Liliana wasn’t about to say she’d been thinking of Geoffrey’s kisses. She pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes.
“Fine,” Pen said. “Don’t tell me. But you’ve arrived home for the last three days from your morning rides with that same look. And,” she said, hooking her ring finger, “you’ve been happier, more peaceful than I think I’ve ever seen you, even in company. You should have seen Mother’s jaw drop when Stratford cajoled you into that game of charades. She’s commented on the change in you, too.”
Liliana frowned, realizing that she had felt differently of late, comfortable in her own skin…or at least not hyperaware of how irregular she was. Could that be because of how Geoffrey looked at her? How he listened to her, sought her opinions?
Penelope waggled her pinkie. “And fourth, you’ve stopped talking about Stratford, nor have you shared any progress on your mission with me.” Pen paused, and an expression—part hurt, part envy—passed over her face. “Perhaps because you’ve had him to share with.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Liliana said, but was it? Her and Geoffrey’s time alone, of course, had been spent mainly in each other’s arms, yet many hours had been spent talking while they participated in various activities. Talking about what he hoped to achieve in his political career, discussions regarding future projects aimed at employing soldiers. Liliana had expanded the subject to the poor in general—employing them, certainly—but she’d brought up health and sanitation issues that would improve the quality of lives for all. Geoffrey had considered her ideas thoughtfully, tossing around possible scenarios he might present to Parliament in coming years, given the proper research. He’d even joked that they should partner up together and change the world.
“Would it be so bad, Lily?” Pen asked gently. “You’ve said you know in your heart he had nothing to do with whatever happened to Uncle Charles. Would it be so bad to love Stratford?”
“It would be awful,” she whispered. Because when he came to despise her, as he surely would when she explained why she’d really come to Somerton Park, it would break her heart if she actually loved him.
“I think it would be wonderful,” Pen countered. “I think it’s fantastic that someone has finally breached that outer wall you keep around yourself. I’m just relieved Stratford has made you feel something. I feared perhaps…” She trailed off pensively.
“Perhaps what?”
Penelope regarded Liliana for a long moment before sighing. “I thought perhaps losing Uncle Charles had damaged you somehow. I know his death was shattering, but you’ve idealized him your entire life. I was afraid you might never let another man into your heart.”
Liliana was taken aback. “When did you get so insightful? Perhaps you’ve missed your calling,” she joked, trying to ease the tension. But Penelope just pressed her lips together in annoyance.
Liliana considered Pen’s words. True, losing her father had been devastating, but that had nothing to do with her choice not to pursue a husband. A husband would have forced her to give up her dreams. Men wanted their women filling the nursery, not experimenting in the laboratory.
Yet, had she ever let a man into her life since Father’s death? Liliana frowned in thought. No, she hadn’t. She was close to no man—not even her uncle, Lord Belsham, who had made considerable efforts at a relationship over the years.
Why was that? Because it hurt too much to love? Perhaps, particularly if you lost that person. Look what it had done to her father to lose her mother. What losing her father had done to her. She never again wanted to open herself to such pain.
But she couldn’t think about that now, and besides, Pen was looking at her expectantly. “I…care for Geoffrey. I think he’s a good man, but that is all I will ever feel for him.”
Penelope sat back, biting her lower lip as if she wished to say more. “If you say so,” she finally relented.
“I do.”
“So what are you going to do when you find what you are looking for?”
That blasted aching knot took up its place in her throat again. “What else can I do? I’m going to tell Geoffrey the truth.”
Liliana let the drape fall closed, shutting out the steel blue light of daybreak. She’d just witnessed Geoffrey and several male guests depart for the morning’s hunt. It was time to complete her search.
She’d been unable to sleep, mulling over what she thought she knew, what she hoped to find. What she hoped not to find. Her conversation with Penelope featured heavily in her thoughts, too, as did every moment of the past few days spent with Geoffrey.
Could she love him? She couldn’t say if she even knew what love was. Her entire life she’d surrounded herself with cold science, never giving that softer emotion the slightest consideration. It was as foreign to her as the concept of electrochemical dualism would be to someone like Lady Jane.
Desire, Liliana understood. She may not have experienced it before now, but it was a natural phenomenon, a measurable physical response to stimuli.
But love?
She slipped out of her room carrying a lit candle and went to the hall bookshelf. She pulled the fourth book from the right and removed the key from her dress pocket. She inserted it and turned. A click later, the shelf opened and Liliana stepped inside.
The passageway was cool. Of course, this morning she didn’t have Geoffrey pressed against her. Nor would she ever again.
Liliana crossed the first turn, where she would have gone left to the study, and instead carried on straight into the tunnel that led to the family rooms. Coming to the first door, she pressed her ear to listen. Of course, without knowing the thickness of the door, would she even be able to hear if someone were occupying the room? What she wouldn’t give for a spy hole.
After hearing nothing for several moments, she inserted the key Geoffrey had given her, hoping it opened all of the doors. She turned it clockwise. “Yes,” she whispered as the door opened.
Liliana stepped into a bold red room, trim gleaming white with gilded edges, the lines clean and cold. A portrait of Lady Stratford hung over the fireplace. This must be the countess’ parlor—she seemed the type to hang a likeness of herself in her own space.
After what the old valet had told her of his suspicions, Liliana had to consider Lady Stratford a viable suspect. What had Geoffrey called her? Lying, manipulative and deceitful? Perhaps whatever activities had gotten her father killed may have been centered around the countess rather than the late earl.
It made some sense, really. No one ever suspected a woman, particularly not men. Liliana knew all too well that most men didn’t think women capable of having a brain, though her father certainly wouldn’t have been one of those. Still, if Lady Stratford was the guilty party, then killed her husband barely more than two weeks later, perhaps because he’d discovered what she’d done—well, that would wrap things up neatly.
Liliana moved to the desk. Opening a drawer, she found only writing implements and other sundries. She moved to the next, searching for a handwriting sample to compare. She found a packet of vellum and reached out for it, yet she hesitated before opening it, her mouth going dry. What would she do if the countess’ handwriting matched?