His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(59)
Or maybe Hessian was reacting to a lack of flowers. London in spring was gloriously blessed with floral abundance, and yet, not even a sachet of dried lavender hung from the drapery in Leggett’s formal parlor.
The parlor itself was generously appointed with upholstered chairs and a velvet sofa in shades of gold and green. The Axminster carpet echoed the same scheme with dashes of rose and cream, while the landscape on the wall was more green with a rosy-tinted sky and cream-colored sheep.
The house struck Hessian as a theater set: Prosperous London Town House. A giggling housemaid with her cap askew would soon enter from stage left, or a footman spouting humorous disrespect for the senior staff from stage right.
And yet, Hessian’s business with Walter Leggett was serious indeed.
Would Lily listen to the exchange from behind a door? Would she join them?
“My Lord Grampion, what a pleasure to see you!” Walter Leggett strode into the parlor, hand extended. “I had no occasion to remark it at your recent dinner party, but you are the image—the very image—of your late papa. Let us be seated, and you must tell me how your dear brother goes on and all the news from Cumberland.”
At Hessian’s dinner party, such effusions would have been overheard by a dozen other guests. This was a performance for the benefit of an audience of one.
“Leggett, how do you do? I had hoped for more time with my guests when last we met, but the evening did not go as planned.”
Thank heavens.
Hessian took a seat on the sofa, which, like many sofas, was more ornamental than comfortable. Leggett swept out his tails and appropriated the chair to Hessian’s left.
“The dear ladies make a plague of themselves, don’t they?” Leggett said. “I am fortunate not to be burdened with a title, or the poor darlings would be climbing my trellises and stealing into my town coach.”
What an odd observation from an unremarkable older man. “Speaking of the ladies, will Miss Ferguson be joining us? My Daisy has taken a particular liking to her.”
“Lily is very likely still abed, my lord. She’s not the type to bestir herself much before noon.” Leggett’s tone, more than his words, fondly chided such laziness, though during the social season, much of Mayfair slept their mornings away.
“I enjoy hacking out first thing in the day myself,” Hessian said. “Will I see you in the park at an early hour?”
Hessian had intended a very different conversation: I esteem Miss Ferguson greatly and would like to pay her my addresses. Simple enough, but not a conversation to undertake without assessing his host’s receptiveness either.
Leggett’s dissembling—Lily had willingly ridden out early—suggested more reconnaissance was in order.
“My habits are variable,” Leggett said. “Does your brother enjoy the park at dawn? You have been conscientious in renewing your acquaintance with your dear papa’s friends, but Sir Worth cannot claim the same.”
The implied scold was also… off. Sir Worth had been kicking his heels in London for the past decade. Leggett had had thousands of opportunities to pay a call on Hessian’s brother if he’d cared to.
“Shall I have you to dinner again?” Hessian said. “Your family and mine, and I’ll invite Worth and his lady as well. Informal meals with friends can be among the most enjoyable.”
“I have always said as much, and speaking of sustenance, shall I ring for tea?”
“No need.” Especially if Lily wasn’t to pour out. “My staff frets if I don’t consume frequent, prodigious meals. You have a son, don’t you?”
Leggett waxed effusive about his charming, dear, good-looking “boy,” whom Hessian estimated to be at least twenty-one years of age. Lily had never said anything critical of Oscar Leggett, but neither had she complimented him.
“I have hopes that Oscar might go into business,” Leggett said. “He has the friendly manner of the successful solicitor, the common sense of the man of affairs. Your brother is known to employ myriad subordinates, and Oscar might be a fine addition to their number.”
“You must broach that topic with Worth, or perhaps Oscar might take that initiative?” For if Worth Kettering rewarded any quality in his employees, it was initiative.
“You’re right, of course,” Leggett said. “Though I do believe Oscar’s focus is in a different direction these days.”
What direction could be more compelling for a young man than securing his financial future? “Most young men need a few years to sort themselves out before settling to a profession.”
Hessian had spent those years married to a woman he hadn’t understood, while Worth had gone forth into the world and earned a fortune.
“Or the young fellows have sense enough to find a lady who can sort them out,” Leggett said. “I’m hopeful that Oscar has finally found such a woman right under his very nose, so to speak.”
Innuendo wafted around Leggett’s smile. The only lady under Oscar’s very nose would be…
“He’ll take a bride before finding a means of supporting her?”
Leggett’s chuckle was rusty and forced. “Younger sons in titled families must find a calling, true enough. The rest of us with means can be more lenient with our offspring. Oscar is my sole heir, and did I not enjoy managing my affairs above all else, I’d be turning the lot of my investments over to him. He’ll do better for learning the ways of commerce at another’s elbow. Then he can step into my shoes without having been lectured by his papa for years.”