Page 69 of His Lordship's True Lady
He patted his lips with his serviette. “You’re a woman. You can’t have wealth. In any case, if Papa proves difficult, I’ll simply air my theories regarding your origins and declare the marriage fraudulent.”
Lily rose and paced to the far corner of the breakfast parlor, putting as much distance as she could between her and the nightmare munching toast at the table.
“If the marriage is fraudulent, then I go to jail, and Uncle regains control of my fortune.”
“Does he? Or does he go to jail with you? You would have been quite young when you undertook to impersonate my cousin. She was seventeen when she disappeared with that Lawrence Delmar fellow, and girls are so impressionable at that age. Helpless, really. Year and year away from legal adulthood. Who knows what promises Uncle made to you, or what threats?”
The silence in the breakfast parlor was punctuated by Oscar slicing his ham, while Lily mentally shrieked at a world gone mad once too often.
At fourteen, she’d chosen Uncle Walter’s dubious assistance over certain, repeated rape in the scullery. Other tavern maids had had family to be outraged at their ill treatment, to help them find work elsewhere if the stable boys or guests proved unruly.
Lily had had nobody, and her orphan status had been common knowledge.
“When is the wedding to be?”
“Haven’t a clue. I’m to procure a special license, which means some time in the next six months. Your next birthday is significant, I believe, putting control of your fortune into your own hands. If you marry thereafter, your husband acquires that money, or it gets tied up in settlement trusts that I’ll manage. If you marry before that date, Uncle will decide the terms of the settlements.”
Was Oscar lying? Lily had to assume he was, that the special license was already in hand.
“Uncle will manage any funds I bring to the union. He might have hinted that you will have control, but I promise you—I promise you this on the life of my departed mother—that when you’re presented with the documents, they will very prettily accord to him control of every groat and farthing. He will trade on your trust in him as your father, on smoothly ambiguous lies, and on your own lack of acumen with legal language. You cannot trust him, except to operate in his own best interests.”
Oscar speared the last bite of ham. “Like papa, like son, eh?” His tone was considering rather than offended. “I will think on this, but while I’m thinking, we will become an item of friendly speculation, Lily. You will drag me about on shopping expeditions. I will grow thoughtful when the other fellows mention holy matrimony. We’ll convince the world we’re something more than cousins, and all will fall into place.”
He rose, came around the table to kiss Lily’s cheek, and then left her alone amid the detritus of his meal.
A good two minutes went by before a footman came to clear the table, suggesting that the conversation would not be reported to Uncle.
Oscar wasn’t awful. He, like Lily, was trying to make the best of a situation he’d not brought upon himself. For one moment, Lily was tempted to reconcile herself to the future he painted: a marriage of necessity, cordial on the surface, materially comfortable, and honest, in its way.
But then he’d kissed her cheek.
Oscar stank of last night’s cigars, hair pomade, and bitter coffee. His lips on Lily’s person, his hand on her arm, made her want to vomit. She’d spent years dodging cuffs and kisses at the inn, more than a decade as Uncle Walter’s frightened puppet, and now this—marriage to another man who’d use her however he pleased, even intimately.
Her brave pronouncements notwithstanding, Oscar would have every legal right to exercise his marital privileges, and he was not a man who’d forego available pleasure.
Beyond the window, the coach was coming around from the mews to take Lily on her first social call with Oscar in the role of intended. She dreaded to go, and she didn’t dare stay home, for it might be her last opportunity to see Hessian Kettering, and she did want to see him again.
Desperately.
* * *
Hessian arrived to Worth’s town house at a quarter past the hour, because Daisy had insisted on coming with him. In truth, the child’s company was welcome, for he’d have to report to Lily that the interview with Walter Leggett had gone poorly.
Very poorly.
To Hessian’s surprise, Oscar Leggett was swilling tea in Jacaranda’s parlor, looking as if he and Lily always went about socializing as a pair.
Lily sat beside her cousin, nibbling a biscuit—and avoiding Hessian’s gaze.
“Might we take a turn in the garden?” Hessian suggested when Jacaranda had served two cups all around. “I can hear the children making a lovely racket, and mild weather is still a rare treat.”
“Capital notion.” Oscar Leggett stood and assisted Lily to her feet, while Worth aided his wife.
“I’ll get Meda,” Worth said. “Are you a dog fancier, Mr. Leggett?”
“Dogs?”
In the space of one syllable, Hessian watched Oscar weigh, measure, and conclude that dog fanciers stood higher in Worth Kettering’s esteem than those who had no use for canines.
