The footman passed over the journal, which Hessian stashed into a pocket of his greatcoat.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?”
Kendall was a young man, tall and lean, as footmen were supposed to be. After tearing into the house, climbing three flights of stairs, and tearing back to the mews, he wasn’t out of breath.
“You miss her, don’t you?” Hessian said. “You miss your Jenny.”
Kendall’s expression went from polite inquiry, to astonished, to blank. “Grampion is my home, my lord. London is… not home.”
As best Worth recalled, there was a scullery maid named Jenny at the family seat.
“I have yet to take my leave of my ward,” Hessian said. “If you can pack a bag and be on the box in fifteen minutes, you may accompany me. The journey will be brutal, but we’ll stop at Grampion, however briefly. You will bide there when I return to London.”
Never had a footman smiled as broadly, bowed as quickly, or leaped a garden gate as handily.
“How did you know he was pining for his lady?” Worth asked, not that a footman was supposed to have a lady.
“Because I’m pining for mine,” Hessian said, “and I haven’t even left Town. And here is my other lady.”
The nursery maid had carried a sleepy Daisy down to the mews. The child was in her nightgown and swaddled in a blanket. Her braid was all but undone and her expression cross.
“I want to go with you,” Daisy said as Hessian took her from her nursemaid and perched the girl on his hip. “I want to go home.”
Worth took himself around to the back of the coach, rather than watch a small child wake up an entire neighborhood with an early morning tantrum.
“I wish I didn’t have to leave you,” Hessian said. “I will miss at least eight outings to the park, four visits with Miss Bronwyn, three visits to a certain toy shop with your Auntie Jacaranda. Your Uncle Worth will get to feed ducks with you, take you for an ice or two at Gunter’s Tea Shop, and take you up before him in the park. I will miss all of this, and so much more. You will write to me, won’t you?”
The question bespoke genuine regret to be parting—from a child who’d turned the household upside down.
“Will you write back?” Daisy asked.
“I will, though I’ll probably return before my epistles reach you. You must do me one special favor while I’m gone, Daisy.”
“I’ll be good.”
“You are always as good as you know how to be,” Hessian said. “You must keep an eye out for our Miss Lily. If you see her in the park, you will offer her cheerful company. If you run into her at the toy shop, you should ask for her to aid your selection. She has very few friends, and you are special to her.”
This was part of Hessian’s plan to ensure Lily Ferguson had frequent opportunities to send for aid or to inform others of her uncle’s mischief. Worth was to keep a coach in readiness to take the lady to Dover—bags packed, coin on hand—until Hessian returned.
He’d thought of everything—and of everyone—and Worth hated that his brother was making this journey without him.
“Do you promise, cross your heart, that you will come back?” Daisy asked.
“I promise, cross my heart, that I will come back,” Hessian said, coming around the rear of the coach. “You must promise me that you’ll not have so much fun at Uncle Worth’s that you disdain to rejoin my household.”
Daisy squeezed Hessian tightly around the neck. “Uncle Worth is nice, but you’re my…” Little brows drew down.
Hessian kissed her forehead. “Precisely, I am yours to keep, forever. Worth, take the best care of my Daisy. No stuffing her with sweets or choosing a pony for her so she’ll like you better.”
Worth took the child from his brother. “Not even one pony?” Because that was what he must say to keep himself from bursting into tears.
The footman Kendall made another graceful leap over the garden gate, a tied bundle in his hand. “I’m ready, my lord!”
“So one observes,” Hessian said. “Up you go.”
The coach rocked as Kendall climbed up to the box, and the horses, knowing well what a boarding passenger presaged, shifted in the traces.
“Worth,” Hessian said, pulling on his gloves, “you will take as good care of my Daisy as you would of your own dear child. If you must buy her a pony, it shall be the handsomest, sweetest, best-behaved pony in the realm. Do I make myself clear?”
For the first time in years, yes. The real Hessian Kettering was coming clear to his own brother. Greater love hath no man, than he who will cede to another the pleasure of buying a girl her first pony.
“I understand completely, your lordship. Daisy, shall we wave the coach on its way?”
She rested her head against Worth’s shoulder. “He promised. He can go now. I will name my pony Grampion.”
Hessian brushed a kiss to the child’s cheek, smacked Worth on the arm, and climbed into the coach. “That is the best name a pony could ever have,” he said, peering down through the window. “My love stays with you, Daisy. Remind Uncle Worth to open the bedroom curtains at night.”
He blew the child a kiss—when did Hessian start blowing anybody kisses?—and the groom raised the steps and closed the door.
Worth retreated a few feet, the coachman gave the command to walk on, and the coach rolled down the alley at a sedate—unremarkable—pace.
“I miss him,” Daisy said. “Will he really come back?”
Don’t cheer her up, Hessian had said. Admit that her sadness is appropriate and then distract her from it. Had Hessian’s own grief and sadness taught him that strategy?
“He will absolutely come back, or you and I and Auntie Jacaranda will collect your friend Miss Lily and trot up to Scotland to fetch him home.” As plans went, that was a pale sketch compared to the field orders, lists, maps, and calendars Hessian had put together on very short notice.
No matter. Worth’s plan was sincere and sound, and he had two weeks to talk his wife into it.
“Would you like some breakfast?” he asked. “I could use a serving of toast and chocolate.”
“I’m supposed to make you take me to look at ponies,” Daisy said. “This will cheer you up. His lordship said.”
The coach turned onto the street at the end of the alley.
Godspeed, Brother. “One never shops for ponies on an empty stomach or in one’s nightgown. Are you packed for your visit with me and Aunt Jacaranda?”
“Do you still miss him? I still miss him.”
“Yes, Daisy. I still miss him.” And will every minute for the next two weeks. Doubtless, only Lily Ferguson is missing him more.
Chapter Eighteen
* * *
Hessian’s schedule was rooted in common sense: Lily was to walk in the park before noon, when Oscar would still be abed. If the weather was foul, she would alternate outings to Gunter’s or the toy shop at the same hour, and on Sundays, she’d contrive to visit with Jacaranda after services at St. George’s. If all else failed, she could ride in the park at dawn and be assured of crossing paths with the Earl of Rosecroft.
Every day, she’d have at least one opportunity to communicate with an ally, or to flee Walter Leggett’s household temporarily—or permanently. Worth Kettering had a coach in readiness to take her to Dover should desperate measures be called for.
In the past week, Lily had been to services once, the park three times, the tea shop twice, and the toy shop once.
She was once again taking the air in the park, a maid trailing behind. The maid alone would not have sufficed as a chaperone, but Jacaranda Kettering waited on a bench not thirty yards away.
She was a striking woman, statuesque and sturdy. “You are punctual,” she said as Lily took a seat on the same bench. “A commendable trait.”
“Uncle expects it of me.” Along with perfect manners and unfailing obedience.
Jacaranda’s gaze turned to her husband, who had taken the baby for a stroll along a path
fronting the Serpentine.
“You expect punctuality of yourself,” she said. “How are you?”
Hessian had asked Lily that same question, once upon a time. From Jacaranda, the query was leave to recite a report, not an invitation for Lily to unburden herself.
“The earl’s calendar helps,” Lily said, something of a revelation. “I usually resent being told what to do, where to go, when to dress for what outing, but this is my agenda, not my uncle’s. When I rise in the morning, I’m focused on an objective of my own. I am not some gormless private in the military, waiting to be told on which battlefield I’ll dodge bullets.”
Jacaranda opened a parasol, a frilly, lacy business that had to have been a gift from her husband.
“I enjoyed the same aspect of being a housekeeper,” she said. “I was in command of a staff and of myself. I decided when to set the maids to beating the rugs, when to send them off to gossip and pick berries. I didn’t sit about embroidering for hours on end, waiting for some neighbor to call or one of my brothers to drag me along on his flirtations.”
Jacaranda had seven brothers. Lily could not fathom such a wealth of family, though by reputation, the Dorning brothers got up to a deal of flirtation, which would—
“You were a housekeeper?”
The prim, rather intimidating lady smiled and became a different person—mischievous, charming, even friendly.
“I was the housekeeper at Trysting for five years and made a proper job of it. I still regularly inspect the kitchen and larder. Worth doesn’t dare object.”
“But you’re the daughter of an earl. Why on earth would you go into service?”
Worth was now sharing a bench with a slender, blond young woman who’d been reading a book. She was smiling now, while Worth held the baby against his shoulder. Jacaranda looked amused rather than annoyed that her husband would be flirting in the park.
“I didn’t regard honorable work as anything to be ashamed of,” Jacaranda said. “My brothers were utterly out of control, and I was all but drudging for them. I told them if I had to work that hard, for so little appreciation, I’d at least have a half day off and a salary for my efforts. They thought I was bluffing.”
Farther down the path, Worth was holding his daughter above his head, making the infant laugh. The woman with the book was smiling, as everybody must when in the company of a happy baby.
“You think I should have remained at the coaching inn,” Lily said. “The work was honest, as you say. I earned a wage.” A pittance, plus any number of kicks, slaps, and scolds, with the occasional burn, pinch, or splinter for variety.
Jacaranda slowly twirled her parasol, which in the language of flirtation meant, Be careful—we are watched. She probably knew that, as did her husband.
“Scrubbing floors at a coaching inn is no place for a lady’s daughter,” Jacaranda said. “My papa was an earl. Can you imagine my daughter scrubbing floors at some coaching inn?”
The infant was once again propped against her father’s shoulder. She peered in Lily’s direction, a world of innocence in her gaze.
Lily’s chest ached when she beheld the baby slurping on a tiny fist. The little mite was utterly safe in her father’s arms. She’d never scrub a floor, carry a chamber pot, or go weeks without proper rest unless she jolly well pleased to.
“The men began to notice me,” Lily said. “I wasn’t safe at the inn, or I’d probably still be there.”
“While I went into service because the men who should have noticed me failed to. We do what we must, and yet, you’re once again in a situation where you’re not safe. Had you not spent those years at the inn, you’d probably have been married to your cousin long since.”
Worth rose, bowed to the lady, and tucked the baby against his shoulder. He went off on some circuit of the surrounds from which he’d doubtless be able to see Lily and Jacaranda at all times, while the young woman returned to her reading.
Jacaranda implied that years of incessant menial labor had imbued Lily with some measure of independence, of… consequence.
“I don’t dare cross my uncle,” Lily said. “I might lie awake, plotting foul crimes against him, but I attend the dinner parties and balls he chooses, I wear the fashions he approves of.”
“Minor concessions,” Jacaranda said, rising. “Letting him think he has the upper hand. When it comes to major decisions, your uncle has tread carefully. Witness, you are not yet married to Oscar, or to any other toady of your uncle’s choosing.”
Lily got to her feet as well, hoping Jacaranda was correct. “Grampion is not offering for me. He is being all that is kind, but matrimony is not under discussion between us.”
Hessian had been much more than kind, but he’d also made certain Lily did not regard him as a fiancé. Not at present.
“Well, that’s as it should be,” Jacaranda said, twining her arm through Lily’s. “You deserve some wooing, and Hessian needs to know his addresses are welcome.”
“Should he return from Scotland, I will offer him an emphatic welcome,” Lily said. “Why do you suppose that young woman has been in the park every time you and I have walked here over the past week?”
Jacaranda’s reply was forestalled by Avery and Daisy bounding up from the water’s edge some yards away.
“We’re out of corn,” Daisy bellowed. “The ducks ate it all up.”
“The ducks and the geese and the swans,” Avery added. “When can we feed them again?”
“We mustn’t feed them too much,” Lily said. “They’ll grow too stout to float.”
Avery began to chatter in French about learning to swim the previous summer at Trysting, and the water had been cold as ice and many, many, many feet deep, as deep as the ocean…
“That lady paid a call on the earl,” Daisy said, frowning in the direction of the dedicated reader. “She came with the other lady.”
“Were you spying?” Avery had lowered her voice, envious rather than scolding.
“I was manning the crow’s nest.”
“Which other lady?” Jacaranda asked.
Lily knew which other lady. The only woman to call on Hessian since he’d taken up residence in Mayfair.
Daisy grinned. “The one with the”—she held her hands open about a foot from her skinny little chest—“and the hat that looked like a blue chicken roosting on a Viking ship, except it wasn’t a chicken.”
“A peacock,” Lily said. “A very attractive bird, though only the male has the fantastic plumage. Shall we find our escort?”
For she abruptly felt the need to locate Worth and ensure he hadn’t been kidnapped by brigands or a certain greedy widow.
Jacaranda, with no evidence of hurry at all, organized the little girls and the nursery maid, Lily’s maid, and Lily herself in a sedate parade back to the coaches waiting along the street. Worth was soon at their side, handing the baby to her mother.
“The young lady,” Lily said, keeping her voice down, “the one with the book who’s been in the park during every outing we’ve made for the past week. Daisy saw her in company with Mrs. Braithwaite when she called on the earl.”
“I was manning the crow’s nest,” Daisy said, taking Lily’s hand. “I wasn’t spying.”
Worth tossed the child into the coach, stealing a kiss to her cheek that set her to giggling. “I noticed her as well, hence I presumed to share her bench and strike up a conversation.”
“I should join you for an ice,” Lily said, “and you should hand me up into your coach straightaway.”
“Excellent suggestion.”
Worth waved off Lily’s coach, and her servants and companion along with it. He climbed into the coach with the ladies, taking the backward-facing seat and putting Daisy on his lap.
“We’re off to Gunter’s,” he announced. He thumped on the roof of the coach once, meaning the horses were to proceed at a walk.
“We went to Gunter’s on Monday,” Avery said.
“We can go again,” Daisy counte
red.
The children bickered for the short distance to Berkeley Square, while Lily wanted to scream, and Jacaranda and Worth exchanged unreadable looks. The nursemaid chivvied the children into the sweet shop and Worth put a hand on Lily’s arm before she could follow them from the coach.
“The question becomes, is Mrs. Braithwaite’s companion in the park to spy on you, or to spy on Daisy?” he mused.
“Both,” Lily replied. “But to what purpose? You’ve heard nothing from Grampion?” Though he would have barely arrived in Scotland, traveling at a dead gallop.
“Not a word,” Worth said. “Though you should know, Lily, that Oscar Leggett has applied for a special license, and barring the unforeseen, it should be ready within the next week.”
* * *
There was good news, of a sort: Once Hessian arrived in Scotland, Lawrence Delmar’s household wasn’t difficult to find. Getting there, however, had taken six grueling, bone-rattling, exhausting days. If Hessian was to collect Mrs. Delmar in time for her to celebrate her birthday in London, he’d have to start the journey south in the next day or two.
All the while praying for decent weather, sound horses, the continued good health of his coachman and grooms, nothing untoward befalling Lily in London, and an absence of highwaymen.
“There it is,” said the groom, who’d been hired at the Birdwell livery. “Bide Cottage.”
Like many cottages in Britain, Mr. Delmar’s abode was commodious. Whitewashed stone rose to three stories across a seven-window façade. Two-story wings spread on either side of the central structure, and the whole sat on a rise handsomely landscaped and terraced. The driveway was circular, with a small stone fountain in the middle and a pair of short, bushy palm trees flanking the front steps.
If Lillian Ann Ferguson Delmar was the lady of this house, she’d done quite well for herself.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Hessian said to the groom. “Let the horses blow, then set them to walking the drive at intervals.”
His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen Book 4) Page 24
