Chapter Six
DINNER, LIKE LUNCH, was filled with even more fascinating stories of India, France, and Spain.
At first Lila had to keep her mouth full of food again to keep from barraging Mr. Luthford with questions.
Eventually she found her plate empty, but by then she was content to simply listen to him talk.
He had a way with words and had so many remarkable experiences that, although she would have liked to ask questions, she realized she did not really need to.
The men lingered only a short while over their port and joined Lila in the drawing room where she crocheted by the fire.
After only a few minutes Mr. Luthford begged off; he was worn out from his travel this morning and getting settled once his trunks arrived in the afternoon.
Tomorrow Uncle Peter would be giving him a tour of the village.
“Why don’t you join us, Lila?” Uncle Peter said.
“Oh, I do believe I have an . . . uh, obligation with Eloise tomorrow.”
“Surely it can wait. How often do we have a guest unfamiliar with our wonderful hamlet?”
“If Miss Grange is otherwise engaged—” Mr. Luthford said.
“Nonsense,” Uncle Peter said, waving away any resistance. “She sees Eloise nearly every day; she can make arrangements.” He gave Lila a strong look, and Lila finally smiled politely and nodded her agreement.
“Eleven o’clock,” Uncle Peter said, pushing up from his chair. “We’ll meet in the foyer and make an afternoon of it. Perhaps we will take lunch at Burns & Patter so that he might see what High Ercall used to be. I’ll send them a note to reserve a table.”
The next morning Lila came down the stairs at five to eleven, having spent the morning making up for yesterday’s dowdiness by putting extra attention to today’s toilet.
She was not trying to impress Mr. Luthford, but she was secretly relieved not to have to work at being unattractive today.
With Uncle there she couldn’t behave in the contrary way she might if it were only she and Mr. Luthford.
The most she could do was not be too interested in Mr. Luthford’s stories.
If only thoughts of his dinner narrations had not left her yearning for a few clarifications.
Why were there only cats to eat in northern Spain that winter, and how, exactly, did one cook a cat?
Not asking was as hard to do as not putting her best self forward, but all must be endured in the name of Neville.
Lila was reminding herself of all these things when Wilhite, the butler, came upon her and reached a paper toward her. “A note from Master Franklyn, miss.”
She took the note and unfolded it.
Lila,
My deepest regrets for being unable to join today’s escort, but there was a dispute between two tenants and I’ve been called in to help resolve the matter.
Please give Luthford my apologies. I have made arrangements for the two of you to take lunch at Burns & Patter. They are expecting you at 12:15.
Additionally, Mrs. Mason sent round a note accepting the invitation to dinner I believe you extended without appraising me. Please be so good as to keep me informed of such things in the future. I have issued a further invitation to Mr. And Mrs. Marchett to extend the numbers.
Have a lovely afternoon,
Uncle P
Lila couldn’t believe that for the second time in two days her uncle was fairly throwing her into the arms of a man she barely knew!
A carriage ride with him alone? It would have to be an open carriage for matters of respectability, of course, but then the whole village would see her and Mr. Luthford together.
What would they think when Neville returned in just over a week and she rode in an open carriage with him?
She expected more from her uncle and would find a way to tell him as much .
. . just as soon as she figured out how she would handle the next two hours with Mr. Luthford.
“I believe the carriage is ready,” Wilhite said.
“I need a moment,” Lila said, turning to hurry back up the stairs.
She could not let the chance to be alone with Mr. Luthford go to waste. Once in her room she went to her desk and removed the list so she might review it.
“Politics,” she muttered under her breath. “Foul stomach.” Was there anything else?
Gentlemen prefer the smell of roses to lavender. Consider such when you shall be close enough in proximity for him to catch a gentle whiff of your perfume.
Lila had already splashed rose water upon her neck, as she did every morning.
But that was playing directly into the theory of the article rather than opposing it.
So she must remedy the inadvertent mistake with lavender.
After a moment’s consideration she hurried toward her wardrobe.
For Christmas two years earlier Eloise had given Lila a bottle of lavender oil and a small pillow.
Every few months Lila would put a few drops of the oil on the pillow, then place the pillow in her wardrobe to keep the moths away and the fabrics smelling fresh.
The oil was far more concentrated than perfume.
Lila found the oil and pulled out the cork, then turned over one wrist and let a single drop of the oil drip onto her skin.
With the fingers of her other hand she rubbed the oil in, then raised it to her face.
Strong, but perhaps not strong enough. She placed another drop on her other wrist and rubbed both wrists together, but still worried it was not strong enough.
Knowing time was short—Mr. Luthford was likely waiting for her even now—she lifted the skirt of her dress and let a drip fall onto the petticoat underneath where she would not have to worry about an oil stain.
She let another drop fall, and then another.
She put a drop behind each ear, one at the base of her neck, and still another on the cords of her reticule before putting some oil on her fingers and running her hands through her hair left down today.
She paused in her application to assess the level of scent and took a deep inhale.
Her lungs seized, and she coughed several times as tears came to her eyes.
The oil was certainly pungent, but that was exactly what she needed.
She replaced the stopper and put the bottle back into the wardrobe, then walked regally out of her room and down the stairs, rather proud of her quick thinking.
The faithful butler had been waiting for her and opened the door as she reached the main level.
“Mr. Luthford is awaiting you out front. Have a very good afternoon.” His voice increased in pitch toward the end, and he quickly lifted a hand to cover a cough.
Lila pretended not to notice but felt the misgivings.
“Thank you, Wilhite,” she said with a stiff smile while rapidly blinking her eyes in hopes to clear them.
She hoped it did not look as though she were crying, but she began to worry she’d overdone things.
Mr. Luthford was standing next to the carriage, waiting for her.
He smiled and, so help her, she smiled back.
“Good day, Mr. Luthford,” she said as she descended the porch steps, watching the stairs carefully so her blurred vision didn’t lead her to disaster.
“Good day, Miss Grange,” he said when she reached him.
He put out his hand to help her into the carriage but as he was handing her up, he paused, his hand still holding hers and enveloping her fingers in a warmth that made Lila very uncomfortable in a very comfortable sort of way.
His brow furrowed slightly, and she braced herself for him to ask why she smelled so strongly of a scent gentlemen did not prefer.
“Are you well, Miss Grange?” he asked instead.
She blinked rapidly. “Yes, I am very well.” The stench of lavender was choking her.
“Are you certain? If we should postpone this tour, I can wait for your uncle to escort me.”
Was he trying to get out of the tour because she smelled so badly? She could not waste this opportunity. “No, I am happy to be your guide,” she said, watching his eyes closely. She coughed behind her free hand.
His eyes did not seem to be affected, and he had not coughed even once. When he spoke, his voice was all kindness and sincerity. “Are you very certain?”
“I am very certain,” she repeated with a smile she was surprised to realize she meant—a little bit at least. She did want to be with him, but she convinced herself it was because she would surely turn him away once and for all with this ride.
Once in the carriage she took the seat facing forward—as a woman always did when riding alone with a gentleman.
Mr. Luthford stepped in behind her, taking his place behind the driver.
The carriage moved forward, and Lila realized, too late, that with her sitting here and him sitting there, she would be downwind.
If their places were reversed, the movement of air around the carriage would keep him in a veritable cloud of the stink, but etiquette prevented that from happening, and so he would remain unaffected and she would have to fight the urge to cover her nose—or vomit.
What’s more, Mr. Luthford had not seemed to even notice the wretched smell. How could that be?
“You look very well, Miss Grange,” Mr. Luthford said as the carriage began toward the heart of the village.
“Thank you,” she said, catching herself just in time before she complimented him in return. He did not dress flamboyantly, but there was a quality of his dress she found appealing—masculine and confident without attempts to distract from the man himself.
“Are you sure you feel up to this tour?” he said, looking at her with concern.
“I am very well, Mr. Luthford,” she said, wishing he would stop asking. “Only, I am a bit concerned over the political climate of our nation after this last session of Parliament.”
Mr. Luthford smiled—a true, sincere, and interested smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t followed British politics very closely these last years. I would be grateful if you might fill me in, so that should a discussion at some event or another turn to that topic I won’t make a complete cake of myself.”