Page 30 of His Lordship's True Lady
Lily had the oddest urge to take his hand. “You must do what is best for Daisy, and I cannot think more upheaval and change fits that description.”
“Precisely what I told Mrs. Braithwaite. I did my lordly best to crush her presumptions, but she’ll be back. Scheming women have to be persistent, else their plans never come to fruition. One can’t blame them, but neither can one afford them any sympathy.”
His words were no less measured than any other comment he’d made, and yet, they cut Lily to the soul.
“Then you must crush her presumptions again,” Lily said, rising, “and I really must be going.” Before she began to cry, which would be stupid and useless.
“I haven’t ordered the coach yet,” Grampion said, standing as gentlemen must when a lady leaves her seat, “and I have yet to puzzle out exactlyhowI’ll crush Mrs. Braithwaite’s presumptions. She is Daisy’s aunt, and I am…”
“You are an uncle,” Lily said. “You have nieces too and thus have some familiarity with how a household accommodates a little girl. You mentioned a sister who bided with you in the north.”
Grampion peered down at her, and Lily realized she’d made a mistake. The earl’s brother had recently come into a minor title, a knighthood, or a baronetcy—Lily forgot which—but Worth Kettering was not of such a social stature that Lily should know the configuration of his household.
When Uncle Walter had revealed that he sought to partner with Kettering on some investments, Lily had done the usual research, else she would not have learned that Grampion’s brother had married the current Earl of Casriel’s sister, much less that they had one girl child and half-grown niece under their roof.
“I am an uncle, you’re right, and I do have a half-sister, whom few know of. Yolanda was born on the wrong side of the blanket, though I’ll call out anyone who mentions that fact, and Worth will gladly serve as second. Shall I ring for a tray? When I hosted Mrs. Braithwaite’s call, I barely partook, and Cook will be wroth with me unless I do justice to her next offering.”
You haven’t ordered the coach for me.Except Lily was back in her chair, once again felled by Grampion’s casual honesty.He had a bastard half-sister, of whom he and his brother were ferociously protective.
“I’ve upset you with all this family linen flung so casually out to dry,” Grampion said, resuming his place on the sofa. “I apologize. Mrs. Braithwaite discommoded me.”
“She apparently delights in discommoding others.” She and Uncle would suit famously. “How do you suppose Daisy would fare in a household run by such a woman?”
“Daisy would fade into perfect, miserable obedience. I doubt Mrs. Braithwaite’s companion said two words during the entire visit. Miss Smythe took not one tea cake and didn’t so much as move from her seat without her employer’s leave.”
He fell silent, giving Lily a moment to study his profile.
“You have made up my mind, Miss Ferguson. Mrs. Braithwaite can be a doting auntie, but no more. I doubt she knows how to dote, but I suggested she start with a note of condolence to the child and some token in remembrance of Belinda.”
“Belinda?”
Now Grampion was back on his feet. “Lady Evers.”
Was he embarrassed by that slip? Neighbors of long standing grew familiar with each other, particularly in the remote countryside, and yet, Grampion looked uncomfortable.
“You cared for Lady Evers.”
“Yes. Perhaps more than I ought, but when my wife died, Lady Evers took an interest in my welfare. She did not allow me to brood, at which I excel, particularly in winter.” He tugged a bell-pull twice. “I suspect she had an agenda where I was concerned, but I was too grateful for her concern to take much notice of it.”
Lily had no idea what he was going on about, but now she was compelled by manners to share a damned tea tray with him.
“You should order the coach brought around, my lord.”
“When we’ve had our tea. I’m not in the habit of lengthy conversations and must fortify myself accordingly. Are you often burdened with the confidence of others?”
When Uncle Walter told Lily to elicit confidences, she did her best to accomplish that goal. “Sometimes. Young men tend to see me as safe, because Uncle won’t allow them to develop presumptions. I’m not above their touch, but the family fortune means I’m beyond reach all the same. Most young ladies see me as plain and elderly, which makes my fortune less of an injustice in their eyes.”
“If you are elderly, what am I—a fossil? I cannot call to mind any more ridiculous, irrational, tedious organization of creatures than polite society. What do you suppose the girls are up to?”
“Likely delivering old Boney a drubbing.” Lily’s composure was certainly taking a drubbing.
Rapid footsteps thundered overhead.
“The French are doubtless retreating,” Grampion said as a footman brought in a tray. The service was porcelain and pretty. “Will you pour out, Miss Ferguson?”
Lily wanted to leave, not deal with the tedium of the tea tray. And yet, Uncle had told her to curry Grampion’s favor.
“I’m happy to serve,” Lily said, which was half-true. “How goes the wife-hunting, my lord?”
