Page 51 of His Lordship's True Lady
“You didn’t want to leave Daisy in your own brother’s keeping, Hess. Not even for two hours.”
And that was a dodge. “Even in Cumberland, I doubt Daisy had many friends. The neighborhood is sparsely populated and Daisy’s station is above that of the daughters of the yeomanry.”
Then too, Lady Evers had been enormously attached to the girl, her only daughter.
Worth paused at the top of the steps. “Who are Leggett’s friends?”
“Good God, you’re like a hound after a lame hare. How would I know who Leggett’s friends are when I’ve spent the last ten years rusticating in Cumberland?”
Worth started down the steps. “You’re playing cards with Rosecroft, Tresham, Kilkenney, and Hazelton?”
“I have played cards with them.” Three earls and a ducal heir who squabbled over farthing points like biddy hens over their corn.
“Make a few inquiries, sniff at a few hedges yourself. Leggett will expect that. I have something for you.”
“Did one of my investments take a turn for the worse?” Though with Worth minding the ledgers, that was unlikely.
“Don’t be preposterous.” He turned into the office from which he oversaw a financial empire that included projects on four continents—South America was doubtless soon to join the ranks—and investors from several royal houses as well as several opera houses.
A silver rattle sat atop a stack of opened correspondence. A leather leash was coiled in the pen tray. A bit of untidiness, and dear because it was Worth’s untidiness.
“Lady Evers’s solicitor sent this for you,” Worth said, holding out a bound book. “Her ladyship instructed that you should have this journal only after you’d taken custody of Daisy.”
A year was tooled into the book’s leather binding—eight years past. “I have custody of all the children and have undertaken correspondence with the boys. They’ll join me and Daisy at Grampion this summer.”
And Lily would be with them too, God willing.
Worth shoved the journal at him. “You are to read this and pass it along to Daisy if and when you think it appropriate. There are others—her ladyship was apparently a conscientious diarist—and those are boxed up and waiting for your return to Grampion. Lady Evers wanted this specific volume passed to you personally.”
Hessian had solved the first mess of the day by sacking a nursery maid. The mess that lay on the pages of her ladyship’s diary would not be so easily dealt with.
“Have you read it?”
“Hess, I don’t need to. Daisy has your eyes, your chin, and your penchant for hanging back and studying a situation until she’s grasped every detail of the terrain. If you had any suspicions that she’s your progeny, to me those suspicions have been confirmed.”
“And your observations prove nothing, because Lord Evers was also tall, fair, and of good, northern stock.” Hessian took the book and shoved it into a pocket.
There it remained until he stashed the journal in the drawer of his night table, and tried his best to forget he’d ever seen the damned thing.
Chapter Eleven
The music was wonderful. A violinist, a pianist, and a cellist, each performing solo, and then as a piano trio. Lily had spent the evening alternately wishing she’d had more years to study the pianoforte and wishing Lord Grampion weren’t such an eligibleparti.
Mrs. Bascombe affixed herself to his side and introduced him to every unmarried woman in her vast music parlor, while Uncle Walter remained equally attentive to Lily.
“Deuced inconvenient,” Uncle said, “when only the older brother socializes. Worth Kettering used to be quite the charming rogue, and now we’re left with the earl, who’s hardly his brother’s equal.”
“Grampion’s appeal lies in a different direction,” Lily said. He played a patient game of catch, took better care of his ward than some men did of their nieces, and did fine justice to evening attire.
Only once this evening had his blue, blue eyes met Lily’s gaze, and she’d seen humor, patience, and determination in that passing glance.
“A title is the only direction some women pursue,” Uncle said, rising. “I’m parched. Behave yourself, and we should be able to slip away in the next half hour. If Mrs. Bascombe allows you the privilege, please do further your acquaintance with Grampion.”
He was off in the direction of the men’s punchbowl, so Lily sought the refuge of the ladies’ punchbowl in the parlor across the corridor.
She’d no sooner accepted the glass of lemonade dipped out for her by a footman than an older woman Lily didn’t recognize appeared at her elbow. The lady had brassy blond hair, and her gown was well made but several years out of date. A portion of lace across her ample décolletage would not have gone amiss.
When Lily took her drink out to the balcony, the same woman followed her, which was beyond presuming.
