Page 95 of His Lordship's True Lady
The coach clip-clopped along through the damp streets. Oscar gave Lily’s knee another slow pat, and she bore it. Small concessions, insignificant gestures.
Seventy-eight pounds she’d spent years accumulating—gone.
The privacy of her bedchamber—violated.
Thank the kind powers, Rosecroft had confirmed that Hessian was already on his way back to London, for Lily was running out of time.
Chapter Nineteen
“What do you mean, she’s lame?” Lily stroked her mare’s nose, while Uncle’s head groom stared at a spot beyond Lily’s left shoulder.
“Came upon her of a sudden this morning, miss. Sometimes the horses like to have a lie-down in the straw, then they sleep funny and wake up offish.”
A rural coaching inn often owned hundreds of horses, and Lily had never heard of an equine going lame while resting in its stall.
“Let’s see if she walks out of it,” Lily said, reaching for the latch on the stall door. “She’s a slug, but a generally sound slug.”
A large, callused hand with dirty fingernails landed atop Lily’s sleeve and was quickly withdrawn.
“Best not, miss. You can make it worse, get her all excited about an outing. Then she might never come right.”
This was balderdash, and after a fortnight of fretting, worrying, and putting up with Oscar, Lily felt a compulsion to get away from Walter Leggett’s household.
“Then saddle me another mount,” Lily said. “The sun is out for the first time in days, and I’m determined to start my morning on a quiet bridle path.”
The groom stood very tall, and such was Lily’s own lack of stature that even he had several inches of height on her.
“Sorry, miss. We have only the one mare trained to carry a rider sidesaddle.”
“Then hitch up the phaeton.” Rosecroft would find her, though the wheeled traffic used different paths than the equestrians.
“Young Mr. Leggett said he’d be needing the phaeton this morning.”
Tomorrow, Lily would celebrate her sister’s twenty-eighth birthday, though Lily had heard nothing about a wedding ceremony. Perhaps Oscar had heeded her warnings earlier in the week and actually read the settlement documents.
Lily dearly hoped Oscar had aggravated his papa with demands for independent funds, and that thwarting Lily’s plans for the day was a retaliatory display of Uncle Walter’s petty tyranny.
How had she put up with ten years of this nonsense? “Young Mr. Leggett is never out of the house before noon unless he’s accompanying me on a call. I can assure you I have not sought his escort for my morning ride.”
“Miss, please don’t ask it of me. I’ll lose my post and have not even a character to show for it.”
Doubtless the poor man was telling the truth. “My mare had best be sound tomorrow. Use every poultice, lineament, and salve you have, but bring her sound.”
The groom’s relief was pathetic, which warned Lily that trouble was afoot—more trouble than usual. No matter. She had a plan, and that plan so far had kept her sane. Today, she’d take the air in the park on foot. By tomorrow, Hessian should be back, certainly by the day after.
Lily informed her companion that they’d be enjoying the footpaths in Hyde Park. The result was several minutes of muttered protests—megrims, rheumatism, an impending catarrh, a sore ankle—followed by grudging capitulation provided Lily put off this misguided outing until later in the morning.
“One hour,” Lily said. “That’s time enough to break your fast and change into a walking dress.”
Though Miss Fotheringham invariably took a tray for her morning meal rather than brave Uncle Walter’s charming company in the breakfast parlor.
Lily hoped to avoid her uncle as well, so she changed out of her riding habit and chose a walking dress Uncle had said made her look pale. She took some care with her hair, for Uncle preferred she wear it in a simple bun.
Please, God, let the sun continue to shine.
Please let Hessian be safe.
Please let Oscar be set upon by brigands at the earliest opportunity.
