His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(87)
“Not good enough, if Lily has been married to her cousin.” Though Hessian himself had tried to warn her of that possibility.
Damn the rain, the roads, and damn Walter Leggett to the blackest pit.
“The hour grows late,” Worth said, stroking the hound sitting at his side. “I’ll bring Daisy home to you tomorrow. She would not allow me to buy her a pony. She said that was for you to do, because you’d know the best one for her.”
“I’ll be somewhat occupied first thing in the morning,” Hessian said, setting his untouched drink on the sideboard. “If you could divert Daisy with another outing to the park and a stroll past Tattersalls, I’d be obliged. I’ll meet you thereafter.”
“You have to be exhausted,” Worth said, turning away from the darkness. “And you haven’t told me what transpired in Scotland. There are also a few developments you should be aware of regarding Roberta Braithwaite, whose companion I had occasion to meet. Let me put you up here for the night, and—”
Hessian marched for the door. “Roberta Braithwaite is the least of my concerns. I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Meet me in the park with Daisy, and I’ll be eternally in your debt.”
“Where in the hell are you going at this hour? The law frowns on wife-stealing, Hessian.”
“Bugger the bedamned law.”
“You are an earl,” Worth retorted. “A peer of the realm and my only brother. You cannot bugger the law. Buggery is illegal. Housebreaking is illegal. Coming between a man and his lawfully wedded wife is very illegal, also stupid and bound to get you called out. Hessian, for God’s sake—”
Hessian was already out the door and barreling down the front steps. “Meet me in the park. If I’m not there, tell Daisy I love her and please buy her a perfect damned pony.”
*
Hessian, I need you.
Lily had dithered and dawdled and delayed from the moment she’d spied an unfamiliar clergyman alighting from his gig outside the breakfast parlor window, to the moment when Uncle had explained to her—in patient detail—that her time was up.
She either meekly participated in a wedding ceremony with Oscar and signed the appropriate documents, or she’d be immured behind high walls in the countryside from whence she’d sprung.
“I got rid of your sister,” Uncle had said. “I can get rid of you too.”
That pronouncement had settled Lily’s nerves, oddly enough. Hessian had told her how to proceed, so she’d signed the agreements slowly and carefully. When Uncle had towed her by the wrist across the corridor into the library, she’d found a beaming clergyman and a fidgety Oscar waiting.
Lily had put on a show, demanding that they wait for Lady Rosecroft, whom Lily claimed had “agreed” to stand up with her. Uncle had silently fumed at this subterfuge, while the clergyman had apparently been unwilling to offend a countess, and the countess had conveniently taken a good while to appear.
Her ladyship had also brought her earl along with her, but neither Uncle nor Oscar allowed Rosecroft within ten feet of Lily.
I got rid of your sister. Would Uncle get rid of the earl? Of Lily herself?
She spoke her vows slowly. She sipped her wine at the wedding breakfast slowly. Rosecroft had kept his distance, engaging the clergyman in a discussion of coaching horses, but her ladyship had whispered to Lily in parting that her door was open to Lily at any hour, no matter what.
Lily had taken the longest bath in the history of bathing, and as darkness had fallen, she’d locked her door and wedged a chair beneath it, then packed a few items of clothing into a bundle. She tossed the bundle from her window, though she didn’t dare sneak across the garden while light still shone from the library below.
Hessian, where are you?
A soft tap on her door was followed by Oscar’s singsong voice. “Lily? Darling wife?” He jiggled the handle. “Have you fallen asleep?”
“Give me a moment.” She moved the chair so she could retrieve one last item to stuff into the pocket of her cloak. The slim packet of letters from her mother was hidden in the bottom of a hatbox that was kept on the top shelf of her wardrobe. Oscar could keep his purloined seventy-eight pounds, as long as Lily had Mama’s letters.
She’d no sooner retrieved the letters and was carrying the chair back to the door when it swung open.
“You spend your wedding night moving furniture,” Oscar said, stashing some sort of metal pick into the pocket of his dressing gown. “Interesting. Why are you still dressed?”
Because I will leap out that window rather than endure the conjugal act with you. “I’m nervous.”
“You’re reluctant,” Oscar said, closing and locking the door. “That’s to be expected, but for God’s sake, Lily. You aren’t an ignorant fifteen-year-old. Sooner or later, a wedding night befalls all women of means. If you don’t give me any trouble, I’ll be as considerate as I can. Get your clothes off and get in the bed.”
She had never been an ignorant fifteen-year-old. “Your notions of consideration leave me less than impressed, Oscar.”
He unbelted his dressing gown, revealing a voluminous nightshirt—thank heavens.
“I know what I’m about when it comes to bedsport, and you know nothing. You have no choice but to trust me on this. And if you think non-consummation will get you out of this marriage, you are sadly in error. Papa says that’s not the law, in any case. Why aren’t you undressing?”