Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

“ W estrop!” Lillian’s father advanced across the private parlor of the George and extended his hand to Leo, a smile bringing out white lines against the tanned skin of his face. “Of the Waringford Westrops? Sevenhampton, near Highworth?”

“The same.”

“Have the henge at Avebury on our list of places we want to excavate.” Peter Gower pumped Leo’s hand. “Only a day’s ride by horse from Highworth, isn’t it? Lots of barrows around there, too.”

“I’ve my eye on one Stukeley wrote about at West Kennet, one Aubrey marked as well. I’d be interested in digging there, after I’m done at Uffington,” Leo said easily.

“Following the steps of the masters, I see. Good lad. Must talk to William while you’re here—Cunnington, I mean. He’s quite careful, sound methods. Not one of those who goes in and levels a place looking for novelties.” Peter discarded his hat on a small table and ran his hands through his hair, which he’d cropped short. Lillian suspected her mother had been his barber.

“I should be happy to learn as much as I can from him, sir. And yourself. And Mrs. Gower,” Leo added, as her mother finally released Lillian and came to shake Leo’s hand.

Lillian smiled to see her parents so cordial with him—and with her, after showing up only a day after the letter warning of their arrival. Leo chose to meet them at the George, one of several coaching inns in the High Street of Amesbury, a rather severe old building showing its Elizabethan roots in narrow windows and a timbered ceiling. The Westrop name had commanded use of the private parlor, which was very convenient, and the party had already been promised a dinner of trout fried in anchovies, rump roast, and pickled eels if they stayed.

Leo wouldn’t be staying. The thought was a sharp presence, like the flat of a knife against her skin. If she breathed too deeply, it would cut her.

Her mother, always bold, held Leo’s hands too long and looked him up and down. He was impeccably dressed, his coat brushed and buttons polished, his neckcloth clean and as white as the ruffles of his shirt beneath. The buckskin of his pantaloons hadn’t a crease despite the hours of sitting, or how, the day before, Lillian had pressed herself against his thighs and?—

She had to stop letting that image creep into her mind at all hours. She wore a constant blush, as if she were marked by what had passed between them. She couldn’t deny a new awareness of him, the way she was aware of the weather, or the scent of smoke in the air. Leo threatened to crowd all else out of her consciousness, and she would exist only to orbit him, like the rocky moon circling a life-giving Earth.

That would indeed make her a goose, and a sorry one when he went away.

“And you’re the man who offered for our Lillian,” Alida said. She was a handsome woman whose accent betrayed her northern roots. The gleam of silver in her dark hair and the network of lines around her blue eyes spoke to a life lived richly, with great enjoyment.

“And yet we hadn’t detected that you two were acquainted,” she added. “Lil never mentioned you in any of her letters, so I hope you will allow we were somewhat surprised at the suddenness of your offer.”

“Bah, we don’t want to hear about the wooing, my love,” Peter chortled. “We want to hear what the man is up to at Uffington. Would love to scratch a bit about the White Horse myself. Don’t hold a bit with Wise saying it was built by Alfred the Great.”

Her father was, any observer would immediately see, the source of Lillian’s looks. She had his square shoulders and bold nose, his hair the color of spring mushrooms, his bright eyes. Those eyes showed all his curiosity about the world and its workings, if less for the inner workings of its people.

He leaned over Hester, who sat with her spine as rigid as one of the wooden armchairs, which appeared to have sat in this parlor for two hundred years. Peter affectionately knuckled the girl beneath her chin, though his voice changed to the coo one might use with an infant. “No, we don’t believe that for a moment, do we, Hex? Dear old Alfred the Great was too busy fighting off Danes to bother with carving silly horses into silly hillsides.”

Hester gazed back at him thoughtfully, then blew out a stream of air that ruffled the tiny curls of her forehead, exactly as if she were a horse being released from the saddle.

“I was told there would be cakes,” Hester said.

“Aubrey suggested the horse could have been carved by Hengist and Horsa.” Leo glanced at Lillian. “Those are?—”

“The Jutish kings whom Vortigern let into Britain, and thus led to the Angles and Saxons overrunning of the country, much to his dismay.” Lillian unpinned her hat, a clever little straw capote that she had furbished with flowers. “Horsa means horse, in their language, so presumably the chalk outline is a monument to him. I’ve read my Brut , Leo.”

“Have you now?” His gaze scanned her heavy coils of hair. The look was nearly a caress. She felt again his hand cupping her jaw yesterday when he kissed her, and there went that flush again, creeping into crevices in her body that she didn’t want to be aware of in the company of her cousin or parents.

“Hasn’t everyone?” she returned.

Hester frowned. “I haven’t. Thank goodness, here’s tea.”

Leo cleared his throat and returned his gaze to Peter as a maid bustled into the room in a frilled white apron and cap, a large tray cradled before her.

“I am more inclined to support Aubrey’s other hypothesis, that the White Horse was built by the Celtic tribes. However, the landmark that interests me is Wayland Smith’s Cave, an old stone monument about a mile and a half away.”

“Indeed? Tell me more,” Peter said.

“A prehistoric monument? Tell us both more,” her mother prompted. Side by side, her parents gazed at Leo in expectation, ignoring the tea tray toward which Hester cast a look of hopeful anticipation. With a sigh, Lillian rose and took her place behind the tray, releasing the maid, who left with a bobbed curtsy and a brief glance of admiration at Leo. He did cut a fine figure in his London-tailored clothes, and Lillian guessed fine-looking men were thin on the ground in a small town like Amesbury, as much as heirs to the higher nobility.

“The cave’s not nearly as interesting as Stonehenge,” Leo said. “Though there’s an interesting theory that it was named after the mythical Norse smith, one known to the Saxons also. The track that runs past it, the Ridgeway, has been a road for thousands of years. Local legend has it that if your horse lost a shoe while traveling, you could leave the horse and a coin at the smith overnight and find that Wayland had shod your horse in the morning. Thank you,” he added, accepting the dish of tea that Lillian passed to him. He took a self-conscious sip, and his eyes widened. “You remembered.”

“How you take your tea? Aunt asked you enough times, I ought to recall. Have you ever had a horse shod by Wayland?”

“No, and I know no one who has. Yet the legend persists.”

“As legends do.” Alida took a dish of tea from Lillian’s hands and passed it to her husband, who settled himself in another of the armchairs. “What interests you about the cave, Mr. Westrop?”

“I think it might be a barrow. There’s a certain arrangement to the ditch around it that suggests the outline of such to me, and the way the passage leading into the cave has been blocked up seems indicative of a burial site.”

“Fascinating.” Peter sipped his tea. “We’re looking for remains at the henge, don’t you know. Seems like it ought to be a monument to a great king, for all Stukeley had to say about the solstice arrangement and such. Grand design for a tomb, much like the pyramids reported in Egypt. Or, at the very least, an ancient temple like the Acropolis, in which case we ought to find some interesting old bones, wouldn’t you say, my love?”

“I leave the bones to you, dear,” Alida said. She gazed over the rim of her cup at Leo, blowing softly on her tea. “Who do you have to help you? And where did you secure your funding?”

“I am responsible for my own funding, at present, and have arranged my own crew.” Leo glanced at Lillian, scraping sugar from the loaf for Hester’s cup. “But I won’t go on about my plans. Surely you wish to hear what your daughter has been doing. She’s preparing to publish her florilegium, did you know?”

“Can’t really call it a florilegium when it’s just a few flowers, can you?” Peter smiled fondly. “Still, I’m glad to hear you’re doing something with your sketches, old girl. Knew my uncle would help you. Lloyd’s a brick, for all that he’s as eccentric as that seaweed he loves.”

“Have a care, Hex, it’s hot.” Lillian carried her dish to Hester. “As a matter of fact, Papa, Mr. Westrop is the one who found a printer willing to take me on. Mr. Karim, who runs the Sign of the Scroll, will do the engravings. He works with the Duchess of Hunsdon, helping to supply her antiquarian bookshop. She’s promised to carry my volume, if I’m pleased with how it turns out.”

“Of course it will be lovely, dear,” Alida said with a warm smile. “Mr. Westrop, have you done any excavating prior to this?”

“Nothing of mention. Did you know that Lillian received an invitation from Charles Grenville to tour his garden? And we were conducted around the Chelsea Physic Garden by the head gardener himself. He was impressed by Lillian’s knowledge of the lady’s slipper orchid. Asked her questions about propagation and everything.”

“Did he now? How kind of him.” Her mother looked at Lillian with new attention. “Now that Lil is here, my dear,” she said to her husband, “we can have her do our sketches.”

“Shouldn’t we just!” her father exclaimed. “The Parkers are fine lads for the digging, but not for the drawing.”

“Lillian is quite a talented artist,” Leo said, and the fierce set to his face made her heart turn over like a puppy showing its belly. He seemed determined to make her parents praise or notice her. The dear man. He would learn.

“She’s not half bad,” her father agreed, and her mother smiled.

“You see through the eyes of love. I’m so glad, Mr. Westrop. Lil, darling, of course we’re delighted you’re here, but I’m not certain where we’ll put you. We’re staying at the Diana House, an old gatehouse to the grounds of Amesbury Abbey—the quaintest old place, you must see it. The Duke of Queensberry isn’t in residence at the moment—we’ve been told he likes where he is in Piccadilly—but it’s fine enough for our needs, if a bit small. You and Hex can share the trundle bed, I suppose?”

“Of course,” Lillian said, and finally poured her own tea.

The Gowers announced they would take the new arrivals to see their site, and the group adjourned into the coaching yard to climb aboard the cart. While her parents tried to coax Hester into mounting another moving vehicle so soon after freeing herself from the last one, Leo drew to her side, and Lillian took the opportunity to grant him a reprieve.

“You needn’t accompany us if you don’t wish. My parents will talk of nothing but soil and sarsen stones. It will quickly grow tedious, if you don’t have an interest.”

His gaze roamed each feature of her face, spurring that blush again. She really must stop thinking of kissing him. She had to operate like a normal woman in the world.

“You can’t possibly be suggesting I miss the opportunity to see Stonehenge. Nor could you forget, I have a particular interest in seeing how your parents and Cunnington have undertaken their excavations.” Indeed, he seemed alight with pleasure, nearly thrumming in anticipation. Much the opposite of Hester, who was still arguing about why she must go along.

“Very well, then, come along, and do try to keep up,” Lillian said with a prim tuck of her lips, and appreciated the crack of his smile. “Hex, it will be worth the discomfort. It’s a heap of great, massive stones built by the ancient Druids, far bigger than any circle you’ve seen. Much more impressive than Harold’s Stones, which we passed in Monmouth when we were traveling to London from Wales.”

Hester folded her arms across her chest. A stray breeze lifted her brown curls against her bonnet. “ How much more impressive?”

“Vastly,” Leo said. “Come, and there will be Persian apple punch after.”

Hester’s lip twitched. “Persian apple syllabub, and I’ll go.”

“You are an incorrigible creature,” Leo replied. “I can’t think of a dish more ghastly. Up with you, and sit toward the front by your uncle, so the motion won’t jar you as badly.”

Peter turned from the board where he sat with the ribbons in hand, Alida beside him. “Come along, Hex, there’s a good girl. And you two lovebirds, let’s not waste the light.”

The heat, the solidity of Leo’s hand as he helped her into the cart made Lillian’s mind blank of all but the sensation of his lips pressed against her, his hands on her hips. Good heavens, this was becoming untenable. Her body was warm dough rising in the pan.

She took a seat near Hester on the wooden board that lined the inside of the cart, hoping he would settle himself opposite, a safe distance. Instead, Leo folded his long legs and sat beside Lillian, flipping the skirts of his tailcoat aside, draping his arm casually along the rim behind her back. Once again, her senses could take in nothing but him, as though she’d been splashed in the face with a bowl of cool water.

His knee gently bumped hers as the cart moved down High Street. His scent, cloves and tobacco, filled her head when he leaned forward to point at the church, a blocky medieval building of stern gray stone with a square Norman tower and high, narrow slits for windows. He curved his arm about her as the cart racketed over Queensberry Bridge, crossing the lazy Avon, then turned sharply down a hard-packed chalk lane that resembled nothing so much as a well-traveled sheep path.

How sweet it was to have Leo at her side, and how impossible that he would remain there. He was leaving soon, the next day or after, and all her besotted yearnings would diminish to intangible fantasies. Best that way.

She caught him watching her, not the approaching landscape. His eyes held the pooled gray of the sky. “Do your parents often treat you as if you were yet a child?”

She fiddled with her sketchbook, checking that it and her crayon were in place in her bag and that she had pages free for new work. “They are not the doting sort, but they want the best for me.”

“They didn’t inquire after your doings, or our engagement, or any of your plans for our wedding. And they didn’t ask a single question about your book.”

“Those things aren’t likely to interest them, I’m afraid.”

Lillian had long ago given up the futile wish that her parents might involve themselves in her life, at least not when they were in the midst of a project. Leo didn’t know how much it meant that they’d left their dig for an hour or two to meet them at the inn.

“Their daughter’s marriage doesn’t interest them?” he inquired.

“They would come to my actual wedding, of course, and say all the proper things.”

The cart caught a rut, and she put out a hand to steady herself. It landed on his leg. He was solid and warm. She pulled back as if she’d touched a live coal.

His brows shot together. “Did you tell him I proposed under duress? Do they think we are only pretending?”

“I didn’t say a thing. But I doubt they are entertaining for a moment the thought I might truly marry a Westrop. It wouldn’t surprise them to know our reasons, nor will it dismay them much when we call things off.”

He opened his mouth, then paused. “Why wouldn’t they believe you’d won my heart?”

“Leo, don’t pretend to be obtuse. One has only to look at you, then at me, to understand the bets being laid at all the clubs.”

He studied her features, and her heart knocked against her ribs, a curious nudge. She was enjoying this, the thrill that rushed through her at his nearness. But beneath was some pool of quiet tranquility she was beginning to feel in his presence, a pleasure that had deep springs. Beneath the shivers of infatuation, he sparked some calm radiance with her. He was so solid and steady at her side, and his steadiness steadied her.

“Then they do not see what I see,” he said finally, turning his gaze to the hedged lane, with its glimpses of pasture beyond, which gave way to the gentle green swells of Salisbury Plain.

And that was an impossible thing to say, because Lillian wouldn’t have the opportunity to discover what it was he saw in her. Foolish enough to sit beside him and savor his nearness when she knew they must part. The way her heart was beginning to behave around him, the sooner that parting took place, the better for her peace of mind.