Silence in the Library

Book 2: LILLY ADLER MYSTERY

by Katharine Schellman

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Historical Mysteries; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Regency widow Lily Adler has finally settled into her new London life when her semi-estranged father arrives unexpectedly, intending to stay with her while he recovers from an illness. Hounded by his disapproval, Lily is drawn into spending time with Lady Wyatt, the new wife of an old family friend. Lily barely knows the woman, but she and her husband, Sir Charles, seem as happy as any newly married couple... until the morning Lily arrives to find the house in an uproar and Sir Charles dead. All signs indicate that he tripped and struck his head late at night. But when Bow Street Constable Simon Page is called to the scene, he suspects foul play. And it isn't long before Lily stumbles on evidence that Sir Charles was, indeed, murdered. Mr. Page was there when Lily caught her first murderer, and he trusts her insight into the world of London's upper class. With the help of Captain Jack Hartley, they piece together the reasons that Sir Charles's family might have wanted him dead. But anyone who might have profited from the old man's death seems to have an alibi... until Lily receives a mysterious summons to speak with one of the Wyatts' maids, only to find the young woman dead when she arrives. Mr. Page believes the surviving family members are hiding the key to the death of both Sir Charles and the maid. To uncover the truth, Lily must convince the father who doesn't trust or respect her to help catch his friend's killer before anyone else in the Wyatt household dies.

Release date: July 13, 2021

Publisher: Crooked Lane Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

CHAPTER 1

London, 1815

The sound of angry voices cut through the sleepy morning quiet.

There were never raised voices on dignified, out-of-the-way Half Moon Street, and certainly never from Lily Adler’s own terrace. Her butler, Carstairs, was conscious of his youth spent as a boxer and prided himself on his decorum. But as she drew closer to her home, she could see him standing on the front steps, facing another man in a dark suit and gesturing broadly, his voice just barely controlled enough not to be a shout. Lily was so surprised that her steps slowed to a halt.

“Is … are those fellows carrying luggage into your house?” her companion asked, stopping beside her and frowning in confusion.

“Of course not, Captain, that would be …” Lily trailed off, watching as two postboys finished unloading the pile of trunks and cases from a carriage and began hauling them one by one inside her home, pushing past the two arguing men with the dogged determination of those who intended to finish their task, collect their pay, and depart as quickly as possible.

For a moment Lily panicked. The house on Half Moon Street was let to her for the indefinite future, and it had finally begun to feel like home. She had nowhere else to go. If she was forced to leave …

Lily squared her shoulders. She would not be leaving. Forgetting about the captain and not caring which of her too-curious neighbors might be watching, she stalked toward her house.

The postboys, who hadn’t expected a well-dressed lady to elbow past them, fell back. At the top of the steps, Carstairs was nose to nose with a man in the dark suit and painfully starched collar of a valet. Their heated voices tumbled over each other so rapidly that Lily could barely make out what either of them was saying. Mrs. Carstairs, the cook and housekeeper, stood in the doorway just behind her husband, hands on her hips and a duster in one hand as she harangued both men at the top of her lungs. Just as Lily drew in a breath to speak, the strange man turned enough for her to see his profile.

Her resolve crumbled into weary fury, and though she managed to keep her voice from growing too loud, it still cut through the noise. “Branson.”

The two servants stopped arguing abruptly and turned toward the foot of the stairs where she stood, one hand gripping the banister so she wouldn’t tremble. Carstairs, a vein visibly throbbing in one temple, opened his mouth to speak, but Lily held up a hand to forestall him.

“Branson, where is he?”

“Miss Pierce.” Robert Branson winced, then quickly corrected himself. “Beg pardon. Mrs. Adler. He is waiting in the drawing room. Your servants—” He cut a quick, irritated look at Carstairs, who instantly jumped in.

“Mrs. Adler, this man is claiming that—”

“No one told us about anything—” Mrs. Carstairs started speaking at the same time.

The small scene began to descend into chaos once more. The postboys took advantage of the confusion to resume their task, and Lily could see the luggage piling up in her front hall. She took a deep breath.

“If you please,” Lily said, pitching the words to carry, though she tried to keep any sharpness out of them as she gestured for everyone to move inside, away from any prying eyes.

They obeyed promptly, all three looking embarrassed, and Lily sighed. She resented being caught in the middle of the confusion and uproar, but the three servants weren’t to blame for it. The man responsible was, no doubt, currently making himself comfortable in the drawing room and growing irritated that no one had yet brought him any refreshments.

“Carstairs, see these men paid and sent on their way. I assume,” Lily said to Branson, fixing him with a narrow-eyed stare before indicating the piled luggage with a sweep of her hand. “I assume that he intends a visit?”

Branson frowned. “I understood you were aware of his plans.”

“No doubt he believes everyone is aware of them and prepared to accommodate him at a moment’s notice. Which I must endeavor to do, I suppose. Mrs. Carstairs.” Lily turned to the motherly woman who kept her home comfortable and her life running in perfect order. “It seems we will have a visitor with us. For some time, judging by the amount of luggage he has brought. Will the two of you see his things installed in the best spare room and accommodations for his valet as well? And Branson?” Lily managed to smile, though the expression felt stiff. It wasn’t Branson’s fault his employer was so damned difficult. “You might start by introducing yourself to my servants and explaining the situation. I do not want to hear shouting in my house.” She gave each of them a pointed look. “From anyone.”

“Of course, Mrs. Adler,” Carstairs rumbled, looking embarrassed. “May I ask, madam, who our visitor …” He trailed off, eyeing her warily.

Lily tried to school her expression back to its normal calm, wondering what she must have looked like to make her stoic butler so uneasy. “Our visitor is Mr. George Pierce,” she said. “Branson will explain, I have no doubt. And Mrs. Carstairs, if you could first see tea and some light refreshments brought into the drawing room? No doubt Mr. Pierce is famished after his journey.”

As they nodded and began to move about their tasks, Lily became aware of someone standing just behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she found that her companion had followed her inside and was watching, his arms crossed and his brows raised as he leaned against the doorway.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, the concern in his voice in direct contrast with his casual attitude.

“Yes,” Lily said immediately, and a little defensively, before she shook her head. “No. I have a visitor.”

“I gathered. Is it really—”

“Yes.” Lily’s expression grew grim. “You ought to come say hello, Jack.”

Taking a deep breath, she gathered her composure, lifted her chin, and walked briskly to the drawing room door. Throwing it open, she met the eyes of the man waiting for her.

He sat in the tall chair across from the door as regally as if it were his own home, two hands resting on top of the walking stick planted between his feet and, oddly, a small pile of books on the floor beside him. His familiar eagle-eyed stare bored into her.

“Hello, Father,” Lily said, her voice dripping with false pleasantness that she knew didn’t fool him for a moment. “How good to see you. And how unexpected. May I ask what in God’s name you are doing in my house?”

 

CHAPTER 2

“Lily.” George Pierce stared at her, brows raised. There were wings of gray in his dark hair, just above his temples, and the effect was quite distinguished. Lily knew others thought her father handsome, but she never could—whenever he looked at her, lines of disapproval appeared between his eyes. They were there now, along with a tightness in his jaw as he eyed her from head to toe. “What a lovely way to greet your father. I had a tolerable journey; thank you for inquiring. May I ask why there was so much noise in the hall just now? Your servants do not seem particularly well trained.”

“I could say the same of Branson, Father, as he contributed equally to the noise.” Lily took a deep breath and sat across from him, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Jack. He had strolled in with his usual swagger but was hanging back in the doorway, watching the small scene unfold with an unreadable expression on his face. Lily turned back to her father, not yet ready to draw Jack into the line of fire by making an official reintroduction. “The noise was due entirely to your own arrival. So I ask again, what are you doing in my house?”

“Where else am I supposed to stay? Is it truly so much of an imposition to have your own father staying with you while he must be in town? Or is it an issue of household management?” He sighed. “Your dear mother was a perfect manager, you know. She would never have allowed shouting in her home. Or trash like this,” he added, gesturing to the small stack of books on the floor by his feet. “I was disappointed to find several novels on your shelves. I will instruct your butler to see them disposed of.”

Behind her, Lily heard Jack draw in a breath, and she spoke quickly to prevent him from saying anything. “Is it truly so much of an imposition to send notice before you descend on my home?” she asked, trying to direct the conversation back to her original point and biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from adding more. Arguing with her father would only draw things out, and she refused to let him see that he was provoking her.

Mr. Pierce sniffed. “I wrote to you of my plans.”

Lily knew her father well enough to ask, eyes narrowed, “When did you write?”

He waved a hand absently back and forth, as if the question were unimportant. “A day or two ago, I suppose. I don’t concern myself with details, as you know. I have more important things to keep track of.”

“Your letter has yet to arrive.”

“Well, in that case.” Mr. Pierce sighed, leaning heavily on his walking stick as he rose slowly to his feet. Lily wondered if it was from fatigue or simply to show that he was disappointed with her. Again. “I suppose my presence here is too much of a burden on you. I shall find accommodation elsewhere.”

Lily gritted her teeth. “Father, please sit down,” she said quietly. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked toward the ceiling for a brief moment while he obeyed. “I have already instructed my servants to prepare a room for you,” she continued, keeping her voice as pleasant as possible. “You are, of course, welcome to stay.”

“I suppose that will have to do. Though I hope your beds are more comfortable than your chairs,” he said, looking down at his own seat and grimacing. “Wherever did you purchase such monstrosities?”

“The house came furnished,” Lily said, her jaw so tight that it was a struggle to get any words out at all.

“A furnished house?” Mr. Pierce sighed. “Well, I suppose if that is the best you can afford.” He settled back into his chair—looking quite comfortable, Lily noted, though she managed not to point that out—and glanced toward the doorway, acknowledging Jack’s presence at last. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my daughter’s home?”

Lily’s hands clenched into fists before she carefully relaxed them, one angry finger at a time. “Father, this is Captain Jack Hartley. The captain was Freddy’s boyhood friend in Hertfordshire, and he has been most gallant since I returned to London. Captain, you of course remember my father, Mr. Pierce.”

Jack’s expression was carefully neutral as he bowed. “Indeed, sir, you are not the sort of man one ever forgets.”

“The Indian boy,” her father said rudely, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I know you.”

Jack smiled. “My mother will be so pleased to hear that you remember her.”

He was, strictly speaking, half Indian, with a British father. That meant different things to different people, especially to those who, like her father, had particular ideas about good breeding. Jack’s family was unapologetic about his parents’ marriage, though such unions were becoming increasingly uncommon. For the most part, his naval career and his family’s comfortable wealth were enough to smooth aside any objections that might otherwise have been voiced publicly.

But Jack seemed unconcerned by Mr. Pierce’s comments, giving Lily a quick conspiratorial wink before he took a seat at last. Lily tried not to let her relief show—she had years of experience handling her father and could do so again without support. But it was still comforting to have a friend here.

“What brings you to London, sir?” Jack asked. “I was not aware that Mrs. Adler was expecting the pleasure of your presence.”

“Private concerns,” Mr. Pierce said. “Where is the damned tea?”

Lily’s maid Anna, her timing impeccable, entered only a moment after he spoke. She bobbed a quick curtsy as soon as she had set the tray down. “Mr. Pierce.”

“Anna.”

He had known her for years; she had been a housemaid in the Pierce home before becoming Lily’s personal maid and leaving with her upon her marriage to Freddy Adler. And after Freddy’s death, Lily had been grateful to have Anna still by her side, a single familiar thread she could cling to until she found her feet once more. But George Pierce hadn’t seen Anna since Freddy’s death, and as he looked her over, Lily waited for him to say something critical.

Instead, he pursed his lips. “I see you were not chased away by Miss Lily’s odd choice to remove to London. I admire your loyalty.”

“It is a pleasure to serve Mrs. Adler, as always,” Anna said politely.

But Lily heard the subtle reminder that she was a grown woman in her own home, and she could have hugged Anna with gratitude. Instead, she met the maid’s eyes and smiled. “Thank you for the tea. Will you please see that Branson is settled in and has everything he needs to make Mr. Pierce comfortable?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Anna curtsied again. “Sir. Captain.”

After she left, Lily poured the tea, measuring out a careful teaspoon of milk and adding it in while her father watched with narrowed eyes. Apparently she did that right, at least, because he took the cup and turned to Jack once more.

“And what brings you to London, Hartley? I should have thought you would be in French waters.” If it had been a trifle less dignified, the expression on his face might have been a smirk. “Or are you one of those spare captains without your own ship?”

“Only in the strictest sense,” Jack said, leaning back in his chair while Lily silently marveled at his easy manner. Nothing ever seemed to fluster him. “My frigate has been undergoing repairs since the spring, so I unfortunately missed the final action in France.” Accepting his cup from Lily with murmured thanks, Jack continued. “With Napoleon defeated once more, I may be kept in London or Portsmouth even after repairs have been completed. At least until the Admiralty gets organized and decides where it is best to send me.”

“And what brings you to my daughter’s home?”

“Father,” Lily said, her voice tight with warning. “I’ll thank you not to interrogate my guest.”

“I’ve a right to know,” Mr. Pierce said, reaching for a slice of cake from the tea tray.

Lily tried not to clench her jaw. “No, you haven’t.”

“Well.” Mr. Pierce shrugged.

Jack laughed, breaking the tension in the room. “Well, there is no need for secrecy. Mrs. Adler had received a letter from our mutual friends, Sir Edward and Lady Carroway, that she was going to share with me. But perhaps I shall return another time for news of Ofelia and her new husband.” Rising, he bowed politely. “Mrs. Adler, Mr. Pierce, a pleasure. I am sure we will meet again soon.” As he turned, he caught Lily’s eye and made an exasperated face—more suited to a boy of ten than to a man of his rank—before smiling encouragingly.

Lily held back an unladylike snort as he took his leave, before a long sigh from her father interrupted her. She turned to him. “Are you well, Father?”

Mr. Pierce sighed again. “Tired from the journey. It is not a comfortable trip.”

“You are welcome to go rest,” Lily said, trying not to sound too hopeful. Fifteen minutes in her father’s company was very nearly too much.

“Already eager to be rid of me?” he asked, poking at his cake without enthusiasm before settling backward with a sigh and closing his eyes.

“What brings you to town, Father?” Lily asked, taking a moment to study him while he couldn’t see. There were deep lines around his eyes and jaw that she didn’t remember noticing before. Her father had always been a man of robust health and too much vitality. She wondered if this time there was something actually wrong.

“Seeing a doctor,” he muttered, his eyes still closed. “I was sick over the winter, you may recall. My lungs are still troubled with wheezing, so the physician in the village suggested I see a colleague here in London. I’ve no notion of him being able to improve anything, but you know I am not one to argue.”

Lily bit her tongue. Her father liked nothing better than to argue, unless it was to argue and be proved right. “Well, I shall be glad to have you,” she lied.

He opened one eye. “No, you shan’t.”

“I shall be as glad to have you as you are to be here,” Lily said, her smile fixed firmly in place. She refused to let him rattle her.

“Don’t know why you choose to live in London,” he muttered, sitting up once more. “I cannot stand it here.”

As he spoke, Lily’s butler entered, offering Mr. Pierce a folded letter and making a hasty retreat. Lily sipped her own tea, watching her father warily over the cup’s edge while he read the note and crumpled it up with a sigh.

“The doctor can see me this afternoon. Which is quite the bother, because I also need to call on Sir Charles Wyatt. You’ll remember him, of course? And Frank?”

Lily resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course I remember them.”

The Wyatts’ property had been less than three miles from her father’s, and the two families had spent a great deal of time together when Lily was young. Sir Charles and Mr. Pierce had liked nothing better than to argue over a glass of sherry in the evenings. Sir Charles’s son Frank was Mr. Pierce’s godson; when Frank was home from school, he had often been included in their evening discussions or taken along when Mr. Pierce went riding or hunting.

Lily, who spent more time with a governess than with her father, was never invited to join.

“Well, he and his new wife have been in town,” Mr. Pierce said.

Lily couldn’t hide her surprise. “Frank Wyatt has married?”

Her father snorted. “No, Sir Charles has.”

That was almost more surprising. Lady Wyatt had died about sixteen years before. Lily vaguely remembered that she had been pregnant not long before her death, but as Frank was Sir Charles’s only child, she presumed that the child had died in infancy and that Lady Wyatt had never recovered from the birth. Sir Charles had been as much an established widower as Mr. Pierce.

Lily hadn’t thought about the Wyatts since before her marriage, and certainly not in the last few years of her mourning. But if she had, she would have assumed that Sir Charles was as unlikely to marry a second time as her own father.

“They will be leaving London any day now for the country,” Mr. Pierce said, shaking his head. “I must pay my respects before they depart. I cannot think why he got married again. But one must be polite to a bride, especially when she is married to an old friend. All this doctor business is damned inconvenient.”

Lily knew what he wanted. “I would be happy to call in your place, Father. I am sure Sir Charles will not be offended. And then when your appointment is finished, you will be free to return here and rest with no social obligations.”

Mr. Pierce smiled, clearly pleased to get his way. The expression he turned on Lily was very nearly approving. “That is very considerate of you.”

Lily smiled back so she wouldn’t sigh.

“Poor Frank is none too pleased with Sir Charles’s marriage.” Mr. Pierce shook his head again, already standing to show himself from the room. “So would any man be if his father took a fancy to some flibbertigibbet. But I’ve no doubt it will be an enjoyable visit for you. The Wyatts have always been pleasant people.”

---

When Lily emerged from the house with Anna accompanying her, she was surprised—and yet not at all surprised—to find Jack lounging against a nearby hitching post, watching the door with a small smile on his face. He tipped his hat. “I thought it might not take you long to flee.”

Lily sighed. “He has never been an easy man. Where are you headed, Captain?”

“With you, of course,” Jack said, giving a slight bow. “I suspected you might be in need of a confidant after he chased you out.”

Lily protested that she could not keep him from his plans for the day, and Jack shrugged his shoulders and insisted he hadn’t any other plans. Anna was free to return to the house while they set off toward Wimpole Street, where, Branson had informed Lily after her father neglected to provide any information, the Wyatts lived.

“He did not chase me from my home, I will have you know,” Lily said, her pride stinging a little. “He had an appointment he could not miss, and so I offered to pay a visit for him. A friend of his recently wed, and someone from our family must pay our respects to the bride.”

Jack snorted. “Your family being you and Mr. Pierce?”

“Well, my father does have a sister, so it is not onlyus,” Lily said. “But as she is not in London, yes.”

“I see,” Jack said dryly as he stepped toward the street to hail a passing hack carriage. When it stopped beside them, he opened the door, then turned to offer Lily his arm. “While your father may think—”

Whatever he might have said was lost as a flurry of bodies pushed past them, four young dandies in striped waistcoats and top boots all laughing and talking at the top of their lungs to be heard over each other. Lily and Jack were jostled out of the way as the young men crowded toward the carriage door Jack had just left open.

“Any string of bad luck has to break—”

“You’ll earn it all back at the Leger Stakes—”

“Just don’t let the old man know!”

“No fear of that,” one replied, as he swung himself into the carriage, waving at his friends to walk on. “Have to go meet my cousin. We will see you at ten o’clock?”

“—at Rogerson’s club before that—”

“—learn to judge horseflesh one of these days—”

“Best not mention it to Crawford, but I saw his wife last night—”

The whole exchange happened in a moment, and before Lily and Jack could protest, their carriage had clattered off without them. The remaining young men were about to saunter off when Jack planted himself firmly in their path, his walking stick swinging menacingly.

“Not so fast, whelps,” he growled.

The three of them stuttered into silence, staring in confusion at the broad-shouldered figure who was now blocking their way. They did not look like fellows who knew their way around a fight, and they were clearly uneasy when faced with Jack’s intimidating stance.

“You nearly pushed the lady into the street just now,” Jack said, eyeing each of them in turn. “Not to mention that your friend took the lady’s carriage. So what have you to say for yourselves?”

In spite of the fact that they outnumbered him, all three seemed to shrink back, looking at each other to see who would be willing to step forward. It would have made Lily laugh if she hadn’t been so irritated.

“Well?” Jack barked. “Speak up.”

Part of Lily wanted to see him put the dandies firmly in their place. But the other passersby were beginning to stare at the small altercation, and she didn’t want to be involved in a public scene. She stepped forward and laid a hand on Jack’s arm.

“While I should dearly love to see you teach them some manners, Captain, this pack of fools is not worth your time,” she said. She looked them up and down scornfully, and only one of them was able to meet her eyes, though he flushed a fierce red. The other two looked away, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “And we have somewhere to be.”

“We can summon another carriage for you,” the red-faced one burst out, though he immediately glanced at Jack and fell silent with an audible gulp.

Lily pursed her lips. “That would be acceptable. Quickly, now. I am not in a mood to be kept waiting by ill-mannered boys.”

They were all blushing now, and the one who had spoken darted out into the street to flag down another carriage for hire. While he did so, Jack crossed his arms and glowered, and the other two young men cleared their throats uncomfortably and tried to look anywhere but at Lily. When a carriage at last arrived, Jack handed Lily in and narrowed his eyes at each of the boys in turn before climbing in himself.

“So, what did the new Lady Carroway have to say in her letter?” he asked by way of making conversation as the carriage began to move through the snarl of London traffic.

“Ofelia and Sir Edward are both enjoying their wedding trip, though she wishes things in France had stabilized in time for them to see sights on the Continent as well. Though we should not expect them home for some weeks yet …”

Lily shared what news she could remember. Jack made interested noises, but his attention was clearly elsewhere; she thought he was still irritated over the loss of their first carriage, until she fell silent at last.

He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye. “He dislikes seeing you in control of your own life,” he said. “Your father, I mean.”

Lily leaned back against the seat of the carriage as she considered his words, then nodded. “He was happy enough to have me out of his house when I married,” she said, shrugging off the familiar tension that tried to worm its way down her spine. Though Jack’s concern touched her, she had long ago stopped expecting things to be easy between her and her father. “Had I returned to his home after Freddy’s death, he would have thought it an imposition. Yet it offends his sense of propriety to see a woman of my age living on her own. Or having friends, apparently.” Lily shook her head. “I am sorry you had to deal with him. Really, he ought to be grateful. I could be a great deal more troublesome and embarrassing if I chose. Encouraging a brawl in the middle of a public street, for example,” she added, shaking her head.

“You should point that out to him,” Jack suggested, looking entirely unrepentant.

Lily’s eyes glinted. “If he makes himself a guest in my house for too long, I very well might.”

 

CHAPTER 3

“Lady Wyatt, I am sorry not to see Sir Charles—it has been several years since I have had the pleasure. My father sends his best wishes for your marriage, and I offer my own as well. You seem to be most happily settled.”

Lily kept a bland social smile on her face as she spoke, then hid behind her teacup as quickly as possible, hoping the woman in front of her wasn’t astute enough to notice her surprise. Sir Charles was a contemporary of Mr. Pierce’s, and Lily had expected to find the sort of wife so many older men seemed to choose when they remarried: old enough for her parents to consent to the union, young enough not to disrupt her husband’s comfortable routine. Instead, the woman was nearly a decade older than Lily, confident and self-possessed. And she was shockingly beautiful, in the way that only a woman who had left her girlhood behind could be.

Lily, who normally prided herself on her composure, felt tongue-tied. And Jack wasn’t faring much better. He had somehow ended up coming in with her when she gave the Wyatts’ butler her card and now was holding a cold cup of tea in one hand, watching Lady Wyatt in rapt silence as they all sat in the Wyatts’ cozy drawing room. Wimpole Street wasn’t in the most fashionable part of town, but you would never have known it from the inside: the room was elegantly papered in cream and gold, and the large arched windows flooded the space with light. At one side of the room was a writing desk, its cubbies stacked with papers and letters. Just behind the settee Lady Wyatt occupied sat a card table, three unbroken packs of cards waiting on its surface as if a party might begin at any moment.

“I am quite fortunate in my situation,” Lady Wyatt agreed as she served them each a slice of cake. “Though I must ask for your thoughts, Captain, as I am in need of a male perspective. My husband gave me free rein to redecorate this spring, but I am worried that I have perhaps created too feminine a retreat. Be honest.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping as though she were about to impart a great secret, an engaging smile flirting around her lips. “Are there too many tassels?”

Jack laughed. “I am sure your husband would put up with any number of fripperies to enjoy your presence, ma’am.”

“That is a yes, then. I suspected as much.” Lady Wyatt sighed, shaking her head dramatically before her smile returned. She turned to Lily, a perfect hostess who didn’t let either guest sit unacknowledged for too long.

“I know Sir Charles will be sorry to have missed you, and your father as well, Mrs. Adler. He speaks so highly of Mr. Pierce. What a shame we did not know you were in London sooner.” Lady Wyatt’s voice was cordial rather than warm, but Lily didn’t hold that against her—she had never been considered a particularly warm person herself, at least not on first meeting. “We will be leaving within the week. Perhaps we will have the chance to receive Mr. Pierce before that.”

“Perhaps,” Lily agreed vaguely, unwilling to make any promises on his behalf. If Mr. Pierce disapproved of his friend’s marrying again, there was every chance he would avoid seeing them in the country as well. “Will you be glad to finally see your husband’s home in Devonshire?”

Lady Wyatt’s grimace was so slight that Lily might have thought she’d imagined it. “I enjoy town life more, I must admit,” Lady Wyatt said. “But as the city will be rather deserted during the summer, one cannot really object to departing. And I shall be glad for the chance of a real ride again. I confess I do not much enjoy the timid trotting that one must adhere to in Hyde Park.” She took another sip of her tea, then asked politely, “Do you ride, Mrs. Adler?”

“Acceptably, though not skillfully,” Lily admitted. “And being in London does not afford me the opportunity to become more skillful.”

Before Lady Wyatt could answer, there was a small commotion at the door and two young men, talking animatedly, pushed their way into the room. As soon as they realized it was occupied, they stopped and fell silent.

“Beg pardon,” the younger one said, his face and neck flushing red. “We did not realize you had guests, madam.”

Lily glanced at Lady Wyatt, catching the woman’s small sigh of annoyance before she smiled and stood to make introductions.

“Mrs. Adler, Captain Hartley, may I present Sir Charles’s son, Mr. Frank Wyatt, and nephew, Mr. Percy Wyatt.”

Frank stepped forward very gallantly to bow over Lily’s hand. “Surely you remember that at least one of those introductions is not necessary,