Page 53 of His Lordship's True Lady
“I haven’t even pin money,” Lily said, “and I refuse to discuss this situation where anybody might overhear.”
Another tap to her arm. “Such dignity. Your mother would have been proud of you. The more public the venue, the greater the privacy. You’d know that, if you had a tenth of your mama’s penchant for mischief. In any case, you have influence over Lord Grampion.”
Lily’s mother wouldnotbe proud of her. Her mother would be endlessly ashamed, as Lily was ashamed.
“Say what you have to say, then, and be done with it.”
“Grampion has recently become guardian to my niece, a dear little creature by the name of Amy Marguerite. I want the rearing of her, and he’s being contrary. I respect his sense of duty, but that girl belongs with me.”
Mrs. Braithwaite spoke like an ambitious horse trainer: I want that filly. She’ll fetch a pretty penny once she’s schooled over fences.
Nothing about Roberta Braithwaite was remarkable, for London in spring abounded with pragmatic widows. Her eyes, though, struck Lily as her most honest feature. Calculation gleamed from their depths, and a coldness that would destroy a child like Daisy.
Hessian had taken Mrs. Braithwaite’s measure better than he knew. “If you seek a role in your niece’s life, you should approach Grampion. He’s nothing if not reasonable.”
Mrs. Braithwaite slapped her closed fan against her palm, like a testy headmaster with his birch rod.
“I’ve tried to reason with Grampion, and he was nearly rude. I’m to await his consideration while the little imp gets her hooks deeper into his sense of honor. My sister was the same way—had an instinct for how to wrap a man around her finger.”
Bitterness lurked in Mrs. Braithwaite’s words, perhaps the bitterness of a woman scorned.
“I have no influence with his lordship,” Lily said. “He is a man of independent judgment.”
Mrs. Braithwaite’s smile would have been well complemented by a forked tongue sampling the evening air.
“Nonsense, Miss Ferguson. You are your mother’s daughter, and she never wanted for male attention. You curry the earl’s favor, grant him a few liberties, compromise him into marriage, and then insist he evict a troublesome child from your nursery before his heir arrives. I’ll be loyally standing by, ready to dote myself silly over the girl.”
The violinist, a willowy brunette with dark eyes and dramatic brows, had joined the conversation with Hessian and the pianist. She was a gorgeous woman, the daughter of some Italian count and an Englishwoman. Men had been giving her appreciative glances all evening, while Hessian, his profile to Lily, gave the violinist a respectful bow.
Mrs. Braithwaite had an asset Lily lacked. Why hadn’t Mama bequeathed Lily even a dash of ruthlessness? A hint of a spine? Surely a woman who flouted convention so boldly could have passed on some courage to her daughter?
“You want money.”
“I need money, vulgar though the admission is. Grampion has money, his brother has even more money, and they can spare a bit for Amy Marguerite’s widowed aunt. In exchange, I’ll take adequate care of the girl, and Grampion can send her flowers on her birthday. Your task is to convince him that Amy Marguerite is better off with me, which she will be.”
“And if I cannot convince him to surrender the girl to you?”
Mrs. Braithwaite snapped open her fan again. The pattern painted on the panels was a knight serenading a damsel, thorny pink roses vining around the damsel’s stone tower.
“Personal correspondence is so easy to mislay,” Mrs. Braithwaite said. “Who knows what might happen to your mother’s old letters, or to your sister, should those letters fall into the wrong hands? Your sister is the by-blow of a man with a respected title, you know. Your mother let that much slip, though she didn’t name names. I have my suspicions, though.”
And those suspicions would remain beyond Lily’s reach, unless Daisy took up residence with Mrs. Braithwaite. Mama had never mentioned who Lily’s papa might be, only that the law prevented a union between Lily’s parents.
“I have no proof anything you say is true, Mrs. Braithwaite. Not a glimpse of a letter, not a shred of gossipeverto corroborate your wild stories. I very much doubt I would have gone my whole life with a younger sister about whom I know nothing.”
She had gone her first five years without meeting Annie.
“You’re wise to doubt my claims,” Mrs. Braithwaite replied, picking up her drink. “Ask your uncle. Ask the elderly aunts gracing every family tree, the pensioned governesses and former tutors. They know all the best scandals. I’ll pay a call on you next week and bring you a sample of your mother’s correspondence. In the meanwhile, do your best to insinuate yourself into Grampion’s good graces. He’s reserved to the point of coldness, but I’ve yet to meet the man who couldn’t be charmed by a pretty young lady with a fortune.”
She swanned off, leaving Lily’s world in tatters.
For more than a decade, Lily had succeeded in convincing the world she was Mama’s legitimate eldest daughter. In five minutes, Roberta Braithwaite had traded on that fiction to threaten the rest of Lily’s life.
“Thought the damned creature would never leave you alone,” Uncle Walter said, wineglass in hand. “You’re looking a bit pale, Lily. Too much galloping about in the park at all hours.”
That was the first indication he’d given that her dawn ride had come to his attention. “My mare wants conditioning. You know Mrs. Braithwaite?”
He took a sip of his wine, keeping the lady in view over the rim of his glass. “She was an acquaintance of your mother’s, and I do appreciate a healthy figure on a woman. Nonetheless, Nadine’s taste in friends was no more refined than her other inclinations. Let’s leave, before some fool begs an encore from the musicians.”
