Page 91 of His Lordship's True Lady
If Lillian Ann Ferguson Delmar was the lady of this house, she’d done quite well for herself.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Hessian said to the groom. “Let the horses blow, then set them to walking the drive at intervals.”
“Aye, milord. The Delmars are friendly people. Not too high in the instep, as you English would say.” The groom was older, and his accent proclaimed him a native son of the area. He tugged his cap and unwrapped the reins from the brake.
Hessian had no plan for this part of the expedition. He’d simply knock on the door, explain to the lady of the house that her sister had need of her. In aid of that sister’s circumstances, Hessian was prepared to commit housebreaking, theft, kidnapping, riot, affray, and mayhem.
As plans went, it was somewhat lacking for well-thought-out details.
Hessian was admitted by a housekeeper into a spotless foyer, then shown to a sunny parlor sporting a deal of green-and-blue plaid upholstery. Mullioned windows made a pattern on a similarly plaid carpet, and a bouquet of bright yellow gorse—surely the prickliest of shrubs—sat on a spinet.
“Himself will be along directly,” the housekeeper said, bobbing a curtsey and leaving Hessian in solitude.
A sketch hung above the piano, of a woman who had something of Lily about the nose and chin. She was young, her expression both coy and pert. The artist had signed the work, “Lady Nadine Leggett on the eve of her presentation.” The year and initials had been tucked into the lower right corner.
“She was very pretty.”
This observation was made by a dark-haired man of about Hessian’s age. He was an inch or two shorter and lean. Even four words were enough to reveal his burr.
“Mr. Delmar.” Hessian offered his host a bow. “Hessian, Earl of Grampion, at your service. My thanks for welcoming a stranger into your home.”
Shrewd blue eyes measured Hessian over a genial smile. “You’re our neighbor down in Cumberland. I’ve bought sheep from you, or from your factors, and I suspect you’ve purchased a bull or two from me. Shall we have a seat?”
Hessian had driven past acres of lush pastures, where shaggy dark Galloway cattle had grazed in significant numbers.
“My errand is somewhat delicate,” Hessian said, remaining onhis feet. “I’ve come to make off with your wife.”Yes, he had just said that. “I’m sorry. That came out badly. I’ve gone perilously short of sleep.” His boots had gone short of several polishings, his greatcoat had been left in the gig for reasons, and his cravat was nothing short of disgraceful.
He was short of sleep, short of plans, short of sanity, and unbearably short of Lily.
Delmar took a seat by a hearth swept clean of ashes, though the scent of peat smoke perfumed the parlor.
“I thought kidnapping womenfolk from across the border went out of fashion before our grandpapas’ time, but you’re welcome to try. Mrs. Delmar can be contrary and lively when certain moods are upon her. Shall I ring for tea?”
This was not a man who rattled or took offense easily. Some of the dreadful tension Hessian had carried for nearly four hundred miles eased.
“A pot of tea would be appreciated.” Hessian took a matching chair, grateful for something to sit on that neither jostled nor rocked. “In the normal course, I’d maunder on about the weather or your fine pastures and gradually wander around to admiring that sketch above the piano. I take it that’s your wife’s mother?”
“’Tis. I never had the pleasure. Her ladyship died before my bride and I spoke our vows.”
Delmar had the Scottish ability to hold a silence, while Hessian felt an un-English temptation to rant, wave his arms, and shout.
“Did you know Mrs. Delmar has a younger half-sister?”
Delmar swore in Gaelic, something about bull pizzles and the English always bringing trouble behind a polite smile.
“Do I take that for an affirmative?”
“Ye do, not a happy one. We keep in touch with an old friend, who tells us that my sister-in-law is thriving, in great good health, and wanting for nothing.”
“If you refer to Ephrata Tipton, her reports are inaccurate, though I suspect her editorializing is well-intended. Lily is in good health, but she wants very much for freedom from Walter Leggett’s schemes.”
Another oath, this one referring to greedy, black-hearted, conscienceless bastards.
“I cannot claim to be fluent in the Erse, Mr. Delmar, but I did grow up in Cumberland and have studied a number of languages besides English.”
“I will call Walter Leggett a black-hearted, conscienceless bastard to his smiling face,” Delmar said. “My wife will call him worse than that. A greedier man I never met, nor one less grateful for all the privileges of his station. Which brings us to the interesting question: What is your role, my lord? Are you married to my sister-in-law? A suitor, perhaps?”
“I’m the man who will bring her some long-overdue answers.” And Hessian was Lily’s lover, for now.
