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

by Grace Burrowes

  “You’re very fortunate in your friends, ma’am.”

  Dorie was a hopeless gossip. If Grampion was in Town—how did Penelope know an earl by sight, anyway?—and if his lordship had brought the children south, Dorie would know. She also wasn’t stingy with the teacakes or the cordial, and as constrained as Roberta’s finances were, both were appreciated.

  “You needn’t wait dinner for me,” Roberta said. “A cold tray in your room will do. I might be going out tonight, and I wouldn’t want you to have to dine alone in that drafty dining room.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, ma’am.”

  Roberta considered for a moment that Penelope was being sarcastic, but decided that the girl was simply trying to hide her pleasure at being given an evening to herself.

  To embroider more flowers on a nightgown nobody would ever see. “Do you know anything about raising children, Penelope?”

  The needle paused over the fabric. “I’m the oldest of eight, ma’am, six of them boys.”

  “You poor thing. One can hardly imagine a worse fate. No wonder your nerves need soothing. Write a letter to your mama and tell her you recall her nightly in your prayers.”

  “Yes, ma’am, and my papa and my brothers and sister too.”

  Roberta swept from the parlor, lest Penelope regale her with a list of their very names.

  “Come along,” Roberta snapped at the maid of all work, who was as usual lingering in the vicinity of the footmen’s stairs. “I must change into suitable attire for a discreet call on a friend. Lady Humplewit has sent a note that her spirits are very low, else she would never impose on me so soon after the loss of a dear family member. We must bear up at such times as best we can and think of our friends rather than our own needs.”

  The maid followed Roberta up the steps a respectful three paces behind, and she did a creditable job of assisting Roberta into a subdued, gray outfit.

  “You’re excused,” Roberta said, choosing a bonnet with a gray silk veil. “Mind you, don’t let me catch you ogling the footmen. I will be forced to turn you off without character. A widow can’t be too careful, and neither can her staff.”

  The girl looked suitably horrified, bobbed a deferential curtsey, and fled the room.

  Roberta managed not to laugh until the door was closed, though the pleasure of intimidating the help was short-lived. The maid was probably doing a dratted sight more than ogling the footmen, and that was yet another injustice when a widow already had enough tribulations to bear.

  * * *

  “Grampion is practically your neighbor up in Yorkshire,” Lily said. “One ought to be acquainted with one’s neighbors.”

  Devlin St. Just, Colonel Lord Rosecroft, and husband to the most stubborn woman in the realm, sent up a prayer for patience. Emmie had insisted that Lily Ferguson have his escort for this outing, and thus here he was, strolling the boulevards of Mayfair, when he might have been on horseback in the park.

  “My dear Miss Ferguson, when next we are in the library at Moreland House, I will find a map of England and instruct you on the geography of the north. York is as much as a week’s ride from parts of Cumberland, and that’s if the weather’s cooperating.”

  One didn’t instruct Lily Ferguson lightly. She was what St. Just’s countess called sensible to a fault. Coming from Emmie, who was a monument to pragmatism, that bespoke a prodigious amount of sense. Lily had befriended Emmie several years ago, when the countess was enduring her first London Season, overwhelmed by in-laws, and much in need of confidence.

  And thus, Lily Ferguson commanded Rosecroft’s loyalty—and his occasional escort. “My lord, would you honestly rather be lounging about, scratching and making rude noises with your brothers while you play your ten thousandth hand of cards? It’s a fine day for a visit.”

  Rosecroft had two extant brothers, or half-brothers, technically. “We no longer make rude noises. Sets a bad example for the children.” And the children were a fiercely competitive lot. “Have you taken an interest in Grampion? I’ll keep your confidences if you have.”

  Lily was right about the weather. Spring was at her tantalizing best today, the air mild, the breeze scented with new foliage and possibilities. By tonight, the grass might sport a dusting of snow.

  Such were the dubious charms of London at the beginning of the Season, and matters generally went downhill as the year progressed.

  “The Earl of Grampion is an acquaintance,” Lily said. “His ward is new to London and in need of reliable friends. I think you’ll enjoy her company.”

  In her way, Lily Ferguson was kind. She kept most people at arm’s length, though Emmie claimed that was purely self-defense when an unmarried woman was the sole heir to both her mother’s and her father’s fortunes.

  “Madam, I do not befriend sweet young ladies.” Rosecroft had sounded like His Grace of Moreland. Maybe that was a good thing?

  “You don’t befriend much of anybody unless they have four legs, a mane, and a tail. This is Grampion’s town house.”

  The neighborhood was lovely, and the steps had recently been swept and scrubbed, though Grampion’s front door lacked even a pot of heartsease. Rosecroft didn’t account himself the heartsease-noticing sort, but his countess would have remarked the lack of flowers.

  He rapped the brass lion’s head knocker, and the door was opened by a liveried footman. “Good day, madam, my lord. Won’t you please come in?”

  The fellow’s wig sat perfectly centered on his head, his buttons shone as brightly as the nearby mirror, and his gloves were spotless.

  Rosecroft handed over a card. “If the earl is receiving, Miss Lily Ferguson has come to call.”

  The footman bowed to a deferential depth and took his leave.

  “That chandelier rope would make a fine swing, don’t you think?” Lily asked, handing Rosecroft her bonnet. Her cloak and gloves came next, revealing a dress of such drab brown, Rosecroft had seen mud puddles of a more attractive hue.

  “My older daughter would be up that rope the instant she had this foyer to herself.” Bronwyn was a much-beloved bad influence on her younger cousins, much as Rosecroft had been on their parents. “My countess would notice that the carpets are either new or very freshly beaten, the pier-glass positively sparkles, and the wainscoting has a fresh coat of polish. You notice the nearest means of causing mayhem.”

  “I was a child once, Rosecroft, several eons ago. Your countess would notice that you’re nervous.” Lily appeared to be assessing the weight of the chandelier when any other woman would have been stealing a glance at herself in the mirror. “You and Grampion will get on famously, which is to say, you’ll nod, exchange the minimum of civilities, and take each other’s measure with a glance. Ask him about his stables and I won’t be able to get a word in edgewise.”

  “He has stables?”

  Lily smirked and used the toe of her slipper to straighten the carpet fringe. Rosecroft’s countess fretted that Lily needed a bit more airs and graces. Rosecroft was of the opinion that Lily needed a bit more joy. She didn’t go through life so much as she perused it from a skeptically amused distance. He himself might once have been said to suffer from the same affliction.

  The footman emerged from the corridor. “His lordship invites you to join him in the library. If you’d follow me, please?”

  “One doesn’t receive callers in the library,” Rosecroft muttered.

  “One receives friends there. You’d receive callers in your saddle room, if your countess allowed it.”

  Rosecroft would receive friends in his saddle room. Mere callers wouldn’t qualify for such a privilege.

  The Grampion library was an inviting space, with more than the usual complement of bound books. The standard appointments were in evidence—globe, ornate fireplace, comfortable chairs, reading table, writing desk—as was a suitably attired earl, though his lordship looked to have gone short of sleep.

  “Grampion, good day,” Lily said, sweeping a curtsey. “My friend, Devl
in, Lord Rosecroft, was good enough to provide me an escort today. Rosecroft, Hessian Kettering, Earl of Grampion. I hope we find you well?”

  Rosecroft exchanged bows with his host, all the while evaluating the earl for any spark of interest in Lily, and Lily for any interest in the earl. Grampion was a reasonably good-looking fellow on the settled side of thirty—the most marriageable age in Emmie’s opinion—and his manners were correct if not quite gracious.

  He and Lily would make a fine pair, all proper decorum. Rosecroft was relieved to form that opinion, but he was disappointed too.

  Lily was an orphan who’d been taken in as a girl by her uncle. Life had apparently taught her early that sentiment was a quagmire for the unwary. A union between Lily and Grampion would be based on common sense and, upon that most tepid of consolations, mutual esteem.

  Rosecroft could not approve of such an earthly purgatory, but Lily would likely settle for it and not even realize how much the compromise had cost her.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  Lily had seen Grampion at the Duchess of Quimbey’s musicale on Saturday night. She’d not approached him for two reasons. First, Uncle Walter had been in attendance, thus ensuring Lily’s every move had been discreetly monitored. Second, Grampion had enjoyed a surfeit of female attention. He’d been honest about attempting to attract a good match, which occasioned an irrational spike of disappointment regarding the rest of Lily’s social Season.

  And yet, this visit had been at his instigation.

  “Shall we repair to the garden, my lord?” Lily suggested when the introductions were behind her. “The pleasant weather won’t last, so we should enjoy the fresh air while we can.”

  In the garden, Rosecroft might wander off to sniff hyacinths, the better to spy on Lily from behind the hedges. When choosing her escort for the day, she’d had to weigh benefits and burdens, and Rosecroft’s protectiveness—a word used by men to excuse both nosiness and high-handedness—fell into the burden category.

  The other option, bringing along dear cousin Oscar, would have been more sensible.

  Lily was heartily sick of being sensible.

  “The garden?” Grampion’s brows drew down. “My roses are many weeks from putting on a display, Miss Ferguson, and the crumbs from the tea tray might attract pigeons.”

  “The very point, my lord. Where is my dear friend, Miss Daisy?”

  Grampion pointed straight up, to the balcony above his head. “I fear Daisy has abandoned me. I’m far too boring a fellow to keep the fancy of such a lively young lady. I would offer to read to her, but she—”

  A small blond head appeared over the railing above. “You would read to me? In the daytime? Truly?”

  “If you can go for the rest of today without hiding,” Grampion replied, “or breaking any valuables, or—”

  “Spilling anything,” Daisy finished. “Miss Lily is here.”

  A child ought never to interrupt an adult or be caught eavesdropping. Across the library, Rosecroft pretended to study the globe, but he was doubtless attending every word.

  “I promised I would visit today,” Lily said, “and I’ve brought my friend, Lord Rosecroft, with me. Can you come down and make your bow to us?”

  Daisy was slow to respond—deliberate, rather, like the earl—and Rosecroft, having the instincts of a veteran papa, knew better than to indicate he sensed the girl was studying him. After a reluctant descent, she scampered across the library to Grampion’s side.

  “Miss Daisy Evers,” Lily began, lest Grampion reprove the girl for dashing about, “may I make known to you my friend, Devlin St. Just, Lord Rosecroft. Daisy is more properly called Miss Amy Marguerite, though that’s rather a lot of name for such a little girl. My lord, make your bow.”

  He did better than that. He bowed over Daisy’s hand and offered her a black Irish smile that had doubtless left hearts fluttering across the entire Iberian Peninsula.

  “Miss Daisy,” Rosecroft said. “You were tempted to slide down that spiral banister, weren’t you?”

  She peered at Grampion, as if to determine whether such a thing were possible.

  “My Daisy would never be so indecorous before company,” Grampion replied, smoothing a hand over the girl’s crown. “Miss Ferguson suggests we should repair to the garden. I saw a pair of butterflies there earlier, though I’m sure they’re gone now.”

  Daisy towed him toward the French doors, and the sight tugged at Lily’s heart. Grampion was trying, making an effort to cheer his little ward, and many men—many adults—would not have bothered.

  “What color were they?” Lily asked.

  “Blue.”

  “Blue is my favorite color,” Rosecroft observed. “The same shade of blue as Miss Daisy’s eyes.”

  Lily was always surprised when Rosecroft bestirred himself to flirt. His wife had confided that before buying his colors, he’d been an awful rascal, always in demand as an escort, and the best of big brothers to his nine siblings. War had changed him, and not for the better.

  Peace, a happy marriage, and the green dales of Yorkshire were working their magic though.

  “The earl has blue eyes,” Daisy said. “I had a cat that had blue eyes, but Alba fell in love and had kittens in the stable.”

  Grampion let the child lead him out to the terrace, a space that put Lily in mind of the earl himself.

  Not a single leaf lay on the flagstones, the balustrade was in excellent repair, and below the terrace, the garden was divided into tidy symmetric beds arranged around a dry fountain. The whole was pleasing, but… lacking something. Dull, unremarkable, and… uninviting.

  Though safe. Daisy would come to no harm playing in this garden, and play she must.

  “I have a cat,” Lily said. “A more contrary fellow than Hannibal, you never met. When I was younger, I never knew if he was about to scratch me or curl in my lap. Now he mostly sleeps.”

  Grampion led his guests to the wrought-iron grouping in the sun. “Daisy, if you’d like to return to the nursery, I will look in on you later.”

  Lily nearly stomped on the earl’s toes. “I’m sure Daisy needn’t return indoors quite yet.”

  “Do the mews lie across the alley?” Rosecroft asked.

  Thank you, my lord.

  “They do,” Grampion replied.

  “I am a great admirer of the equine. Perhaps Miss Daisy might introduce me to the horses?”

  “Hammurabi likes carrots,” Daisy said. “I don’t like carrots, but I like Ham.”

  “Then you must introduce his lordship to Hammurabi,” Lily said. “Grampion can remain here and enjoy the pleasant air with me.”

  And also endure a lecture or two.

  “One carrot,” Grampion said, “and mind you don’t get your pinafore dirty.”

  Rosecroft left with the girl at his side, and Grampion watched them make their way across the garden. The earl had blue eyes, as Daisy had said, and those eyes were worried.

  “Rosecroft has a daughter about Daisy’s age,” Lily said, “and another younger daughter. The novelty of a child participating in an informal social call won’t bother him in the least. I had hoped that Daisy and Bronwyn might become friends.”

  Grampion’s gaze remained on the girl even as Rosecroft took her hand and led her into the alley. “Would that be wise, Miss Ferguson? When my objective in London has been accomplished, I’ll return to the north, and Daisy will come with me.”

  Lily wasn’t unduly plagued by romantic sentiments—she could not afford to be—but finding a mate should be more than an objective.

  “Is Daisy to have no friends because you’re determined to rusticate into great old age? Determined to never vote your seat? Never to visit family in Town as the rest of society does? Should she have been denied even a pet because animals seldom outlive their owners?”

  When she’d been not much older than Daisy, Lily had been denied pets, friends, and so much more.

  Grampion held a chair for her. “You’r
e very fierce, Miss Ferguson.”

  And he was very polite. His eyes, an unusual sapphire blue, held nothing but respect. A respectful man was a treasure, if the respect was sincere.

  “My parents are both gone, and I have no siblings, my lord.” How that half-lie hurt. “If I could have friendship for an afternoon, I’d be grateful. The company of even one friend made a very great difference to me when life became challenging.”

  Tippy, though a finishing governess, had been an ally when Lily had been without other sources of support.

  Grampion lacked friends. This insight came to Lily as she smoothed her skirts and took the proffered seat. Grampion didn’t understand the loneliness Daisy was enduring, the way a fish didn’t understand water. The earl also lacked extended family, or his dealings with the child wouldn’t have been so… tentative, so careful.

  “I note you refer to having friends in the past tense,” Grampion said, taking the seat beside Lily. “Have you no longer any need of these friends?”

  Drat all perceptive men to the mews. “My closest friends are mostly married.” And they were all acquired in the past few years, chosen in part for their own recent arrivals in London.

  Grampion patted her hand. “You’ll marry. We all marry eventually. If we’re lucky, we marry one of these friends you esteem so highly, or so I’m told.”

  Lily wanted to swat him with her reticule, when he was merely offering well-intended reassurance.

  “You said you’d come to Town to find a wife.” He’d plainly admitted as much, and being a man, his search for a spouse was a commendable attention to duty. When a young woman sought a partner in holy matrimony, she was forward, fast, pathetic, or scheming.

  “One comes to London when seeking a spouse,” Grampion said. “How long do you suppose it takes to perform introductions to a horse?”

  “Rosecroft loves all horses, and he’s fond of cats too. I suspect he’s allowing us a private moment on purpose.”