Page 5 of His Lordship's True Lady
Grampion led the way up two flights of stairs, pausing only to ask a footman to call off the search. The nursery was lavishly comfortable, but all the furnishings looked new, the toys spotless and overly organized on the shelves.
Where were the girl’s brothers, when her toys wanted a few dings and dents?
“You will behave for Miss Lily,” his lordship said. “Do not interrupt to ask why nobody has ever seen a dragon, or how dragons breathe fire without getting burned.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Try to go to sleep,” Grampion went on, laying the child on her bed and brushing a hand over her brow. “Miss Ferguson, a word with you, please.”
“I’ll be right back,” Lily told the girl.
His lordship plucked a paisley shawl from the back of a rocking chair and led Lily into the corridor.
“One story,” he said, draping the shawl around Lily’s shoulders. “No more, or you’ll still be reading when the sun comes up. And you may slap me for asking, but are you enamored of Lord Stemberger?”
The shawl was silk, the feel of it lovely against Lily’s skin. What sort of bachelor earl kept silk shawls for the nursery maids?
“I am in no fashion enamored of Lord Stemberger. Why?”
“He…” Grampion appeared to become fascinated with the gilt scrollery framing a pier-glass across the corridor. “He did not conduct himself as a gentleman ought at table. Sitting beside him, you might not have noticed where his gaze strayed, but I will not invite him back. He lacks couth.”
Lily approved of Grampion very much for speaking up when many other men would have looked the other way or, more likely, guffawed in their clubs over Stemberger’s coarse behavior.
Grampion lacked warmth, but he was honorable, and to an orphaned child, he’d been kind.
“See to your guests, my lord,” Lily said. “I’ll tend to the dragons and be down shortly.”
“Miss Lily?” came a soft question from the child’s bedroom. “Are you coming?”
Grampion bowed over Lily’s hand, his grasp warm in the chilly corridor. “One story. Promise me. The child needs to know I mean what I say.”
“One story,” Lily said. “One happily ever after complete with a tamed dragon. I promise. Now be off with you.”
Chapter Two
Hessian rode along, resentful of the advanced morning hour, resentful ofthe odd looks from nursery maids and dairymaids alike, resentful ofeverything.
Except the child. He could never be resentful of Daisy. He did resent worrying about her though.
Daisy said not a word, despite having begged for this outing. She’d earned a boon by going for an entire day without running off, destroying a fragile heirloom, or spilling a drink “by accident.”
Hessian nodded to a vis-à-vis full of young ladies, all of whom he’d probably danced with, none of whom he recognized. He resented that too—why must London be so full of marriageable young women and so devoid of interesting company?
Daisy sighed, an enormous, unhappy expression in which Hessian mentally joined.
“Shall we return to the house, poppet?” At the plodding walk necessitated by having a child up before him, the day would be half gone before they were home, and yet, this was one way to spend time with Daisy that both she and Hessian seemed to enjoy.
“I like it here. I like the trees.”
If Hessian set her down, she’d likely be up one of those trees, thoroughly stuck, before he’d even dismounted.
“When we come again, we can feed the ducks.” Every self-respecting earl longed to stand about among quacking, honking, greedy ducks, risking his boots and his dignity at the same time. For her, he’d do it though. In the damned rain if necessary.
His generous offer earned him no reply, but what had he expected? Daisy was becoming a withdrawn child, and that had him close to panic. Her mother had been pragmatic and good-humored. She’d loved Daisy madly, of that Hessian had no doubt.
Daisy sat up so abruptly, the horse halted. “It’s the dragon lady!”
A woman in an elegant blue riding habit sat a chestnut mare, a groom trailing her by several yards. Her hair was looped in two braids over her left shoulder, and those braids—glossy auburn, nearly matching the color of the horse’s coat—confirmed her identity.
