Page 13 of His Lordship's True Lady
“Daisy has made my search for a wife more difficult,” he said. “The first time I married, I was inebriated on a young man’s version of familial duty, honor, and the not incidental pleasures resulting from attending to same.”
“Your wife was pretty, your father approved the match.” And Grampion had had at least a young man’s usual complement of lust. Where had that passion gone, and did he miss it?
“My wife was very pretty, to appearances, and entirely acceptable as a spouse to the young fool who married her. She would not do, though, as Daisy’s mama. That realization colors my willingness to propose to the young ladies I’ve been introduced to so far.”
“Good for you, my lord. Daisy will ensure you find a wife worthy of you both.”
Grampion studied the fountain, which was a simple three-tiered tower of successively wider bowls. Birds would enjoy it, and the sound would be soothing. Now it held dead leaves and twigs.
“Who will safeguard your choice, Miss Lily?”
He posed the question with a quiet sincerity that called for a humorous response. Lily hadn’t any to offer—she was responsible for her own choices, thank you, kind sir—so Daisy’s return to the garden was fortunately timed.
“My lord!” Daisy called. “Lord Rosecroft taught Ham a trick! He says yes when I ask if he loves me. He says yes for a carrot, and I can make him do it again!”
Daisy barreled straight for the earl, arms upraised. Not until the last moment did Grampion seem to grasp that the child expected to be lifted into his embrace. He caught her up and perched her on his hip.
“Well done, Daisy. Teaching a fellow to mind the ladies is always a fine notion.”
Daisy beamed at this praise, while Grampion’s smile provided an answer to a question Lily had mused upon earlier.
The earl avoid smiling to hide crooked teeth. He had beautiful, white teeth and a gorgeous smile. The first debutante to catch sight of that smile would get herself compromised as quickly as she could, and Grampion wouldn’t have a clue what he’d done to earn such a fate.
* * *
Lying to anybody did not sit well with Hessian, but lying to a lady was particularly uncomfortable—and Hessian had dissembled with Lily Ferguson, even if he hadn’t told outright untruths.
“Why in the name of all that’s dear can’t the damned Frenchie chef cook a decent beefsteak?” Worth Kettering set his plate aside and took a swallow of wine.
“Try mine,” Hessian said, switching plates with his brother. “You never used to be pernickety about your nourishment.”
The club’s dining room was nearly empty, the Season having only begun. As more families poured in from the shires, the clubs would fill up with temporary residents, and at every hour, the members would be socializing, reading, dining, and avoiding mixed company.
“I’m not pernickety,” Worth said, slicing off a bite of Hessian’s steak. “This one’s at least cooked. I’ll take the other home to Andromeda if you don’t care for it.”
Hessian was too preoccupied to be hungry. “How is Jacaranda?”
“My dearest lady wife is in a taking. She had her heart set onpresenting Yolanda to polite society this spring, and Lannie has decided next year will suit better. Lannie said to give you her regards.”
Yolanda was their younger half-sister, and she’d dwelled at Grampion Hall with Hessian over the autumn and winter. By agreement among the siblings, she was enjoying the spring and summer with Worth and Jacaranda, and at present taking a respite at Trysting, Worth’s country retreat.
“You will convey to Yolanda my approval of her decision,” Hessian said. “Polite society is a trial when one has twice her years.”
Across the room, laughter erupted at a table of young bucks who’d been drinking since Hessian had sat down to read a newspaper nearly two hours ago.
“You might consider conveying that sentiment to her in a letter,” Worth said around another mouthful of steak. “Quaint custom, sibling correspondence. Yolanda didn’t want to distract you from your wife hunt.”
Letters to Yolanda invariably descended into near accusations of abandonment, which was ridiculous. “Yolanda didn’t want to overtax Jacaranda with an infant in the house.”
Very likely, Yolanda was being considerate of all and sundry. She was a sweet young lady, and Hessian would miss her when she married.
Another prevarication. He missed her already.
“You will endeavor to find a bride sooner rather than later,” Worth said. “I’d like to depart for Trysting early this year. Town will be hot and crowded before too many more weeks go by, and my ladies will fare better in the country.”
“You must do as you please, Worth.” The wine was barely adequate, the potato as unappealing as the steak. “I cannot promise to find a bride any time soon.” In truth, Hessian couldn’t promise to find a bride ever.
Worth sat back as the swells at the table by the window went off into whoops about somebody’s attempt to serenade a young lady by the full moon and instead waking her widowed mama.
