“Perhaps… I wanted it to… be my business.” He approached her cautiously as he spoke.
“It’s just…” She waved one hand, obviously frustrated. “You just can’t. He’s…”
Apollo cocked his head. “Indio’s father?”
“What?” She turned and stared. “No! Whatever made you think that? Edwin’s my brother.”
“Ah.” The knot that had been pulled tight in his chest ever since she’d started defending the dandy loosened. Family was another matter. One couldn’t choose family. “Then he… should speak… to his sister more carefully.”
She screwed up her face rather adorably. “He’s not himself. He lost quite a bit of money and he’s anxious about it.”
He caught her hand and tugged gently as he turned down a path into the garden—away from where he’d left Edwin. “I see. And this is… your fault?”
“No, of course not.” She frowned, but let herself be led, so he counted that as a contest won. “It’s just that he makes money from my plays.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How so?”
“Well, they’re published under his name, you see,” she said, peering down at her steps. She didn’t seem to notice that he still had hold of her hand, and he felt no need to bring it to her attention. Her slender fingers were cool in his. “He’s… well, he’s better able to sell the plays than I.”
“Why?”
She kicked a stone in the path. “He has better acquaintances. Better friends.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “He just is better at it, is all.”
He was silent, but felt confused. How did “better friends” make it easier to publish a play?
“My father was a porter,” she finally muttered, sounding faintly ashamed. “A common porter. Apparently he often fetched things for the actors in the theater where my mother was appearing. Costumes and props and a cooked hen for dinner and whatever else needed moving or fetching from one place to another. Oh, you know what a porter is.”
He squeezed her hand gently instead of replying.
She broke off a twig from a tree as they passed. “Edwin’s father was a lord—well, a lord’s son, which, compared to a porter, is much the same thing. Mama said my father couldn’t even read his own name. But he was handsome, so there’s that, I suppose.”
“You…” His damnable throat tried to close, but he forced the words out. “You did not… know… your father?”
She shook her head, glancing at him apologetically. “Mama had a great many lovers, I’m afraid, and none ever stayed long.” She inhaled and shook herself. “Anyway, Edwin’s been very helpful, taking my plays and finding where to sell them. He keeps some of the money and gives all the rest to me.”
“How much?”
“What?”
o;Shopping is always quite important, Captain,” Lady Phoebe replied in a very serious tone. “But Miss Goodfellow has been so kind as to consent to give me the secret to her jam tartlets.”
“Has she.” The soldier’s tone was flat, with only a very small hint of disbelief.
Lady Phoebe smiled cheerily. “She has. Please be so kind as to wander a ways off so that we may consult on the matter. I’m sure the place you chose to speak with Mr. Smith was far enough away that you might not be overheard. Perhaps you can wait there.”
Captain Trevillion bowed woodenly. “My lady.”
He limped away and for a moment Lily felt almost sorry for the man. He was so very proud and it was obvious that Lady Phoebe used him a trifle hard sometimes.
But then the lady herself leaned close to her and whispered, “Is he far enough away?”
Lily glanced to the soldier’s back, now a distance away. “I think so, my lady.”
“Do be sure,” Lady Phoebe muttered. “I swear the man has the hearing of a dog.” She crinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound quite right. Anyway, the hearing of some animal that has very good hearing. Terribly annoying.”
Lily felt her lips twitch. “Yes, my lady.”
“Now tell me quickly before he comes back and sticks his long nose in: what does Mr. Smith look like?”