Page 93 of His Lordship's True Lady
“I’m sure it will look lovely, but I cannot kidnap your niece right out from under Miss Ferguson’s nose, ma’am. Sir Worth is nothing if not protective.”
“You mistake the matter,” Roberta said, taking one more tiny snip at Sir Hilary’s letter. “Lily Ferguson is finding every opportunity to ingratiate herself with the Kettering family. She hopes that Grampion will resume his outings to the park, and thus she can further her acquaintance with the earl. Lady Nadine Leggett’s daughter is not stupid nor she is attached to a noisy, difficult child.”
Though if Grampion was no longer taking Amy Marguerite to the park personally, Lily Ferguson’s ambitions in that regard were doomed.
“If you say so, ma’am.” Penelope bobbed a curtsey and left, her French grammar clutched in her hand. What she was doing with a French grammar, Roberta did not know.
Developing airs above her station, no doubt.
* * *
“This time next week, we’ll be man and wife.” Oscar twirled his walking stick, clearly in charity with the world. Lily wanted to wallop him over the head with the nearest heavy object.
The rain came down in a steady drizzle as she and Oscar waited beneath the port cochere for the town coach.
“Have you and Uncle finished negotiating my settlements?” she asked. “I do hope you’ve notified the Fergusons, lest they take you to court over the whole business.”
Oscar’s twirling stick clipped his hat brim and cocked the hat down over one eye. He righted his hat and tucked the walking stick under his arm like a baton.
“Papa has everything in hand. You and I will be man and wife, all legal and binding, before the Fergusons catch wind of the nuptials. Ireland is the other side of civilization, you know, especially the west of Ireland. You’ll likely be with child before you hear from your father’s family, and then it will be congratulations on finally finding a fellow willing to shackle himself to you.”
Doubtless, Uncle had concocted that taradiddle, but then, for the past ten years, the Fergusons hadn’t been much in evidence that Lily could see.
Oscar breathed on the handle of his walking stick and used the sleeve of his coat to polish the silver. The handle was fashioned into the shape of a bowsprit or mermaid, her hair and long tail forming part of the grip, her head and breasts the rest.
Her naked breasts.
“Oscar, that is not a decent article to take with you to a toy shop.”
“Nonsense. Mermaids are fanciful creatures from fairy tales, and children love fairy tales.”
The coach pulled up, the horse’s iron shoes striking sharply against the cobbles. Lily climbed in, ready to beat Oscar with his own walking stick if he so much as touched her hems while assisting her into the coach.
This was what marriage to him would be like, a constant struggle for the last word, for dignity and reason over selfish fancies. And that would be the daylight portion of the undertaking. He’d tried her lock last night—or somebody had.
Lily had slept with her window half open, ready to bolt from the house if need be to avoid Oscar’s attentions.
They arrived at the toy shop, and Oscar commenced flirting with one of the shop girls. Lily pretended to examine the storybooks, but she was coming to know the inventory, and children’s tales didn’t take long to read.
If Rosecroft was on the premises, he wasn’t about to approach Lily while Oscar stood guard.
“Perhaps we might interest you in some of our newer items?” the shop owner said. She held a girl’s fan, small, painted with a colorful rendering of a rainbow. She closed the fan, tapped it against her lips, and laughed. “I loved dressing up as a child. Perhaps you did too?”
The woman had white hair in a neat bun, kind eyes, and a grandmotherly air. She was also regarding Lily very steadily as she touched the fan to her lips.
Tapping the mouth with a fan meant:I wish to speak with you.
Lily took the fan and half closed it, shielding the lower portion of her face:We are being watched.
“Dressing up as a fine lady never much appealed to me,” Lily said, “but even a small child can appreciate a fan on a warm day.”
“Maybe travel books are more to your taste?” the owner asked, drawing Lily away from Oscar’s discussion of toy guns and aiming for small targets.
“I do enjoy reading,” Lily said as the owner thrust a book into her hands.
“I particularly like the story that begins on page fifty-one. So full of inspiration for young ladies in difficult circumstances.”
She moved away, leaving Lily with the book. In the margin on pagefifty-one, somebody had scrawled a few words in light pencil:G heading south. Complications. Delay WL’s plans at all costs. R.
