Amaryllis, p.2
Amaryllis, page 2
“A diamond in the rough, eh?”
“A challenge,” she countered.
Two unwanted souls, together they’d struggled to make their way in a cruel and difficult world. Nevertheless, with David in London and Papa in New York, she felt her loyalties divided.
“I should think Warwick is inspired by your father’s money. Henry has done well by his inventions and investments.”
“You would make this into a mockery.” As the third son, David was not likely to inherit his family’s sizable fortune, but it didn’t matter. Not to her. Hard as it was for Percy to accept, there were those who liked her. As for love, he held no such emotion in his heart. From the day she’d stepped off the boat, a frightened twelve-year-old girl, he’d made no secret of his dislike of children. He agreed to take her solely for Aunt Charlotte’s sake. For his trouble, Papa saw him well compensated.
“Should he propose, Niece, I expect you to accept graciously. You may never see another opportunity.”
Heat bled into her cheeks.
“Warwick asked my permission. I granted my approval this afternoon.”
Astounded, she reared back against the padded sofa. “You? It’s a duty reserved for Papa.”
“It would be, if he were here.” He huffed, as though blowing away an objectionable odor. “In the meantime, I have his permission to act on his behalf in all matters concerning your welfare. Very thoughtful of him, don’t you think?”
At his smirk, every muscle in her body tightened. It took considerable effort not to shriek at the unfairness of him to make such an important decision. This was her life. Shouldn’t she have some say in the matter? With a deep breath, she laid her palms one to each thigh, and forced herself to relax.
“So, you’ll marry Lord Warwick.” The comment wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.
She answered without haste. “At present, there are more important concerns on my mind. Papa must be in prison or he’d have written. Perhaps he’s sick or…” She faltered at the image of him shrunken and withering away with illness. An ache tore into her chest. “He may be dying.”
For a moment, her uncle remained quiet. Wrapped in a luxurious satin jacket with an embroidered waistcoat, his bony shoulders drooped with a weary sigh. “Don’t exaggerate your worries. I loathe hysterics.”
“I need to go to him.”
“To New York?” he choked. “What of the cost? And Lord Warwick?”
“I’m his only child. There’s no one else.” Only she, the loving daughter, could see to his care. It was her right.
Face pinched, he shifted his thin frame in the leather chair. “Your loyalty is misplaced for a father who, in all these years, has never found the time to visit.”
The hurtful words scorched her skin and prickled her spirit. In shame, she dropped her gaze. Her hands trembled as she clasped them over her lap, her nails sharp against her skin. “As you said, Papa is a busy man.” The words tumbled out, thick with emotion.
Over the years, she’d made excuses for Papa’s absence. His scientific work consumed his time. Furthermore, losing a beloved wife sickened him with despair. In spite of the justifications, an ugly fear gnawed at her peace. Perhaps another reason beyond his prolonged melancholy better explained his decision to send her to England. Perhaps he didn’t love her.
Stop.
Foolish thoughts would do no good. Shoulders pinched together, she sat up straighter, spine like forged steel, and forced a confidence shaky at best. “Had it not been for the hostilities in the Colonies, Papa would have sent for me.” Whatever the truth, she would cling to the best of explanations.
He ignored her as if she didn’t matter and shuffled the papers on his fancy desk with the gold inlays. Steam rose in her head. How she loathed his selfishness and petty cruelty. “I must go to him, without delay. He needs me.”
And I need him.
“No, Niece. It’s out of the question.”
“I will go!” She stamped a foot.
“See here, young lady.”
In the adjacent parlor, someone plucked a sour violin note and her uncle flinched. A rumble of voices in the corridor marked the arrival of early guests for the birthday celebration of Percy’s new wife. Wearily, he rubbed a point on his temple, his cheeks gaunt to the point of cadaverous. She felt a rise of sympathy, aware she was a constant irritant to him, like a pebble in his shoe. A knock at the library brought him to attention. “Enter.”
A liveried servant in blue and cream materialized in the doorway. He whisked across the thick carpet and proffered a silver tray to her uncle. Percy scooped up the card from its center. Brows wrinkled, he scanned the note. “Bring him to me at once.”
“But Uncle.” Lily’s troubled voice pealed as the servant retreated. “We haven’t finished.”
“Oh? I do believe we have.” Wigged head tilted, he observed her with all the appeal of dirt-smudged onions. “You’ll want time to primp before the party.”
She slammed a fist against her knee and spewed an unladylike harrumph. “I’m as ready as I could possibly be. Will you not accept I must go to him?”
“You are not going to New York. Think of Warwick and your future.”
She sprang to her feet. Every extremity tingled. “I must and I will.” At the loss of her composure, she recoiled. Acting like a spoiled child would not gain his cooperation. When his bloodless lips twitched in satisfaction, all hope sank like a stone in water. She tamped back tears of frustration. For once, why couldn’t he support her wishes? Before she could get her tongue around a word, there was another knock.
“Enter,” he snapped.
“Uncle, please.” In spite of her urgent plea, he directed his attention at his visitor. Curious, she turned to the door and gasped. Her early morning rescuer stood in the doorway. Seeing her near the settee, his jaw dropped.
“Oh, do come in, man,” complained Percy. “You aren’t the first bloke to gape at my niece.”
“It’s you,” she declared.
The stranger blinked rapidly, as though doused with cold water. “Your niece?” he said, continuing to stare.
“Miss Amaryllis Fitzhugh in the flesh,” Percy added wryly.
She marveled at the difference in the man’s clothing and status. This morning he appeared no more than a common laborer, tired, dusty and fierce. Half a day later, garbed in elegant clothes, he emerged at her uncle’s lavish home a figure of…well, quite a spectacular man.
“Miss Fitzhugh.” He executed a polished bow.
Too confused to utter a word, she gave a quick nod. His broad, lean shoulders seemed to span the width of the doorway. Composed and steady after his initial shock, he regarded her with the warmest congeniality and set off a popping sound in her head. He grinned and the flash of perfect teeth in his handsome face sent blood racing up her neck. She couldn’t recall a similar smile when he’d charged at David—when he’d been her bold protector. Short on air, she raised her hand to her tight throat. What was he doing here?
“Are you familiar with Mr. Faraday?” Percy asked. A battle waged to reclaim her voice. Before she could speak, he’d rapped his knuckles once upon his desk. “Well?”
“He came to my—”
Impatient, he flapped his lace hanky, waving the visitor further inside.
“We met while I was riding this morning.”
At her uncle’s insistence, the impressive man claimed a seat while Percy shooed her away with a glare of disapproval. “Be off, girl.”
The rude directive thrust her back to their current argument. How dare he? Angry heat ran riot over her skin. She tensed, ready to stand and fight. Spine straight as an iron rod, she stomped to the door and twirled with a swish of satin. “I’ll leave you to your guest.” Her nostrils flared. “But I reserve the right to discuss this later. I mean to get my way.”
Chapter Three
Lily stormed from her uncle’s library with her fingers in a clenched ball. The news David wished to marry her could not have come at a worse time. More so, she doubted he would support a trip to New York. Yet go to Papa she must. Marriage could wait. Papa couldn’t.
In the parlor, a quartet played a Haydn piece. Attracted to the lovely music, she swept across the marbled foyer and entered the party. A dozen early arrivals, elegantly clad aristocrats, pomaded and bewigged, milled about buffet tables covered with ivory linen. Extravagant silver centerpieces overflowed with flowers and greens, and stood among platters of sliced tenderloin, roasted grouse, partridges and delicate artichoke hearts. Too preoccupied to care, she paid the savory puddings and pastries little mind.
It would be cruel to accept a marriage proposal when her future was so uncertain. For the first time ever, she was pleased not to see David among the guests. If he held true to form, he wouldn’t arrive until much later, at which point she’d be nursing a feigned headache in her bedchamber.
Twisting a dress bow with tense fingers, she floated among her uncle’s guests, past the potted palms and cherrywood chairs set against a wall papered with a pastoral scene. She made a concerted effort to smile. Beneath the mask, she stewed and planned. When the idea struck, she came to an abrupt stop.
Yes. That’s it!
She would sneak away to New York on the first available ship. It was the only way, and Percy wouldn’t discover her absence until it was too late and she was long gone. Giddy, she charged around the perimeter of the pale green room again, past the tall windows dressed with silvery blue drapes. Deep in concentration and lost in the details, she plowed into a solid wall of muscle. Crying out, she bounced backward. Her heart leapt into her throat when she recognized the barrier. “Oh, forgive me, Mr. Faraday.”
With embellished surprise, he flattened a palm to his chest and pretended their collision knocked the wind from his lungs. “Must be very important.” His mellow voice thrummed agreeably in her ears. “You were miles away.”
New York, to be exact. “Yes, yes, I was,” she admitted, embarrassed he touched upon her private thoughts.
She found herself drawn to his sensitive mouth and the contours of his strong-boned face. A queue at the nape of his neck tamed any curls in his dark, glossy hair. Without doubt, he was a tasty treat to behold. He far surpassed any delicacy ever created in Uncle Percy’s vast kitchen.
In return, shrewd, bluish-green eyes studied her with a hint of amusement. It caused a stinging blush across her neck she hoped he didn’t notice.
“I trust your business with my uncle went well.” His association with the nasty man intrigued her immensely. She couldn’t help but stare at him, expecting to see something despicable, a hint of a tainted character. Try as she might, she found no fault in his pleasing countenance. When he smiled, as he did just then, radiant like the sun on a cold winter’s morn, she warmed instantly.
“A bit of trade and news from the Colonies,” he replied in answer to her question. The gold silk buttons against his dark blue topcoat brought to mind stars in a midnight sky. “My only regret,” he said, interrupting her perusal, “is that I ended your discussion with your uncle.”
“Oh, that.” She swallowed her disappointment, determined to see a positive outcome to her dilemma. “My matter will be completed, one way or another.” She would get to Papa somehow.
On a wave of optimism, she asked, “Tell me you weren’t harmed in your tussle with Lord Warwick this morning. David can be so argumentative at times.”
“A hothead, indeed.”
A servant with a tray of refreshments approached. He helped himself to champagne and stepped closer, bringing with him the scent of something pleasant and a little exotic, like nutmeg. “Would you care for one?”
She shook her head and watched, perhaps too closely for polite behavior, as he sipped the bubbly liquid.
“Miss Fitzhugh, are you familiar with a New Yorker named Henry Fitzhugh, a scholar and inventor of some renown?”
All at once, something awakened and fluttered, like tiny wings in her chest. “He’s my father.”
“That answers a few questions.”
“Questions?”
“About an imp who sniggered when I erred in my math calculations?”
She tipped her head in confusion.
“You once boasted you would travel to Egypt.” His mouth lifted at a corner. “You planned to explore the pyramids, on a camel, no less.”
The sudden recollection exploded in her head, forceful as a sledgehammer. “Of course,” she cried with excitement. “You’re Griffin Faraday, one of the boys Papa used to tutor.”
“Yes, my brother, Elliot, and I.”
His expansive smile stirred an image of a lanky lad with shaggy hair who dawdled amid her Papa’s messy, book-filled study. “You’re so…” Handsome, she almost blurted and cleared her throat, trying to normalize her voice. “You’re different. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”
“It’s been a long time.”
The memories came fast, inciting an unexpected joyfulness not experienced in ages. “You set Papa’s laboratory on fire.”
“An accident, I assure you.” He chuckled, seeming embarrassed.
“Fortunately, the flame was easily doused.” All of a sudden, her mood was as effervescent as the bubbly champagne in his fluted glass. “I remember you had a pet snake which escaped from its container.”
“Afraid so.” At the admission, he colored slightly, but he smiled with humor.
“The snake gave birth and baby snakes slithered all over Papa’s library.” For effect, she shuddered theatrically and when he laughed, she joined in.
“I worried your father would toss me out on my ear.”
“He almost did.”
She tried to reconcile the compelling face of this tall, elegant man to that of the boy’s once youthful blush and dreamy-eyed manner. How she loved to hear the tales of his favorite knights and heroic battles. “Imagine,” she mused and tapped her lip. “Griffin Faraday all grown up, and such a dandy, too.”
“Hardly.”
He glanced at a nearby table laden with Cornish hens and shrimp. By his swiftly hidden smile, she knew the comment pleased him.
A million questions danced in her head.
“Do you live in London? No, you couldn’t,” she answered. “I would have seen you and perhaps made your acquaintance.”
“New York. I come to London on business.”
Had he dropped a string of luxurious pearls in her hand, she couldn’t have been more thrilled. “You live in New York City?”
“I do.”
The hope of further good news quickened her pulse. “Have you, by chance, seen my father?” She held her breath.
“Regrettably, not in years.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders drooped. “Naturally, I had hoped.”
His handsome face gentled with concern. “How long since you last saw him?”
“Seven years. Since I came to England.”
“Ah.” He reached out a hand, as though he might comfort her with a touch. However, in the next moment, the hand was behind his back and rested low on his spine. “I’m sorry. It’s a hardship when families are separated.” The kind words plucked a soothing note in her worried mind. “Perhaps one day, one of you will make the tiresome voyage.”
“Mr. Faraday—”
“Call me Griffin. We’re old friends. No reason for formality.”
“If you prefer.” His openness encouraged her. “Since you travel frequently, you must be familiar with crossing schedules. Are you aware of any ships bound for New York soon?”
“The Phoenix is set to leave in a week.”
A shake of her head cast the notion aside. “Not soon enough.”
“The Providence sails tomorrow. I’ve booked passage on her.”
Her heart soared with possibilities. “You did?”
“Is there a message you wish me to give your father?”
Their gazes locked. Her foot tapped a nervous beat. “I want you to take me to New York.”
Not a hair or breath flickered. Her palms grew damp and her throat dry as she watched him. Then he blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Forgive me.” She clasped her hands, kneading her tense fingers. “I must go to my father as soon as possible. I fear something dreadful has happened.” She disliked babbling but his pointed stare unnerved her. “He’d have written otherwise. He might be ill. As his daughter, I should be there.” A pitiful image of a thin and sick Papa constricted her throat. “He might be dying.” Or dead. She grimaced and tried to banish her fear.
When he spoke, his voice held steady. “Perhaps it’s not so bad. Perhaps his letter went awry.”
“I don’t mean take me as your guest. Just help me book passage.” Surely, she could scrape together enough baubles to pay the fare. She touched his arm, aware of the firm muscles beneath the fine cloth of his coat.
“Miss Fitzhugh—”
“Lily,” she offered with a congenial smile. “Remember? Old friends.” Perhaps an acknowledgment of their friendship might tug at his conscience and activate his loyalty. “If it were your brother or father in trouble, you’d want to go home as soon as possible.”
Any likelihood charm or guilt might sway him dashed when he turned grim and humorless. His fingers drummed against his thigh. “Lily.”
To hear her name spoken with such exacting firmness chilled her with foreboding.
“I understand your dilemma, but I’m not in a position to act as your guardian.”
The curls fashioned on top of her head wobbled with a vigorous headshake. “I don’t need a guardian. I simply want your help to get on that ship.” The ill-mannered, desperate pleading should have embarrassed her, but she was too far gone to care. “Afterwards, you can go about your business. You can pretend not to know me.”
“That’s not possible.” Utter conviction firmed his words. It was the sort of solid comment a battering ram couldn’t penetrate. “I could no more ignore you than—” His eyes widened. His head snapped to the right as if he dared not look at her. He dragged a long-fingered hand over his bound hair, his handsome face gripped with distress. Several tense seconds later, his agitated spirit stilled. Whatever troubled him lay submerged behind a chilly, composed mask. “Not on the Providence. It’s not the sort of ship to carry passengers.”
