His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(29)
Worth held out a hand to the girl—he was ever a favorite with ladies of any age—and yet, Daisy hesitated.
“It’s all right,” Hessian said. “He’s hopelessly friendly, and I won’t leave without you.”
“Do you promise?”
Hessian’s heart did a queer little hop, for Daisy’s question had been in complete earnest. “I give you my solemn word. I will not leave this house without you.”
Daisy pelted to his side, gave him a tight squeeze about the middle, then grabbed Worth’s hand.
Hessian was still pondering the child’s first spontaneous display of affection when Worth returned to the study.
“We are forgotten,” he said. “Avery took one look at Daisy and began rhapsodizing in French about the dolls and the tin soldiers, and then a fancy dress ball got underway. Daisy is a dear little thing.”
Worth’s observation held a question, which Hessian ignored. “She’s troubled. Sits up in the dead of night moaning and crying, but doesn’t even seem to be awake, and apparently has no recollection of the drama the next day.”
“That is odd. Avery has nightmares and can often describe them to us in detail for a week afterward. Shall we enjoy the sun while it’s out?”
Typical of English weather, the sky had gone from drizzling to sunshine in less than an hour. “So you’ve never heard of a child having a waking nightmare?”
Worth led the way to the back terrace. “Is that what you came to see me about?”
Well, no, but Daisy’s distress seemed so real in the dead of night, and all Hessian knew to do was take her hand and wait for her fear to pass. The first time it had happened, he’d nigh had an apoplexy, but within minutes, she’d curled up and gone right back to sleep.
“What do you know about Walter Leggett?” Hessian asked.
Worth looked around at the terrace furniture. “The damned chairs are wet. Let’s visit the mews.”
He was off across the garden—which was also quite damp—showing his usual lack of prudence when any odd notion wafted into his head. Money and the Kettering womenfolk were the only topics that gave Worth pause, and in those arenas, he was brilliant.
Hessian followed more slowly, tempted to turn and wave in the direction of the nursery windows.
“About Leggett?” Hessian prompted when he caught up to his brother in the stable aisle.
“Walter Leggett,” Worth said, stroking the nose of a big, black, raw-boned gelding. “Third spare to the late Earl of Dearborn. Wealthy, likable, widower, one son. Oscar Leggett is the typical university wastrel trying to cut a dash about Town now that his so-called studies are concluded. The niece is rumored to have handsome settlements, but other rumors attach to Miss Ferguson as well.”
A swallow flitted about overhead, and Worth’s horse spooked to the back of its stall.
“Miss Ferguson’s inclinations are not Sapphic,” Hessian said, “at least not exclusively so.”
Worth moved down the barn aisle. “Hess, have you been naughty?”
“Don’t sound so hopeful. Miss Ferguson has taken an interest in Daisy and found her a playmate. Daisy seems to be doing better for having a friend.”
“Screeching in the dead of night is doing better?”
Hessian greeted a mare whose proportions rivaled those of the black gelding. “I think it is, though I know that must sound odd. Daisy would probably also benefit from having a maternal figure in the household.”
The mare brushed velvety lips over Hessian’s palm.
“Gefjon doesn’t like anybody,” Worth said. “Why does she like you?”
I smell good. “My charms are subtle but substantial. I’m thinking of offering for Lily Ferguson.”
Hessian braced himself for the near-violent fraternal behavior that passed for teasing. He and Worth had been estranged at one point for several years, and they still weren’t exactly close.
“You and she would suit,” Worth said. “And not merely because a crooked pot needs a crooked lid. She’s no featherbrain, and neither are you.”
“I’m a boring old stick.”Who would slay dragons to win more of Lily Ferguson’s kisses. “Miss Ferguson seems to like Daisy, and Daisy her.”
“Hess, at the risk of pointing out the obvious, ten years from now, Daisy will be making her bow, and it’s you Miss Ferguson would be seeing over the tea and toast each morning. Do you like her?”
As a younger man, Hessian would have dismissed the question. Marriage, he would have said, was about esteem, respect, and duty. He was a widower now, and he’d been married to a woman who hadn’t particularly liked him, even as she’d spoken her vows.
“I enjoy Miss Ferguson’s company, and we share a common perspective.”
The mare craned her neck, indicating that Hessian was to scratch her great, hairy ear. He obliged, though it would result in dirty fingernails.
“What perspective might that be?”
“That life isn’t an endless exercise in frivolity, that a child’s welfare matters, that polite society is mostly ridiculous.” That kisses should be delightfully unrestrained.
“All people of sense can agree on that last, but if Miss Ferguson is such a paragon of breeding and wisdom, why hasn’t she married previously? She’s an heiress, she’s not hard on the eye, and if nothing else, you’d think Leggett would select a husband for her from the advantageous-match category.”