His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(8)
Roberta managed not to laugh until the door was closed, though the pleasure of intimidating the help was short-lived. The maid was probably doing a dratted sight more than ogling the footmen, and that was yet another injustice when a widow already had enough tribulations to bear.
*
“Grampion is practically your neighbor up in Yorkshire,” Lily said. “One ought to be acquainted with one’s neighbors.”
Devlin St. Just, Colonel Lord Rosecroft, and husband to the most stubborn woman in the realm, sent up a prayer for patience. Emmie had insisted that Lily Ferguson have his escort for this outing, and thus here he was, strolling the boulevards of Mayfair, when he might have been on horseback in the park.
“My dear Miss Ferguson, when next we are in the library at Moreland House, I will find a map of England and instruct you on the geography of the north. York is as much as a week’s ride from parts of Cumberland, and that’s if the weather’s cooperating.”
One didn’t instruct Lily Ferguson lightly. She was what St. Just’s countess called sensible to a fault. Coming from Emmie, who was a monument to pragmatism, that bespoke a prodigious amount of sense. Lily had befriended Emmie several years ago, when the countess was enduring her first London Season, overwhelmed by in-laws, and much in need of confidence.
And thus, Lily Ferguson commanded Rosecroft’s loyalty—and his occasional escort. “My lord, would you honestly rather be lounging about, scratching and making rude noises with your brothers while you play your ten thousandth hand of cards? It’s a fine day for a visit.”
Rosecroft had two extant brothers, or half-brothers, technically. “We no longer make rude noises. Sets a bad example for the children.” And the children were a fiercely competitive lot. “Have you taken an interest in Grampion? I’ll keep your confidences if you have.”
Lily was right about the weather. Spring was at her tantalizing best today, the air mild, the breeze scented with new foliage and possibilities. By tonight, the grass might sport a dusting of snow.
Such were the dubious charms of London at the beginning of the Season, and matters generally went downhill as the year progressed.
“The Earl of Grampion is an acquaintance,” Lily said. “His ward is new to London and in need of reliable friends. I think you’ll enjoy her company.”
In her way, Lily Ferguson was kind. She kept most people at arm’s length, though Emmie claimed that was purely self-defense when an unmarried woman was the sole heir to both her mother’s and her father’s fortunes.
“Madam, I do not befriend sweet young ladies.” Rosecroft had sounded like His Grace of Moreland. Maybe that was a good thing?
“You don’t befriend much of anybody unless they have four legs, a mane, and a tail. This is Grampion’s town house.”
The neighborhood was lovely, and the steps had recently been swept and scrubbed, though Grampion’s front door lacked even a pot of heartsease. Rosecroft didn’t account himself the heartsease-noticing sort, but his countess would have remarked the lack of flowers.
He rapped the brass lion’s head knocker, and the door was opened by a liveried footman. “Good day, madam, my lord. Won’t you please come in?”
The fellow’s wig sat perfectly centered on his head, his buttons shone as brightly as the nearby mirror, and his gloves were spotless.
Rosecroft handed over a card. “If the earl is receiving, Miss Lily Ferguson has come to call.”
The footman bowed to a deferential depth and took his leave.
“That chandelier rope would make a fine swing, don’t you think?” Lily asked, handing Rosecroft her bonnet. Her cloak and gloves came next, revealing a dress of such drab brown, Rosecroft had seen mud puddles of a more attractive hue.
“My older daughter would be up that rope the instant she had this foyer to herself.” Bronwyn was a much-beloved bad influence on her younger cousins, much as Rosecroft had been on their parents. “My countess would notice that the carpets are either new or very freshly beaten, the pier-glass positively sparkles, and the wainscoting has a fresh coat of polish. You notice the nearest means of causing mayhem.”
“I was a child once, Rosecroft, several eons ago. Your countess would notice that you’re nervous.” Lily appeared to be assessing the weight of the chandelier when any other woman would have been stealing a glance at herself in the mirror. “You and Grampion will get on famously, which is to say, you’ll nod, exchange the minimum of civilities, and take each other’s measure with a glance. Ask him about his stables and I won’t be able to get a word in edgewise.”
“He has stables?”
Lily smirked and used the toe of her slipper to straighten the carpet fringe. Rosecroft’s countess fretted that Lily needed a bit more airs and graces. Rosecroft was of the opinion that Lily needed a bit more joy. She didn’t go through life so much as she perused it from a skeptically amused distance. He himself might once have been said to suffer from the same affliction.
The footman emerged from the corridor. “His lordship invites you to join him in the library. If you’d follow me, please?”
“One doesn’t receive callers in the library,” Rosecroft muttered.
“One receives friends there. You’d receive callers in your saddle room, if your countess allowed it.”
Rosecroft would receive friends in his saddle room. Mere callers wouldn’t qualify for such a privilege.