All the Painted Stars, page 18
She shot a look at Jo as she drew her knees up to hide what she was working on. She had begged the gown from Mabel, bundling it away so Jo wouldn’t be able to find it. Mabel herself had been immediately drawn into the secret – it would have been difficult not to, given that Lily needed her to acquire materials – and had found a gleeful charm in it. She had even fetched Lily spools of brand new, brightly dyed threads, handing them over with a smile so knowing that it had made Lily blush.
Lily had never toiled so hard on a single project, but neither had she ever had such a lofty goal. It took more focus than she had channelled in her life to stop herself from becoming distracted, and she was determined that this would not become another abandoned project. Often, her focus was too strong: more than once she had remained in the loft after Jo had woken, needle in hand and her head filled with flowers, only realising that the sun was setting outside when her eyes began to sting. But she did not care. For Jo, she would do it.
It was impossible for the gift to be as brilliant as her, but Lily had to try.
As Lily stitched, Jo and Harry began to clean out one of the tubs, scrubbing the wood until their fingers turned red and raw with the effort of it. Jo hauled herself inside the giant thing while Harry kept it steady, her feet lifting from the floor and her laughter echoing from within.
When she emerged, her face was bright red, her eyes sparkling. Her hair – which had been tied into her typical, severe plait – was bursting from the weave in wild strands, sticking to her sweaty skin. She’d rolled her sleeves up to work, but still there were stains on her dress.
Lily had never seen her look such a mess. And she had never seen her look so free, either. Jo spotted her staring, and gave her a sharp smile which wrinkled her nose.
The dress felt heavy in Lily’s hands. She tried to return to her stitching, but her fingers were clumsy, her palms sweaty. Her heartbeat was racing, her lungs empty, and this she could not blame on her illness.
She looked again at Jo. The sun spilling in through the open doors illuminated her, making the loose strands of hair around her head light up like a crown of golden sunlight. When she leant back, setting her shoulders, the glow shifted, outlining her.
And, oh – she was wonderful.
Lily clasped the dress harder, pinching the slender needle between her fingers just to feel something else: something that wasn’t this overwhelming, burning feeling.
She couldn’t. It was unbearable. She gathered her things, rose to her feet, and without bidding farewell dashed out into the yard, stumbling over her own feet in her haste. At least she could breathe out here, where the air was cooler. She headed towards the garden, settling herself at the foot of the tree where Jo had cut her hair – where they had spent many long evenings since, leaning against the trunk and laughing.
Gilbert, who had been sunning himself in the vegetable patch, opened his eyes and lazily sauntered over to her. As he bumped his head against her legs she scratched behind his ears, eliciting a low, rumbling purr.
Lily knew that she was walking a narrow path in her relationship with Jo, always tiptoeing between friendship and something more, and these long days with Jo attentively at her side had tipped her over the edge.
The feeling that had spurred her to try to free Jo from marriage still simmered within her, still tingled beneath her nails and bubbled in her stomach. She’d told herself – and Jo – that she only wished to help Jo win her freedom. That had felt like a lie at the time, and now she knew it was.
She did want Jo to be able to grasp her freedom. But, more so – she didn’t want her to wed. She had no claim over Jo, no right to her feelings, yet the thought of her sharing her life and bed with another made jealously hiss in her chest. She wanted her – and she would never have her.
Lily needed to let her go. But she couldn’t.
If Jo had returned to Adam and left Lily in Mabel’s expert care, Lily would have been able to unhook herself from her. But Jo hadn’t – she’d stayed – and Lily had stuck. She was a teasel clinging to the skirts of a queen.
Gilbert flopped onto his back beside her, demanding to be pet.
‘I envy you, Gib,’ Lily said, tickling beneath his chin. ‘You do not have to fear falling in love.’
Gib only blinked at her. She leant against the tree, watching as his fine hairs floated up into the air around them.
‘And Jo asks you to stop bringing mice to the table.’
Gib continued to purr, apparently ignoring her request.
Lily was leaning half-asleep against the tree, her fingers brushing through Gib’s fur, when a noise from the house made her start awake. Mabel had been seeing to a trader from a nearby keep. They must have reached an agreement.
She made her way to the yard to see an official-looking man swinging himself up onto a finely bred horse. He was wearing an expensive tunic and was peering down at Mabel with an expression that had very little to do with his elevated position on his mount.
As he turned the horse around, Jo appeared from the brewery, also alerted by the noise.
‘And you are sure you can fulfil this?’ the rider spoke at Mabel rather than to her.
‘If I have assured you we can, then we can.’ Mabel folded her arms across her chest as she spoke.
‘You understand that you have signed an agreement, yes?’ he said, unsatisfied. ‘And if that agreement is not fulfilled, my master will go down on you. Hard.’
Mabel shrugged. ‘I am sure he will.’
The man bristled. Lily watched, amused.
‘Have you any more demands for us?’ Mabel asked. ‘Or do I have your lord’s leave to begin work on his order?’
The rider scowled. ‘Please do. Are you sure you have enough materials on hand to complete this? Enough people?’
Mabel stiffened and stood straighter.
‘If I require anything, I can easily find it,’ she said. ‘And we are well staffed here. We will deliver it to you when it is ready, as agreed.’
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I shall inform my master. Good morning.’
He twisted the horse’s reins around and pulled the creature from the yard.
‘What did he want?’ Jo asked, as soon as he had gone.
‘Enough strong ale to drown a village.’
‘Who sent him?’
Mabel rolled her shoulders. ‘Some lord,’ she sniffed. ‘Wickham? Wright? His name does not matter, only his coin. It’s a large order, and we must prepare it properly. His keep is in Glendale, that’s two days’ ride away.’ Mabel tapped her chin as she thought. ‘I’ll need to make sure the batch keeps for the journey. It is a complication, but not one I haven’t faced before.’
‘Why so far? Why not engage the services of a more local brewster?’
‘Because,’ Mabel said, ‘I am the best. Go and fetch Harry: we need to see how much barley we have left.’
Chapter 16
Over the next two days, Mabel arranged for several sacks of grain to be delivered. They hauled them into the brewery, ready to steep. The weather had turned, and the sun baked down through the roof, making the building oppressively hot. It was perfect for steeping the grains and encouraging them to sprout, but by the third day the air was thick and sticky, like walking through broth.
Work was slow, the humidity made worse by the steeping grain. Sweat beaded on Jo’s forehead as she ground malt, pausing often to rest. Lily had joined her, perched on a crate with a stack of discarded embroidery at her side. It was too hot even for such gentle work, and instead Lily leant back against the wall with her eyes shut, her hair plastered to her head.
It was barely midmorning when Mabel pushed open the door of the brewery, peering around at them all. She had been baking, her face shiny and red and her skirts covered in flour.
‘Curse this heat,’ she said. ‘There’s no good work to be done in this. Have the afternoon for yourselves.’
‘Are you sure?’ Jo asked, rising from where she was sitting on the floor.
‘Quite sure. There’s a lake down the way; take yourselves there. It will suit in this weather, and you both deserve a rest.’
The offer, made entirely in kindness, made Jo’s skin cold regardless. She had been working hard, mostly to make up for the inconvenience Mabel must have felt at having two unexpected guests in her home. It had also become a way to atone for the transgression she was committing by not returning to Lord Adam: when she was working in the brewery or tending to Lily, she was needed. Being needed made her invaluable, which meant she did not need to return.
But a day of rest and relaxation would be for no greater cause than her own amusement. There would be no barrels to scrub or malt to grind and Lily certainly seemed well enough for the excursion. And if Lily was well enough for that, then surely she was well enough to return to Dunlyn, too? Jo had sworn to stay with Lily until she was recovered, and to accept Mabel’s offer was an admission that the time was upon them.
The realisation was like a slap. She did not want to return.
She rejoiced in Lily’s recovery, but with it came the need to go back to the de Foucart keep and the arms of the man who would be her husband. Before, she would have done so. But now something had shifted.
Working at Mabel’s side and spending long, lazy evenings with Lily felt like gasping for the first time after a long-held breath. Like stumbling into sunshine after a day locked indoors. She had been ignoring the fact that she had to return, pretending that she was too busy to think about it.
She needed to refuse. She needed to thank Mabel for her hospitality, send Lily on her way to Dunlyn, and go home.
But the sunshine was intoxicating, the weather hot, the air sweet with summer. Beside her, Lily had immediately lit up at the prospect of going somewhere which was not the brewery. Her illness had trapped her, and Jo could only imagine what sort of toll it took on a woman so used to doing as she pleased, when she pleased.
Jo’s mind was made up. ‘That sounds wonderful.’
Harry gave Lily directions – Jo carefully listening, positive that Lily would not remember them – as Mabel helped Jo pack a basket with food and drink.
‘Oh, and here—’ Mabel handed Jo a sticky parcel. The little bundle was still warm, smelling of sweet honey and wine. ‘Almond fritters,’ she said. ‘I know they’re your favourite.’
The parcel was suddenly too hot, the smell overwhelming and sickly. Jo was assaulted with the memory of sitting beneath the tree at the edge of Hartswood Forest, covered in honey, laughing until sticky tears rolled down her cheeks.
There was a chill to that memory, now. How in God’s name had Mabel known?
‘—and a bottle of beer’ – Mabel was still talking, placing things in the basket – ‘but watch it doesn’t leak—’
‘Mabel—’
‘—on top of the bottle, so they don’t bruise. Jo? What’s the matter?’
Jo realised she was crushing the fritters. She loosened her grip. Genuine concern spread across Mabel’s face.
‘Jo?’
Jo placed the fritters in the basket, mind racing. She was being absurd. She was being cruelly suspicious again, when Mabel had only been kind. She had nothing to fear from her, she knew that.
‘… Nothing.’
She followed Lily outside in silence. Lily, buoyed with the prospect of a day out, had not seemed to notice. A neat line appeared between her brows as she looked up and down the road.
‘Which direction did he say to take?’
It was hard to linger on the sense of unease with Lily by her side, humming and whistling to herself as they walked, pointing out swooping birds of which she did not know the name or blurs of fur as rabbits dashed through the fields that flanked the path. They turned from the main road to the less worn lane through the woodlands, and after a short walk soon came upon the sound of lapping water.
‘Thank God,’ Lily breathed as they broke through the treeline and onto the sunny lakeside shore, ‘I can finally be rid of this thing …’
She tore off her head covering, which Jo had insisted she wear to protect her from the baking heat, and tossed it carelessly onto the pebbles before making quick work of the ties of her dress, pulling it over her head and throwing that aside as well. It landed heavily, scattering stones.
Next came her shift, clinging sweatily to her skin. She pulled her arms from the sleeves and tugged it down to reveal her freckled back, still marked with tender-looking yellow bruises. They captured Jo’s gaze. She couldn’t help but stare at the way they nestled against her ribs.
Lily didn’t seem to notice. She flashed her a genuine smile over her shoulder, then tugged the shift down over her hips, swiftly kicking it aside.
Now completely naked, Lily set her shoulders and threw herself into the water with a colossal splash. Jo tiptoed closer, toeing off her shoes and lifting her skirts to stand at the very edge of the lake. The ripples where Lily had leapt in lapped gently around her ankles.
‘Well?’ Lily turned in the water, her face flushed. ‘Will you not join me?’
Jo hesitated for just too long, cheeks reddening. ‘I, ah—’
‘Come.’ Lily pushed her wet hair from her eyes. ‘You are not shy, surely?’
‘No.’ Jo spoke too fast, too loud, and quickly corrected herself. ‘It is just—’ She swallowed, feeling the smooth pebbles beneath her feet. ‘I was never taught to swim.’
Lily looked shocked. ‘Truly? Whyever not?’
Jo shrugged. ‘It was never something I needed to know. I suspect swimming is not required of a dutiful wife.’
Lily’s silence only lasted a few seconds. ‘Do you wish to learn?’
Jo pulled her gaze away from her feet. Lily was watching her. Lily who, despite their similar roles at court, did only as she pleased. When their eyes met, Lily’s lips pulled into a devilish grin.
Something squeezed in Jo’s chest. Her dress felt too tight.
‘Do you think you could?’
Lily’s grin widened. ‘Of course.’
Jo imagined stripping off her clothes and leaping into the water. She imagined how it would feel against her skin, how close she would be to Lily beneath the gentle surface. She did want it. She wanted just this, just for her.
Before she could change her mind, Jo reached for the ties of her dress. She managed the laces swiftly, tugging the long gown up and over her head, stroking out the creases and folding it neatly on the shore beside Lily’s pile of discarded clothes.
As she pulled off her shift, she noticed that Lily was still watching her, her face low.
Jo folded the shift and placed it beside the dress before gingerly stepping into the water. It lapped past her ankles, then her calves, then up and over her stomach.
‘It is freezing,’ Jo said, teeth chattering despite the hot weather.
‘It will feel warmer once you are in,’ Lily said. ‘Put your head beneath the surface and you won’t feel the cold.’
‘That sounds dreadful.’ Jo gave her a look of horror. ‘I will freeze.’
‘No, you won’t.’
‘I am not sure if—’
Before she could back away, Lily grabbed her, tugging her down into the water beside her. With a huge splash and an undignified scream, Jo tumbled into the frigid lake. She righted herself, spluttering, her hair plastered to her face as Lily cackled beside her.
‘You—’
She jumped forwards, placed both of her hands on Lily’s shoulders, and pushed as hard as she could, dunking her beneath the surface. They descended into splashing, and soon Jo’s fear was replaced by laughter. She wasn’t sure the last time she had laughed so much, or so long, although she was sure it was at Lily’s side.
Drunk on mirth and sunshine, Jo took too confident a step forward. She stood on something slippery beneath the water and staggered, stumbled, and fell directly into Lily’s arms.
Lily held her tight around the middle as if she had no weight at all. Her skin was warm and soft, her grip sure, her arms strong. Below the surface of the water Jo could feel all the places their bodies touched; the way their legs brushed against each other, the smoothness of Lily’s back where Jo clung to her, the heat between their bodies where their breasts pressed together. It was a heat, too – nothing that could touch the chill of the lake, but one that seemed to boil inside her skin, sinking lower, nuzzling into the space between her legs.
So distracted, Jo didn’t notice that she had fallen into deeper water until Lily loosened her hold, and Jo realised she was floating.
Another surge of panic gripped her. The hot feeling shattered, and she instinctively clung tighter to Lily.
‘You are safe,’ Lily said, turning them both gently in the water. ‘I am with you.’
She sounded so sure. She showed Jo, without letting go, the way to move her feet to keep her head above the surface, and soon they were peacefully floating together.
Now more confident, Jo loosened her grip until only their hands were linked. Lily smiled at her, her wet hair lit up like fire by the summer sun, her freckles dancing as she laughed, spinning then gently around.
‘You need to relax,’ Lily said, happy that Jo was no longer panicking, ‘or you will never be able to swim.’
She placed a hand to the small of Jo’s back, moving her through the water until she was lying on her back, staring at the sky above. Jo’s heart pounded, her body caught with the urge to thrash, but Lily was there, soothing her.
‘Relax,’ she said, laughing. ‘You’re all right. Trust me.’
Jo closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing, on Lily’s voice, on the pressure of her hand on her back. The water lapped at her bare skin.
‘There …’
The pressure was gone, and Jo was floating. She opened her eyes to see the cloudless sky above, stretching on to infinity. A pair of birds darted across the blue. The water was gentle against her ears, muffling them.
She took a low, long breath before righting herself. Lily was watching her, looking pleased, then swiftly ducked once more beneath the surface.
