His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(11)
He flattened the oak leaf against the table, tracing its veins with a single finger. “The lady and I had known each other for some time, our families were neighbors, and there was none of this… this traveling hundreds of miles for a glorified livestock auction. The young women appraise me as a suitable husband, and the widows have a less honorable end for me in mind.”
He was genuinely bewildered by polite society’s reception of a titled bachelor. That he’d not mince words—the widows in Mayfair could be more rapacious than Corsairs—pleased Lily.
“Some men enjoy being lionized as a marriage prize,” she said. “Some women do too, but never for very long. A man may have many bachelor Seasons, and his value as a husband only increases. A woman can have more than one Season, but she does so at her peril.”
Lily’s unmarried state caused more talk by the year, all of it unkind. She was too particular, too fussy, too rich, according to the gossips.
Grampion brushed his fingers over a pot of lavender in the center of the table. “You must be very brave, then, to have withstood those perils for more than a Season or two.”
What graceful hands he had. “Was that an insult?”
“More of a compliment, I hope. I dread my evenings in polite society, Miss Ferguson. You will think that the boy who once upon a time knew everything has become quite the coward.”
A coward did not take a bereaved child under his roof and trouble over her moods and upsets, though Grampion’s comment was somewhat unusual. “Do you miss your first wife?”
“Sadly, no. I do not. I daresay if death had befallen me, she’d give the same reply.”
Grampion was being honest again, though this honesty was dreadful. For him too. “Perhaps your first experience of marriage will inform your second attempt.”
“In such event, may heaven defend the young lady involved. Shall we see what’s keeping your cousin in the mews?”
He rose, and Lily accepted his arm. “Will you hare off to the Lakes as soon as you’ve found a bride?”
“That depends on the bride. If she wants to linger in London, planning a wedding with all the trimmings, she should be indulged. The family seat is in Cumberland, and we’ll raise our children there.”
Cumberland was more remote than parts of Scotland. Lily envied Grampion the distance from London and the prospect of raising children. He would be a conscientious and involved papa, and he missed his home.
Then too, there were his startlingly blue eyes and his graceful hands. The debutantes were considering his title, while the widows were likely inspecting the man.
Lily could be concerned with neither, though she was determined to do what she could for the girl.
“You must not settle,” Lily said, halting their progress at the top of the steps. “You must not offer for a lady simply because you think she’ll say yes. Most of them will say yes to the prospect of being your countess. They’ll smile and flirt and speak of the honor you do them, while they secretly plan to leave you to your ruralizing after they present you with a son or two. Few of them will take any interest in Daisy at all.”
He led Lily down the steps at a decorous pace, as if she’d remarked on the robins flitting about overhead, rather than betrayed her entire gender.
Did Grampion never shout? Run? Curse? Would he be decorous even when consummating his nuptial vows?
“I know why Daisy trusts you,” he said. “You are forthright. I admire honesty above all other virtues, Miss Ferguson, and you must promise, as a fellow wayfarer among the perils of polite society, that you will not settle either.”
He squeezed Lily’s hand, as a cousin or brother might have, or a particularly fond friend.
“My mother married very well,” she said, “and my uncle is known to be quite well fixed. He prevents the fortune hunters from bothering me.” Uncle Walter prevented the charming, eligible bachelors from bothering Lily as well.
“Then your uncle came too late to his responsibilities,” Grampion said. “Some fellow left you disenchanted with the lot of us. I’m sorry for that. Will you promise me that only a man worthy of your regard will have your hand in marriage?”
Nobody else had bothered to apologize for Lily’s disillusionment, least of all the transgressor himself. “We will promise each other.”
Grampion paused by the dry fountain, which would need a good cleaning before it could be filled.
“Daisy has made my search for a wife more difficult,” he said. “The first time I married, I was inebriated on a young man’s version of familial duty, honor, and the not incidental pleasures resulting from attending to same.”
“Your wife was pretty, your father approved the match.” And Grampion had had at least a young man’s usual complement of lust. Where had that passion gone, and did he miss it?
“My wife was very pretty, to appearances, and entirely acceptable as a spouse to the young fool who married her. She would not do, though, as Daisy’s mama. That realization colors my willingness to propose to the young ladies I’ve been introduced to so far.”
“Good for you, my lord. Daisy will ensure you find a wife worthy of you both.”
Grampion studied the fountain, which was a simple three-tiered tower of successively wider bowls. Birds would enjoy it, and the sound would be soothing. Now it held dead leaves and twigs.