His Lordship's True Lady by Grace Burrowes

Author:Grace Burrowes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Grace Burrowes Publishing
Published: 2017-06-12T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

“You’re different,” Worth said.

The night air was brisk with a hint of rain. Hessian’s pace along the walkway was brisk as well, not because of the weather, but because he wanted to get home and make sure Daisy had passed a peaceful evening.

“Jacaranda has set you to interrogating me,” Hessian replied. “I’m supposed to oblige you with a recitation of how, for the first time, I’m enjoying London in spring, or some such twaddle.”

Worth hung back half a step, refusing, in the manner of irksome younger brothers, to match Hessian’s strides. Worth had a devoted wife at home to handle any emergencies in the nursery, and that was irksome too.

“You haven’t spent that many springs in London, Hess. You seemed to enjoy the card play tonight.”

“The company was agreeable.” Though Hessian would have preferred to spend the evening at home, reading to Lily, watching Lily read… kissing Lily.

Making mad, passionate love to her. As satisfying as their initial interlude had been, Hessian had done little since except plan improvements for the next encounter.

“Lily Ferguson has changed too,” Worth said, ever so casually.

“With a few notable exceptions, we grow up, Worth.” And Lily had done such a fine job of growing up too.

“She hasn’t simply matured physically. The Lily I recall was something of a spoiled brat.”

Hessian waited at the street corner while a crossing sweeper scooped a fresh pile of horse droppings from the intersection. The smell of manure punctuated more pleasant scents—scythed grass from the park across the street and Worth’s delicate French cologne.

“You were something of a rotten boy,” Hessian observed, “while I was painfully shy and somewhat priggish.”

“Somewhat priggish? You were a hopeless little pattern card of puerile earl-ishness. Now that you are the earl, you’re not half so stuffy.”

“Thank you, I think. When are you removing to Trysting?”

A trio of young men, arms linked, beery fumes wafting around them, stepped aside as Hessian crossed the street. He’d never been that carefree, never been that enamored of London’s nocturnal blandishments.

He was enamored of Lily Ferguson.

“Jacaranda decides when the household moves,” Worth said, “and she says we must remain on hand to provide you moral support.”

“Moral support with Daisy? That’s very kind of her. I do appreciate it.”

“With Lily Ferguson. You and Daisy will muddle along well enough. Have you read the diary?”

Hessian increased his pace. “When would I have had time? I’m too busy being only half priggish, playing cards with your friends, and writing to my wards.” He’d asked both of Daisy’s brothers to begin a correspondence with her, for purposes of engendering in her an epistolary habit, but also because siblings shared an important bond.

“What was the name of that doll?”

“Worth, how much brandy did you drink?”

“A good quantity. Tresham serves only the best, and it was free. Lily Ferguson’s doll ended up in a tree, and you had to climb up and fetch it down.”

“The doll’s name was Lilith Ann.” Hessian recalled the name because a biblical temptress was such an odd choice for a little girl’s plaything.

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