His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(85)
Oscar had taken the place beside Lily, and again, she allowed it. Make small concessions, Jacaranda had said.
“Why do you need pin money?” Oscar asked. “Papa pays all of your bills.”
“As my husband, that responsibility will fall exclusively to you. I’m also curious about where we’ll live and how many servants you expect us to have.”
He raised the shade on his side of the coach and peered out the window. “We’ll live with Papa, of course. Lovely house, discreet staff. Excellent address.”
“All very true. Uncle does have a lovely house, a discreet staff, and an excellent address.”
The coach pulled into the street, while Oscar left off gawking to scowl at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“This coach is Uncle’s.” And while the exterior of the coach was beautifully maintained, the velvet on the interior was growing worn.
“And?”
“And the clothes I wear were bought with his money, designed with his fashion preferences in mind. The menus are prepared for him. The flowers on our table are chosen to suit his whims, when we have flowers.” Which was never, lately.
“What do I care for a lot of wilting posies? I’ll be a husband, and that has certain benefits.”
Good God, could he think of nothing else? “You will have certain responsibilities too, Oscar. Under English law, you are responsible for your wife’s well-being. You must keep her fed, clothed, housed, and cared for. You, not your father. If he tosses us out the day after the wedding, how will you meet those obligations, much less pay your own bills? I can prevail on my friends to get me to my ducal relations in Ireland, but who will take you in?”
Oscar shined his mermaid’s breasts again. “I have friends, but Papa will never cast me out. This whole conversation is ridiculous.”
Wasn’t it just? “Oscar, a university-educated, married man who has no grasp of the financial arrangements surrounding his nuptials is the embodiment of ridiculous. You have the ability to keep my fortune in the Leggett family and keep the Fergusons from nosing about in Uncle’s business. If I marry anybody else, Uncle doesn’t get what he wants. Make him give you what you want and what you deserve for speaking vows with a woman you do not love.”
Oscar patted her knee, and Lily nearly jumped out of the coach. “I don’t hate you, and I do esteem the notion of a wedding night in the very near future. You’ve given me something to think about.”
“Think long and hard, Oscar. Refuse to speak the vows unless your future is settled along with my own. You’re giving up a lot to accommodate the father who hasn’t seen fit to share the smallest of his business endeavors with you.”
Oscar used the handle of his walking stick to hook Lily’s chin and turn her face to his. Even the warmth of his residual body heat against her cheek made her flesh crawl.
“Try to come between my father and me, and you’ll regret it, Lily. I know what you’re about, hoping to put off the inevitable. I’ll read the settlements, and I’ll make sure my own interests are protected. Your safest course is to align yourself with me. I’m prepared to be a fair, decent husband, provided you don’t give me any trouble.”
As Walter Leggett had been a fair, decent uncle—keeping Lily all but a prisoner to his ambitions.
“Read the settlements. After the wedding it will be too late to bargain, and you know it.”
“What I know is that I’ve recently come into seventy-eight pounds in winnings at the hazard table. While you’ve been trying to curry favor with friends in the park, I’ve been bestirring myself to enjoy my mornings at home.”
The coach clip-clopped along through the damp streets. Oscar gave Lily’s knee another slow pat, and she bore it. Small concessions, insignificant gestures.
Seventy-eight pounds she’d spent years accumulating—gone.
The privacy of her bedchamber—violated.
Thank the kind powers, Rosecroft had confirmed that Hessian was already on his way back to London, for Lily was running out of time.
Chapter Nineteen
* * *
“What do you mean, she’s lame?” Lily stroked her mare’s nose, while Uncle’s head groom stared at a spot beyond Lily’s left shoulder.
“Came upon her of a sudden this morning, miss. Sometimes the horses like to have a lie-down in the straw, then they sleep funny and wake up offish.”
A rural coaching inn often owned hundreds of horses, and Lily had never heard of an equine going lame while resting in its stall.
“Let’s see if she walks out of it,” Lily said, reaching for the latch on the stall door. “She’s a slug, but a generally sound slug.”
A large, callused hand with dirty fingernails landed atop Lily’s sleeve and was quickly withdrawn.
“Best not, miss. You can make it worse, get her all excited about an outing. Then she might never come right.”
This was balderdash, and after a fortnight of fretting, worrying, and putting up with Oscar, Lily felt a compulsion to get away from Walter Leggett’s household.
“Then saddle me another mount,” Lily said. “The sun is out for the first time in days, and I’m determined to start my morning on a quiet bridle path.”