It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(31)

“It was the perfume,” Annabelle said unequivocally.

Evie broke in, looking puzzled. “But wh-why didn’t it stir Lord Westcliff when you wore it? Why did it affect only your husband, and n-no one else?”

“And why didn’t anyone take any notice of Evie or me?” Daisy asked, disgruntled.

Annabelle drained her tea, poured some more, and carefully stirred a lump of sugar into her cup. Her heavy-lidded eyes regarded Lillian over the china rim. “What about you, dear? Did anyone take notice of you?”

“Actually…” Lillian studied the contents of her own teacup. “Westcliff did,” she said grimly. “Again. Of all the luck. I’ve found an aphrodisiac that works only on a man whom I despise.”

Annabelle choked on a swallow of tea, while Daisy clapped her hand over her own mouth to stifle a fit of laughter. After Annabelle’s spasms of mingled coughing and giggling had subsided, she regarded Lillian with slightly watery eyes. “I can’t begin to imagine how upset Westcliff must be to find himself so attracted to you when the both of you have always fought so terribly.”

“I told him that if he wanted to make amends for his behavior, he could ask the countess to be our sponsor,” Lillian said.

“Brilliant,” Daisy exclaimed. “Did he agree?”

“He is lending some thought to the matter.

Leaning against the arm of her chair, Annabelle stared thoughtfully into the distant morning mist that en-shrouded the forest. “I don’t understand…Why would the perfume work only on Mr. Hunt and Lord Westcliff? And why would it have no effect on the earl when I wear it, whereas when you do…”

“Maybe the magical part,” Evie speculated, “is that it h-helps it to find your true love.”

“Balderdash,” Lillian remarked, offended by the notion. “Westcliff is not my true love! He’s a pompous, superior ass with whom I’ve never managed to have a civil conversation. And any woman unlucky enough to marry him will end up rotting here in Hampshire, having to account to him for everything she does. No, thank you.”

“Lord Westcliff is hardly some fusty country gentleman,” Annabelle said. “He stays at his house in London quite often, and he’s invited everywhere. As for his superior manner—I suppose I can’t argue with that. Except to say that when one becomes better acquainted with him, and he lets his guard down, he can be very engaging.”

Lillian shook her head, her mouth hardening stubbornly. “If he is the only man this perfume will attract, I’ll stop wearing it.”

“Oh, don’t!” Annabelle’s eyes were suddenly sly and merry. “I should think you’d want to continue torturing him.”

“Yes, wear it,” Daisy urged. “We have no proof that the earl is the only man who will be seduced by your perfume.”

Lillian glanced at Evie, who wore a faint smile. “Shall I?” she asked, and Evie nodded. “Very well,” Lillian said. “If there is any chance of torturing Lord Westcliff, I should hate to miss it.” She pulled the vial from the pocket of her riding skirts. “Does anyone want to try some more?”

Annabelle looked appalled. “No. Keep it far, far away from me.”

The other two had already extended their hands. Lillian grinned and gave it to Daisy, who smoothed a few generous drops onto her wrists and tapped some behind her ears. “There,” Daisy said with satisfaction. “That’s twice as much as I used last night. If my true love is within a mile radius, he’ll come running for me.”

Evie received the bottle and applied some perfume to her throat. “Even if it doesn’t w-work,” she commented, “it’s a very pretty scent.”

Tucking the vial back into her pocket, Lillian stood from the table. She straightened the full chocolate-colored skirts of her riding habit, the longer side of which was caught up with a button to keep the hemline even while walking. On horseback, however, the skirt would be let down to drape attractively over the horse’s side and cover her legs properly. Her hair was caught up in neatly pinned braids at the nape of her neck, with a small feather-trimmed hat perched atop her head. “It’s time for the riders to gather at the stables.” She raised her brows as she asked, “Aren’t any of you going?”

Annabelle gave her a speaking glance. “Not after last evening.”

“I don’t ride well,” Evie said apologetically.

“Neither do Lillian and I,” Daisy said, leveling an admonishing stare at her older sister.

“Yes, I do,” Lillian protested. “You know quite well that I can ride as well as any man!”

“Only when you ride like a man,” Daisy retorted. Seeing Annabelle’s and Evie’s confusion, she explained. “Back in New York, Lillian and I rode astride most of the time. It’s much safer, really, and far more comfortable. Our parents didn’t mind as long as we rode on our own property, and wore strap-ankle breeches beneath our skirts. On the few occasions when we rode in the company of men, we went sidesaddle—but neither of us is very accomplished at it. Lillian is an excellent jumper when she rides astride. To my knowledge, however, she’s never tried a jump on sidesaddle. And the balance is completely different, and the muscles that one uses are not the same, and this jumping course at Stony Cross Park—”