The Apothecary's Daughter Part 14

"I do not know, my dear."

Lilly rose, agitated, as all the new details struggled to fit themselves into the old and erroneous impressions in her mind. "So a did this Quinn ever buy his s.h.i.+ps and sail away?"

Ruth remained seated. "Not that I know of. He is still married to the former Miss Wolcott. Though it does not appear to be a happy marriage. I see Daisy now and again, and she is almost always alone. The gossips claim, and I am among them now, I suppose, that he has kept a string of mistresses."

"You don't think Mother-?"

Aunt Elliott s.h.i.+fted, glanced at her, then away. "As far as I know, their connection was severed more than twenty years ago." She paused. "But I confess, when we received your father's letter telling us Rosamond had left him, I wasn't as surprised as I might have been, had I not known about Quinn. I had hoped Rosamond would be happy with your father. But I never really believed she would be." She sighed. "I am afraid I don't know any more, my dear. I have no idea where she went or where she is now."

Lilly stared out the second-floor window, at the pa.s.sing traffic and the trees of Hyde Park beyond. "I have always imagined her sailing the high seas, or on a grand adventure somewhere."

"Have you indeed? "

Lilly turned and glimpsed some unfamiliar, dark emotion in her aunt's countenance.

"Then your imagination is far more generous than mine."

But if the young are never tired of erring in conduct, neither are the older in erring of judgment.

f.a.n.n.y BURNEY, CECILIA, 1782.

CHAPTER 11.

houghts and questions coursed through Lilly all that day and night. In the morning, she felt quite restless. She wanted to run. Needed to run. But where in all of London could she do such a thing? Where were there no eyes ready to censure and report her unladylike conduct?

No place.

She sighed, took up the cup of chocolate from the tray on her bedside, and sipped. Chocolate had always helped her moods but did little to soothe her antsy limbs.

After breakfast, Lilly received a letter. She took it with her into the sitting room, planning to keep her aunt company while the dear woman did her daily hour of needlework. Her aunt smiled up at her, and Lilly smiled in return. No conversation was required. They were now comfortable enough with one another to enjoy silence as well as chatter.

The letter was from Mary. As she opened it, Lilly realized mildly that it was the first she had received from her old friend in several weeks.

When Lilly had first come to London, Mary had dutifully written every fortnight, if not weekly. And Lilly had written back, though not always as promptly as she should have. It was difficult that first year, when she was always so busy with her studies. And now a Well, she had time in the early mornings, surely, before the day's round of calls began, but then with taking exercise in the park, then tea, then endless evening and late-night social obligations, somehow she rarely made the time to write home.

She skimmed the few lines in Mary's small practiced hand, and experienced the pleasant warmth she always felt upon reading cheerful reports of new biscuit recipes, the topic of the Sunday sermon, or the latest village fete she had attended with Charlie, Francis, and Miss Robbins.

Lilly knew she should write back, but what could she say? She did not wish to describe the new gowns, the b.a.l.l.s, shopping with Miss Price-Winters on Bond Street and Pall Mall, the museums, the concerts. She could not describe Roger Bromley nor his kind attentions not when Mary had never known a suitor's regard.

"From home?" Aunt Elliott asked, eyes on her embroidery.

"Yes. From Mary."

Lilly would not demur and pretend her days were as ordinary as Mary's countrified life no doubt was.

She sighed.

Her aunt, pulling a thread of bishop's blue through the canvas, glanced up at the sound. "Everything all right?"

"Oh yes. The usual niceties." She began refolding the letter. "I like that blue."

I shall write back tomorrow, Lilly decided. Or the next day.

"Mr. Adam Graves," Fletcher announced and backed from the sitting room.

Startled, Lilly stood abruptly, the letter falling to the floor.

Dr. Graves entered and bowed. "Miss Haswell."

She curtsied and awkwardly swiped up the letter as she did so. "You remember my aunt, Mrs. Elliott?" Lilly hoped he would not mention their recent encounter on Apothecaries Street.

"I do indeed. Ma'am." He bowed again, a wave of blond hair falling forward and then returning to place as he straightened.

Her aunt nodded but remained seated with her needlework.

"By your leave, ma'am, I have come to ask if Miss Haswell might accompany me for a drive in the park. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?"

Her aunt's expression was pleasantly bland, but the eyes she turned toward Lilly were full of both meaning and inquiry.

"I was certain we had an engagement for tomorrow afternoon. Are we not expected at the Langtrys', my dear? Do you recall?"

Lilly recognized her aunt's clever phrasing. She was giving Lilly an excuse if she desired one. Lilly knew her aunt would prefer she not encourage the man, but she would not forbid her either. He was, at least, an Oxford man, and must therefore be from a family of at least modest wealth.

She swallowed. "I believe you are thinking of Friday, Aunt. I recall nothing on the schedule for tomorrow."

"Indeed? Well, you would know. That memory of yours. Sometimes I am not sure I should like to have one so keen."

Dr. Graves cleared his throat. "Excellent. I shall hire a carriage straightaway. I've not my own in town."

Aunt Elliott's eyebrows rose.

"I have use of my brother's, but it is engaged for the morrow."

Lilly bit her lip. Did he not know hacks were not allowed in Hyde Park? "Dr. Graves, you needn't bother. I would just as soon walk."

"Indeed? Are you quite sure?"

"Quite. At home there was only one thing I liked better than a country walk."

"And what was that? "

She glanced at her aunt, then changed the subject. "What time shall I expect you?"

Dr. Graves arrived promptly to take Lilly for the promised walk in Hyde Park, only a short distance from her aunt and uncle's home. He wore a morning coat of claret with a patterned waistcoat and buff trousers. Her aunt could not complain that his attire was not de rigueur.

Lilly wore a walking dress of ivory corded muslin with a lilac satin shawl. At her aunt's suggestion, she wore a large Oldenburg bonnet, perhaps to keep those of Mr. Bromley's acquaintance from seeing her out with another man.

Meeting anyone she knew seemed unlikely, however, as Hyde Park was spa.r.s.ely populated in the early afternoon. The fas.h.i.+onable set did not show up until half past five, when they arrived en ma.s.se in fine carriages and finer carriage dress, and raced and ogled and flirted until it was time to return home and change into evening dress.

Nor were there any military reviews or driving meets to disturb their solitude as Lilly and Dr. Graves strolled along the web of walking paths and around manmade Serpentine Lake. As they did, Lilly did her best to conjure conversation, pointing out flowers in bloom, a chattering squirrel in a tree, and the occasional dandy in a high-perch phaeton. Dr. Graves would nod or murmur a.s.sent to whatever she said, but he was clearly distracted.

Finally he said, "Previously, Miss Haswell, you asked about my fears."

"You needn't-"

"I do," he insisted, then exhaled deeply. "I have diagnosed the underlying cause, I believe. Though not the prognosis, nor treatment. I am the youngest of three sons, as I believe I mentioned. We were all sent to a boarding school reputed for its unwavering discipline. But the stern headmaster was nothing to my father. We did as he said or the consequences were severe. To this day I struggle to confront authority or act in the face of opposition. I was five and twenty before I made a truly important decision on my own."

She looked at him and asked tentatively, *And what was it, if I may ask? "

He blinked his startling blue eyes. "Why a to court you."

She felt her face flush and her heart pound in sweet heavy beats. They walked in silence for several minutes before he spoke again.

He began abruptly, "I think it only fair to tell you that I was engaged once, but the lady broke it off."

"Oh." She was taken aback. "I a I am sorry."

He glanced at her briefly, then away. "She was my father's choice, but I am afraid neither she nor her mother approved of my chosen profession. The thought of hospitals, injuries and diseases a all quite disgusted them both."

Lilly nodded her understanding.

"I suppose medicine is rather distasteful," he continued. "Boils and growths. Infections and bodily fluids a" He stopped, turning to her, face stricken. "Forgive me!"

Lilly said mildly, "Do not be uneasy on my account."

"Such talk does not disturb you?"

"No. Though I own it is not my favorite mealtime topic."

"Of course. But you do not swoon nor faint nor sicken? "

Lilly shook her head.

He paused on the tree-lined path, regarding her with frank admiration. She was tempted to tell him the reason behind her understanding nature. But her aunt's cautioning voice whispered in her mind.

"In that case-" he gave a rare smile "there is someplace I should very much like to show you."

His smile transformed his features. His frown lines disappeared, his eyes crinkled, his dimples deepened.

Oh my a Lilly felt her cheeks grow warm as she gazed at him, glad he could not read her thoughts.

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groana.

JOHN KEATS, POET & LICENSED APOTHECARY, 1819.

CHAPTER 12.