His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(68)
“Is Tippy extant?”
“She lives in Chelsea,” Lily said, climbing back into Hessian’s lap. “Ephrata Tipton. Uncle keeps an eye on her too.”
Despite the utter chaos of the situation, Hessian’s body was all too pleased that he was holding Lily, and that would not do. Dear Uncle, conscientious warden that he was, might send a maid by with the evening’s last bucket of coal, or Lily’s companion might decide to borrow a hair ribbon.
“I cannot think clearly when your hair tickles my chin, madam.”
“Good. I haven’t been thinking clearly for more than ten years.”
An ugly thought emerged from the facts and suppositions in Hessian’s head. “Lily, has your uncle mistreated you?”
She scooted around to untie her slippers, while Hessian lectured himself about untoward thoughts and animal spirits.
“I should tell you that no, Uncle has never denied me a meal or laid a hand on me in anger. But he left me at that inn for more than five years. Do you know how an orphaned tavern maid is treated? A girl upon whom anybody can heap a task, whom anybody can slap, pinch, or scold?
“Uncle did that,” she went on, setting her slippers aside. “And my mother had assured my foster parents that I’d been provided for. Mama either wrote a provision into her will, or she entrusted my care to Walter. When Walter found me—or bothered to find a use for me—he assured me that I was dependent upon him for every crust of bread. I made my peace with him, faced what awaited me at the inn, or found a handy ditch to die in.”
She straightened and began pulling pins from her hair, letting them pile up on Hessian’s handkerchief in her lap. “Uncle did that too. Frightened me when I’d already dreaded to fall asleep for fear some stable boy would creep into my cot. Uncle led me to believe my mother had lied about providing for me, had turned her back on me. He told me my sister had never mentioned me and that I didn’t exist.”
Her hair gave way all at once, a soft mass of fiery curls that fell to her waist. “I exist, Hessian. I’m not sure who I am, or what my future will bring, but I look at Daisy…”
She closed her eyes. “I think of Daisy—I was not much older than she is now when Mama died—and I recall that my uncle, my only possible source of safety, acquired an interest in me solely when he realized that he could control Mama’s fortune through me. I am finally more angry than I am afraid.”
Hessian brushed her hair back from her shoulder. “You have every right to be enraged with Walter Leggett. The question is, what to do about it. You mentioned the name of your sister’s paramour?”
She scooped up the handkerchief and took the pins to her vanity. The firelight turned her hair into a riot of garnet and gold curling down her back.
Hessian gave up lecturing himself.
“Lawrence Delmar, a Scot,” Lily said. “Oscar recalled the name. Oscar suspects that I am not the cousin who shared a household with him in childhood. He’s prepared to step into Uncle’s shoes as the man best situated to wreck my life.”
A sliver of resentment lingered in some obscure duck blind among Hessian’s emotions. He did not want to be in the business of un-wrecking a woman’s life, but… that was hesitation grumbling at him, as if naps were more important than honor.
Whether he and Lily had a future, she deserved to be free of her past and of her uncle.
“Mrs. Braithwaite was here while I was calling on your brother’s household.” Lily drew her hair over her shoulder and separated it into three skeins. “She left a card and noted an intention on the back to call again soon.”
Another complication. Hessian could not simultaneously watch Lily braid her hair and solve the annoyance that was Roberta Braithwaite.
“I will send my man of business to call on her.” Worth was prepared to help in any capacity, and he excelled at charming widows.
Lily tied off her braid with a plain black hair ribbon. “According to Mrs. Braithwaite, I’m to wed you, and see that you leave Daisy in her aunt’s care posthaste. Your nursery is to be reserved for the offspring I present you with, also posthaste.”
“According to your uncle Walter, you’re to wed Oscar in a little more than a fortnight.” No wonder Lily had at a loss for words earlier in the day.
“Or I can go to jail, possibly to make the acquaintance of an executioner, unless he too expects me to marry him and bear his children.” Lily’s tone was as colorless as the shadows beyond her window, her glaze bleak as she studied the rope of her braid.
“The law will not hold you to vows spoken under duress.”
“The law.” Two words that spoke volumes of condemnation. “What has the law done to honor the terms of my mother’s will? To stop Walter’s mischief, to keep Mrs. Braithwaite from bringing down scandal on you, me, Daisy, and my mother’s memory?”
“Valid point.” Hessian approached her, though she put him in mind of a cornered hedgehog. Everywhere, spines and bristles, no vulnerabilities exposed.
“If you can’t put your trust in the law,” Hessian said, “if your relatives have betrayed you, if your resources are inadequate to solve the problems before you, you might consider one last alternative.”
Her chin came up. “I promised my Creator and the memories of my mother and sister that a rash act of self-harm would never figure in my plans.”