Page 47 of Marry in Scandal
He’d kissed scores of women, slept with dozens andmoved on from them all without regret. Why was this one girl so impossible to dismiss? He was aware of every movement she made, every shift in position. His ear was attuned to the timbre of her voice. And whenever she moistened her lips it was as if he could still taste her.
Fifteen more hours to London.
It occurred to him suddenly that the girls had fallen silent. He focused on Lily’s reflection in the glass and found her staring back at him, or at least his reflection. Or was she staring through his reflection, and beyond to the passing scenery? He couldn’t tell.
She cocked her head and gave him—or the window—a little smile. Did she know he’d been watching her?
He gazed thoughtfully out the window a moment longer, pretending fascination with a flock of sheep, then turned away from the window. “Ah, the bucolic pastoral life. So”—he glanced from one to the other—“run out of things to talk about? It’s going to be a very long journey. I have some things here to help while away the hours.” He opened a small compartment set into the framework of the carriage.
Lily leaned forward eagerly. “My father’s carriage—my brother’s now—has a similar compartment with all sorts of entertainment—card games, puzzles, backgammon and draughts.”
Betty frowned. “Don’t the pieces slip off the board with all this bumping around?”
“No, they’re specially made for traveling,” she explained. “They come in a little wooden box that opens out flat with hinges to form the board. All the pieces have little pegs, and they slot into tiny holes in the board so they don’t slip or fall off when the carriage hits a pothole or bump. Cal’s set has chess pieces too, from India I think, carved in ivory and ebony. It’s beautiful, but I don’t play chess.”
“I have something similar,” Ned said. “But since I was planning for a solo journey, I left the games at home. I think you’ll enjoy these, though.” He pulled out a small stack of books.
To his surprise, Lily made no attempt to examine the titles. She sat there with a frozen half smile, saying nothing.Her expression gave him a sudden, unwelcome thought. He glanced at her companion. “Can you read, Betty?”
“Course I can,” Betty said scornfully. “Went to the school in the village for three years, didn’t I?” She examined the books eagerly. “Got any scary stories?”
That was all right then. For a moment he thought he’d embarrassed the girl, but of course an innkeeper’s daughter would have some schooling. He selected a small gray volume and handed it to Betty. “Try this—Mr. Lewis’sThe Monk. It’ll curdle your blood.” Betty seized it gleefully and curled up with it in the corner of the carriage.
He selected a book bound in pretty blue leather and offered it to Lily. “This one might appeal to you. It’s calledPersuasion, by the author ofPride and Prejudice, who I know all the ladies love. By all accounts it is—”
“No!” The word almost burst out of her.
He frowned.What the—?
“Sorry, but no thank you.” She avoided his gaze, her color a little heightened.
“Already read it? Then what about—”
“No! I—er, I cannot—” She took a deep breath and seemed about to say something, but then she hesitated, slumped a little and said in a defeated-sounding voice, “I get sick if I try to read in a moving carriage.” She sounded almost ashamed, but plenty of people suffered from travel sickness in a carriage.
“Never mind, I used to have an aunt with the same problem,” he said easily. “I’m sorry now I didn’t bring any games or puzzles.”
There was a short silence, and then he added, “Have you actually readPersuasion?”
“No,” she said stiffly.
“Then what if I read it aloud to you?”
She blinked. “Aloud? You’d read it aloud—for me?”
He nodded. “It would be my pleasure. I never get carriage-sick, and I’d quite like to read this. So how about it?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” She gave him a brilliant smile.
He opened the book and began to read: “‘Sir WalterElliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage...’”
As he read, his voice deep and clear, even over the rattle and creak of the carriage and the sound of the horses’ hooves, Lily’s panic slowly subsided.
Can you read, Betty?Of course, ask the innkeeper’s daughter that. Don’t bother asking the earl’s daughter—no question thatshecould read.
I get sick if I try to read in a moving carriage.It was perfectly true—except that she felt sick whenever anyone asked her to read.
When was she ever going to get over this, the fear of people discovering that at the age of eighteen Lady Lily Rutherford still barely could read? And not at all if anyone was watching her.