He was enamored of Lily Ferguson.
“Jacaranda decides when the household moves,” Worth said, “and she says we must remain on hand to provide you moral support.”
“Moral support with Daisy? That’s very kind of her. I do appreciate it.”
“With Lily Ferguson. You and Daisy will muddle along well enough. Have you read the diary?”
Hessian increased his pace. “When would I have had time? I’m too busy being only half priggish, playing cards with your friends, and writing to my wards.” He’d asked both of Daisy’s brothers to begin a correspondence with her, for purposes of engendering in her an epistolary habit, but also because siblings shared an important bond.
“What was the name of that doll?”
“Worth, how much brandy did you drink?”
“A good quantity. Tresham serves only the best, and it was free. Lily Ferguson’s doll ended up in a tree, and you had to climb up and fetch it down.”
“The doll’s name was Lilith Ann.” Hessian recalled the name because a biblical temptress was such an odd choice for a little girl’s plaything. “The Patton twins meant to toss it into a mud puddle, but it got caught in a handy tree limb.”
Lily had been distraught, all of her girlish hauteur dissolved in loud hysterics. The Patton boys—a pair of imps—had been equally horrified to see the doll stranded.
“That’s the only time,” Hessian said, “I’ve heard a female openly admit she wished all males to perdition with a case of dysentery.”
Worth tipped his hat to a pair of smiling ladies who probably weren’t ladies. “You were concerned that if Lily climbed the tree herself, the boys would peek up her dress.”
“I was concerned for my hearing. We missed your turn.”
“You missed my turn. I’m walking you home.”
Meaning Hessian would have no solitude before gaining his own doorstep. “Why aren’t I walking you home?”
“Because Jacaranda has spoken, and I am her slave in all things where some disobliging brother might contradict my story and make me look a fool before my wife. She said to walk you home, ergo, my fate is sealed. Does Lily Ferguson still have a birthmark on the inside of her left elbow? It was shaped like a dove, as best I recall.”
Hessian came to a halt. “How the devil should I know, and what the deuce sort of question is that to ask on a public street of your own brother?”
Worth ambled onward. “I couldn’t ask you in front of the children, now could I? I can’t help but think that I’m missing something where Lily Ferguson is concerned. I have come upon a bit of old gossip concerning a youthful indiscretion of hers, but even that doesn’t feel like the evidence I’m seeking.”
Hessian resumed walking. “She is still quite youthful, and you might have told me your investigations were bearing fruit.”
“Not fruit, not yet, but a few scented breezes. Tresham has recently acquired an auntie-in-law who prides herself on knowing everything about everybody, though she’s not a bearer of tales. The lady and I came upon one another walking our dogs in the park the other day and, as fellow admirers of the canine, struck up a conversation.”
“I will strike you, if you don’t soon get to the point.”
“See? That’s the unpriggish half of you talking. In any case, Her Grace of Quimbey has noticed you and Miss Ferguson on some occasion or other—playing catch, I think she said—and the duchess wondered if I’d heard the old rumor about Miss Ferguson eloping with her uncle’s house steward.”
Hessian’s steps slowed, for they’d turned the corner onto his street. “I cannot imagine Lily Ferguson being impetuous enough to elope with anybody.”
But youthful folly of that magnitude would explain why Walter Leggett kept such a close eye on his niece, why she’d been sent to Switzerland for finishing school, why a somewhat spoiled girl might have matured into a more cautious and self-possessed woman.
“Neither can I,” Worth said, “though my recollection of her is that of a young boy who had no use for females of any stripe, other than to torment them.”
“At which you excelled.”
“Thank Jacaranda for sorting me out.”
No light shone from the nursery window, which was a relief and a disappointment. “You have imparted this rumor for a reason. It’s old news, and apparently known to very few, if it’s true.”
Worth plucked a bloom of heartsease from the pot sitting beside the neighbor’s mounting block. “That little rumor fuels my conviction that the pieces of Lily Ferguson aren’t adding up. Why hasn’t she married, Hess? Her mama bagged a ducal spare, meaning Lily is a duke’s granddaughter, albeit an Irish duke. She’s an heiress, blue-blooded, comely, and a drain on her uncle’s finances. She should have become engaged halfway through her first Season. What puzzle pieces are we missing?”
Hessian had missed bedtime in the nursery, for the card party had assembled earlier than most of its kind.
“She may be as yet unwed because the heavenly powers intend her for me,” Hessian said. “I will seek Leggett’s permission to offer her my addresses next week.”
Lily had sent a note that Leggett was much occupied cleaning up some mess created by his son. She would explain further on the occasion of a ride in the park the day after tomorrow.
“I wish you’d wait, Hess. You were always the soul of prudence, the fellow who let nothing sway him from sober deliberation. The very fact that I can’t uncover much about Leggett’s situation troubles me.”
Sober deliberation had little to recommend it, compared to the joys of an impetuous interlude in the conservatory. And yet, Worth had a point: Impetuosity was foreign to Hessian’s nature.
With Lily, he was convinced that undue hesitation would cost him the one woman with whom he could be happy.
“I’m not courting Leggett, Worth. I’ll marry Lily if she hasn’t a penny to her name, and I suspect she feels the same about me.”
She’d said little after those shared moments in Hessian’s sanctuary, but she’d clung to him desperately just before they’d left the conservatory. Reserved people often expressed with actions what they did not put into words.
“Jacaranda was right, then,” Worth said. “You are in love. I wish you much joy of the endeavor, and I’ll keep listening for information about Leggett in anticipation of settlement negotiations.”
“Listen discreetly, or I’ll thrash you.”
Worth socked Hessian on the arm. “Love you too.” He strolled away, his cane propped against his shoulder.
Hessian paused before his own front door, battling the temptation to keep walking until he was in the Leggett mews. He could toss a few pebbles at Lily’s window and recite whispered poetry to the night air, and otherwise…
Make an ass out of himself. He had no idea which window might be Lily’s, and tossing pebbles in the dark of night was no way to reliably hit a target in any case.
He nonetheless sat for a moment on his own front steps, pondering the conversation with Worth. Lily was not the woman Hessian would have said that difficult, overindulged little girl should have become. She was far more sensible and likable.
More trustworthy. A boy hadn’t dared turn his back on the young Lily Ferguson. She could throw rocks with an accuracy that daunted a young male’s fragile consequence.
Hessian rose and dusted himself off, anticipating the joy of peeking in on a sleeping Daisy. His last thought before surrendering his hat, gloves, and walking stick in the foyer was to keep a lookout for that birthmark on the inside of Lily’s elbow.
If fate was kind, he might steal a peek at the relevant part of her anatomy in the very near future.
* * *
No fairy tale told Sleeping Beauty what to do with a case of insomnia. The handsome earl—prince, rather—came along and disturbed her slumbers with his kiss, and then what? How did the poor woman return to the blessed oblivion of her dreams?
The best part about sleepwalking through life, about focusing on only the nearest perceived worry,
was that Lily hadn’t realized how carefully numb she’d become to anything else.
To her own emotions, to her body, to her world.
“It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?” she asked the earl.
Hessian Kettering sat his horse as if born to the saddle. He was blessedly oblivious to the depth of havoc he’d wrought in Lily’s life, while she could think of little else.
“All mornings have a lovely quality about them,” he replied. “Even during the roughest patches of my life, even when I thought I’d made a muddle of everything, mornings still had a sense of hope and possibility.”
He brought his horse to a halt and sat quietly. Lily did likewise with her mare. They were nowhere in particular—a leafy patch on a quiet bridle path in Hyde Park, a groom trailing a discreet distance behind—but Grampion was right. Lily had risen lately with a sense of hope and possibility—also, more anxiety than usual.
“Are we having a moment of prayer?” she asked.
“We’re having a moment of reflection, for certain geldings have acquired the habit of leaning on the reins, which is a very ungentlemanly behavior indeed.”
The ride had begun with a thundering gallop, Grampion’s horse was apparently eager for another run, just as Lily was eager to return to that secluded corner of the earl’s conservatory.
“He’s fit,” Lily said. “Unlike my poor mare. One gallop isn’t enough for him.”
His lordship turned his face upward, as if admiring the arches of a cathedral rather than the plane maples. Sunshine slanted in golden shafts amid the greenery, and sparrows flitted aloft.
“How are you, Lily?”
“How am—?” The question was intimate. A lover’s query. “I am lonely for you, every moment we’re apart.”
That was not a reply Lily would have known how to make even a month ago. Now she couldn’t keep such sentiments to herself, and that was a problem.
“As I am lonely for you. Let’s move along, before the groom is upon us. My motivation to speak to your uncle has become pressing.”
The morning’s possibilities and hopes dimmed. “You’re returning to the north?”
“No, love. I’m losing my wits. I hope you aren’t inclined toward a long engagement.”
“My uncle might try to put you off.” Had promised to not only put Grampion off, but dissuade him entirely. “He’s fond of managing my fortune.”
The rest of the tale begged to tumble out: It’s not my fortune, you see. It belonged to my mama, then to my half-sister, then probably to King George or my sister’s Irish relations, but not to me. Never to the unacknowledged bastard.
“I have the impression Walter Leggett is more fond of managing you.”
In that quiet observation, Lily realized why Hessian Kettering’s kiss could wake a slumbering princess.
He loved.
His life was not a series of entertainments, as Oscar’s was.
He did not spend his energies in bitterness and vengeance, as Mrs. Braithwaite did.
He was not obsessed with getting, spending, and scheming, as Uncle was.
Hessian Kettering cared for those around him. He was devoted to his younger brother, to Daisy, to responsible stewardship of his resources, to even his horse. He paid attention, he was awake, and his sense of focus and investment in those around him was contagious.
“Uncle did not ask to be burdened with a young niece who dealt badly with being orphaned.” Walter had spent two years’ worth of correspondence reminding Lily of the nobility of his sacrifice. Only after hearing a few muttered asides from Tippy had a more mature Lily suspected Walter’s motivation was pure greed without a scintilla of avuncular affection.
“That reminds me,” Grampion said. “A rumor regarding your past has come to my attention.”
And there went the rest of Lily’s hope. Her mare hesitated, as if a sense of doom had penetrated even the limitations of an equine brain.
“Rumors and fortune hunters follow heiresses in equal measure.”
They emerged from the trees into a clearing of dew-sparkled grass and sharp morning sun.
“The rumor comes from a reliable, disinterested source who claims that you eloped with your uncle’s house steward. You are lovely, intelligent, well-dowered, and of age. I ask myself: Have you remained immune to the addresses of London’s most eligible bachelors because you are already married?”
A salvo such as that had been commonplace when Lily had first returned from Switzerland. Somebody would remark a piece of music she had supposedly played exquisitely at some tea dance, and panic would follow, lest Lily be publicly caught out as only half the musician her sister had been.
She’d learned to duck, dodge, prevaricate, dissuade, and otherwise deflect incoming fire, until fewer and fewer cannonballs were lobbed at her decks.
She laughed at Grampion’s theory, for laughter was as effective at diffusing such moments as any retort she could manufacture, but her laughter had come one heartbeat late.
“You flatter me, my lord.”
Again, he brought his horse to a smooth halt. “I accuse you of living a lie, of deceiving all of polite society, and you laugh.”
In other words, he wouldn’t desist until he had an answer.
“You accuse me of being nigh irresistible, when in fact, I’m impossible to please—or I was.”
“And the house steward?”
This much, Lily could answer honestly. “I know not what became of him, but he and I are not married. His interest was inappropriate, and I was packed off to Switzerland for two years lest he persuade me otherwise.”
Uncle had strongly implied that both Annie and her swain had come to bad ends in the same coaching accident, but as in so many other particulars, Lily had dared not ask for details.
“Did this scoundrel break your heart, Lily?”
“No.” The truth had never been such a relief. Lily recited a litany Tippy had fashioned for her. “I was young, I was bored, I was not yet old enough to make my come out, and had no mama or auntie to keep me from foolishness. I strongly suspect the gentleman’s sole motivation was to get his hands on my settlements.”
Hessian used the tip of his riding crop to whisk a fly from his horse’s shoulder. “And the man’s name?”
This was what came after the warning shot—the destructive volley, intent on wreaking mayhem and inspiring quick surrender. Lily could not afford to surrender, and though she might have heard the house steward’s name at some point, she could not recall it now.
“Must we discuss this?”
“Not if it pains you.”
“We’re wasting a beautiful morning with these trivialities.” Though, if Hessian was intent on tracking down the house steward, that was far from trivial. “How is Daisy?”
The horses and the conversation moved on, while the earl grew effusive about letters he’d had from Daisy’s brothers. He knew the boys from their summers in the north and pronounced both to be fine young fellows whom Daisy missed more than she admitted.
As the Serpentine came into view and other riders filled the broader thoroughfares, the earl gently halted his gelding for the third time.
“I must speak to your uncle this week, Lily. I can find no reason to keep my interest in you from becoming public. Once I have permission to court you, once we are engaged, we’ll have much more latitude, and the fortune hunters will slink off to pursue other heiresses.”
Oh, Hessian. “And the widows will pursue other earls?”
“I’m told Wellington himself, despite being married to the sweetheart of his youth, has no artillery sufficient to dissuade that regiment.”
“His grace fires only smiles and flirtation in their direction, and he is a duke.”
“I am an earl. A paltry prize by comparison, but I would like to be your prize.”
Despite Hessian’s smile, despite the flattering nature of his objective, Lily felt a sense of doom. Uncle would wave off the only suitor Lily wanted for her own, and another ten year
s of being the testy, often-tested niece of Walter Leggett would be the best she could hope for.
“Have you ever considered eloping, my lord?”
“No, I have not. When a man of my station elopes for no apparent reason, scandal ensues. The last thing I need now, with Daisy newly added to my household, is scandal.”
Well, drat and perdition. “Because of Mrs. Braithwaite?”
The groom drew up ten yards back.
“Because I value your reputation and my own. Because Daisy does not need such drama and talk. Because I am the head of my family, small though it is, and have an unmarried half-sister to consider. As much as I’d love to carry you off and make endless passionate love to you, I cannot justify being that selfish.”
Felled by honor. “Then you must speak to Uncle, and if you are to be successful with him, the less said about my fortune the better.”
“Lily, I don’t give a hearty goddamn for your fortune. When can I see you again?”
This was another symptom of being too preoccupied with present pleasures and not focused enough on practicalities. Lily should have memorized her accepted invitations, the better to coordinate with Hessian.
“I am at a loss,” she said. “Perhaps Bronwyn and Daisy might spend another afternoon together?”
A man sauntered in through the park gates fifty yards away, just another pedestrian taking the fine, fresh air, except this fellow had a sizable Alsatian on a leash and was too elegantly turned out to be anything but a lordling.
“My nanny has arrived,” Hessian said, turning his gelding in the direction of the park’s latest arrival. “But we will use this meddling to our advantage. Have you met my brother, Worth?”
Uncle would be pleased with this development, while Lily was uneasy. “I have not.”
“Not since we were children, you mean. Rest assured, Sir Worth is almost harmless now.”
Lily had learned that a blunder was best followed by a swift retreat. She’d blundered this morning with Hessian—over her half-sister’s elopement, among other things—and because she hadn’t withdrawn to regain her composure, her errors were multiplying.
Whereas Hessian was fair, Worth was dark. Hessian was lanky, Worth had a solid muscularity that would be menacing under the right circumstances. He gave Lily a keen appraisal, and that unsettled her as well.
His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen Book 4) Page 17
