“She is a sweet ducky, isn’t she?”
She certainly was not a sweet ducky, in the baron’s opinion, but she was everything necessary to fulfill every wish of his fatherly heart. Nevertheless, he bided his time and did not inform Daylily of The Plan until the evening of her sixteenth birthday.
“You like the boy, don’t you?” he asked her when he had finished laying out the details.
Daylily considered in that thoughtful way she had. “He’s a blessed idiot, Father.”
“But a handsome enough young man, you must admit.”
“Last time I saw him, he tried to stand on his head and play the lute at the same time.”
“Yes,” said the baron, trying not to be exasperated, “but he was no more than ten years old. He has since matured.”
Daylily raised an eyebrow. It was a fine, delicate eyebrow, and more expressive than words.
“Think of the title,” said her father.
She did think of the title. She even said it out loud, trying her own name with it.
“It sounds well, does it not?” said the baron.
“It would require me to marry him.”
“Yes. Yes, it would.”
“I could never love him.”
“Did I ask you to love him?”
Daylily regarded her father a long moment, during which time several responses crossed her mind. But she managed to stifle them before they reached her lips. To the fiery temper of her childhood had been added a measure of discretion. And the look on her father’s face told her that she would need to choose her battles carefully in the following months, perhaps years.
“Very well, Father. Invite him if you must.”
“Of course, my darling,” said Middlecrescent with a smile.
So the baron wrote a missive and sent it by a fast horseman to the Eldest’s House, where Leo’s mother, Starflower, received it with interest. She spoke of the matter to her husband, for it was he who must make the final decision. He asked a few questions but expressed little interest in the subject, deferring to his wife’s opinion.
What Starflower did not know was that Leo talked to his father too, though regarding a different matter.
Starflower sent for her son. He came to her favorite sitting room (she had three) and knocked politely, but when she bade him enter, he leaned against the doorpost and crossed his arms. She sat at an enormous desk that was all cupboards and drawers, writing at an important-looking document without a glance to spare for her son. “Are you well?” she asked in a tone that implied she could not care less.
Leo shrugged. “Well enough.” Somehow he knew that this conversation was bound to turn into a confrontation. His mother ignored him for several long moments, as though he were nothing more than a mildly annoying bug on the wall. Yet he must go on lingering, waiting for her to speak, his hackles rising all the while.
At last she continued. “I am composing a letter.”
“So I see,” Leo replied.
“To the Baron of Middlecrescent, my second cousin. You will be spending your summer with him.”
Leo licked his lips and continued glaring at his feet. He had known this conversation was coming. Each year, as spring ran into summer, he and his mother had the same annual argument with slight variations. Last year it had been Upperwold, the year before, Idlewild. This time, Middlecrescent, but Leo was determined that the outcome should be different.
“I don’t want to spend the summer in Middlecrescent,” he said, his voice low but firm.
His mother continued without pause. “Middlecrescent is fine country with clean air, conducive to the studies you are pursuing.”
Here came the tricky part. Leo knew his mother would never forgive him for what he was about to say.
“I spoke to Father.”
The temperature in the room dropped. Leo’s mouth went dry. He cleared his throat, however, and forced himself to go on, despite the dreadful scritch-scratching from his mother’s pen, which never stopped. “He agrees that I’m old enough to choose how to spend my summers.”
Mother never crossed Father, at least as far as Leo knew. But her shoulders set a little more firmly than before. “I see,” she said. “And where have you and your father agreed upon for this year’s jaunt? Will you sojourn to Shippening? Sail to Parumvir and pass your time gallivanting with those northerners? Or maybe the Far East better suits you?” Her voice was like ice. “Tell me, son. I am eager to learn of your plans.”
How she could manage to half convince him to give in to her pleasure without so much as an argument was beyond Leo. He had to force himself not to exclaim, “Never mind! Middlecrescent is the place for me after all. Finish your letter and send me on my way.”
But he had come too far now to retreat. “I want to visit Hill House.”