The next day, Daylily noticed a damper on Leo’s mood. He had, over the last several weeks, been in remarkably good spirits. She hadn’t once heard him mention that goat girl of his, which was encouraging. And he certainly was, in his boyish way, paying her attention. He could hardly compare with the more sophisticated gentlemen from whom she’d enjoyed similar attentions in the past, but she wasn’t under orders to marry any of them, so she mustn’t complain.
Besides, Daylily had to admit, there was a certain pleasure in having a chance to play little girl again. Over the last few years she had found herself flung into the dizzying society of Middlecrescent, learning the flirtation game and dancing until her feet were sore. Here at Hill House, the most exciting pastime was a rousing game of chess, or if they were feeling particularly sophisticated, Daylily might play an instrument and sing some ballad of Eanrin the Bard . . . which never failed to put Leo to sleep, though Foxbrush always listened with rapt attention. A unique summer, to be sure, but not altogether unpleasant.
She would win him over before the holiday was out.
Yet today, between moves across the chessboard, Daylily watched her prospective husband and noticed a distinct lack of vim. He slouched more than usual, and his attention was not on the game. She saw his gaze wandering to the window.
Daylily took his queen, and Leo didn’t notice.
“Why don’t you inquire after her?” she asked, perhaps more sharply than necessary.
Leo pulled his attention from the window and examined the chessboard. “Oh. I guess you killed her, huh?”
“Not the queen,” said Daylily as she added the white piece to her collection of pawns, knights, and rooks on one side of the board. “Your goat girl.”
Leo gave her a darting glance and slouched farther than Daylily would have thought humanly possible.
“You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?” Her voice was calm and even. No one could have guessed at Lady Daylily’s true feelings on the subject, least of all Leo . . . who wasn’t paying attention in any case.
He shrugged. “She’s probably left the mountain. It doesn’t matter.”
Daylily’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to play?”
He moved a bishop, and she killed it with her knight. Iubdan’s beard! It wasn’t even a strategic pleasure to destroy him today. Leo fixed his eyes on the board and appeared to be making a real effort to study what was happening. But he didn’t move a piece.
“You should inquire in the village.”
Leo’s hand, resting quietly beside the board heretofore, formed a fist, and he smacked the tabletop. “Dragon’s teeth, Daylily!” Then he took a breath, and she braced herself for his apology. She hated apologies. They implied weakness.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She nodded and folded her hands.
“I’m just tired today,” he continued. “Not feeling too well.”
Excuses were worse than apologies. Daylily rose. “This game is not what it might be. I shall retire and see you at dinner.”
Leo watched her exit the room and cursed himself several times over. It didn’t help at all.
Daylily swept from the sitting room where she and Leo had been playing and made straight for the library. She usually avoided Foxbrush, who spent far too much time gazing at her with long-suffering adoration to be agreeable, but she sought him out now and found him madly scribbling away at something.
He blushed when he saw her and quickly hid whatever he was writing beneath several stray papers and a couple of large textbooks. Brilliant. He was probably composing love letters that she could only hope he would lack the courage to give her. She pretended not to have noticed.
“Lady Daylily,” Foxbrush said, trying to assume a courtly manner. He rose and bowed and held a chair for her. His face was still crimson. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Tell me about Leo,” she said, taking the seat, “and this goat girl of his.”
Foxbrush’s blush drained away, leaving him surprisingly pale. “I . . . I beg your pardon, my lady. I don’t know what you’re—”
“Oh, don’t try that with me,” she said as lightly as though remarking on some concert or dance. “I know very well that you are as knowledgeable of this situation as anyone here. I suspect you know more even than his good mother and father—long life to them—so I suggest that you be straightforward now.” She allowed her eyes to stray, however briefly, to the pile of texts and papers on the desk. Foxbrush saw that glance and went from pale, to red, to a horrible gray. Daylily smiled. “Besides, we are friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course,” he managed.
“Then tell me what you know.”
He said nothing.
“They had some sweet little childhood romance, yes?” Daylily tilted her head fetchingly to one side. “Adorable, I’m sure. But inappropriate for a lad of Leo’s position. His parents brought him back home and had her sent away, am I right? Is he still pining for her?”
Foxbrush drew a long breath, his hand running nervously back and forth along the edge of his desk. “Lady Daylily, I . . . I really know nothing of this matter. Leo liked to play out in the woods that summer, which Aunt Starflower did not like when she heard. That’s all I—”