Page 59 of His Lordship's True Lady
He had megrims aplenty. “Tell me about Grampion. Has he mentioned any particular investments or projects?”
Lily tidied a shelf of books that Oscar had doubtless left in disarray. “He invests with his brother, Sir Worth, and speaks highly of him. I gather most of their ventures involve shipping, though some are domestic, and both brothers own sizable estates.”
Nothing Walter had not already heard in the clubs. “You are very poor at intrigue, though Grampion seems to honestly like you.”
Lily faced him, and the faint reproach had become something else. Resentment? Pique? Whatever lurked in her eyes, Walter didn’t care for it.
“I have not known the earl long, Uncle, and one can’t exactly ask him about finances in the normal course of a conversation, much less a conversation likely to be overheard. I am a mere female, in case you’d forgotten, not one of His Royal Majesty’s court spies.”
“You are an expense, Lily Ferguson, and never forget that. I could have left you in that coaching inn, fending off the stable lads and fretting over the butter stains on your apron.”
A year ago, that observation would have elicited some reaction. Tears blinked back, pursed lips, a hurt look. Now Lily fished Walter’s penknife out of the tray on his desk and tested the blade against her thumb.
“I am well aware of the circumstances in which you found me, Uncle. This blade is dull.”
Doubtless the blade was dull because Walter had been burning midnight oil calculating income and expenses and fretting over Oscar’s various follies. The lad had a good heart, but no head for business.
“Then as the lady of the household, you will have the blade sharpened, I’m sure. When next you and I find ourselves in the same company with the Earl of Grampion, you will contrive to add me to your conversation. You paid him no mind at all last night.”
Lily set the knife down and perused the office as if she’d lost something of value somewhere among Walter’s business effects.
“I was accosted last night by Mrs. Braithwaite, you’ll recall.”
He did recall. Roberta was aging well, not letting herself go to pot the way some women did. “Don’t think because your mother tolerated Mrs. Braithwaite that she’s goodton. Widows contrive as best they can, and nobody blames them for it, but neither should you waste your time with her.”
“So she wasn’t Mama’s friend?”
Now, Lily busied herself dusting the globe, rotating it slowly while holding a linen handkerchief against the countries spinning past. This restlessness was unlike her, but then, the London Season made the greatest demands on her thespian skills.
Also on Walter’s bank account. “Mrs. Braithwaite was one of myriad casual acquaintances who courted your mother’s favor because Nadine married into a ducal family.”
Lily let the globe drift to a halt and tucked her handkerchief into a skirt pocket. “She has threatened to pay a call on me.”
Women and their infernal socializing. “Then you dole out two polite cups of tea to her, ask her whatever questions about your mother you’re quivering to ask, and send her on her way. I will be out when she calls, lest the damned creature think to set her cap for me.”
“I’ve asked Tippy all the questions about Mama I want to ask.”
Lily was a bad liar, which was odd, because her life was an exercise in being somebody she was not—a successful exercise. She’d wanted for nothing while her mother had lived, then ended up in circumstances many a bastard orphan would have envied. Walter had taken her in hand when she’d turned fourteen and her older sister had gone daft for a handsome Scot.
Since then, Lily had known nothing but luxury. Still, she pined for a mother she’d barely known and a sister who’d not given two figs for an illegitimate younger sibling.
“Miss Tipton has grown increasingly forgetful,” Walter said. “She might consider it a mercy that you’ve stopped plaguing her with your curiosity.”
“You spy on her, Uncle?”
“You’re growing quite bold, Lily. Spying is a vulgar undertaking. I keep an eye on a valued family retainer who is enjoying a well-earned retirement. If Miss Tipton should grow dangerously senile, I’ll make provisions for her care.”
Surely a cottage on some Hebridean island would suit.
“She is the closest thing I have to a true friend. Perhaps I would like to be responsible for her care.”
Walter occasionally regretted not having remarried, but then he’d recall his late wife’s moods, sulks, and fits of pique. Women were a bother, plain and simple, witness Lily’s latest odd notion.
“You rely on me to take care of your every frippery and bonnet. If you think I’ve invested a fortune turning you into a lady, just so you can finish your days sharing a spinster cottage with your former governess, you are sadly mistaken.”
Lily crossed her arms, and the resemblance to her mother struck again. Nadine had had a stubborn jaw. Perhaps that feature on Lily was becoming more noticeable with age.
“Isn’t it more the case that you depend on me for your every pair of gloves and pipe of tobacco, Uncle? Also to pay for Oscar’s light-skirts and inane wagers? Besides, once I marry, my husband will decide which elderly friend I can and cannot care for.”
