Page 15 of His Lordship's True Lady
“I’m sober now too,” Hessian said, “while you must be given the benefit of gentlemanly tolerance, considering how assiduously you’ve been at the spirits.”
“Doesn’t do to remain sober after sundown.” Islington’s confreres hooted their agreement with that profundity.
“Doesn’t do to malign a lady’s good name either,” Hessian said. “Particularly when she’s not on hand to defend herself against the charges.”
The hooting stopped, but Hessian wasn’t finished. “In fact, Islington, were you not half seas over, I’d offer you a demonstration of my accuracy with a firearm on the field of honor. Lily Ferguson is a lady, and if dunderheaded young men speak out of turn within her hearing, then I applaud her for calling such specimens to account. How else will they mend their ungentlemanly ways before more serious harm is done?”
“Serious harm?”
The last word had come out on a gratifying, if malodorous, squeak.
“I’m glad you take my point. Perhaps a bit of fresh air will help clear your head. We wouldn’t want your drunken maunderings to give anybody reason to take offense.”
Hessian remained on his feet, several inches taller than Islington and years more willing to put his fists where his honor lay.
Worth made a little shooing motion with his hand.
Islington backed away from the table, until he bumped into the next table, which was empty. He turned and strode from the room, his friends watching his departure in silence.
“Well done.” Worth saluted with his wineglass. “The boy needed a talking-to.”
Hessian resumed his seat. “He’s not a boy, and if he gossips about decent young women, he’s not a gentleman either.”
“So,” Worth said, placing the wine bottle by Hess’s elbow. “Tell me about Lily Ferguson and this little ride in the park.”
To discuss the situation with Worth was a curious relief. “Lily Ferguson is kind, honest, and practical. She’s taken an interest in Daisy, and I account Miss Ferguson a friend.”
Worth frowned at the remains of his brother’s steak. “Papa knew her Uncle, as I recall, and I have vague memories of teasing her in the park as a boy. Is she pretty?”
She was beautiful, when she was peering up at Hessian in the midday sunshine, exhorting him to choose wisely or not at all. Her hair was all dark fire and soft embers, her hands both competent and elegant. Her eyes changed color with her moods and attire, going from agate to smoky gray.
Those eyes bore the steady regard of a woman who knew who she was and what she wanted in life.
So why did that woman dress in the most unprepossessing ensembles ever sewn by a Mayfair modiste? As a girl, Lily Ferguson had been vain and fussy. As a woman, she aspired to out-nun the most devout Papists for drab attire.
“Miss Lily is comely,” Hessian said, “though she doesn’t trouble over her appearance inordinately. Do we endure the apple torte here, or cast ourselves on the mercy of your cook?”
Worth tossed his serviette on the table. “Walk me home, and I’ll introduce you to a raspberry trifle that will make you glad you’re old enough to spoil your dinner at will.”
“I do not approve of gluttony, Worth.”
Worth signaled the waiter to wrap up the uneaten meat for Andromeda.
Worth was collecting females, while Hessian had Daisy, and the prospect of bringing her up under his roof was such an unlooked-for boon, Hessian couldn’t muster any envy toward his brother.
Toward anybody.
On the walk to Worth’s town house, Hessian wondered what color Miss Lily Ferguson’s eyes would be if she decided that what she wanted out of life was to become the Countess of Grampion. When her husband made love to her for the first time, would she allow him to leave enough candles lit that he could discern the passion in her gaze?
Had he been a betting man, Hessian would have said yes. Lily Ferguson would not have allowed her husband to settle for groping in the dark. Married to her, a man would be required tomake loveand to acquit himself to the lady’s complete satisfaction.
Lucky fellow.
Chapter Four
“Only a brave hostess holds a garden party this early in the Season,” Emmaline, Countess of Rosecroft, said.
“Or a foolish one,” Lily replied. She was attending the Chuzzleton gathering because Uncle Walter had insisted. Somebody had to show the Ferguson flag, or Mrs. Chuzzleton —who had both eligible sons and a widow’s interest in Uncle Walter’s fortune—would issue invitations until the Thames froze over.
