His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen Book 4)

by Grace Burrowes

  HIS LORDSHIP’S TRUE LADY

  Book Four in the True Gentlemen Series

  GRACE BURROWES

  Copyright ©

  Dedication

  To those who feel like imposters.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Too Scot to Handle

  The Duke’s Bridle Path

  Chapter One

  * * *

  “Children, much less three children and one of them a female, will not do.” More strongly than that, Hessian Kettering could not put his sentiments, not in the presence of his niece. “I have no patience with noise, drama, or dirt, while children delight in all of the foregoing.”

  Worth Kettering passed Hessian the baby, whose charming attributes included a penchant for batting at the noses of unsuspecting uncles.

  “Lord Evers’s will names you as guardian of all three of his minor offspring,” Worth said, pouring himself a fresh glass of lemonade. “Unless you want to tangle with Chancery—at considerable expense—then you have become the legal authority over three children. The boys will remain at school for the rest of the term, and for the girl, you simply hire a governess or two.”

  Hessian did not attempt to sip from his own drink with an infant in his arms. The child was a solid little bundle with her papa’s dark hair and brilliant blue eyes—also a piercing shriek when she was unhappy.

  Hessian and Worth were enjoying the morning air on the back terrace of Worth’s London town house, Worth’s Alsatian hound panting at their feet. The breeze was mild, the sun warm, and the plane maples providing just the right amount of shade.

  That Lord and Lady Evers had gone to their reward seemed impossible. They’d been Hessian’s closest neighbors in Cumberland, and Lady Evers had been a friend.

  More than a friend, for a very brief time.

  “You raise another issue,” Hessian said, nuzzling the baby’s crown. Why were babies so wonderfully soft? “Children are expensive, and my coin is limited. I’m spending more than I should on this wife-hunting ordeal. I must have been daft to let you talk me into it. Ah, my niece knows a handsome fellow when she sees one.”

  The baby was beaming at him, as only a baby could. Angels might exude as rich a benevolence as did one contented infant, though angels didn’t grin half so winningly.

  “My daughter likes you because you resemble me,” Worth said, “and I didn’t convince you to come to London. That feat lies squarely at Jacaranda’s feet.”

  Jacaranda being Worth’s wife and the mother of the little cherub in Hessian’s arms. “Why can’t they stay this sweet?”

  “Children?”

  “The ladies. I can muster a scintilla of patience for an innocent child, but the matchmakers will drive me straight to Bedlam.”

  Hessian was the current Earl of Grampion, and however impoverished the title and distant the family seat—Cumberland was quite distant—earls were rare prizes, sought after by bankers’ daughters, American heiresses, and barons’ sisters.

  Bachelor earls were also sought after by merry widows and straying wives, about which, some helpful brother might have warned a fellow.

  The baby sighed a mighty sigh as if to echo her uncle’s sentiments, and Hessian tucked the child against his shoulder, the better to rub her little back.

  “Your finances are healthy enough,” Worth said, draining his glass. “Especially considering where you were a few years ago. You have a talent for economizing.”

  Worth was being kind, a tendency more in evidence since his marriage. “Three children will set me back considerably. Do you know how much it costs to launch a young lady in proper society?”

  Hessian didn’t know exactly, but he’d seen the finery those young ladies sported, the carriages they drove, the millinery they delighted in. He saw their accoutrements at one social event after another, and in his nightmares.

  “As it happens, I do know, because that’s my daughter you’re cuddling so shamelessly, and I’ve already set aside funds for her dowry.”

  Babies were made for cuddling, brothers were apparently made for causing problems. “Lady Evers had a sister. Did the will mention her in any regard? Mention any family at all?”

  Everybody had family, though Hessian’s family was limited to a younger sister, a niece, Worth, Jacaranda, and this darling child. So far. Given the mutual devotion of the baby’s parents, she’d have siblings by the score.

  Worth scratched the hound’s ears. “Lord Evers was the last of his line, save for his sons. The boy Lucas is Lord Evers now, and if you coax my daughter to sleep, I will never forgive you. It’s too early for her nap.”

  “She’s tired of listening to your prattling.” Hessian rose to take the baby on a tour of the garden, for, like her uncle, she delighted in the out of doors.

  The dog looked to Worth, who got to his feet rather than allow Hessian to take the child anywhere unsupervised. Who would have thought Worth Kettering, former prodigal son, would be such a doting papa?

  “Lady Evers does have a sister,” Worth said. “Mrs. Roberta Braithwaite, wife of the late Colonel Hilary Braithwaite. She’s something of a hostess, but being a widow, she’s hardly a suitable legal guardian for the next Lord Evers.”

  Hessian recalled meeting the colonel and Mrs. Braithwaite several years ago at one of the Everses’ dinner parties.

  “Mrs. Braithwaite won’t serve,” he said. “All I can remember of her is a tittering laugh and suspiciously orange hair.” And that Lady Evers had barely tolerated her older sister.

  No help there, for Hessian would not inflict on a small child the company of a woman he’d taken into dislike within five minutes of bowing over her hand.

  The dog gamboled ahead to have a drink from a fountain in the back corner of the garden. Hess’s own canine had remained in Cumberland, and though he’d had the beast five years and more, he couldn’t muster any longing for its company.

  “Not only will Mrs. Braithwaite not serve,” Worth said, picking up a stick and tossing it over the dog’s head, “but the will awards you guardianship of these children. They can visit wherever you please, and the boys will doubtless spend much of the year at public school, but you have sole authority over them and their funds.”

  Hessian raised his niece above his head for the sheer pleasure of seeing her smile.

  “Drop her and I will kill you, Hessian, assuming Jacaranda doesn’t beat me to it.”

  Hessian gently lowered the baby, who was grinning and waving her arms madly. “Your papa is a grouch. When he won’t let you have a pony, you tell your dear Uncle Hessian, and I’ll buy you an entire team and a puppy.”

  “Casriel already promised her a pony,” Worth said.

  Casriel, as in the Earl of, was Jacaranda’s oldest brother. Hessian occasionally played cards with him when they were both of a mind to dodge the matchmakers.

  “Then Casriel will have to un-promise her. I’m her godfather, and that means—Worth Kettering, you have become positively possessive.”

/>   Worth had plucked the baby from Hessian’s arms. “Need I remind you, Jacaranda has seven brothers, and at least half of them come around at regular intervals and appropriate my daughter’s company without any heed for the child’s papa. Hadn’t you better run along, Hess?”

  “You’re my man of business, and that means you have to put up with me. Why should I run along?”

  The dog was in the fountain now, happily splashing about and creating a great ruckus.

  “You should run along because your youngest ward is soon to arrive at your town house, and it’s only fair that you give your staff some notice.”

  Worth’s sense of humor was unique—very unique. “The Evers estate is in Cumberland. Why should a small child be dragged the length of the realm for the pleasure of being sent right back north where she belongs?”

  “You’re her guardian, and thus she belongs in your care. That’s what the Evers solicitors said, in any case, but I suspect the staff in Cumberland simply wanted to be free of the little dear at the earliest opportunity. Andromeda, come!”

  Hessian stepped back, because only an idiot failed to take into account that wet dogs—

  “Damn and blast,” Worth bellowed as the dog shook violently, sending water in all directions. The baby began to cry, the dog whined, and for those reasons—not because of a poor jest about a small child invading the Grampion town house—Hessian made his exit through the garden’s back gate.

  * * *

  Lily Ferguson’s finishing governess had warned her that a young lady must appear pleasantly fascinated with scandals and engagement announcements, no matter that they bored her silly. Lily was rumored to be an heiress and her late mama had married into a ducal family—albeit an Irish ducal family—and thus Lily was doomed to make up the numbers when prettier, more vivacious women were unavailable.

  “Aspic and small talk,” Lily muttered.

  They were equally disagreeable. Fortunately, the Earl of Grampion’s dinner party was lively and the general conversation loud enough to hide Lily’s grousing.

  “I beg your pardon, my dear?” Neville, Lord Stemberger, asked. Because his lordship apparently longed for an early death, he leaned closer to Lily’s bosom to pose his question.

  At the head of the table, a footman whispered in Lord Grampion’s ear. The earl was a titled bachelor with vast estates in the north. Thus, his invitations were coveted by the matchmakers.

  Then too, he was attractive. On the tall side, with blond hair that had a tendency to wave, blue eyes worthy of a Yorkshire summer sky, and features reminiscent of a plundering Norseman. Strikingly masculine, rather than handsome.

  Perhaps he had bad teeth, for the man never smiled. Lily would ask Tippy for details regarding the Kettering family, for Tippy studied both Debrett’s and the tattlers religiously.

  Lily had found Grampion a trifle disappointing when they’d been introduced. His bow had been correct, his civilities just that—not a spark of mischief, not a hint of warmth in his expression. Many handsome men were dull company, their looks excusing them from the effort to be interesting, much less charming.

  Lily’s musings were interrupted by the sensation of a bug crawling on her flesh. Lord Stemberger’s pudgy fingers rested on her forearm, and he remained bent close to her as if entirely unaware of his own presumption.

  At the head of the table, Grampion rose and bowed to the guests on either side of him, then withdrew.

  Excellent suggestion.

  Lily draped her serviette on the table. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord. I’ll return in a moment.” Thirty minutes ought to suffice to fascinate Lord Stemberger with some other pair of breasts.

  She pushed her chair back, and Lord Stemberger, as well as the fellow on her right, half rose as she departed. So polite of them, when they weren’t ogling the nearest young lady or her settlements. Across the table and up several seats, Uncle Walter appeared engrossed in an anecdote told by the woman to his right.

  Lily made her way down the corridor, intent on seeking refuge in the ladies’ retiring room, but she must have taken a wrong turning, for a raised male voice stopped her.

  “Where the devil can she have got off to?” a man asked.

  A quieter voice, also male, replied briefly.

  “Then search again and keep searching until—Miss Ferguson.” The Earl of Grampion came around the corner and stopped one instant before knocking Lily off her feet. “I beg your pardon.”

  A footman hovered at his lordship’s elbow—a worried footman.

  “My lord,” Lily said, dipping a curtsey. “Has somebody gone missing?”

  “Excuse us,” Grampion said to the footman, who scampered off as if he’d heard a rumor about free drinks at the nearest pub.

  “No need for concern, Miss Ferguson, this has been a regular occurrence over the past week. My ward has decided to play hide-and-seek all on her own initiative, well past her bedtime, after promising me faithfully that she’d never, ever, not for any reason—I’m babbling.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I beg your pardon. The child will be found, I’ve no doubt of it.”

  This was the polite, chilly host to whom Lily had been introduced two hours ago? “How old is she?”

  “Almost seven, though she’s clever beyond her years, perhaps due to the corrupting influence of two older brothers. I found her in the hayloft last time, and we’d been searching for hours. The nursery maids don’t think she’d leave the house at night.”

  No wonder he was worried. Even Mayfair was no place for a lone six-year-old at night. “How long has she been missing?”

  His lordship produced a gold pocket watch and opened it with a flick of his wrist. “Seventeen minutes, at least. The senior nursery maid tucked the girl in at nine of the clock—for the third time—and was certain the child had fallen asleep. She went back into the bedroom to retrieve her cap at ten, and the little imp wasn’t in the bed.”

  “You could set the guests to searching.”

  Grampion snapped the watch closed. “No, I could not. Do you know what sort of talk that would start? I’m supposed to be attracting a suitable match, and unless I want to go to the bother and expense of presenting my bachelor self in London for the next five Seasons, I cannot allow my tendency to misplace small children to become common knowledge.”

  Lily smoothed back the hair he’d mussed, then tidied the folds of his cravat, lest some gossip speculate that he’d been trysting rather than searching for his ward. He was genuinely distraught—why else would he be baldly reciting his marital aspirations?—and Lily approved of him for that.

  For resenting the burden and expense of a London Season, she sympathized with him, and for his honesty, she was at risk for liking him.

  And that he’d blame himself for misplacing the child… Lily peered up at him, for Grampion was a tall specimen.

  “Where is your favorite place in the house?” she asked.

  “I don’t have a favorite place. I prefer to be in the stables, if you must know, or the garden. When the weather is inclement, or I have the luxury of idleness, I read or tend to correspondence in my library.”

  His complexion was a touch on the ruddy side, the contours of his features a trifle weathered now that Lily could study him at close range. As a result, his eyes were a brilliant blue and, at present, full of concern.

  “Come with me,” Lily said, taking him by the hand. “That you found your ward in the stable is no coincidence. You say she’s been in your home for only a week?”

  Grampion came along peacefully. “She’s an orphan, her parents having died earlier this year. The will named me as guardian, and so she was left almost literally upon my doorstep. The poor child was quite close to her mother and barely knows me from among a dozen other neighbors.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Beelzebub, on her bad days. Her parents named her Amy Marguerite, her mother called her Daisy.”

  Lily dropped his lordship’s hand outside the library, which was a
cross the corridor from a formal parlor. “What do you call her?”

  He focused on a spot above and to the left of Lily’s left shoulder. “Sweetheart, poppet, my dear, or, when I can muster an iota of sternness, young lady.”

  “Refer to the child as Daisy, but do not acknowledge that she’s in the room.”

  “You believe she’s in the study?”

  “I’m almost certain of it, my lord, if you frequent the study late at night. You will lament her absence, worry aloud at great length, and confirm to me that losing the child would devastate you.”

  He considered the door latch. “Devastate might be doing it a bit brown. With practice, I could endure to lose her for ten minutes here and there.”

  He’d be devastated if the child wasn’t soon found. Lily was more than a little worried, and she hadn’t even met the girl.

  His lordship pushed open the door and gestured for Lily to precede him.

  No wonder he preferred this chamber. Books rose to a height of two stories on shelves lining two sides of the room. The windows on the outside wall would look over the garden, and the furnishings were of the well-padded, sturdy variety that invited reading in unusual positions for long periods.

  The wall sconces had been turned down, throwing soft shadows across thick carpets, and the hearth blazed with a merry warmth.

  A pleasure dome, compared to small talk and aspic.

  “We simply can’t find her,” Lord Grampion announced. “Daisy is very clever at choosing hiding places, and I despair of locating her when she doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Where have you looked?” Lily asked as a curtain twitched in the absence of any breeze.

  “We’re searching the house from top to bottom, the maids are starting in the cellars, the footmen in the attics. Nobody will sleep a wink until Daisy is once again tucked safely in her bed.”

  Lily pointed to the curtain, and Grampion nodded.

  “She must matter to you very much, my lord, for you to leave your guests and set your entire staff to searching.”