Her goodwoman shuddered, however, and her movements were hurried as she laid out her lady’s clothing for tomorrow’s journey. “They say that a monster lives in these parts to this day,” she said in a low voice.
“A monster?” Daylily’s smile vanished. “What sort of monster? The Wolf Lord’s ghost?”
“Not a ghost, m’lady,” said her goodwoman. “No one can say what it is exactly, but all agree that it is no ghost.”
Daylily shook her head and finished off her cider. “Silly country talk,” she said, setting aside her mug. “I don’t know why you listen to it.”
But the wolf’s cry had awakened in her something she had not known existed: the same spirit of adventure that had touched young Leo many years before. Perhaps—and she scarcely allowed herself to think this—perhaps a summer away from dances and assemblies might not be so horrible? The mountain air was crisp and fresh like no air she had ever before breathed. Perhaps she had fallen on her feet after all.
Then Daylily met Leo, and all such thoughts vanished.
The baron’s carriage rumbled into the yard of Hill House, and Dame Willowfair, her son, Foxbrush, and young Leo stood on the doorstep to meet it. The house was grand enough, Daylily admitted to herself as she gazed out the carriage window and waited for the footman to open the door. Rather a strange sight so far out in the wild, but handsome. She need not fear passing the summer in want.
The footman handed her out, and she curtsied before those at the doorstep. Dame Willowfair said something unmemorable, but when Daylily rose again she fixed her attention solely on the boy she was to win for her husband.
What a gawky clown!
True, he was dressed up well enough in velvets and lace (much too hot for a summer day), and these were tailored so as to disguise as much of his scrawniness as possible. But it would take miracles to hide it all. And he wouldn’t even meet her eyes as he bowed stiffly. He stood there like a ridiculous schoolboy, shuffling his feet.
Daylily scarcely spared a glance for his cousin, who was, as far as that one glance could tell her, an oiled and stuffed mimic of Leo.
But her father had given her orders, and Daylily was not one to shirk a duty. She extended a gloved hand to Leo, giving him no choice but to take it. “Thank you for inviting me to join you this summer,” she said.
Leo accepted her hand and was obliged to really look at her for the first time. He found himself gazing into the face of the prettiest girl he had ever met.
“Um. Glad you came,” he said.
Two weeks passed at Hill House, and still Leo could not catch a moment for himself.
He sat in the library with Foxbrush and Daylily a few days after that lady’s arrival. She remained aloof as ever, working at stitching. Leo and Foxbrush sat in armchairs opposite each other in the library, each pretending to concentrate on his summer studies and neither succeeding. Leo’s mind kept running among three distinct subjects: first, how much he disliked his cousin’s hair oil; second, how surprisingly good-looking Lady Daylily was; third, how much longer it might be before he found a chance to slip out on his own.
He knew if he dared attempt an escape out the garden gate, his cousin was sure to follow. Neither he nor Foxbrush had breathed a word about their confrontation in the forest years ago, but neither had forgotten. Leo felt Foxbrush’s squint-eyed stare upon him far more often than he liked. Don’t even think about leaving, that stare said. But Leo thought about it.
Something had changed at Hill House, though Leo couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Perhaps it was merely the difference between an eleven-year-old boy’s perspective and that of a lad of sixteen. Leo suspected not, however. No one in the house itself had changed significantly: Leanbear still drove the horses, Redbird still cooked and baked, Dame Willowfair still rose at noon to powder her nose.
But this time, everyone watched him. And once Daylily arrived, they watched him even more closely, as though expecting him to explode with professions of love and poetry and nonsense at any moment. He glanced at Daylily again, seated with ramrod-straight back, her delicate hands working away at a bit of stitching. She really was a fine-looking girl, he had to admit. Somehow, he couldn’t picture her climbing boulders or building dams or waging war upon invisible enemies. Which was acceptable, he supposed. Pretty girls weren’t intended for such activities. But he could not see her as a friend.
Leo set aside his textbook and moved to the window, gazing out upon the garden. Funny, he thought as he looked at all the starflower vines tumbling over the garden walls. They’d really let those vines get out of control in the last few years. Where was old Mousehand to prune them back? There wasn’t a sign of the bush-bearded gardener’s creaking form as far as Leo could see. He frowned.
All the while he stood there, Daylily watched him over her stitchery. And Foxbrush watched Daylily watching him and thought many thoughts, most of them unkind. The day drifted by at an interminable rate.