23
" I shall leave you to your Sisyphean task."
"What does that mean?" he heard Daisy ask.
Lillian replied while her smiling gaze remained locked with Marcus's. "It seems you avoided one too many Greek mythology lessons, dear. Sisyphus was a soul in Hades who was damned to perform an eternal task... rolling a huge boulder up a hill, only to have it roll down again just before he reached the top."
"Then if the countess is Sisyphus," Daisy concluded, "I suppose we're..."
"The boulder," Lady Westcliff said succinctly, causing both girls to laugh.
"Do continue with our instruction, my lady," Lillian said, giving her full attention to the elderly woman as Marcus left the room. "We'll try not to flatten you on the way down. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
28
" While the indecisive customer hovered over an array of perfumes that Nettle had brought out for her, the American girls browsed among the shelves of perfumes, colognes, pomades, waxes, creams, soaps, and other items intended for beauty care. There were bath oils in stoppered crystal bottles, , and tins of herbal unguents, and tiny boxes of violet pastilles to freshen the breath. Lower shelves held treasure troves of scented candles and inks, sachets filled with clove-saturated smelling salts, potpourri bowls, and jars of pastes and balms. Nettle noticed, however, that while the younger girl, Daisy, viewed the assortment with only mild interest, the older one, Lillian, had stopped before a row of oils and extracts that contained pure scent. Rose, frangipani, jasmine, bergamot, and so forth. Lifting the amber glass bottles, she opened them carefully and inhaled with visible appreciation.
Eventually the blond woman made her choice, purchased a flacon of perfume, and left the shop, a small bell ringing cheerfully as the door closed.
Lillian, who had turned to glance at the departing woman, murmured thoughtfully, "I wonder why it is that so many light-haired women smell of amber..."
"You mean amber perfume?" Daisy asked.
"No- their skin itself. Amber, and sometimes honey..."
"What on earth do you mean?" the younger girl asked with a bemused laugh. "People don't smell like anything, except when they need to wash."
The pair regarded each other with what appeared to be mutual surprise. "Yes, they do," Lillian said. "Everyone has a smell... don't say you've never noticed? The way some people's skin is like bitter almond, or violet, while others..."
"Others have a scent like plum, or palm sap, or fresh hay," Nettle commented.
Lillian glanced at him with a satisfied smile. "Yes, exactly!"
Nettle removed his spectacles and polished them with care, while his mind swarmed with questions. Could it be? Was it possible that this girl could actually detect a person's intrinsic scent? He himself could- but it was a rare gift, and not one that he had ever known a woman to have. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
29
" Beginning to feel that her brother was being rather too harsh on Lillian Bowman, Livia frowned. “She’s a very pretty girl, Marcus.”
“A pretty facade isn’t enough to make up for the flaws in her character.”
“Which are?”
Marcus made a faint scoffing sound, as if Miss Bowman’s faults were too obvious to require enumeration. “She’s manipulative.”
“So are you, dear,” Livia murmured.
He ignored that. “She’s domineering.”
“As are you.”
“She’s arrogant.”
“Also you,” Livia said brightly.
Marcus glowered at her. “I thought we were discussing Miss Bowman’s faults, not mine.”
“But you seem to have so much in common,” Livia protested, rather too innocently. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
30
" Was she terribly ravishing in her underclothes?” Livia asked craftily.
“Yes,” Marcus said without thinking, and then scowled. “I mean, no. That is, I didn’t look at her long enough to make an assessment of her charms. If she has any.”
Livia bit the inside of her lower lip to keep from laughing. “Come, Marcus…you are a healthy man of thirty-five—and you didn’t take one tiny peep at Miss Bowman standing there in her drawers?”
“I don’t peep, Livia. I either take a good look at something, or I don’t. Peeping is for children or deviants.”
She gave him a deeply pitying glance. “Well, I’m dreadfully sorry that you had to endure such a trying experience. We can only hope that Miss Bowman will stay fully clothed in your presence during this visit, to avoid shocking your refined sensibilities once again.”
Marcus frowned in response to the mockery. “I doubt she will.”
“Do you mean that you doubt she will stay fully clothed, or you doubt she will shock you?”
“Enough, Livia,” he growled, and she giggled. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
31
" Dinners at Stony Cross Park were famously lavish, and this one was no exception. Eight courses of fish, game, poultry, and beef were served, accompanied by fresh flower arrangements that were brought to the table with each new remove. They began with turtle soup, broiled salmon with capers, perch and mullet in cream, and succulent Jon Dory fish dressed with a delicate shrimp sauce. The next course consisted of peppered venison, herb-garnished ham, gently fried sweetbreads floating in steaming gravy, and crisp-skinned roast fowl. And so on and so forth, until the guests were stuffed and lethargic, their faces flushed from the constant replenishing of their wineglasses by attentive footmen. The dinner was concluded with a succession of platters filled with almond cheesecakes, lemon puddings, and rice souffles. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
33
" But why shouldn't I thank someone for doing me a service?" he heard Lillian ask with genuine perplexity. "It's polite to say thank you, isn't it?"
"You should no more thank a servant than you would think a horse for allowing you to ride it, or a table for bearing the dishes you place upon it."
"Well, we're not discussing animals or inanimate objects, are we? A footman is a person."
"No," the countess said coldly. "A footman is a servant."
"And a servant is a person," Lillian said stubbornly.
The elderly woman sighed in exasperation. "Whatever your view of a footman is, you must not thank him at dinner. Servants neither expect nor desire such condescension, and if you insist on putting them in the awkward position of having to respond to your remarks, they will think badly of you... as will everyone else. Do not insult me with that vapid stare, Miss Bowman! You come from a family of means- surely you employed servants at your New York residence!"
"Yes," Lillian acknowledged pertly, "but we talked to ours. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
34
" I wonder why it is that so many light-haired women smell of amber..."
"You mean amber perfume?" Daisy asked.
"No-their skin itself. Amber, and sometimes honey..."
"What on earth do you mean? the younger girl asked with a bemused laugh. "People don't smell like anything, except when they need to wash."
The pair regarded each other with what appeared to be mutual surprise. "Yes, they do," Lillian said. "Everyone has a smell... don't say you've never noticed? The way some people's skin is like bitter almond, or violet, while others..."
"Others have a scent like plum, or palm sap, or fish hay," Nettle commented.
Lillian glanced at him with a satisfied smile. "Yes, exactly!"
Nettle removed his spectacles and polished them with care, while his mind swarmed with questions. Was it possible that this girl could actually detect a person's intrinsic scent? He himself could- but it was a rare gift, and not one that he had ever known a woman to have. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
37
" But why shouldn't I thank someone for doing me a service?" he heard Lillian ask with genuine perplexity. "It's polite to say thank you, isn't it?"
"You should no more thank a servant than you would thank a horse for allowing you to ride it, or a table for bearing the dishes you place upon it."
"Well, we're not discussing animals or inanimate objects, are we? A footman is a person."
"No," the countess said coldly. "A footman is a servant."
"And a servant is a person," Lillian said stubbornly.
The elderly woman sighed in exasperation. "Whatever your view of a footman is, you must not thank him at dinner. Servants neither expect nor desire such condescension, and if you insist on putting them in the awkward position of having to respond to your remarks, they will think badly of you... as will everyone else. Do not insult me with that vapid stare, Miss Bowman! You come from a family of means- surely you employed servants at your New York residence!"
"Yes," Lillian acknowledged pertly, "but we talked to ours. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
38
" You are a rebellion, a useless retaliation against a ghost. And when the novelty of his vulgar bride wears thin, the earl will come to despise you as I do. But by then it will be too late. The lineage will be ruined."
Lillian remained expressionless, though she felt the color drain from her face. No one, she realized, had ever looked at her with real hatred until now. It was clear that the countess wished every ill upon her short of death- perhaps not even barring that. Rather than shrink, cry, or protest, however, Lillian found herself launching a counterattack. "Maybe he wants to marry me as a retaliation against you, my lady. In which case I am delighted to serve as the means of reprisal. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
39
" Reaching the door of his mother’s apartments, Marcus found it locked. He rattled the handle violently. “Open it,” he bellowed. “Open it now!”
Silence, and then a maid’s frightened reply from within. “Milord… the countess bade me to tell you that she is resting.”
“I’ll send her to her eternal fucking rest,” Marcus roared, “if this door isn’t opened now.”
“Milord, please—”
He drew back three or four paces and hurled himself against the door, which shook on its hinges and partially gave with a splintering sound. There were fearful cries in the hallway from a pair of female guests who happened to witness the astonishing display of raging frenzy. “Dear God,” one exclaimed to the other, “he’s gone berserk!”
Marcus drew back again and lunged at the door, this time sending chunks of paneling flying. He felt Simon Hunt’s hands grasp him from behind, and he whirled with his fist drawn back, ready to launch an attack on all fronts.
“Jesus,” Hunt muttered, retreating a step or two with his hands raised in a defensive gesture. His face was taut and his eyes were wide, and he stared at Marcus as if he were a stranger. “Westcliff—”
“Stay the hell out of my way!”
“Gladly. But let me point out that if our positions were reversed, you would be the first to tell me to keep a cool—”
Ignoring him, Marcus swerved back to the door and targeted the disjointed lock with a powerful, accurately aimed blow of his boot heel. The housemaid’s scream shot through the doorway as the ruined portal swung open. Bursting into the receiving room, Marcus charged toward the bedchamber, where the countess sat in a chair by a small hearth fire. Fully dressed and swathed in ropes of pearls, she stared at him with amused disdain.
Breathing heavily, Marcus advanced on her with bloodlust racing through his veins. It was certain that the countess had no idea that she was in mortal danger, or she would not have received him so calmly.
“Full of animal spirits today, are we?” she asked. “Your descent from gentleman to savage brute has been accomplished so very quickly. I must offer Miss Bowman my compliments on her efficacy.”
“What have you done with her?”
“Done with her?” Her expression taunted him with its innocent perplexity. “What the devil do you mean, Westcliff?”
“You met with her at Butterfly Court this morning.”
“I never walk that far from the manor,” the countess said haughtily. “What a ridiculous asser—” She let out a strident cry as Marcus seized her, his fingers wrapping around the pearl ropes and tightening them around her throat.
“Tell me where she is, or I’ll snap your neck like a wishbone!”
Simon Hunt seized him from behind once more, determined to prevent a murder from occurring. “Westcliff!”
Marcus closed his hand in a harder grip around the pearls. He glared without blinking into his mother’s face, not missing the flicker of vindictive triumph that lurked in her eyes. He did not take his gaze from hers even as he heard his sister Livia’s voice.
“Marcus,” she said urgently. “Marcus, listen to me! You have my permission to throttle her later. I’ll even help. But at least wait until we’ve found out what she’s done.”
Marcus tightened the tension of the pearls until the elderly woman’s eyes seemed to protrude from their shallow sockets. “Your only value to me,” he said in a low tone, “is your knowledge of Lillian Bowman’s whereabouts. If I can’t obtain that from you, I’ll send you to the devil. Tell me, or I’ll choke it from you. And believe that I have enough of my father in me to do it without a second thought. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
40
" What is the matter with her?” Lillian asked Daisy, bewildered by her mother’s docile manner. It was nice not to have to scrap and spar with Mercedes, but at the same time, now was when Lillian would have expected Mercedes to mow her over like a charging horse brigade.
Daisy shrugged and replied puckishly, “One can only assume that since you’ve done the opposite of everything she has advised, and you seem to have brought Lord Westcliff up to scratch, Mother has decided to leave the matter in your hands. I predict that she will turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to anything you do, so long as you manage to keep the earl’s interest.”
“Then… if I steal away to Lord Westcliff’s room later this evening, she won’t object?”
Daisy gave a low laugh. “She would probably help you to sneak up there, if you asked.” She gave Lillian an arch glance. “Just what are you going to do with Lord Westcliff, alone in his room?”
Lillian felt herself flush. “Negotiate.”
“Oh. Is that what you call it?”
Biting back a smile, Lillian narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be saucy, or I won’t tell you the lurid details later.”
“I don’t need to hear them from you,” Daisy said airily. “I’ve been reading the novels that Lady Olivia recommended… and now I daresay I know more than you and Annabelle put together.”
Lillian couldn’t help laughing. “Dear, I’m not certain that those novels are entirely accurate in their depiction of men, or of… of that.”
Daisy frowned. “In what way are they not accurate?”
“Well, there’s not really any sort of… you know, lavender mist and the swooning, and all the flowery speeches.”
Daisy regarded her with sincere disgruntlement. “Not even a little swooning?”
“For heaven’s sake, you wouldn’t want to swoon, or you might miss something.”
“Yes, I would. I should like to be fully conscious for the beginning, and then I should like to swoon through the rest of it.”
Lillian regarded her with startled amusement. “Why?”
“Because it sounds dreadfully uncomfortable. Not to mention revolting.”
“It’s not.”
“Not what? Uncomfortable, or revolting?”
“Neither,” Lillian said in a matter-of-fact tone, though she was struggling not to laugh. “Truly, Daisy. I would tell you if it were otherwise. It’s lovely. It really is.”
Her younger sister contemplated that, and glanced at her skeptically. “If you say so. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
