His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(38)

Lily’s middle felt funny, and her heart was thumping against her ribs. She’d once wrenched her ankle badly when bringing the milk in from the dairy. She’d spilled one bucket and saved the other. Her foot had hurt for days, but all she’d got for her trouble was a thrashing and a week without supper.

“You’re sure Daisy doesn’t need a physician?”

“My Daisy is made of stern stuff. She’ll come right, you’ll see.”

“I’m made of stern stuff too,” Bronwyn announced. “But I would like some tea cakes.”

Lily took Bronwyn’s hand, though tea cakes wouldn’t help what ailed her. She liked Grampion, she respected him, she was attracted to him, and every time she told herself that such nonsense could go nowhere, he did something honorable or dear and wrecked her intentions all to flinders.

This would not do.

Grampion read the fable about the crow who was clever enough to raise the water level in a pitcher by dropping rocks into it, while the girls devoured tea cakes and tossed crumbs to presuming pigeons. All too soon, the outing came to an end, for it was the last outing Lily would permit herself with his lordship.

While the girls made a final inspection of the hedges for their rabbit friends, Grampion assisted Lily to fold up the blanket.

They started with a good shake, then stepped closer to match the corners. Grampion closed his fingers over Lily’s.

“Might you ride with me in the park tomorrow? Early, when it’s quiet and free of children.”

“My lord, I’ve confessed my uncle’s intention to turn your brother up sweet by inflicting my company upon you. You need not be gallant.”

He brushed a thumb over Lily’s knuckles, a small gesture that bespoke a great mistake in progress.

“Your uncle is an idiot, Lily Ferguson, if he thinks either Kettering brother can be swayed by a

pretty face and intelligent companionship. Won’t you please come riding with me?”

“That isn’t wise.”

Another subtle caress. “Haven’t you had enough of being unrelentingly wise and proper? I certainly have. Also enough of being lonely.”

More than enough. “You must not say such things.” But if he must say them, how delightful that he’d say them to Lily.

He tugged the blanket from her grasp and folded it in a few brisk moves. “I am not a callow swain, to be deterred by your uncle’s pawing and snorting, and you are not a mere girl, incapable of forming your own opinions. Won’t you please come riding with me?”

Had he insisted, commanded, or assumed, Lily might have stood a chance. He asked—sincerely and politely.

“A short hack only, and I’ll bring my groom.”

“Of course you will. Meet me at the gate at six o’clock, and we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

“I’ll look forward to that, my lord.”

All the way home, Lily contemplated the folly of accepting Grampion’s invitation and decided that tomorrow’s outing with his lordship could be her last as easily as today’s.

What difference would one more gallop in the park make?

Lily returned Bronwyn to her parents and endured Miss Fotheringham’s lamentations about spring air and megrims. All the while, Lily considered a question: Uncle’s attempts to insinuate himself into the Kettering family’s good graces were no longer a secret, and yet, Grampion had asked for this outing in the park.

What had motivated Grampion’s invitation, and—novel, delicious, forbidden question—if he was intent on courting Lily, why shouldn’t she encourage his suit? Uncle wanted cordial relations with the Ketterings, and if Lily married the earl, Uncle would have exactly what he wanted.

As would—for once—Lily herself.

*



“You and I both prefer a certain order in life, a certain predictable progression of events,” Hessian said. “I’ve come to London to spend time with my family and to entertain the notion of remarrying, for example, as one does. Stop wringing your tail.”

Hammurabi left off whisking his tail around his quarters and instead hopped about on the alley’s cobbles. His idea of predictability was that a dawn ride meant a whacking great gallop. That he was still three streets away from Hyde Park, and might dash his rider’s brains out with his foolishness, apparently hadn’t penetrated his horsey awareness.

“Settle, you,” Hessian murmured. “We will soon be in the presence of ladies, and we both know better than to leap about and carry on at the mere prospect of female companionship.”

Ham’s restraint in this regard had been surgically enhanced, while all Hessian could call upon was years of self-discipline.

He had hoped that his initial interest in Lily Ferguson would calm to a more mature regard—hoped that he and she might become cordially bored with each other, from which perspective, marriage might be rationally contemplated.

Hessian’s dreams were full of contemplations so far from rational where Lily Ferguson was concerned, he might have again been a lad of fifteen lusting after the scullery maid.

“Though the present situation differs from my youthful longings in several particulars. We’re not cantering, damn you.” Though Hessian permitted his horse a brisk—very brisk—trot.

“I am not fifteen, Lily Ferguson is not a menial about whom I must banish any wayward thoughts, and even as I enjoy the lady’s company—greatly enjoy the lady’s company—I can also admit that I’m being ridiculous.”