Page 97 of His Lordship's True Lady
Hessian, I need you.
Lily had dithered and dawdled and delayed from the moment she’d spied an unfamiliar clergyman alighting from his gig outside the breakfast parlor window, to the moment when Uncle had explained to her—in patient detail—that her time was up.
She either meekly participated in a wedding ceremony with Oscar and signed the appropriate documents, or she’d be immured behind high walls in the countryside from whence she’d sprung.
“I got rid of your sister,” Uncle had said. “I can get rid of you too.”
That pronouncement had settled Lily’s nerves, oddly enough. Hessianhad told her how to proceed, so she’d signed the agreementsslowly and carefully.When Uncle had towed her by the wrist across the corridor into the library, she’d found a beaming clergyman and a fidgety Oscar waiting.
Lily had put on a show, demanding that they wait for Lady Rosecroft, whom Lily claimed had “agreed” to stand up with her. Uncle had silently fumed at this subterfuge, while the clergyman had apparently been unwilling to offend a countess, and the countess had conveniently taken a good while to appear.
Her ladyship had also brought her earl along with her, but neither Uncle nor Oscar allowed Rosecroft within ten feet of Lily.
I got rid of your sister. Would Uncle get rid of the earl? Of Lily herself?
She spoke her vows slowly. She sipped her wine at the wedding breakfast slowly. Rosecroft had kept his distance, engaging the clergyman in a discussion of coaching horses, but her ladyship had whispered to Lily in parting that her door was open to Lily at any hour, no matter what.
Lily had taken the longest bath in the history of bathing, and as darkness had fallen, she’d locked her door and wedged a chair beneath it, then packed a few items of clothing into a bundle. She tossed the bundle from her window, though she didn’t dare sneak across the garden while light still shone from the library below.
Hessian, where are you?
A soft tap on her door was followed by Oscar’s singsong voice. “Lily? Darling wife?” He jiggled the handle. “Have you fallen asleep?”
“Give me a moment.” She moved the chair so she could retrieve one last item to stuff into the pocket of her cloak. The slim packet of letters from her mother was hidden in the bottom of a hatbox that was kept on the top shelf of her wardrobe. Oscar could keep his purloined seventy-eight pounds, as long as Lily had Mama’s letters.
She’d no sooner retrieved the letters and was carrying the chair back to the door when it swung open.
“You spend your wedding night moving furniture,” Oscar said, stashing some sort of metal pick into the pocket of his dressing gown. “Interesting. Why are you still dressed?”
Because I will leap out that window rather than endure the conjugal act with you.“I’m nervous.”
“You’re reluctant,” Oscar said, closing and locking the door. “That’s to be expected, but for God’s sake, Lily. You aren’t an ignorant fifteen-year-old. Sooner or later, a wedding night befalls all women of means. If you don’t give me any trouble, I’ll be as considerate as I can. Get your clothes off and get in the bed.”
She had never been an ignorant fifteen-year-old. “Your notions of consideration leave me less than impressed, Oscar.”
He unbelted his dressing gown, revealing a voluminous nightshirt—thank heavens.
“I know what I’m about when it comes to bedsport, and you know nothing. You have no choice but to trust me on this. And if you think non-consummation will get you out of this marriage, you are sadly in error. Papa says that’s not the law, in any case. Why aren’t you undressing?”
He’d taken off his slippers, and the sight of his pale, bare feetmade real to Lily that he was in her bedroom, expecting to exerciseconjugal rightsbecauseLily had no choice.
Shedidhave a choice. Maybe at fourteen, she hadn’t had a choice, maybe not at nineteen, maybe not at twenty-two, but now, she did have a choice. Lily gathered up her cloak as if to return it to the wardrobe and, at the last instant, tossed it through the window and braced herself to climb over the sill.
Oscar, alas, looked up from unbuttoning his nightshirt at the wrong moment and was across the room in four strides. He was stronger than he looked and had six hands to go with his four arms.
“Are you daft? For God’s sake, cease your damned—” He fell silent while Lily struggled on.
She would not do this, could not do this. If she had to face incarceration in an asylum or in Newgate itself, she would never, ever—
“I have a choice, damn you,” she panted, tromping hard on Oscar’s bare foot. “I am not your chattel, I am not your wife.”
He howled, but his grip on her grew only tighter. “You spoke vows, you agreed, you knew jolly well exactly what—damn you!”
She’d resorted to the serving maid’s best weapon, a knee to the stones, but she hadn’t been able to get good purchase, and her blow had gone wide of the mark.
Oscar picked Lily up and made as if to hurl her onto the bed, when the window banged open, and a cold voice cut through Oscar’s cursing.
“Leggett, if you do not unhand that woman this instant, I will blow your head off and enjoy doing it.”
