14. Chapter 14-Lily #2
“I thought it rather charming, myself. I didn’t see the harm in letting the seeds remain. If you’d been heading into town, I might have subtly indicated that a glance in the mirror wouldn’t be amiss, but I daresay Rebecca didn’t care.”
“I would have cared,” she argued, her forehead wrinkled.
“Precisely why I didn’t tell you. Why would I disturb the wonderful time you were having reading Rebecca stories or rearranging her dollhouse or whatnot, only because of a few wayward poppyseeds?”
“Perhaps you have a point, but I must insist that you say something if you see me gallivanting around London with poppyseeds in my teeth.”
“Oh, heavens no. I wouldn’t dream of it.” He chuckled, and the sound instantly registered as perhaps one of the top ten most pleasant sounds she’d ever heard in her life. Bradford grinned down at her. “I wouldn’t dare say anything that would interrupt you gallivanting.”
Lily fought the urge to blush, but she wasn’t quite sure why. She shook her head and looked at the ground instead.
He cleared his throat and said, “I fear we’ve gotten well off course of the intended conversation, however.”
Right—somehow amongst their comfort together, Lily had lost sight of the fact that he’d come to London to question her, that they were less friends than they were investigator and suspect.
“Theater,” he said, jolting her from her thoughts.
She frowned up at him. “Pardon?”
“Thankfully, you were correct when you said that neither of us will ever see My Dearest Matilda again. You were also correct when you argued that perhaps the quality of the production differed, though I’m more inclined to think that the northern production was of a higher quality and your taste in plays is simply that dreadful. ”
“We are at a stalemate in the discussion, then.”
“Not at all. There’s an easy enough solution—there’s a play running at the Theatre Royal right now. Something about two good brothers. Or perhaps they’re bad.” He frowned. “Actually, I’m not certain what it’s about, only that it’s supposed to be good.”
“According to whom?” she teased.
“Gentlemen in the Know.” He pronounced the words as if they were a title.
“One shouldn’t believe every review one reads in the newspapers,” Lily said archly. “Some say that they’re paid off by the theater owners.”
“And yet we’ll never settle our Matilda dispute in any other fashion. This is the only way I know to ascertain whether your taste in the stage is as poor as your taste in books.”
“My taste in books is excellent.”
His dark eyes slid sideways to hers; he smirked. “You should know that Mrs. Clark is a dreadful gossip. Every time you borrowed one of her novels, I heard of it.”
That was certainly unwelcome information.
Lily could do little more than blush furiously in the silence that followed.
Thankfully, they were passing the pond right then, and she pretended to carefully examine the swans in order to turn her face away as she tried to remember all the terribly written fiction she’d borrowed.
“So it’s settled, then,” Bradford said. “We’ll go to the theater together, tomorrow evening.”
“Pardon?” Lily blinked.
He sighed as if she were being purposefully dense. “You and I shall go to the theater?—”
“It wasn’t my difficulty hearing the words, so much as comprehending them.”
“Ah. With your terrible preferences in storytelling, I should have deduced as much.” Lily barely refrained from rolling her eyes as Bradford continued, “We’ll both see the same play and share our opinions.
This way, I’ll finally be able to know whether your taste is only slightly poor or devastatingly dreadful. ”
Lily cocked her head, the ribbons on her bonnet fluttering with the movement and the small breeze. “Is this truly necessary? It’s not as if I shared any of my opinions with Rebecca.”
“I certainly hope not. Your Sir Vernon book was bad enough. Why, she can’t step outside these days without searching the skies for a large yellow balloon.”
Lily winced. “I suppose that is my fault, though I didn’t know how else to explain my absence. At least, not in a way that wouldn’t hurt her.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said, waving off her concern. “It’s become a useful tool of the household.”
“How so?”
“If you don’t eat your vegetables, Rebecca, Sir Vernon will never come back.”
“Why, that’s awful.” Lily pressed a hand to her chest.
Bradford huffed a laugh and shook his head. “It’s probably a blessing you had to leave your post so quickly. Otherwise, my daughter would have shortly ascertained how soft your heart is, how easily played.”
“I do have a soft heart where Rebecca is concerned, but that doesn’t mean I let her rule me.”
He shrugged. “Yet you wrote her regularly, eventually giving away your location.”
“You found me through my letters?” She stopped in the center of the path and gaped at him. “How? I had them sent from everywhere.”
“If that were true, one certainly would have routed its way though London at some point. None of them ever did. One must carefully examine what’s not there as closely as what is.”
Why, he was even more intelligent than she’d given him credit for.
“How is Rebecca? I’ve been thinking of little else.” She realized it was a lie as soon as she spoke the words. Ever since Bradford had arrived in London, she’d thought of little else but him.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice her momentary consternation. He gave a brief report of the girl’s well-being and activities, ending by saying, “And of course she has a new governess, Mrs. Holland, who is as fond of her as you were.”
“Impossible,” Lily replied with mild vehemence.
Bradford smiled. “Rebecca is very charming.”
“A trait undoubtedly inherited from her mother,” Lily teased.
She watched for any flicker on his face that would have informed her that the subject was unwelcome, but he just smiled easily and said, “Undoubtedly.”
After a few moments’ silence, Lily said, “I still don’t see how you found me.”
“Now you know how it feels—someone keeping a secret from you.”
Lily wanted to jab Bradford in the ribs like she used to do with William when they were younger. She didn’t, of course—instead she settled for wrinkling her nose at his back.
He turned to her, smiling, as if he’d felt her irritation. “I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock.”
“Pardon?”
“The play, Lily. Tomorrow evening. I’ll secure us an entire box so that we won’t have to sit amongst the rabble.”
“I hardly think that the nobility can be described as rabble.”
“Another point on which we disagree, and another opinion of which I’m convinced age will cure you.”
“You’re not so much older than I am,” she laughed.
Bradford shot her a look that she couldn’t quite decipher. “Some might argue it’s the breadth of experience that matters more than age.”
“And I could argue that in some ways, my experience has been broader than yours.”
He smiled as if her assertion amused him. “How so?”