His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(82)

“She was very pretty.”

This observation was made by a dark-haired man of about Hessian’s age. He was an inch or two shorter and lean. Even four words were enough to reveal his burr.

“Mr. Delmar.” Hessian offered his host a bow. “Hessian, Earl of Grampion, at your service. My thanks for welcoming a stranger into your home.”

Shrewd blue eyes measured Hessian over a genial smile. “You’re our neighbor down in Cumberland. I’ve bought sheep from you, or from your factors, and I suspect you’ve purchased a bull or two from me. Shall we have a seat?”

Hessian had driven past acres of lush pastures, where shaggy dark Galloway cattle had grazed in significant numbers.

“My errand is somewhat delicate,” Hessian said, remaining on his feet. “I’ve come to make off with your wife.” Yes, he had just said that. “I’m sorry. That came out badly. I’ve gone perilously short of sleep.” His boots had gone short of several polishings, his greatcoat had been left in the gig for reasons, and his cravat was nothing short of disgraceful.

He was short of sleep, short of plans, short of sanity, and unbearably short of Lily.

Delmar took a seat by a hearth swept clean of ashes, though the scent of peat smoke perfumed the parlor.

“I thought kidnapping womenfolk from across the border went out of fashion before our grandpapas’ time, but you’re welcome to try. Mrs. Delmar can be contrary and lively when certain moods are upon her. Shall I ring for tea?”

This was not a man who rattled or took offense easily. Some of the dreadful tension Hessian had carried for nearly four hundred miles eased.

“A pot of tea would be appreciated.” Hessian took a matching chair, grateful for something to sit on that neither jostled nor rocked. “In the normal course, I’d maunder on about the weather or your fine pastures and gradually wander around to admiring that sketch above the piano. I take it that’s your wife’s mother?”

“’Tis. I never had the pleasure. Her ladyship died before my bride and I spoke our vows.”

Delmar had the Scottish ability to hold a silence, while Hessian felt an un-English temptation to rant, wave his arms, and shout.

“Did you know Mrs. Delmar has a younger half-sister?”

Delmar swore in Gaelic, something about bull pizzles and the English always bringing trouble behind a polite smile.

“Do I take that for an affirmative?”

“Ye do, not a happy one. We keep in touch with an old friend, who tells us that my sister-in-law is thriving, in great good health, and wanting for nothing.”

“If you refer to Ephrata Tipton, her reports are inaccurate, though I suspect her editorializing is well-intended. Lily is in good health, but she wants very much for freedom from Walter Leggett’s schemes.”

Another oath, this one referring to greedy, black-hearted, conscienceless bastards.

“I cannot claim to be fluent in the Erse, Mr. Delmar, but I did grow up in Cumberland and have studied a number of languages besides English.”

“I will call Walter Leggett a black-hearted, conscienceless bastard to his smiling face,” Delmar said. “My wife will call him worse than that. A greedier man I never met, nor one less grateful for all the privileges of his station. Which brings us to the interesting question: What is your role, my lord? Are you married to my sister-in-law? A suitor, perhaps?”

“I’m the man who will bring her some long-overdue answers.” And Hessian was Lily’s lover, for now.

“A hopeful, then. The English must do everything their own way, I suppose. Mrs. Delmar has gone into the village with my sister. They claim they’re visiting the shops, but we have a bakery that makes scones no mortal man or woman should resist. If we’re lucky, Cook will put a few on the tray for us.”

The tray Delmar hadn’t ordered, but which nonetheless showed up in the very next moment. The offerings were enough to make Hessian’s belly rumble and his spirits rise. Aromatic China black tea brewed to full strength, scones, butter, biscuits, peeled oranges, and that particularly Scottish confection, tablet.

Hessian made himself eat, because he was famished, and because Delmar, for all his geniality, was not to be underestimated.

Then too, the scones were luscious.

“What do you know of Walter Leggett?” Delmar asked as Hessian finished his third cup of tea.

“Not enough. He socializes selectively, and I suspect our paths would never have crossed but for two things. First, he and my father were friends and I sought to respect that connection when I took up residence in London earlier this year. Second, my brother is something of a commercial genius, and Leggett seeks to take advantage of Worth’s expertise. What’s interesting about Leggett otherwise is how little we’ve learned of him.”

“He’s canny,” Delmar said, “or he was when I knew him. I learned a lot from him. My great-uncle left me a tidy sum, but said that working for a man like Leggett would teach me how to turn one coin into three. Leggett doesn’t gossip, gamble, or chase skirts. Doesn’t entertain lavishly, doesn’t call attention to himself in any way.”

“So he was secretive even before he decided to substitute one niece for another?”

Delmar dusted his hands over the tea tray, peered into his empty cup, set it back on the tray, then folded his serviette just so.