“And?”
“And the clothes I wear were bought with his money, designed with his fashion preferences in mind. The menus are prepared for him. The flowers on our table are chosen to suit his whims, when we have flowers.” Which was never, lately.
“What do I care for a lot of wilting posies? I’ll be a husband, and that has certain benefits.”
Good God, could he think of nothing else? “You will have certain responsibilities too, Oscar. Under English law, you are responsible for your wife’s well-being. You must keep her fed, clothed, housed, and cared for. You, not your father. If he tosses us out the day after the wedding, how will you meet those obligations, much less pay your own bills? I can prevail on my friends to get me to my ducal relations in Ireland, but who will take you in?”
Oscar shined his mermaid’s breasts again. “I have friends, but Papa will never cast me out. This whole conversation is ridiculous.”
Wasn’t it just? “Oscar, a university-educated, married man who has no grasp of the financial arrangements surrounding his nuptials is the embodiment of ridiculous. You have the ability to keep my fortune in the Leggett family and keep the Fergusons from nosing about in Uncle’s business. If I marry anybody else, Uncle doesn’t get what he wants. Make him give you what you want and what you deserve for speaking vows with a woman you do not love.”
Oscar patted her knee, and Lily nearly jumped out of the coach. “I don’t hate you, and I do esteem the notion of a wedding night in the very near future. You’ve given me something to think about.”
“Think long and hard, Oscar. Refuse to speak the vows unless your future is settled along with my own. You’re giving up a lot to accommodate the father who hasn’t seen fit to share the smallest of his business endeavors with you.”
Oscar used the handle of his walking stick to hook Lily’s chin and turn her face to his. Even the warmth of his residual body heat against her cheek made her flesh crawl.
“Try to come between my father and me, and you’ll regret it, Lily. I know what you’re about, hoping to put off the inevitable. I’ll read the settlements, and I’ll make sure my own interests are protected. Your safest course is to align yourself with me. I’m prepared to be a fair, decent husband, provided you don’t give me any trouble.”
As Walter Leggett had been a fair, decent uncle—keeping Lily all but a prisoner to his ambitions.
“Read the settlements. After the wedding it will be too late to bargain, and you know it.”
“What I know is that I’ve recently come into seventy-eight pounds in winnings at the hazard table. While you’ve been trying to curry favor with friends in the park, I’ve been bestirring myself to enjoy my mornings at home.”
The coach clip-clopped along through the damp streets. Oscar gave Lily’s knee another slow pat, and she bore it. Small concessions, insignificant gestures.
Seventy-eight pounds she’d spent years accumulating—gone.
The privacy of her bedchamber—violated.
Thank the kind powers, Rosecroft had confirmed that Hessian was already on his way back to London, for Lily was running out of time.
Chapter Nineteen
* * *
“What do you mean, she’s lame?” Lily stroked her mare’s nose, while Uncle’s head groom stared at a spot beyond Lily’s left shoulder.
“Came upon her of a sudden this morning, miss. Sometimes the horses like to have a lie-down in the straw, then they sleep funny and wake up offish.”
A rural coaching inn often owned hundreds of horses, and Lily had never heard of an equine going lame while resting in its stall.
“Let’s see if she walks out of it,” Lily said, reaching for the latch on the stall door. “She’s a slug, but a generally sound slug.”
A large, callused hand with dirty fingernails landed atop Lily’s sleeve and was quickly withdrawn.
“Best not, miss. You can make it worse, get her all excited about an outing. Then she might never come right.”
This was balderdash, and after a fortnight of fretting, worrying, and putting up with Oscar, Lily felt a compulsion to get away from Walter Leggett’s household.
“Then saddle me another mount,” Lily said. “The sun is out for the first time in days, and I’m determined to start my morning on a quiet bridle path.”
The groom stood very tall, and such was Lily’s own lack of stature that even he had several inches of height on her.
“Sorry, miss. We have only the one mare trained to carry a rider sidesaddle.”
“Then hitch up the phaeton.” Rosecroft would find her, though the wheeled traffic used different paths than the equestrians.
“Young Mr. Leggett said he’d be needing the phaeton this morning.”
Tomorrow, Lily would celebrate her sister’s twenty-eighth birthday, though Lily had heard nothing about a wedding ceremony. Perhaps Oscar had heeded her warnings earlier in the week and actually read the settlement documents.
Lily dearly hoped Oscar had aggravated his papa with demands for independent funds, and that thwarting Lily’s plans for the day was a retaliatory display of Uncle Walter’s petty tyranny.
How had she put up with ten years of this nonsense? “Young Mr. Leggett is never out of the house before noon unless he’s accompanying me on a call. I can assure you I have not sought his escort for my morning ride.”
“Miss, please don’t ask it of me. I’ll lose my post and have not even a character to show for it.”
Doubtless the poor man was telling the truth. “My mare had best be sound tomorrow. Use every poultice, lineament, and salve you have, but bring her sound.”
The groom’s relief was pathetic, which warned Lily that trouble was afoot—more trouble than usual. No matter. She had a plan, and that plan so far had kept her sane. Today, she’d take the air in the park on foot. By tomorrow, Hessian should be back, certainly by the day after.
Lily informed her companion that they’d be enjoying the footpaths in Hyde Park. The result was several minutes of muttered protests—megrims, rheumatism, an impending catarrh, a sore ankle—followed by grudging capitulation provided Lily put off this misguided outing until later in the morning.
“One hour,” Lily said. “That’s time enough to break your fast and change into a walking dress.”
Though Miss Fotheringham invariably took a tray for her morning meal rather than brave Uncle Walter’s charming company in the breakfast parlor.
Lily hoped to avoid her uncle as well, so she changed out of her riding habit and chose a walking dress Uncle had said made her look pale. She took some care with her hair, for Uncle preferred she wear it in a simple bun.
Please, God, let the sun continue to shine.
Please let Hessian be safe.
Please let Oscar be set upon by brigands at the earliest opportunity.
Lily took a moment to inspect herself in her bedroom mirror. “I look different.” She looked… like herself. Not like Annie’s impersonator, not like a rabbit of a woman who could hear the pack in full cry on the very next hill.
“Hessian will come for me, and all will be well.” Let him come soon.
Lily had the breakfast parlor to herself, which was fortunate. In her present mood, she was tempted to start an argument with Uncle Walter, to tell him she expected to read any settlement agreements herself—not that he’d admitted his scheme to see her married to Oscar—and would send a copy to her Irish relations before signing anything.
Uncle would have an apoplexy at that declaration, and Oscar would whine endlessly. Perhaps Jacaranda had been right: Years of menial work in a coaching inn had given Lily the fortitude to handle her present situation.
“Ah, there you are.” Uncle Walter beamed at her from the doorway of the breakfast parlor.
Lily set down her fresh cup of tea untasted. “Good morning, Uncle.”
He seemed to expect her to say more—apologize for breathing, perhaps?—but she remained silent. She added extra butter to her toast, then a layer
of jam.
“I’d like a word with you,” Uncle said. “In the family parlor.”
Lily saluted with her toast. “As soon as I’ve done justice to Cook’s offerings.” Because nothing Uncle had to say was worth a moment’s hurry on Lily’s part.
His smile was smug. “Suit yourself. I’ll await you in the parlor.”
The lame horse who wasn’t lame, a hale companion unwilling to take a short stroll, and now, Uncle Walter smiling and telling Lily to suit herself.
Hessian, I need you. I need you desperately.
* * *
“You’re too late.” Worth handed Hessian a brandy, then poured a measure for himself.
“How can I be too late? I’ve been gone exactly fourteen days, and Lily’s ostensible birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”
Fatigue weighed on Hessian like a shroud, but he’d done the impossible—traveled hundreds of miles in mere days, despite endless rain, lame horses, a coachman complaining of a putrid sore throat, a lovesick footman, two encounters with highwaymen—which had been settled to the satisfaction of Hessian and his coaching pistols—and other factors too numerous and frustrating for human endurance.
Worth took his drink to the window and stared out at a foggy London night. “I’m sorry, Hess. The ceremony was today at Walter Leggett’s home, and a special license means the location was permissible.”
Hessian could not afford the luxury of cursing, but made himself tarry in Worth’s study for a few more moments. “You’re sure?”
“Lily did what she could. She insisted on reading the agreements word for word, then she insisted on sending for Rosecroft and his lady to stand up with her. The wedding breakfast included only family, the clergyman, and the Earl and Countess of Rosecroft. I’m sorry, Hessian. We tried. We followed your plan to the letter, and it was a good plan.”
“Not good enough, if Lily has been married to her cousin.” Though Hessian himself had tried to warn her of that possibility.
Damn the rain, the roads, and damn Walter Leggett to the blackest pit.
“The hour grows late,” Worth said, stroking the hound sitting at his side. “I’ll bring Daisy home to you tomorrow. She would not allow me to buy her a pony. She said that was for you to do, because you’d know the best one for her.”
“I’ll be somewhat occupied first thing in the morning,” Hessian said, setting his untouched drink on the sideboard. “If you could divert Daisy with another outing to the park and a stroll past Tattersalls, I’d be obliged. I’ll meet you thereafter.”
“You have to be exhausted,” Worth said, turning away from the darkness. “And you haven’t told me what transpired in Scotland. There are also a few developments you should be aware of regarding Roberta Braithwaite, whose companion I had occasion to meet. Let me put you up here for the night, and—”
Hessian marched for the door. “Roberta Braithwaite is the least of my concerns. I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Meet me in the park with Daisy, and I’ll be eternally in your debt.”
“Where in the hell are you going at this hour? The law frowns on wife-stealing, Hessian.”
“Bugger the bedamned law.”
“You are an earl,” Worth retorted. “A peer of the realm and my only brother. You cannot bugger the law. Buggery is illegal. Housebreaking is illegal. Coming between a man and his lawfully wedded wife is very illegal, also stupid and bound to get you called out. Hessian, for God’s sake—”
Hessian was already out the door and barreling down the front steps. “Meet me in the park. If I’m not there, tell Daisy I love her and please buy her a perfect damned pony.”
* * *
Hessian, I need you.
Lily had dithered and dawdled and delayed from the moment she’d spied an unfamiliar clergyman alighting from his gig outside the breakfast parlor window, to the moment when Uncle had explained to her—in patient detail—that her time was up.
She either meekly participated in a wedding ceremony with Oscar and signed the appropriate documents, or she’d be immured behind high walls in the countryside from whence she’d sprung.
“I got rid of your sister,” Uncle had said. “I can get rid of you too.”
That pronouncement had settled Lily’s nerves, oddly enough. Hessian had told her how to proceed, so she’d signed the agreements slowly and carefully. When Uncle had towed her by the wrist across the corridor into the library, she’d found a beaming clergyman and a fidgety Oscar waiting.
Lily had put on a show, demanding that they wait for Lady Rosecroft, whom Lily claimed had “agreed” to stand up with her. Uncle had silently fumed at this subterfuge, while the clergyman had apparently been unwilling to offend a countess, and the countess had conveniently taken a good while to appear.
Her ladyship had also brought her earl along with her, but neither Uncle nor Oscar allowed Rosecroft within ten feet of Lily.
I got rid of your sister. Would Uncle get rid of the earl? Of Lily herself?
She spoke her vows slowly. She sipped her wine at the wedding breakfast slowly. Rosecroft had kept his distance, engaging the clergyman in a discussion of coaching horses, but her ladyship had whispered to Lily in parting that her door was open to Lily at any hour, no matter what.
Lily had taken the longest bath in the history of bathing, and as darkness had fallen, she’d locked her door and wedged a chair beneath it, then packed a few items of clothing into a bundle. She tossed the bundle from her window, though she didn’t dare sneak across the garden while light still shone from the library below.
Hessian, where are you?
A soft tap on her door was followed by Oscar’s singsong voice. “Lily? Darling wife?” He jiggled the handle. “Have you fallen asleep?”
“Give me a moment.” She moved the chair so she could retrieve one last item to stuff into the pocket of her cloak. The slim packet of letters from her mother was hidden in the bottom of a hatbox that was kept on the top shelf of her wardrobe. Oscar could keep his purloined seventy-eight pounds, as long as Lily had Mama’s letters.
She’d no sooner retrieved the letters and was carrying the chair back to the door when it swung open.
“You spend your wedding night moving furniture,” Oscar said, stashing some sort of metal pick into the pocket of his dressing gown. “Interesting. Why are you still dressed?”
Because I will leap out that window rather than endure the conjugal act with you. “I’m nervous.”
“You’re reluctant,” Oscar said, closing and locking the door. “That’s to be expected, but for God’s sake, Lily. You aren’t an ignorant fifteen-year-old. Sooner or later, a wedding night befalls all women of means. If you don’t give me any trouble, I’ll be as considerate as I can. Get your clothes off and get in the bed.”
She had never been an ignorant fifteen-year-old. “Your notions of consideration leave me less than impressed, Oscar.”
He unbelted his dressing gown, revealing a voluminous nightshirt—thank heavens.
“I know what I’m about when it comes to bedsport, and you know nothing. You have no choice but to trust me on this. And if you think non-consummation will get you out of this marriage, you are sadly in error. Papa says that’s not the law, in any case. Why aren’t you undressing?”
He’d taken off his slippers, and the sight of his pale, bare feet made real to Lily that he was in her bedroom, expecting to exercise conjugal rights because Lily had no choice.
She did have a choice. Maybe at fourteen, she hadn’t had a choice, maybe not at nineteen, maybe not at twenty-two, but now, she did have a choice. Lily gathered up her cloak as if to return it to the wardrobe and, at the last instant, tossed it through the window and braced herself to climb over the sill.
Oscar, alas, looked up from unbuttoning his nightshirt at the wrong moment and was across the room in four strides. He was stronger than he looked and had six hands to go with his four arms.
“Are you daft? For God’s sake, cease your damned—” He fell silent while Lily
struggled on.
She would not do this, could not do this. If she had to face incarceration in an asylum or in Newgate itself, she would never, ever—
“I have a choice, damn you,” she panted, tromping hard on Oscar’s bare foot. “I am not your chattel, I am not your wife.”
He howled, but his grip on her grew only tighter. “You spoke vows, you agreed, you knew jolly well exactly what—damn you!”
She’d resorted to the serving maid’s best weapon, a knee to the stones, but she hadn’t been able to get good purchase, and her blow had gone wide of the mark.
Oscar picked Lily up and made as if to hurl her onto the bed, when the window banged open, and a cold voice cut through Oscar’s cursing.
“Leggett, if you do not unhand that woman this instant, I will blow your head off and enjoy doing it.”
A pistol cocked—the sweetest sound Lily had ever heard, after Hessian Kettering promising doom in the nick of time.
* * *
One thought stayed the temptation to hurl Oscar Leggett out the window head first: Hessian had been in time to prevent the worst from befalling Lily.
Not too late. By a handful of minutes, not too late.
Leggett turned loose of Lily as if she’d sprouted snakes for hair. “She’s unharmed. She nearly killed me, but she’s unharmed.”
“Lily?”
“I’m well enough.”
“You will soon be in much better spirits, as will I. Leggett get on the bed.” Hessian waved the pistol, which was very bad of him when the deuced thing wasn’t loaded. Bad of him, and… fun. “Lily, we will need several silk scarves. Shall you hold the pistol while I bind your cousin, or would you prefer to tie him up?”
She withdrew three colorful scarves from the bottom of her clothes press. “I’ll take the gun, lest I fashion a noose for yonder noddypoop by accident.”
Leggett moaned, then showed a modicum of sense by remaining passive as Hessian bound him snugly hand and foot, and used the last scarf to gag him as well.
His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen Book 4) Page 26
