Now that I have taken my winter coat out of storage and feel the nip in the air, my thoughts have turned to the upcoming holidays. Thanksgiving is a favorite of mine because it is a family holiday, full of noise, good cheer and constant chatter, traditional antipasto and pasta, and oh yes, there’s also turkey, roasted chestnuts, and pumpkin pie. My sister-in-law, Michelle Rose, is in charge of that day and she’s a magnificent cook (watch out Top Chef) - no one ever declines one of her invitations. Most important, from the moment I married into the family, she and my brother-in-law, Jack, welcomed not only me, but my parents and sisters. We’ve celebrated Thanksgiving with them every year since, even as our family has grown large in numbers and waistbands. The good parts of the Farthingale clan in My Fair Lily are taken from my family. I count my blessings to have so many wonderful, supportive, and sometimes meddlesome (okay, always meddlesome!) people around me and hope that in reading this first peek, Chapter One of My Fair Lily, you will feel the same joy about your family as I do about mine.
Chapter 1, MY FAIR LILY
Mayfair District, London
April 1818
“JASPER, YE BOLLIX! No!”
Lily Farthingale had just passed
through the front gate of her family’s fashionable townhouse to turn onto
Chipping Way when she heard a deep, rumbling bark, followed closely by a repeat
of the man’s frantic shout. In the next moment, she was knocked to the ground
by the biggest, hairiest excuse for a dog she’d ever set eyes upon, more of a
muddy brown carpet with legs and a playfully wagging tail.
“Ugh! Get off me!” Lily cried, but
the dog paid no heed, too excited and happy to contain his joy. He stared down
at her as though she were his favorite person in the world, even though she was
now flat on her back in one of the many puddles left by the morning’s rain, her
spectacles dangling off her nose. “I said, get—ew!”
The slobbering beast had begun
licking her face, his tongue leaving a trail of drool across her cheek, her
chin, and even more disgustingly, on her mouth. She was still spitting his
drool from her lips when the owner reached her side and unceremoniously lifted Jasper
out of the way. “Och, lass! Are ye hurt?”
Only
my pride. “I don’t think so. But I’ve lost my
book.” More precisely, she’d lost the book she had borrowed from her elderly
neighbor, Lady Eloise Dayne, and was on her way to return when attacked by the
playful beast. It had flown out of her hands, and she had no idea
where it might have landed.
“I’m that sorry, lass. My fault
entirely.” The burly Scotsman knelt beside her, looming quite large, or so he
seemed to her slightly dazed eyes— for he was broad in the shoulders and almost
as shaggy as his dog. His reddish-brown hair was as thick and unkempt as his companion’s.
His bushy growth of beard made him appear as daunting as a pirate.
“I’ll pay for the damage, of course.”
He tried to straighten the spectacles on her nose, but then simply removed them
when he couldn’t. “Ewan Cameron’s the name, and I’m in residence at... och, I’m
not sure o’ that yet, but you can contact me through Eloise Dayne.”
“You know Lady Dayne?” Lily gazed at
him in surprise, wondering how and where a man such as he might have met her
respectable neighbor.
“That I do, lass,” he said with an
engaging smile.
His lips were nicely shaped, and so
was his jaw, what Lily could see of it beneath his beard. She ought to have
been more than a little intimidated, perhaps afraid of this rugged stranger,
but he’d mentioned Eloise, which meant he was no ruffian, though he quite
looked the part.
He took gentle hold of her hand.
“Can ye move?”
She nodded. “I’m sure I can.”
“Good. Be careful now. Put your arms
about my neck, and I’ll help ye out of this puddle.” He spoke in a deep,
rumbling brogue that she found surprisingly comforting. “Poor little thing, ye
must be soaked to the skin.”
Up close, practically nose to nose, Lily
could not help but notice his darkly sensual eyes, a deep, forest green with
flecks of gray swirling within their depths. Mercy! “You mustn’t concern yourself, sir.” A little “eep” escaped
her lips as his rough hands now circled her waist and his keen, assessing gaze
locked onto hers. “I’m fine... truly.”
“Can’t say as much for your frock,”
he muttered, helping her to her unsteady feet, which must have been the reason
he held on to her a moment longer than was necessary. He released her when she regained
her footing, then retrieved his handkerchief, and was about to use it to dab
the mud off her gown when he suddenly stopped and let out a short, strangled
laugh. “Ah...er...och, lass,” he said, his hands hovering precariously over her
breasts, “ye’d better... I can’t... no, I definitely can’t—”
Lily followed his gaze as it swept
the front of her gown. Jasper’s muddy paws had left a perfect imprint on each
of her lightly heaving breasts—like an officious clerk with his itchy fingers
on a new ink stamp. Stamp! Stamp! The
delicate lemon silk just delivered yesterday, which she had worn for all of ten
minutes, was ruined.
Oh,
crumpets!
The noticeable paw prints on her front
were bad enough, but there were also splotches of mud along the length of the
expensive fabric, and cold, murky water from the puddle in which she’d landed
now seeped down her back.
Jasper, obviously feeling contrite,
whimpered as he came forward and rubbed his head against her knees. Tufts of
his hair ground into the ruined fabric, leaving it not only wet and muddy but
now adorned with dog hairs.
Oh,
perfect! What more can go wrong today?
And where were her spectacles? She
recalled Ewan Cameron had taken them off her nose before he put his arms around
her...and then she’d gazed into his eyes and simply forgotten about everything.
“Can ye walk on your own, lass?
Shall I help ye into the house?”
“Thank you, Mr. Cameron. I can
manage the rest of the way.” She couldn’t very well say it had been a pleasure
to meet him, since it hadn’t been. Anyway, they hadn’t been properly introduced.
“It was a most unusual... well, unexpected... encounter. I don’t suppose we
shall ever meet again. Goodbye.”
She turned to walk back into the
house, took a step, and squished. Took another halting step, then another. Squish, squish.
Her humiliation was now complete.
“Lass, I had better go with ye,” he
said, clearing his throat and once again smothering the laughter Lily knew was
desperate to burst out of him. “I can explain to your father. It wouldn’t sit
right with me if ye were punished for something that was entirely my fault.”
“It isn’t necessary,” she insisted, holding
her head up proudly even as droplets of water dripped off her nose. She wished
he would stop acting kindly and simply go away.
The sooner this embarrassment was
forgotten, the better.
Jasper, now standing between her and
the Farthingale entry gate, began to whimper again.
“That’s right. Ye ought to be ashamed, ye
great beastie,” his owner muttered. “Look at the mess ye’ve made of the pretty
girl.”
As though understanding his every
word, the dog gazed at Lily with the softest, most innocent brown eyes. His
tail wagged hesitantly, once... twice. Oh, his big chocolate eyes! Too adorable
to resist. Lily succumbed with a sigh. “You’re forgiven, Jasper. Now, to find
my book—”
Jasper was off in a shot and back in
a trice with the volume, a work written by the Scottish scientist Colin
MacLaurin about sixty years ago on the theory of fluxions. Tail wagging, eyes
gleaming with pride, he dropped it at her feet...and into the puddle from which
she’d just emerged.
His owner let out an agonized groan.
“Lass, I’ll pay for that, too.”
* * *
“Please don’t trouble yourself, Mr.
Cameron. It was an accident and nothing more.”
Ewan Cameron stared at the girl with
the prettiest blue eyes he’d seen in an age while she assured him that he was
not responsible for his dog’s actions. Of course, he was. However, he held his
tongue, preferring to replace the book and stylish gown—a yellow confection that
made him think of lemon sweets—as soon as possible, rather than waste time
arguing about it with the young thing who was soaking wet and probably shaken
from the jolt.
He retrieved the book from the
puddle while she busied herself wringing water out of her obviously ruined
gown. He also noticed her spectacles on the ground where he’d earlier set them
aside, so he reached down and stuck them in his pocket before turning his
attention back to her. “Ma... Mac... lau...” he murmured, examining the book’s spine
for the title. But he found it hard to make out the words, for they were
smeared with mud and water stains.
“MacLaurin,” she repeated smoothly,
casting him an encouraging glance. “There’s a symposium exploring his work on
elliptic integrals at the Royal Society next week, and I thought to do a little
studying on my own ahead of time.”
“You’re a bluestocking,” he said
with a chuckle but quickly regretted his words. Though he meant it as a
compliment, few females would take it as such. Och, it was a
clumsy thing to say—but she didn’t seem to take offense.
“Yes, I suppose. I love to read...
er, though many people don’t and there’s certainly nothing wrong with that, not
at all. Not being able to read, that is.” She cast him another encouraging
glance.
“I enjoy it, too. When I have the
time.” He frowned, thinking of how much work he had and how little time he had
to attend to all of it while in London. “Lately, I’ve had very little.”
“Of course. I understand
completely.” She cast him yet another sympathetic look.
“Ye do?” Suddenly, he realized the
girl believed him an ignorant oaf, illiterate and probably unable even to dress
himself. And why wouldn’t she think the worst? Ten days of hard riding from the
Scottish Highlands to London, ten days of choking dust on the roadway, of not
shaving and hardly bathing, had left him looking like the basest ruffian.
The clothes he wore, buff pants made
of homespun and heavy brown jacket to ward off the Highland chill, were not in
the least fashionable London attire. His brown leather boots were scuffed and
stained from several years of use and abuse. His hands were rough and
calloused, though he’d tried very hard to be gentle when helping the girl to
her feet. To this young innocent, he must look like his heathen warrior ancestors,
lacking only blue paint on his face and battle axe in his hand to complete the
image. “Lass, may I ask your name?”
She didn’t appear ready to give it,
but whatever she meant to say was drowned out by the sound of a carriage
rumbling toward them. It turned out to be three gleaming black carriages
rolling through the townhouse gate from which she’d emerged a short while ago,
each led by a pair of high-stepping matched bays.
He let out a long, low whistle,
admiring the horses and wondering who had picked them out. They were
magnificent, but he didn’t bother to ask the girl standing at his side. It
wasn’t something the pampered daughter of a wealthy household was likely to
know. Then again, the young thing was not the typical society debutante. Och,
she was pretty enough, but there was a scholarly earnestness about her that he
found appealing, though a bit unusual.
A girl who looked remarkably like
the one at his side, same black hair and striking blue eyes, popped her head
out of the third carriage.
“Lily, you’re missing Lady Turbott’s
tea!” she cried as it passed by.
He turned in dismay to the girl he
now understood was called Lily. “Lass, it seems I’ve ruined your entire day.” “Please
don’t give it another thought, Mr. Cameron. My family will never notice,” she
assured him with a wistful sigh.
“I can no’ believe that.” Were she
his daughter, gazing up at him with those vibrant eyes and the obvious intelligence
behind them, he’d have a hard time forgetting her.
“Oh, they love me,” she hastened to
explain, obviously noting his darkening expression. “I’m not at all neglected,
as you can see by the quality of my new gown... well, no... never mind about
that. My sister and I are identical twins, you see. I suppose it’s obvious.
She’ll pretend to be me and no one will be the wiser. That’s all I meant by it.
The arrangement has worked quite well so far. I’ve already missed several of
these society affairs because of my studies and never been reprimanded for it.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
“Not that I’m proud of the deception,
mind you,” she continued, the momentary downcast of her eyes revealing that she
felt some remorse for her wrongdoing. “But the scholarly work is so
interesting, and sometimes these affairs can be so deadly dull. Dillie—that’s
my sister—doesn’t mind helping me out at all.”
“I’m surprised ye have no’ been caught
yet. You’re not entirely alike,” he said with a shake of his head. “Your eyes
are a more vivid blue than your sister’s, and your features softer, like the
soft coat on a newborn lamb.”
She blushed. “Oh, that’s a lovely
thing to say. Thank you. Er, you did mean it as a compliment, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “That I did, Lily.”
She slipped the book out of his
hands. “I had better change my gown. Goodbye, Mr. Cameron. I hope Lady Dayne
finds you a nice place to live."
END
Stay tuned for next week when I share Chapter 2! If you're in a hurry to read more Lily and Ewan, you can grab your full copy on Amazon here: http://amzn.to/10iphcL