Lily Mine Read online

  Lily Mine: A Historical Fantasy

  by

  Annabel Joseph

  Copyright 2011 Annabel Joseph

  Cover art by Dara England of Lady Fingers Designs

  * * * * *

  To W.

  For inspiration and encouragement…

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  Chapter One: Lilyvale

  Southeast England, mid-1820s

  Lily trudged along the road to Lilyvale sustained by the kind of hope only the truly desperate possess. She had to find work. Gardening was her passion, but at this point she would settle for any household position she could get. She looked down at her basket of potted plants-- passable chrysanthemums and cheery marigolds. They would not last much longer in the heat of the late-summer day, and then her investment in the blooms would be wasted. So far, she had given away three pots, but hadn't managed to procure a position. The mistress of the last manor had pointed her to Lilyvale, reportedly the home of a reclusive earl. Lily hoped the fact that she shared the name of the manor boded well.

  A warm breeze ruffled her hair and the sturdy if threadbare lilac-colored muslin gown she wore. Her once-shiny leather shoes were dull and dusty from the road. Over the past three days she had walked all the way from Tunbridge to the outskirts of rural Kent, and while her feet protested, she was only too happy to put as much distance as possible between her and London. If only she had the fortitude to walk on to Dover, she might cross the channel to Calais and begin a whole new life.

  But then, she didn't speak French, and the Kent countryside was really quite lovely, a world away from London's dirty districts. Before long she was in sight of the manor house. It was a great stone structure, large for a country estate, with picturesque spires and battlements. There was a manicured garden to one side, and beyond it a large-sized greenhouse. The front of the manor was flanked by a long walkway which was also meticulously landscaped. However, the beds showed signs of neglect. The side garden needed weeding badly, and the rose bushes visibly drooped. Her heart soared with hope as she realized the earl could very likely be short of grounds help.

  Aside from the gardens, there were a great many windows on the grand edifice. How wonderful to be able to look out at the grounds from any place in the house through those windows, and how bright and warm it must feel inside. Her family's London home had been dark and dank, crowded with noisy neighbors and foul city smells. She and her four sisters shared one cramped bedroom, which had led to many a shouting match. Although she'd never been very fond of her sisters, thinking of them now brought a mist of tears to her eyes. Lily shoved the sadness down, along with thoughts of her father's anger and condemnation.

  Her father had blamed her for the loss of the Halstead household's account, the position that had kept him in the horticulture business practically since his start. Her father had designed and tended the Halstead mansion gardens in London for nearly two decades, and from a young age, Lily had gone along and helped out as his apprentice. Lily was the oldest of the five daughters, each named by their mother after a favorite flower. It was the Kendall matriarch who had truly lived for flowers and wanted to make the world bloom. But she had died birthing her youngest daughter, and Lily, a girl of ten at the time, had stood in her stead helping raise and nurture Rose, Violet, Iris, and baby Pansy.

  That was, until last week when Lily had been sent away by her father, disowned and shamed. Lily had been ruined by Halstead's son, Lord Horace. Ruined. A horrible status for any young lady. She had never imagined such a thing befalling her, but now it was what she was. Ruined. The fruits of accepting a walk through a secluded garden with a rogue of a gentleman, and not realizing the peril thereof.

  Horace had ruined her right on the ground, behind a berry bush her own father had planted. She had stared up at the vivid clusters of red fruit with a kind of hapless resignation at her plight. It wasn't as if there were marriage or a disappointed husband in her future--at twenty-one she had nary a beau to speak of, and was resigned to life on the shelf.

  Anyway, there had been no point in struggling. Horace was a bear of a man and violently intent on what he was about. It had been painful but quickly over. She hadn't fought him as he rutted on her, his acrid breath blowing in her face. Afterward he had threatened her with her father's job if she told anyone. In the end, Lord Halstead let John Kendall go anyway, citing his daughter's loose morals as the cause of his dismissal.

  Somehow, Lily had assumed her father would see through the lies of Lord Horace, but he had flown into a fury and tossed her out of the house. He denied her contact with her sisters, lest she corrupt them also. When she pleaded with him and asked how she was to survive without her family, he had thrown her a few coins and directed her to the south end of London where the prostitutes worked.

  But she would not go there. She would not make her living "on her back" as her father suggested, not now that she had discovered what such a life entailed. She used what little money she had to gain passage to Tunbridge, and at Tunbridge did odd jobs while she looked for a position at neighboring households. She was offered kitchen and housemaid work at more than one place, but she wasn't quite ready to settle for that yet. She knew she could make a living with plants and flowers if she worked hard and didn't give up. She was smart and tough, and she was persistent. The time for tears was past. She had cried the entire way from London to Tunbridge, and cried a bit from Tunbridge to Smeeth as well, but she would allow herself no more crying.

  And Lilyvale… She hoped it might turn her fates. Apparently the master of the manor was recently married and setting up house. Perhaps that explained the disarray of the gardens. With her experience and knowledge, she could have the grounds in elegant shape in no time. Lily squared her shoulders and walked to the side entrance, raised her hand and rapped on the door.

  She waited several moments before rapping again more loudly. A few moments after that, despair began to set in. Was no one at home after all the effort she'd made to walk here? She was just about to give up when the door swung open and a tall thin manservant with a stern face popped his head out.

  "Can I help you, miss--"

  His voice cut off and his eyes widened as he stared at her. Lily looked down at the bodice of her dress for fear a great spider or beetle was crawling upon her, but she saw nothing to explain the servant's shocked face.

  "Please, sir, if the head housekeeper is available, I have come to enquire after grounds work. I can do gardening and keep the greenhouse filled with flowers of every variety and color all year." She held up the basket over her arm.

  Now the man's eyes narrowed. Why did he look at her that way? Before she could wonder very long, he made a move to withdraw back into the house.

  "Wait here, miss. I'll return shortly."

  "Oh, thank you, sir." The door was slammed in her face. What a terribly bizarre man. Lily was kept waiting a long while and had nearly given up a second time when the door swung open again. The man stood back and gestured her into the kitchen.

  "Lord Ashbourne will meet with you in the front parlor."

  "Oh!" Lily spun in confusion. "I did not mean to disturb your master. Can I not just speak to the housekeeper?"

  "No, you may not," said the manservant in a rather affronted tone. "If you will follow me, please."

  For goodness' sake, Lily was not at all used to rubbing shoulders with peers of the realm. The only lord she'd had acquaintance of thus far had very much wrecked her life. She was dressed in a messy, road-worn frock, and oh, her shoes were so dirty. She pulled and patted at her wind-tangled locks, trying to achieve some semblance of civility.

  The servant led her down a long, wide hallway hung with imposing paintings of gentlemen and ladies. Members of the Ashbourne family, she supposed. They all peered dow
n at her from their gilt-framed canvases as if to say, "Oh, what is she doing here?" Near the end of the hall, they passed a spot where a frame seemed to be missing, blank wall in its place. Lily thought on it only a moment before they passed into the grand foyer and her breath caught in her throat.

  The foyer rose up above her in a high, open expanse of white with intricate pale blue and gold molding, and a spectacular wide staircase that curved around and up to the second floor of the home. A chandelier hung from a thick gold chain affixed at the height of the entryway's ceiling. It was like a constellation right there in the house, each crystal sparkling in the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows. She stared up open-mouthed at the hundreds of glittering orbs that comprised the fixture, until the servant cleared his throat.

  "Right this way, miss."

  Lily gathered her wits and followed him down another short hallway to a room on the left. The double doors were open. The servant stood back and Lily stepped into a large parlor in the same colors of pristine white and pale gold and blue. Several sofas and chairs were arranged tastefully around a low, marble-topped table. Lily noticed with hope that the wide table had no flowers on it--yet. In fact, there were no flowers at all in the staid room. It was an unusually uncluttered space. Some smaller tables contained light refreshments and a half-played game of chess. Windows along the front wall let in sunlight, which fell across the blue velvet upholstered chairs, making the surface of the fabric shimmer. In front of one of the windows stood a man who had to be the Earl of Ashbourne.

  In the moment before he turned, she noted his height, the broad width of his shoulders, the proud carriage of his stance and his fine, well-tailored clothes. He wore dark trousers, topped with a midnight blue coat. His chestnut hair was cropped to a somewhat middling length, in the preferred style of the gentlemen in town.

  At his man's soft cough, he turned to regard her. She waited for the impatient dismissal he was sure to voice when he realized his servant had arranged an audience with a disheveled commoner, but no curt words came, only a silent stare. His mouth was stern in appearance, and his jaw strong and angular, framed by an impeccably tied cravat. His face was striking, his nose prominent and not aristocratic at all. He had the look and mien of one who was powerful and masculine, and not that of the many dandy lords she'd seen about London. And the color of his eyes… Lily saw now why the entire house was outfitted in the pale blue of the sky, the blue of cornflowers in the sun. His eyes were a most remarkable shade of the same blue.

  He was perhaps thirty years of age, although his grave expression made him appear older. As he approached, she realized that she must be staring. For that matter, he stared at her too, one hand rising to his mouth. She watched his finger trace over his lower lip and back as if he were deep in thought, or considering some puzzle. She dropped her gaze, befuddled by her reaction to his…beauty. There was no other word for it. Lily had been raised to appreciate beauty. The beauty of a flower, the beauty of a tree in bloom or a wonderfully designed garden. The beauty of nature.

  This man was a gift of nature. He was just that beautiful to look upon.

  "Your name, miss?"

  Lily jumped as the manservant whispered the question in her ear. "Oh. It's Lily."

  "Lily, a gardener," the man boomed out as if they were not, the three of them, alone in a silent country parlor.

  Lord Ashbourne looked at his servant with something like exasperation, then inclined his head as Lily curtsied. She had learned gentle manners and speech from her mother, but still she wasn't sure what to say or do in this singular situation. She was relieved when Lord Ashbourne gestured to the nearest divan.

  "Please, sit down."

  Lily took a deep breath and crossed to sit on the velvet cushions, being careful to set her basket down so no dirt or soil fell in the immaculate room. She looked up again at the lord of the manor. She must wait for him to speak, mustn't she? But he had fallen silent again, staring at her no less intently. The servant left, shutting the double doors with a click that echoed in the stillness. She swallowed hard, quite ill at ease.

  "Well, sir… Erm… My lord, I am so very sorry to disturb you."

  "It is no disturbance. I was not busy. Why have you come to Lilyvale this afternoon?"

  His tone was strained, as if he were frustrated but trying to keep it in check. He did not sit down but stood, facing her, bracing his hands on the back of the opposite divan. She noted that his knuckles were nearly white in their grip. She would be quick. She did not want to keep him if he was in a temper.

  "My lord, I have come to seek employment with your grounds staff, to beautify your lovely manor."

  "Lilyvale has no grounds staff at present, I'm afraid."

  She bit her lip. He was definitely not in a good mood. Then again, she had been around so few of his type. Perhaps this clipped, tense formality was just the way all wealthy gentlemen acted. "I wouldn't wish to take up your time," Lily said. "I might just as well speak to the lady of the house, or your housekeeper if it pleases you."

  "The lady of the house is away and the housekeeper is off for the evening, so I suppose you might just as well speak to me."

  A part-time housekeeper? She blushed, realizing he must have fallen on hard times like so many of the gentry these days. Gambling, bad debts, unfortunate investments. She was not likely to find employment here now, if he didn't even have the funds to adequately staff his household. His uncluttered and austere parlor was thus explained. She looked up at him, hoping the blush didn't show too much in her face. She forged ahead only because she had no idea how to leave at this point with any grace.

  "I am an experienced horticulturist, sir, come recently from London. My father and I provided service for a well-regarded family of Bond Street, so if you've a need for a gardener to aid you, I am quite capable of serving a grand estate such as this."

  He gave her a long, assessing look. "It is unusual, is it not, for a woman to work in groundskeeping?"

  "Not so much anymore, my lord, if you'll pardon my saying. Mrs. Wells Loudon has lately popularized gardening for women, and I have worked as my father's assistant for years. I am particularly interested in the cultivation of exotic flowers."

  "Flowers must certainly benefit from the delicacy of a woman's touch." He strolled around the divan and took a seat opposite her, seeming to relax somewhat from his earlier state. He cocked his head to one side. "You were named for a flower, I gather. The delicate lily of the valley, or the showier calla lily? Perhaps the tiger lily?" His lips turned up in the very shadow of a smile.

  The way he said tiger lily made her blush. Surely this was most irregular, for the lord of the manor to sit and converse with a tradeswoman this way. Perhaps she was in some danger here. Her misuse at the hands of Lord Horace was still fresh in her mind. Perhaps all these privileged lords just took what they wanted with no thought to consent. She cast a look at Lord Ashbourne from beneath her lashes. He did not have the predatory look Lord Horace had when his gaze had followed her around. In fact, Lord Ashbourne still looked quite stern and almost…sad. She thought again of his money difficulties. What a mess she had made, ruining his day by offering services he couldn't afford.

  "My lord, please forgive me," she said, rising. "I made a mistake in coming here. I have disturbed the solitude of your afternoon. I won't keep you any longer."

  "The solitude of this and every afternoon grows tiresome," he cut in. "Please do not go. Not yet."

  She sank back onto the velvet divan and took some deep breaths, calming herself. He was not threatening her, although his attitude did seem rather commanding. His wife was away and he was apparently bored without her, but that did not mean he wished Lily harm. She clasped her hands in her lap and tried to exude calm amiability in her smile.

  "Tell me about these flowers you've brought." He gestured to the basket at her feet. "Are these some of your greenhouse flowers?"

  "Oh, no sir. I haven't my own greenhouse yet."

  "Y
et?" He seemed mildly amused by that. She lifted her chin.

  "I know it is not common for women to be in trade, but I hope to have my own greenhouse and flower shop one day. It is an ambition of mine."

  "I have great respect for ambitious women, Miss Lily. In fact, I would like to purchase some flowers from you. What is the cost of the flowers you have there?"

  "Oh! You may have them if you wish. I brought them as a sample of my work."

  "Nonetheless, I would prefer to pay you."

  Lily looked down, and the simple potted blooms suddenly seemed rather pathetic compared to the rich, understated luxury of Lord Ashbourne's sitting room. She named a price that was probably too low but she couldn't bear to charge more, especially with her suspicion that her host was not well in the black. His expression darkened at her price and she nearly spit out a lower sum, but he interrupted her by calling for his man and sending him for the coin. She hoped she had not ruined the opportunity to gain employment with him, bartering over half-wilted flowers.

  "I particularly love the brightness of marigolds," he commented quietly, just as she was thinking how shabby they were. His kindness cheered her.

  "I love marigolds too. They come in so many shades and colors. In London we managed to propagate a stunning yellow-red variety."

  "Are marigolds your favorite flower?"

  "No, my lord. I am partial to bulbs, but they are not in season now. There are so many beautiful ones. Daffodils, tulips, lilies."

  "Ah. I am partial to lilies myself."

  "Yes, my lord." She flushed, feeling stupid. He was staring at her with the strangest preoccupied expression. Then he abruptly sat up.

  "Will you come back, say, tomorrow? I will be assembling a gardening staff soon and I could certainly use an experienced horticulturist like yourself."

  "Why--yes. Gladly, my lord. You would not be disappointed in my services, I promise it, even if I am not a man."

  Hanover, the servant who had first admitted her, returned with a leather purse and handed it to Lord Ashbourne. He shook out a handful of coins and crossed to drop them into her palm. She could not have counted them in front of him like some money-scrabbling merchant, but it was obvious he'd paid too much.