Liliana’s breath stilled in her chest. She hadn’t known any of that.
“You told me this morning you were a chemist. I am certain people in your life have discouraged you from it. Yet someone, like Handel’s mother, encouraged you, yes? Not your aunt…”
Liliana shook her head, her gaze riveted to his blue one. “My father,” she said softly.
Geoffrey nodded. “I expect you hope to make some lasting contribution to the world in that regard. My mother mentioned you’ve applied for acceptance into the Royal Society and have been turned down.”
“Seven times in the past three years,” she found herself saying. “But I refuse to give up. Someday, men will recognize that women and science are not incompatible. If I am not the first woman member of the Royal Society, then I can at least hope my efforts will help pave the way for whoever is.”
“My point exactly.” He watched her, assessing, with no hint of mockery or disdain.
Liliana took a shallow breath and pulled her head back slowly, feeling exposed and vulnerable. She had the most uncomfortable feeling he was looking right into her very heart.
Dear God, she was the one who was supposed to be getting answers from him—and yet he’d gotten her to unknowingly reveal intimate parts of her soul just by uttering a name.
She was in over her head.
“Forgive me,” Geoffrey murmured and sat back against his chair. “I’ve upset you.”
She hazarded a glance at him. His eyes were hooded, his brows drawn together with puzzlement.
“No, I…” She cleared her throat and called forth a polite smile. “I am just a bit taken aback. I…” She probably sounded the idiot. Now she would look like one, too, for she couldn’t stay here with him a moment longer. She stood abruptly, knocking her chair with the back of her knees. “Please convey my apologies to Lord Aveline,” she said, backing out of the row. “Tell him I am a bit flushed, after all, and that I will join him later this evening.”
Liliana didn’t wait for Geoffrey’s response, didn’t want him to see any more in her face than he already had. She fled the music room.
Her equilibrium returned in bits as her long-legged stride carried her farther from Geoffrey, as she pondered their conversation. He’d shown no flicker of response when she’d mentioned her father. No remorse, no acknowledgment that he’d ever heard of Charles Claremont. Was it possible he knew nothing about her father’s death?
Perhaps. But scientists didn’t make assumptions. They proved or disproved premises. Tomorrow, when they went riding, she’d risk asking him a few pointed questions and gauge his responses.
Still, she mustn’t forget that even if he knew nothing, she could not count on him to help her find justice. She’d run her finger over the raised seal of Stratford hundreds of times since she’d discovered her father’s cache.
Fidelitas ut prosapia. Loyalty to family. Liliana hadn’t needed a translation of the family motto—Latin was the language of science, after all.
Someone in Geoffrey’s family was responsible for her father’s death, and she fully expected that when the time came, Geoffrey would protect his own.
Movement caught her eye as she passed by the hallway that led to the library. Was that—? She turned quietly, inched back to the opening and peered around the corner.
Someone exited the library, and not in the way one would had he been there just perusing. The hallway was shadowed, so she couldn’t make out a face. The man turned away from her and walked at a fast clip in the opposite direction.
She couldn’t be certain, but the tall, lean frame brought to mind Lord Aveline.
Why on earth would Aveline be sneaking from the library when he’d been supposedly fetching champagne?
Chapter Thirteen
T
he brisk morning breeze sent a shiver down Liliana’s spine as she made her way through dew-laden grass to the stables. The air was quiet in the dark moments before sunrise, the absence of noise making it seem as if even the birds had yet to rise from their comfy nests. Perhaps they were the wise ones.
As Liliana slipped inside the stable door, a glow of soft light shone from the far stall. The rumble of quiet male voices echoed back to her and Liliana instinctively stilled, keeping to the shadows. There’d been no one about yesterday when she’d appropriated Geoffrey’s mare, and though he’d given her permission to ride Amira this morning, she had little desire to explain herself to a stranger, particularly dressed as she was in breeches. Funny, it didn’t seem to bother her that Geoffrey saw her thus.
“—very ’appy, Major. Can’t thank you enough,” a man said.
“The war is over, Tom. You needn’t address me so anymore.”
Geoffrey’s familiar tones flowed through Liliana like a good glass of sherry, leaving her relaxed and rather warm. She shook off the effect and continued toward Amira’s stall.
“M’lord, then.”
Geoffrey’s low laugh struck Liliana as rather self-deprecating for a man of the nobility. “Certainly not that, my friend. Not after all we’ve seen together. I’d prefer you call me Geoffrey, but I can see from the look of horror on your face that you won’t do that. Shall we settle on Stratford?”
“Don’t seem proper, sir, given you’re an earl now,” the man answered, his voice dubious. “But if you insist.”
“I do.”
Liliana stopped short of the stall, taken aback by the men’s odd conversation. Geoffrey was apparently encouraging someone below his station to call him by his given name, and clearly considered the man a friend. She’d never known a peer who held to such ideas. The thought intrigued her, but it also disturbed. She didn’t like to admit she might be wrong about him. Perhaps she’d need to reevaluate how she perceived Geoffrey. Perhaps, at heart, he was as unconventional as she.
She cleared her throat in way of announcement, still curious, but loath to eavesdrop further when the conversation clearly had nothing to do with her. She dropped her head and tugged her cap low so as to hide her features from Geoffrey’s companion.
Geoffrey stepped out into the open. His eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure, and his smile of greeting sent warmth sliding through her. Was he glad that she’d joined him?
“Liliana,” he said, surprising her by his use of her name and again when he reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips for a brush of a kiss as he led her into the stall.
Liliana’s eyes darted to the stranger and she squinted, perplexed. The man Geoffrey insisted address him so casually was a stable servant? It certainly seemed so from his rough trousers, coarse linen shirt embedded with bits of straw and dusty vest. A bud of unease sprouted in her middle. Servants notoriously gossiped, and the last thing she wanted was Aunt to hear of her unorthodox morning activities through the servant grapevine.
“Allow me to introduce Tom Richards. Tom, Miss Claremont.” Geoffrey must have sensed her reticence, as he gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Tom and I served together for many years. He’s as loyal a friend as they come. I trust him with my life, as can you with your reputation.”
Mr. Richards nodded. “Miss.”