Page 2 of The Valentine Skates

“He asked, just now before you arrived, where you’d gone in such a hurry that you left him behind.”

“I’m Emily, and Mr. Withers wants to go home.” The girl ignored the question.

“Emily? Have we met before in the village?”

“No. But I know who you are.”

“Indeed?”

“You’re the harem lady who does the dance of the nails.”

Lilianne struggled to stifle a laugh. “My, that’s the most interesting description of my person I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s what Grandpa’s housekeeper, Mrs. White, says.”

Lilianne lifted the chocolate pot and poured another cup. “Emily, would you like to try one of Cook’s ginger biscuits with your chocolate?”

The small imp’s dark brown eyes took on a calculating gleam. “What about Mr. Withers?”

“Of course, he shall have a biscuit as well.”

“Who’s that?” She pointed a tentative finger at the faded velvet rabbit sitting across from the bear.

“Timothy. He heard about Mr. Withers and decided to make certain he was the proper sort to invite to our party.”

“This is a party?”

“Ginger biscuits and cocoa in the middle of the day in the orangery? I’d call that a party.”

“Am I invited?”

“Of course, if you’d like to take off your coat and sit with us.”

Emily made a great show of daintily removing her snow-covered coat, long wool scarf, and gloves. She folded everything neatly and placed them on a low table near the door.

Once she’d seated herself on one of the chairs and reached for a biscuit, Lilianne asked what had been on her mind for days. “Why do you come to see me but then run away when I try to let you in? Does your nanny know you’re gone? It’s so cold outside, and your house is a mile away. Surely you don’t walk that far.”

“Nanny thinks I’m visiting Grandpa.”

Lilianne thought for a moment. The parsonage was within walking distance of Wembledon Park. “And your grandfather lets you walk here every day?”

Emily dipped her head and stared outside as if there were something exceedingly interesting transpiring in the ice and snow-covered garden.

“No,” she finally admitted. “When Papa’s driver sets me down, I run here.”

“Aren’t you afraid your papa and grandpa will compare stories eventually, and you’ll be found out?”

“But that’s the thing. They never talk. Grandpa doesn’t talk to Papa anymore.”

Lilianne considered how her friend had died in childbirth. Perhaps the wound was still too fresh for both men to have reconciled.

“Teach me the dance of the nails,” Emily demanded suddenly.

“If I knew what the dance was, I would be happy to teach it to you, but it’s one that I’m afraid I don’t know.” Again, Lilianne’s face hurt from holding back a smile.

After a short pout, a sly smile like that of a sage forest imp took over the child’s face. “Then you’ll come ice skate with me and Papa tonight on the river.” The child’s statement was so quick that Lilianne could swear she’d been manipulated by an expert. She, Jane, and Frederick Meredith had spent many a winter’s night skating along the river by the light of a roaring bonfire and a full moon. The memories of those nights had sustained her more than once during her captivity.

A thousand excuses bubbled to her lips. She’d spent the last four years avoiding any contact with the outside world. Everyone in London society had conjectured about what had happened to her, not to mention all the lurid scandal sheet accounts and caricatures sold in book shops in the Strand shortly after she’d returned.