His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(41)

Right. To horse. Assuming Hessian could endure the saddle in his present state. He kept Ham alongside Lily’s mare until they reached the gates of the park.

“Until Saturday?” he asked.

“I’m attending the Bascombes’ musicale tomorrow night,” Lily said. “You might catch a glimpse of me there.”

“I have always enjoyed good music. Thank you for an exceedingly pleasant hour, Miss Ferguson.”

She saluted with her whip and trotted off into streets that still had little traffic. Hessian admired her retreating form—she rode with a natural seat and had the true equestrienne’s ability to communicate with her mount in ways subtle and effective.

Though when had Lily Ferguson taken a liking to horses? As a child, she’d claimed to hate them because they invariably provoked her to sneezing and itching.





Chapter Ten





* * *



Lily took her time riding home, mostly because she didn’t want to deal with Uncle Walter at the breakfast table. As long as she remained on her mare, the assignation with Hessian Kettering wasn’t entirely over.

Hessian was such an odd name, but then, the Hessian soldier was very different from his English counterpart. The English soldier fought because he was more afraid of his officers than his enemies, and starvation often counted among those potential foes. The German soldier fought for his comrades and relied on them to protect him, and thus improved morale in any unit he was associated with.

Blücher’s troops had saved the day at Waterloo too.

And Hessian, Earl of Grampion, was saving Lily, did he but know it.

She turned her mare into the alley that led to the Leggett stables and pondered the extent to which she was attracted to the earl for himself, and how much she longed—if fate were merciful and Lily very careful—for Grampion to free her from Uncle Walter’s household.

A bit of both, if she were honest. Which she only occasionally could be.

“Good morning, Lily.” Oscar sat on the ladies’ mounting block. He held a bottle, likely a final vestige of the previous night’s revels. “You’re looking fine today.”

Oscar was not looking fine. He had a smear of pink across his right cheekbone, his cravat was knotted crookedly, and his cuff sported what looked like a wine stain. When he assisted Lily to dismount, his breath was a foul miasma and his smile lopsided.

“Oscar, you’d best not let Uncle see you in this condition.”

He resumed his seat on the mounting block, while the groom led the horses away. “I’m adept at sneaking up the servants’ stairs. Besides, once Papa gets his nose into the financial pages, Napoleon escaping again wouldn’t get his attention. You must have gone for quite a gallop, judging from the state of your mare.”

Lily took the place beside him, for she was not adept at sneaking up the servants’ stairs, more’s the pity.

“I’ve let my mare get out of condition, but then, she’s no longer young.” Lily had told his lordship she herself was approaching her twenty-eighth birthday, which advanced her age by two years.

Another lie, among the last she’d tell him.

“I get the same lecture from Papa,” Oscar said. “I’m no longer a boy. Care for a nip?”

“No, thank you. You’re barely down from university. Why would Uncle lecture you about your age?”

Oscar was physically maturing, now that Lily took the time to study him. He’d been a chubby boy, fond of his sweets, and good-natured. He’d always had a crowd of equally good-natured wastrel friends, who’d dutifully danced with Lily when prevailed upon to do so.

Harmless boys who’d turn into harmless club men. Oscar was emerging into manhood late, and the result was a blond fellow with decent manners and a nice smile. Doubtless, Uncle Walter had once been much the same sort.

“I’m to make something of myself,” Oscar reported gloomily. “I’m to amount to something. I have no objection in theory, but when my education has been more about tarts than tutors, one does puzzle over the practical implementation of Papa’s notions.”

Oscar had never been an object of his father’s criticism before, while Lily had never known Uncle’s tolerance.

“Uncle grows fixed on his objectives. Can you set aside a portion of your allowance and invest it?”

Oscar tipped the wine to his mouth, shook out the last drops, and set the bottle aside. “My allowance has been late the past two quarters. The fellows are patient about IOUs or standing me to a pint, but my allowance was never late before.”

Was it late, or was Uncle up to one of his stratagems?

Lily liked Oscar, to the extent she could afford to like anybody. They left each other alone, which was a form of kindness.

“How many cravat pins do you have, Oscar?”

“Scads.”

“Lose one or two and take them to the pawnbrokers,” Lily said. “Don’t give them to your valet to pawn. You do it yourself, lest anybody question Lumley about his errand. Take your old boots to another pawnbroker in a different part of Town and claim you lost them as the result of a drunken wager. Try to put the funds where nobody will find them, but if a maid cleaning your room should come upon your money and bring it to Uncle’s attention, say you won it at cards.”