased you were ill, of course, but I was so relieved to find that you hadn’t run off with my cousin.”
“As a matter of fact—”
“You must think it strange of me to feel such doubts about my cousin—”
“Actually—”
“But I don’t really know him that well. He only came to England recently and when we became reacquainted—well, there was I with my stick-in-the-mud husband, and here was this charming and personable new cousin. I cannot tell you how delightful it was to have a handsome young relative to squire me around the parties that Arthur—that’s Mr. Gorrie, my husband—refuses to attend.”
“Yes, but—”
“My husband is furious with me, because Victor owed him money, but it seems he’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and I can’t say I’m sorry. Some embarrassing things have come to light since he left, and—oh, I forgot, I brought you some ice cream from Gunters—nothing is as soothing for a sore throat as a delicious creamy ice, don’t you think?—although your voice doesn’t sound too bad. When I had the influenza my throat was so hideously painful, I sounded like a rusty saw!” She laughed. “Your butler should be bringing it up shortly—well, what perfect timing. Here he is now,” she finished as Burton entered with a tray containing two bowls of creamy ices. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you. I do adore ice cream but my husband thinks it a frivolous indulgence.”
Lily, who had been about to confront Sylvia and informher that her cousin was every bit as big a villain as Cal had suspected—and more—subsided.
She examined Sylvia’s face as she handed Lily a bowl of ice cream and dug happily in herself. There was no shadow of guilt or even self-consciousness in her eyes. Surely if she’d known or suspected anything about the abduction, it would show.
In any case, why would Sylvia conspire with her cousin to commit such a dreadful act? There was no benefit to her in it that Lily could see.
Lily didn’t particularly like Sylvia, but she’d never been unkind to her. Quite the contrary.
No, she decided as she ate her ice cream. Sylvia had been deceived by her cousin, just as Lily had.
• • •
Several days later, Aunt Agatha stripped off her gloves and directed an accusing look at Lily, who had been summoned with the rest of the family—the female members. Cal was out. “The rumors are proliferating! They should be abating by now—you sent out those thank-you notes, did you, gel?”
“Yes, of course.” Lily hadn’t written them herself, of course; Rose had written them for her—a note for everyone who’d sent something to Lily; George had addressed them and Lily had sealed them.
“And we’ve told quite a few people that it was only a severe cold, not the influenza as first feared,” Rose said.
“I included Lily in my acceptance for us all at the Peplowe Ball next week,” Emm said. “The bruising will have faded completely by then, and everyone will see that she hasn’t eloped and is her usual sweet self.”
“Show me.” Aunt Agatha raised her lorgnette with an imperious gesture, and Lily presented the offending cheek for her scrutiny. The old lady gave a grudging nod, then glared around the room, a tigress deprived of prey. “Then why are the rumors getting worse?”
Emm frowned. “Why, what are people saying?”
“A muddle of two stories—one that Lily ran off with aMr. Nixon on the night of the Mainwaring rout—to Gretna or Paris, the versions differ. The other—and far more serious in my view—is that she eloped with Galbraith, who seduced her, then dumped her.”
“But he didn’t!” Lily exclaimed indignantly.
