His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(73)
Rosecroft paused to sniff at a precocious rose growing from a pot beneath the porch light of an otherwise darkened town house. “That is a prodigiously convenient coaching accident.”
“Convenient for Walter Leggett, who has lied to Lily often and convincingly. Who has kept Lily nearly under guard, who has monitored everything from her correspondence, to her social habits, to which bachelors she stands up with for the supper waltz.”
“My brother needs to water his roses,” Rosecroft said, snapping off the blossom and tucking it into his lapel. “You think the sister is alive.”
“Have you fashioned a will, Rosecroft?”
“Of course.”
“And is one provision that your daughter inherits her portion upon the sooner of a certain birthday or her lawful marriage?”
Rosecroft resumed walking. “At seventeen, a woman cannot lawfully marry over her guardian’s objection.”
“She can in Scotland.”
“Hence your comment about needing the ability to fly. If the sister is alive and kicking her heels in the Borders, she can sue Walter for mishandling her fortune.”
“And that brings us back to scandal and to Lily being left with nothing, assuming the older sister is alive and assuming I can find her and produce evidence of her existence in two weeks.”
“I can see why the ladies went through three plates of tea cakes. What will you do?”
Scotland was three-hundred-fifty miles away by awful roads, and even if Lily’s sister had married over the anvil at Gretna Green, Hessian had no way of knowing if the happy couple had settled in Scotland or darkest Peru.
“You ask what I’ll do,” Hessian said. “At first, I cast caution to the wind with Lily, and now all I see are bad options. One hardly knows what to do.”
“I live three streets that direction and serve a fine nightcap.”
“Thank you, but I must decline, for some course of action must be settled on, and I do my best thinking in solitude. I have too much supposition and not enough facts.” All the logic in the world still required some basic facts to reason from.
“Much like being a parent,” Rosecroft said. “You do the best you can and hope divine providence weighs in favor of your children. The offer of a nightcap stands.”
“Perhaps another time. Please keep a close eye on Lily for me, and if you can spare Bronwyn for an occasional outing to the park, Daisy and I would be most appreciative.”
“And about this other?” Rosecroft waved a gloved hand that encompassed stolen fortunes, elopement, an illegitimate daughter, and at least nineteen other scandals.
“I will begin with a trip to Chelsea tomorrow and then pay a call on the Duchess of Quimbey. I’ll confer with my brother thereafter and then start packing for a trip to the north.”
“So you do have some notion of how to go on?” Rosecroft asked as the bells of St. Paul’s tolled in the distance. “A strategy?”
“I have a hunch, and a fortnight to prevent disaster, scandal, and heartbreak.”
“Best of luck, Grampion, and you will most assuredly need it.”
*
Lily came awake when a cool breeze wafted across her cheeks—and there he was, standing in the shadows by her bedroom window.
“Hessian.”
“You should be in bed, madam.”
Had he hoped to find her in bed? The mantel clock said Lily had slept for only a few minutes, and yet, exhaustion had molded her to the deep cushions of the reading chair.
“I was thinking,” she said. “I must have nodded off. How are you?”
He looked tired and serious, also a bit wicked. His attire was dark, not even a white neckcloth relieving the black, no signet ring on his finger, no pin winking from the folds of his neckcloth.
“I am… Is the door locked?”
“Yes.” Lily had started taking that precaution as a result of Oscar’s gleeful hand-patting. When in his cups, he might attempt to anticipate vows Lily would never willingly speak.
Hessian took the hassock, rather than open his arms to Lily or draw her to her feet. “Ephrata Tipton appears to have departed from Chelsea, at least temporarily.”
The hollowness Lily had carried in the pit of her stomach since learning of her mother’s death years ago opened up wider. “Where would she go?” Please let her be safe. And then: Why would she leave me?
“On her wedding journey, as it happens.”
Anxiety receded—it did not vanish, for not all wedding journeys were happy—and yet, Lily was also aware of a touch of envy.
“Good for her. I hope he’s worthy of her.”
“He’s a retired Navy captain who frequently visits friends at the royal hospital. He and Miss Tipton struck up an acquaintance nearly a year ago. I have his name and direction, though the cottage in Chelsea has yet to be vacated.”
Lily had to touch Hessian, even if he merely tolerated the overture. She leaned forward enough to run a hand through his hair.
“You have learned much, and yet, you don’t appear pleased with yourself. I am pleased to see you.”
His gaze brushed over her. “I am pleased to see you as well. I engaged in a subterfuge.”
“You would abhor subterfuge.” Did he abhor her?
“My opinion on the matter has grown complicated. We learn the classic works of drama because they are art, a form of great literature. We play charades at every house party to pass the time in harmless diversion. We tell tall tales over a pint in the pub… I told the innkeeper that my sister-in-law was a former charge of Miss Tipton’s, and I’d offered to look in on the old dear.”