For then and always, he had said. There was no way that Henry could have known Lily’s mind, nor yet her heart. The fact that she’d once loved his brother did not mean she had not loved James Graeme, too, and married him. And I, of course, had no right to feel jealousy. No right at all.
And yet, it had affected me.
For Gilroy, it would only be more reason to suspect her of attempting to deceive us, even though she’d plainly told us she and James had kept their marriage secret from most people. Henry very well might not have known.
It was true she had not told us anything of Matthew Browne, but then we had not asked her, and the act of leaving spaces in one’s narrative is not the same as telling lies.
Or so I told myself.
It was already after two o’clock when we returned our hired horses and began the short walk up to Caldow’s Land together. Helen had insisted I bring Gilroy back to dinner with me.
He hadn’t argued, having no doubt reached the realization, as had I, that there was little point resisting Helen. And while MacDougall’s table service might be rough, the Turnbulls’ housemaid—who on most days flitted like a wraith unseen within her kitchen—was a cook of rare skill and ability.
The meal, at least, was bound to be a better one than anything he’d eat alone.
I steeled myself, while starting up the forestair, for the conversation that would come. I knew Helen would ask about our morning and expect some answer, so I briefly ran through some responses in my mind and settled on one that would make a good beginning. It was always best, I knew, to be prepared.
But I was not prepared for what met me inside.
Gilroy was smoother in his own reaction. Entering ahead of me, he’d already removed his hat and bent his head to pay his honors while I was still standing just inside the door and fighting not to let my face betray my thoughts—a battle I did win, but barely.
Helen smiled. “You took an age! Adam, you’ll remember Mistress Young, of course, from yesterday. I told you I would ask her up to dinner, and she’s graciously accepted. Mistress Young, may I present our dear friend, Gilroy. And of course,” she said, to Gilroy and myself, “you already know Mrs. Graeme.”
I looked at the three women’s faces, upturned to me—Helen’s triumphant at having arranged this, and Violet Young’s eager, and Lily’s composed.
“Yes,” I said, and as Gilroy had, took off my hat and bent, paying my honors.
MacDougall, his manners improved somewhat with Violet Young in the house, took our hats and our cloaks, and advised us he’d set out a basin of fresh water—which was, for him, a restrained and polite way to say we still smelt of the horses we’d lately been riding, and should wash our hands.
But his eyes, when I told him that I’d keep my sword belt, still let me know he would have happily drawn my new blade from its scabbard and stabbed me.
And in truth, had he chosen to do so at that precise moment, and had I died there on the spot and not had to go through with that dinner, I might not have actually minded.
*
Helen, as the hostess, took the top seat at the table. She placed Violet next to me, and Gilroy next to Lily, but this meant that Lily was directly facing me, and that became a problem. As I’d known she would be since the first day we’d sat in this room together, when I had arranged the seating differently on purpose, she became a great distraction.
It was nothing that she did. And it was everything.
I found her smallest movements, even when she held her silence, so compelling that I could not keep my eyes from her, and then I grew self-conscious of that fact and tried to mask it by deliberately not looking at her, which in its own way was very likely just as telling.
Gilroy noticed. Or at least his gaze brushed me in that impassive way of his a few more times than made me comfortable.
It was Gilroy’s fault that Lily was here to begin with. She had only come by to deliver the original certificate again, which he apparently had asked her for by letter, telling her that we had need of it for some reason or other. But when she’d arrived and found us out, and Helen here with Violet Young, and would have left the document and gone, Helen refused to hear of anything but that she stay and join us all for dinner.
I suspect that the offer came partly from Helen’s own kindness, and partly because, like any good flower arranger, she doubtless believed Violet’s beauty and charms would show better displayed against some plainer blossom.
She’d miscalculated. While she had been noticing whose gown was of the newest fashion or the finest quality, whose teeth were the most even, and the other superficial ways of measuring one woman against another, Helen had forgotten the most simple fact of all: in most bouquets, a single lily could outshine a violet.