Page 25 of His Lordship's True Lady
The milk pitcher was a porcelain rendition of a Greek urn in miniature, wreathed in a gold, pink, and green garland of glazed roses. The parlor was snug thanks to a blazing fire, and the sideboard held fluffy eggs, golden toast, jam, butter, and scones—a veritable feast.
Lily had sold her soul for this feast, and for many others like it.
“I do recall the previous earl dragging his sons around Town on one or two occasions. I first met the heir hacking in the park, as I recall, or possibly at some fencing exhibition. Grampion was a dull boy, never said much, not the sort to cause his pater difficulties. You’ll manage him.”
“Then I have your permission to cut him?” For this was Lily’s technique of last resort. Anybody who might have known “Lily Ferguson as a girl” was shown either impatient indifference or—how she hated what her life had become—frigid stares.
She dwelled on a double-sided precipice. On one side were accusations of extreme eccentricity, on the other was the dangerous truth.
Uncle folded the newspaper and laid it on the table so he could sip coffee and read at the same time.
“You may not cut him, you daft girl. Remind him that you took a bad fall while at that expensive finishing school in Switzerland, and thus many of your earliest memories are hazy. God knows, most of mine are. Pass the butter.”
Once again, Lily rose and complied. “I can dis-remember all day long, Uncle, and have on many occasions, but Grampion notices details. In some small particular, I might falter, and then he’ll ask questions.”
Uncle studied her over the top of his cup of coffee. He threatened gently, he managed invisibly, he insinuated and implied until Lily dared not thwart him. To anybody else, he was a doting relation who’d generously taken in an orphaned niece and showered her with every advantage.
To Lily, he was the devil’s man of business, though he’d never raised a hand to her, never even raised his voice to her.
“You have managed well all these years, Lily. I forget to tell you that, but considering your antecedents—perhaps because of them—you have taken excellent advantage of the opportunities before you. I do appreciate it. Nonetheless, I plan to coax Sir Worth Kettering into inviting me to join him in a particularly lucrative investment scheme, and thus his brother’s favor matters. Deal cordially with Grampion, and we’ll all benefit.”
Allmeant Uncle and Oscar, though Lily benefitted as well. She was alive, wasn’t she?
“And if his lordship should become curious, or note some inconsistency between the Lily he knew and the Lily I am now?”
Uncle beamed at her. “You are a clever young lady, and your active mind will appeal to a dry stick like Grampion. Why else do you think I put you in his path? I’m not suggesting you engage in outright folly, but a lonely bachelor and a difficult spinster have common ground while passing a Season in London. You do so love children, and Grampion is clearly unprepared to raise a child.”
Damn Uncle to the Pit. “I am better able to serve your ends if I know what they are, sir. Grampion hasn’t taken a liking to me, but the girl—Amy Marguerite—has.”
As much as Lily hated to lie, she did not trust Uncle except to operate consistently in his own self-interest. If Uncle believed Lily and Grampion enjoyed each other’s company, then he’d use that to his advantage.
“The girl likes you,” Uncle said, turning the newspaper over, “in a matter of days, you’ve recruited the poor little mite a playmate and brought along your countess friend for a social call on the earl’s household. Neatly done, Lily. If I know you, there’s another outing of the same nature planned. You’ll take the children on a picnic in the park and do doting-auntie things with them. Grampion will be relieved and charmed, and Worth Kettering will look with favor upon my household. All comes right if you do your part.”
No, all did not come right. All unrolled in a progression of years where Lily was told what to wear, with whom to waltz, when to plead a headache, and when to ruin a young man of whom Uncle disapproved.
“I’m taking Bronwyn to visit Amy Marguerite on Monday,” Lily said. “I cannot promise to earn anybody’s favor for you, Uncle, but I will do my best.”
“You always do, dearest niece. I so admire that about you.”
He went back to the mistress who’d held him in thrall since Lily had first met him—the financial pages—while Lily sipped tea and waited for her stomach to settle.
It never did, not entirely. Fear circled her life like a raptor. When she couldn’t spot its shadow on the path before her, she knew it would reappear at the worst moment and threaten every kind of safety a woman held dear.
“I’m off to pay a call on Tippy,” Lily said. “She might remember some details of Grampion’s boyhood visits to London.”
“The very recollections I pay her for. I’m told Grampion likes to hack out on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. The usual predawn lunacy in Hyde Park. Never saw much sense in it, myself.”
“The fresh air is invigorating, and the horses are happier for stretching their legs.”
Lily had given the right answer, the answer that assured Uncle she’d drag herself out of bed at the ungodly hour preferred by London gentlemen for their morning rides. She’d drag herself to whatever balls, routs, Venetian breakfasts, soirees, musicales, and at-homes Uncle put on her schedule. She’d drag herself to the card parties and charity auctions too.
He’d never asked her to compromise her virtue, never asked her to do more than relay gossip word for word, and yet Uncle was her gaoler as surely as if he chained her to the cart’s tail and whipped her through London daily.
Next month, on her twenty-eighth birthday, Lily would gain nominal control of an inherited fortune. Uncle would doubtless continue to manage all of the money and most of Lily’s time.
If she remained under his roof.
With no money in hand, few friends, and a history of felony wrongdoing, Lily’s escape would present many challenges.
