Chapter Fourteen
“What on earth, Tilly, was that?”
“What does that mean?” her sister shot back.
They were on the stairs, clambering back up to Tilly’s room.
Scarlett was still flushed with the hazy aftereffects of the pleasure that Malcolm had delivered her inside that closet. Now that she had reemerged into the bright light of the summer day, she could not believe what she had done.
She had told the man to leave her alone.
And then she had practically begged him for his touch.
It was beyond the pale of anything she had ever done before. Usually, she was nothing but proper. She hadn’t even had any opportunities, previously, to be scandalous. Her kisses long ago with her fiancé, Thomas Garrison, had been chaste, dry things.
It was something about him, about Mr. Malcolm Brown.
Yes, that she found him so handsome, but something more too.
Perhaps it was because of what had happened two nights ago.
It was impossible to think of him as a stranger now, as someone she had not been intimate with, even though she had been asleep for most of their first encounter.
And it was something more, too, she knew. Something about him made her wild. She had lived nearly her entire life in London. She knew nothing of the country—and he was a creation of this wild landscape. He drove her to do things she never would have imagined possible in London.
“Shhh,” Scarlett said. “In your room.”
She didn’t need anyone overhearing this conversation. Not only were the Perkins sisters perilously close to arguing, but they were hissing to each other about their inappropriate … activities with two of the brothers who belonged to the house.
Of course, Scarlett was supposed to be the chaperone. She had not thought chaperonage necessary for a scavenger hunt, especially since Tilly hadn’t even been paired with George. But—to her ears—it did not seem that her sister was entirely safe with Mr. Westmore either.
They gained the top of the stairs, and Scarlett hustled Tilly into her chamber.
“Tilly,” she repeated. “What is happening between you and Mr. Westmore?”
“Nothing!” Tilly exclaimed. “How dare you suggest it?”
“Tilly!”
“You heard George the other night. Don’t pretend you didn’t. He told me that his brother saw fit to speak for me on a matter where he had no right. And so I was merely scolding him for his impertinence.”
“He said he kissed you, Tilly.”
“You shouldn’t have heard that! How was I to know that you were lying in wait behind some musty old door?”
“I certainly was not there by choice,” Scarlett replied tartly.
“Oh no?” Tilly said, raising her brows.
Scarlett frowned at her sister. She had the upper hand here, after all. While Tilly knew nothing of her relations with Malcolm, Scarlett knew what she had overheard Severn Westmore say to her sister.
“When. Did. It. Happen?”
“Ugh!” her sister cried in frustration, covering her face with her hands. “It was nothing. You needn’t worry.”
“You kissed the brother of the man you want to marry. It doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“It is. And I didn’t know he was his brother. Not then. As you’ll recall, Mr. Westmore was traveling for most of the season before last.”
It was true. Tilly had been out for four seasons and had only met George two seasons prior. At the time, Mr. Westmore had been traveling on the Continent.
“When he returned, I didn’t know who he was—or about his reputation.
You know I was already set on George. But I ended up speaking to Mr. Westmore on the balcony, at one of the first balls of the season …
and … it was addlepated,” Tilly fumed. “He told me that he had been traveling. And I said this dumb, girlish thing about wanting to do so for my honeymoon. And then he kissed me. I don’t know why!
He didn’t know who I was either, I’m sure of it. ”
“Tilly,” Scarlett whisper-shrieked.
She was struggling to believe that her sister had been capable of keeping such a secret from her.
“But I’d forgotten about it since,” Tilly exclaimed. “It was a trifle. Just a kiss. It meant nothing.”
“Do you plan to tell Mr. Salisbury that you kissed his brother?”
“No! Obviously not.”
“Mr. Westmore seemed to be acting awfully possessive. How can you be sure he won’t tell George?”
“He wouldn’t. He has no reason to.” Tilly was flushed pink, two bright spots burning on her cheeks.
Her face now reminded Scarlett vaguely of the temper tantrums she had thrown as a child. No one had known how to fly into a rage like her younger sister. It had been surprising then, too, given her usually sunny disposition, that she could become so angry—but become so angry she certainly could.
“Mr. Westmore doesn’t care for me,” Tilly exclaimed. “He is just a silly rake who doesn’t like that there might be one woman in the world that he can’t have.”
Scarlett paused, working out her sister’s implication. “Oh,” Scarlett said. “That woman is supposed to be you in this situation?”
“Ugh! Scarlett, you can be so—priggish.”
Scarlett reeled back, stung. She had not been born priggish. And she certainly hadn’t just been priggish in that closet with Malcolm. But that Tilly saw her as such still burned.
“I am supposed to be your chaperone,” she said, taking care to keep her voice low and even. “I am supposed to protect you. I am not upset with you. I am only upset that I failed in protecting you.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, Scarlett.” Tilly moaned. “It doesn’t work like that anyway. You can’t stop the marriage mart.”
“Tilly,” Scarlett said, stepping forward. “Are you really certain that you want to marry George? Especially after all of this with Mr. Westmore?”
The color drained from Tilly’s face. “Of course!” She gasped.
Scarlett was sure she would be bellowing if they didn’t risk being overheard.
“I don’t want anyone but George. This changes nothing. It never did. That is why I never told you. I knew you would get the wrong idea.”
It couldn’t get more definitive than that, Scarlett supposed. And she could see Tilly’s logic. Why did George ever have to know about this kiss? If it really was a trifle, an accident of fate, then perhaps it really was nothing.
“George kissed you the other night.”
“Yes,” Tilly said, blushing and looking down. “He did. And it was a very good kiss too.” She looked up at Scarlett, beaming. “I really do think I’ll be happy with him, Scarlett.”
Scarlett sighed. She couldn’t argue with that.
“Very well, then. We’ll keep this matter with Mr. Westmore between us.”
“And what about you and Mr. Brown?” Tilly said with a smirk. “Were you really locked in the closet?”
“Yes, Matilda,” Scarlett snapped in her most schoolmarmish tone. “You know my fear of small spaces. It was horrendous.”
“And he didn’t try and, uh, comfort you?”
“The poor man had no idea what to do.”
Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Mr. Malcolm Brown had known exactly what to do—and that was the problem.
“I am sorry that happened,” Tilly said, looking very sisterly and contrite now that Scarlett had declined to scold her. “I hope you weren’t too terrified.”
“I survived,” she mumbled, averting her gaze.
The door behind them opened. Scarlett turned to see Vera bustling through it—indeed, her stepmother was walking about as fast as her stepmother could.
Vera slammed the door behind her. “Where have you two been?”
Scarlett and Tilly exchanged a look. Scarlett had no idea how to explain the closet incident to Vera—it was too bizarre to translate, and she definitely didn’t need the tale circulating further, even to her stepmother.
“Scarlett felt faint,” Tilly said. “So we came up here to rest.”
“Faint?” Vera said, pulling up short. “Are you ill, my dear?”
Given all her own ailments, Vera was never more sympathetic than when someone else was sick.
“No, it was just a passing spell,” Scarlett reassured her. “I had a glass of wine, and I feel fine now.”
“Very good. Not port, I hope? You know what I say about port and faintness.”
“No, no, never,” Scarlett said.
Vera had strong opinions about remedies. She was never so cross as when either Tilly or she disobeyed these edicts.
“Excellent,” Vera said. “Well, I am glad that you girls were not neglecting the field for something frivolous. You won’t be happy to hear, Tilly, that Gertrude and George won the scavenger hunt.”
“Oh, I am happy for them,” Tilly said good-naturedly. “I know that the marchioness was very proud of her grand prize. What did they win?”
“That is just the thing, my dear. They will be going up together in a hot-air balloon tomorrow.”
Tilly turned a pale shade of green.
“In the sky?”
“Yes, where else?” Vera frowned. “And think of how such excitement might bond them.”
“The marchioness is having a hot-air balloon brought here?” Scarlett said in disbelief.
She was intrigued. Unlike close spaces, she had always been intrigued by heights—and she had always wanted to ride in a hot-air balloon.
“She says it will be tied down so it can’t float away completely.
I am sure it cost her a mint to have it here.
But that is the advantage, Tilly, of having a lady of such high rank in the family.
Think of the opportunities for your future children.
And with Lady Leith known to be such a fond sister too.
I’m sure not half the sisters in England would care so much about a party of this nature thrown for her brother’s benefit.
It’ll be put over one of the meadows, apparently. The hot-air balloon, that is.”
“Is it only for Gertrude and George?” Scarlett asked.
“No, no,” Vera said, situating herself in one of the armchairs. “They merely get to go up first. Anyone can go up; Lady Leith reassured us all. But still. It is not ideal, Tilly, to not have you up there with the young man. He does seem a better and better match as the days go by.”
Scarlett laughed, amused by how impressed Vera seemed by the marchioness and her hot-air balloon.
“It is no laughing matter, Scarlett,” Vera said. “It is a wonderful opportunity for you, Matilda. Especially since you’ve been out for four seasons.”
“Mama! It’s not like I haven’t had offers.”
“I know, my girl, and I have said nothing. A lady gets to make her own decisions in this regard, of course. But no lady should assume that offers will continue forever. If you can get Mr. Salisbury, I believe you should.”
“I absolutely can. I practically have,” Tilly objected.
“Well,” Vera said. “That may be—but he’s going up in the hot-air balloon with Gertrude Wallington tomorrow.”
She pronounced this future event as if it were one mere step away from the altar.
“And Miss Wallington may have him in the hot-air balloon!” Tilly exclaimed. “You know I have a dreadful fear of heights.”
“Hmm.” Vera sniffed. “You must just hope then, dear, that they don’t fall in love in the air.”
Tilly rolled her eyes but remained silent.
“At the very least,” Vera continued, “that mousy Miss Marburry appears to be out of the running. Mrs. Salisbury hasn’t even tried to get her in her son’s eyeline, as far as I can tell.”
“I noticed that as well,” Scarlett chimed in.
“I hope she isn’t too disappointed,” Tilly said. “She does seem like a nice girl.”
“Yes, a very nice girl who I hope marries somewhere far from Parkhorne Hall,” Vera said.
“Mother!” Tilly objected.
“What? I cannot lament, my dear, that the competition seems to have become a two-horse race. Not when the prize is gaining value every day in my eyes.”
Tilly gave a huff of indignation. “Really, Mother.”
Vera turned toward Scarlett. “And how is Mr. Brown? He is handsome, but a country bumpkin from what I understand. He’s hardly seen society, to hear Mrs. Salisbury tell it, although she demurs on the matter, of course.
Very odd that he hasn’t traveled to London to see the marchioness there.
She has her other brothers there near constantly, from what I understand. ”
“He is very amiable.”
“Good,” Vera said. “I wouldn’t want you to suffer. And now, I must nap. I’ll positively perish without a nap.”
No, Scarlett thought, she was at no risk of suffering at the hands of Mr. Malcolm Brown.
She found, in fact, far too much pleasure by that exact mechanism.
She closed her eyes and suppressed a moan.
Once more, she must endeavor to forget the matter entirely.