Lady Be Good by Meredith Duran Page A

to be as ugly in her disposition as she was beautiful in looks.
    But all this was irrelevant. She could be an actual monster, for all it mattered. Lilah would still win her over—and get her betrothed to the viscount by the last week of June.
    “I’m a very quick learner,” she offered. “And very motivated, miss, to learn as much as I can from your admirable example.” For instance, she’d not known that ladies never handled money. For a brief, happy moment, she’d imagined that the coin purse Miss Everleigh had thrust at her on the platform at Paddington was for
her
.
    But, no. Apparently it was her job to tip everyone, sparing Miss Everleigh’s delicate hands from the touch of filthy lucre.
    “I’m sure you’re very shrewd,” Miss Everleigh said, in a tone that suggested shrewdness was the province of lepers. “But my task at Buckley Hall is not to play tutor to the ignorant.”
    “Naturally,” Lilah murmured. In the concealment of her skirts, she made a fist so tight that her knuckles throbbed. “I shan’t impede your duties, I promise you.”
    “Of course not. I would not let you.” And with that pronouncement, Miss Everleigh pulled out a book and began to read.
    Had Lilah wished earlier for a spot of conversation? She now sank most gratefully back into silence. The sights of a country road offered ample diversion. She had only been outside London three or four times in her life, always to Margate. That was where the common folk went on their holidays, to take the sea air and clear their lungs of soot.
    But coastal Kent looked nothing like its verdant interior.Here, the soil must be rich and fertile, for oaks grew in abundance alongside the road, and in the openings through the trees, Lilah spied endless rolling fields of green and yellow, bushy crops she could not name, which waved in the unseen breeze.
    The carriage took a fast turn, causing them both to gasp and reach for their straps. “This coachman!” Miss Everleigh snapped, and banged the ceiling. The vehicle instantly slowed, the driver already having been chastened thrice for his speeding.
    Lilah had no sympathy for him. Once at their destination,
he
would get to leave.
    The coach crested a gentle slope, and suddenly the vista opened up. In the distance, at the top of a green grassy knoll, perched a house of . . . terrible proportions.
    Lilah must have made a noise—a gasp of horror, she didn’t doubt. Miss Everleigh laid down her book and leaned forward to take the view. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Buckley Hall.”
    The building was long and squat, no more than two stories, built patchwork in red brick and pink wash, with long, narrow windows that stretched from ground to roof. Above these windows, strange turrets were capped by copper-topped cupolas, which stretched like taffy into fantastical points.
    Lilah had never seen anything like it before. Would they find skeletons in the cellar? And Egyptian mummies in the attic? A delicious shiver coursed through her. “How awful,” she said with relish.
    “Awful!” Miss Everleigh cast her a blazing look of dislike. “Buckley Hall is a marvel. One of the premier examples of the Tudor Gothic style.” She frowned. “Remodeled through the course of several generations, naturally.”Sitting back, she opened her book again, saying sharply to the page: “It is a national treasure.”
    “Oh, quite.” Lilah battled temptation and lost. “You must tell Lord Palmer so. He will be very glad to hear it, I think. He called it a ‘ramshackle pile.’ ”
    “Did he?” Miss Everleigh peered up, scowling. “When did you speak with him?”
    Lilah wanted to kick herself. “I overheard him, the night of the ball.”
    Miss Everleigh remained staring, her suspicion plain. Not a dumb woman, more was the pity. “You make it a habit to eavesdrop on our guests?”
    The charge was ridiculous. “No, miss. But Mr. Everleigh instructs us to attend closely to their conversations, so we might better know