---

Hessian’s schedule was rooted in common sense: Lily was to walk in the park before noon, when Oscar would still be abed. If the weather was foul, she would alternate outings to Gunter’s or the toy shop at the same hour, and on Sundays, she’d contrive to visit with Jacaranda after services at St. George’s. If all else failed, she could ride in the park at dawn and be assured of crossing paths with the Earl of Rosecroft.

Every day, she’d have at least one opportunity to communicate with an ally, or to flee Walter Leggett’s household temporarily—or permanently. Worth Kettering had a coach in readiness to take her to Dover should desperate measures be called for.

In the past week, Lily had been to services once, the park three times, the tea shop twice, and the toy shop once.

She was once again taking the air in the park, a maid trailing behind. The maid alone would not have sufficed as a chaperone, but Jacaranda Kettering waited on a bench not thirty yards away.

She was a striking woman, statuesque and sturdy. “You are punctual,” she said as Lily took a seat on the same bench. “A commendable trait.”

“Uncle expects it of me.” Along with perfect manners and unfailing obedience.

Jacaranda’s gaze turned to her husband, who had taken the baby for a stroll along a path fronting the Serpentine.

“You expect punctuality of yourself,” she said. “How are you?”

Hessian had asked Lily that same question, once upon a time. From Jacaranda, the query was leave to recite a report, not an invitation for Lily to unburden herself.

“The earl’s calendar helps,” Lily said, something of a revelation. “I usually resent being told what to do, where to go, when to dress for what outing, but this is my agenda, not my uncle’s. When I rise in the morning, I’m focused on an objective of my own. I am not some gormless private in the military, waiting to be told on which battlefield I’ll dodge bullets.”

Jacaranda opened a parasol, a frilly, lacy business that had to have been a gift from her husband.

“I enjoyed the same aspect of being a housekeeper,” she said. “I was in command of a staff and of myself. I decided when to set the maids to beating the rugs, when to send them off to gossip and pick berries. I didn’t sit about embroidering for hours on end, waiting for some neighbor to call or one of my brothers to drag me along on his flirtations.”

Jacaranda had seven brothers. Lily could not fathom such a wealth of family, though by reputation, the Dorning brothers got up to a deal of flirtation, which would—

“You were a housekeeper?” 

The prim, rather intimidating lady smiled and became a different person—mischievous, charming, even friendly.

“I was the housekeeper at Trysting for five years and made a proper job of it. I still regularly inspect the kitchen and larder. Worth doesn’t dare object.”

“But you’re the daughter of an earl. Why on earth would you go into service?”

Worth was now sharing a bench with a slender, blond young woman who’d been reading a book. She was smiling now, while Worth held the baby against his shoulder. Jacaranda looked amused rather than annoyed that her husband would be flirting in the park.

“I didn’t regard honorable work as anything to be ashamed of,” Jacaranda said. “My brothers were utterly out of control, and I was all but drudging for them. I told them if I had to work that hard, for so little appreciation, I’d at least have a half day off and a salary for my efforts. They thought I was bluffing.”

Farther down the path, Worth was holding his daughter above his head, making the infant laugh. The woman with the book was smiling, as everybody must when in the company of a happy baby.

“You think I should have remained at the coaching inn,” Lily said. “The work was honest, as you say. I earned a wage.” A pittance, plus any number of kicks, slaps, and scolds, with the occasional burn, pinch, or splinter for variety. 

Jacaranda slowly twirled her parasol, which in the language of flirtation meant, Be careful—we are watched. She probably knew that, as did her husband.

“Scrubbing floors at a coaching inn is no place for a lady’s daughter,” Jacaranda said. “My papa was an earl. Can you imagine my daughter scrubbing floors at some coaching inn?”

The infant was once again propped against her father’s shoulder. She peered in Lily’s direction, a world of innocence in her gaze.

Lily’s chest ached when she beheld the baby slurping on a tiny fist. The little mite was utterly safe in her father’s arms. She’d never scrub a floor, carry a chamber pot, or go weeks without proper rest unless she jolly well pleased to.

“The men began to notice me,” Lily said. “I wasn’t safe at the inn, or I’d probably still be there.”

“While I went into service because the men who should have noticed me failed to. We do what we must, and yet, you’re once again in a situation where you’re not safe. Had you not spent those years at the inn, you’d probably have been married to your cousin long since.”

Worth rose, bowed to the lady, and tucked the baby against his shoulder. He went off on some circuit of the surrounds from which he’d doubtless be able to see Lily and Jacaranda at all times, while the young woman returned to her reading.

Jacaranda implied that years of incessant menial labor had imbued Lily with some measure of independence, of… consequence.

“I don’t dare cross my uncle,” Lily said. “I might lie awake, plotting foul crimes against him, but I attend the dinner parties and balls he chooses, I wear the fashions he approves of.”

“Minor concessions,” Jacaranda said, rising. “Letting him think he has the upper hand. When it comes to major decisions, your uncle has tread carefully. Witness, you are not yet married to Oscar, or to any other toady of your uncle’s choosing.”

Lily got to her feet as well, hoping Jacaranda was correct. “Grampion is not offering for me. He is being all that is kind, but matrimony is not under discussion between us.”

Hessian had been much more than kind, but he’d also made certain Lily did not regard him as a fiancé. Not at present.

“Well, that’s as it should be,” Jacaranda said, twining her arm through Lily’s. “You deserve some wooing, and Hessian needs to know his addresses are welcome.”

“Should he return from Scotland, I will offer him an emphatic welcome,” Lily said. “Why do you suppose that young woman has been in the park every time you and I have walked here over the past week?”

Jacaranda’s reply was forestalled by Avery and Daisy bounding up from the water’s edge some yards away.

“We’re out of corn,” Daisy bellowed. “The ducks ate it all up.”

“The ducks and the geese and the swans,” Avery added. “When can we feed them again?”

“We mustn’t feed them too much,” Lily said. “They’ll grow too stout to float.”

Avery began to chatter in French about learning to swim the previous summer at Trysting, and the water had been cold as ice and many, many, many feet deep, as deep as the ocean…

“That lady paid a call on the earl,” Daisy said, frowning in the direction of the dedicated reader. “She came with the other lady.”

“Were you spying?” Avery had lowered her voice, envious rather than scolding.

“I was manning the crow’s nest.”

“Which other lady?” Jacaranda asked.  

Lily knew which other lady. The only woman to call on Hessian since he’d taken up residence in Mayfair.

Daisy grinned. “The one with the”—she held her hands open about a foot from her skinny little chest—“and the hat that looked like a blue chicken roosting on a Viking ship, except it wasn’t a chicken.”

“A peacock,” Lily said. “A very attractive bird, though only the male has the fantastic plumage. Shall we find our escort?”

For she abruptly felt the need to locate Worth and ensure he hadn’t been kidnapped by brigands or a certain greedy widow.

Jacaranda, with no evidence of hurry at all, organized the little girls and the nursery maid, Lily’s maid, and Lily herself in a sedate parade back to the coaches waiting along the street. Worth was soon at their side, handing the baby to her mother.

“The young lady,” Lily said, keeping her voice down, “the one with the book who’s been in the park during every outing we’ve made for the past week. Daisy saw her in company with Mrs. Braithwaite when she called on the earl.”

“I was manning the crow’s nest,” Daisy said, taking Lily’s hand. “I wasn’t spying.”

Worth tossed the child into the coach, stealing a kiss to her cheek that set her to giggling. “I noticed her as well, hence I presumed to share her bench and strike up a conversation.”

“I should join you for an ice,” Lily said, “and you should hand me up into your coach straightaway.”

“Excellent suggestion.”

Worth waved off Lily’s coach, and her servants and companion along with it. He climbed into the coach with the ladies, taking the backward-facing seat and putting Daisy on his lap.

“We’re off to Gunter’s,” he announced. He thumped on the roof of the coach once, meaning the horses were to proceed at a walk.

“We went to Gunter’s on Monday,” Avery said.

“We can go again,” Daisy countered.

The children bickered for the short distance to Berkeley Square, while Lily wanted to scream, and Jacaranda and Worth exchanged unreadable looks. The nursemaid chivvied the children into the sweet shop and Worth put a hand on Lily’s arm before she could follow them from the coach.

“The question becomes, is Mrs. Braithwaite’s companion in the park to spy on you, or to spy on Daisy?” he mused.

“Both,” Lily replied. “But to what purpose? You’ve heard nothing from Grampion?” Though he would have barely arrived in Scotland, traveling at a dead gallop.

“Not a word,” Worth said. “Though you should know, Lily, that Oscar Leggett has applied for a special license, and barring the unforeseen, it should be ready within the next week.”

There was good news, of a sort: Once Hessian arrived in Scotland, Lawrence Delmar’s household wasn’t difficult to find. Getting there, however, had taken six grueling, bone-rattling, exhausting days. If Hessian was to collect Mrs. Delmar in time for her to celebrate her birthday in London, he’d have to start the journey south in the next day or two.

All the while praying for decent weather, sound horses, the continued good health of his coachman and grooms, nothing untoward befalling Lily in London, and an absence of highwaymen.

“There it is,” said the groom, who’d been hired at the Birdwell livery. “Bide Cottage.”

Like many cottages in Britain, Mr. Delmar’s abode was commodious. Whitewashed stone rose to three stories across a seven-window façade. Two-story wings spread on either side of the central structure, and the whole sat on a rise handsomely landscaped and terraced. The driveway was circular, with a small stone fountain in the middle and a pair of short, bushy palm trees flanking the front steps.

If Lillian Ann Ferguson Delmar was the lady of this house, she’d done quite well for herself.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Hessian said to the groom. “Let the horses blow, then set them to walking the drive at intervals.”

“Aye, milord. The Delmars are friendly people. Not too high in the instep, as you English would say.” The groom was older, and his accent proclaimed him a native son of the area. He tugged his cap and unwrapped the reins from the brake. 

Hessian had no plan for this part of the expedition. He’d simply knock on the door, explain to the lady of the house that her sister had need of her. In aid of that sister’s circumstances, Hessian was prepared to commit housebreaking, theft, kidnapping, riot, affray, and mayhem.

As plans went, it was somewhat lacking for well-thought-out details.

Hessian was admitted by a housekeeper into a spotless foyer, then shown to a sunny parlor sporting a deal of green-and-blue plaid upholstery. Mullioned windows made a pattern on a similarly plaid carpet, and a bouquet of bright yellow gorse—surely the prickliest of shrubs—sat on a spinet.

“Himself will be along directly,” the housekeeper said, bobbing a curtsey and leaving Hessian in solitude.

A sketch hung above the piano, of a woman who had something of Lily about the nose and chin. She was young, her expression both coy and pert. The artist had signed the work, “Lady Nadine Leggett on the eve of her presentation.” The year and initials had been tucked into the lower right corner.

“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.

Hessian munched a scone and held his peace.

“I’ve suspected that’s what Leggett was about,” Delmar said. “I don’t bother with the London papers. What good would they do me when Leggett all but hides? We mind our own business, and Leggett has been content to do likewise. Now there’s an English earl on our doorstep, looking like a death’s head on a mop stick, and I can only conclude—”

The door opened, and a pretty redhead filled the frame. Hessian couldn’t see much resemblance to Lily. This woman was average height, where Lily was petite. Both women had red hair, though this lady’s was lighter than Lily’s.

Hessian desperately hoped he was not in the company of Lily’s sister, because whatever else was true of the lady, she was in no condition to travel the distance to London. By Hessian’s admittedly inexpert estimation, the poor woman was about fourteen months gone with child.

“As regular as the summer mail coach,” Roberta said, taking the scissors to the very edge of her cutwork. “Did I not say so? Nursery maids and governesses are creatures of habit and routine, and thus Amy Marguerite is marched out to the park rain or shine at precisely the same time three days each week. The poor dear must feel like a convict.”

Penelope’s nose remained buried in her book. “Not rain or shine, ma’am. Since this dreadful rain began, I’ve seen no sign of the child.”

For three days, the skies had visited upon London the dreariest mizzling damp. During those three days, Roberta had plotted and planned and even gone so far as to buy a used doll in one of the charity shops.

Roberta was practicing a new cutwork pattern on an old letter from Dorie Humplewit. She opened the paper and found she’d cut too few diamonds into the center of each panel of her hexagon.

“Have you befriended Amy Marguerite yet?” Roberta asked. “Will she recognize you?”

Penelope lay a length of embroidered silk between the pages of her book. “I’ve told you, the child is well guarded. She often has another little girl with her, a nursery maid, a footman, her aunt, the physically Sir Worth, Miss Ferguson, and the London public attending her every visit to the park. If I snatch her bodily, I am a kidnapper, and even for you, Mrs. Braithwaite, I will not take that risk.”

Independence was such a disagreeable quality in a servant. Roberta took up another old letter, cut it into a circle, and folded it into sixths.

“Let me be very plainspoken, Penelope. If you do not contrive to coax the child from the park—I would never condone kidnapping—then you will soon find yourself again enjoying the company of your aged parents and nineteen brothers. Amy Marguerite belongs with me, and if you must tempt her to pay a call on her aunt with candy, kittens, or promises of a puppy, then do so.”

Penelope rose and picked up her book. “I’d best locate some sweets, then. This rain cannot go on forever.”

Roberta snipped away. “Belinda was partial to dolls. There’s one in the spare room. Perhaps you could embroider a new dress for it.”

Anything to pry the infernal books from Penelope’s hands. Anything to get Amy Marguerite where Grampion would have to take Roberta’s situation seriously.

“I can find some scraps to make into a doll’s dress, but ma’am, I beg you to reconsider this scheme. Amy Marguerite dwells in the home of a peer. Her uncle has the ear of the sovereign and has married into another titled family. Her playmates include an earl’s daughter, and that earl is related to half the titles in Mayfair on his father’s side.”

“That is the very point,” Roberta retorted, stabbing the air with her little scissors. “I am but a helpless widow arrayed against the powerful and privileged. If helplessness is all that’s left to me, I’ll use it to shame Grampion into doing his duty.”

The courts wouldn’t see it that way—Grampion had that blasted will on his side—but Grampion would never let his ward become the subject of a lawsuit.

“Did you mean to cut up that letter, ma’am?”

“It’s merely so much old gossip—oh, blast.” The letter was one Roberta’s late husband had penned to her from Ireland, the last trip he’d taken before he’d died. Seeing the snippets of paper all over the table, Roberta was irrationally annoyed with her late husband, her late sister, the Earl of Grampion, and Penelope. “I’ll frame it and start a new fashion for preserving the letters of the departed.”

“I’m sure it will look lovely, but I cannot kidnap your niece right out from under Miss Ferguson’s nose, ma’am. Sir Worth is nothing if not protective.”

“You mistake the matter,” Roberta said, taking one more tiny snip at Sir Hilary’s letter. “Lily Ferguson is finding every opportunity to ingratiate herself with the Kettering family. She hopes that Grampion will resume his outings to the park, and thus she can further her acquaintance with the earl. Lady Nadine Leggett’s daughter is not stupid nor she is attached to a noisy, difficult child.”

Though if Grampion was no longer taking Amy Marguerite to the park personally, Lily Ferguson’s ambitions in that regard were doomed.

“If you say so, ma’am.” Penelope bobbed a curtsey and left, her French grammar clutched in her hand. What she was doing with a French grammar, Roberta did not know.

Developing airs above her station, no doubt. 

“This time next week, we’ll be man and wife.” Oscar twirled his walking stick, clearly in charity with the world. Lily wanted to wallop him over the head with the nearest heavy object.

The rain came down in a steady drizzle as she and Oscar waited beneath the port cochere for the town coach.

“Have you and Uncle finished negotiating my settlements?” she asked. “I do hope you’ve notified the Fergusons, lest they take you to court over the whole business.”

Oscar’s twirling stick clipped his hat brim and cocked the hat down over one eye. He righted his hat and tucked the walking stick under his arm like a baton.

“Papa has everything in hand. You and I will be man and wife, all legal and binding, before the Fergusons catch wind of the nuptials. Ireland is the other side of civilization, you know, especially the west of Ireland. You’ll likely be with child before you hear from your father’s family, and then it will be congratulations on finally finding a fellow willing to shackle himself to you.”

Doubtless, Uncle had concocted that taradiddle, but then, for the past ten years, the Fergusons hadn’t been much in evidence that Lily could see.

Oscar breathed on the handle of his walking stick and used the sleeve of his coat to polish the silver. The handle was fashioned into the shape of a bowsprit or mermaid, her hair and long tail forming part of the grip, her head and breasts the rest.

Her naked breasts.

“Oscar, that is not a decent article to take with you to a toy shop.”

“Nonsense. Mermaids are fanciful creatures from fairy tales, and children love fairy tales.”

The coach pulled up, the horse’s iron shoes striking sharply against the cobbles. Lily climbed in, ready to beat Oscar with his own walking stick if he so much as touched her hems while assisting her into the coach.

This was what marriage to him would be like, a constant struggle for the last word, for dignity and reason over selfish fancies. And that would be the daylight portion of the undertaking. He’d tried her lock last night—or somebody had.

Lily had slept with her window half open, ready to bolt from the house if need be to avoid Oscar’s attentions.

They arrived at the toy shop, and Oscar commenced flirting with one of the shop girls. Lily pretended to examine the storybooks, but she was coming to know the inventory, and children’s tales didn’t take long to read.

If Rosecroft was on the premises, he wasn’t about to approach Lily while Oscar stood guard.

“Perhaps we might interest you in some of our newer items?” the shop owner said. She held a girl’s fan, small, painted with a colorful rendering of a rainbow. She closed the fan, tapped it against her lips, and laughed. “I loved dressing up as a child. Perhaps you did too?”

The woman had white hair in a neat bun, kind eyes, and a grandmotherly air. She was also regarding Lily very steadily as she touched the fan to her lips.

Tapping the mouth with a fan meant: I wish to speak with you.

Lily took the fan and half closed it, shielding the lower portion of her face: We are being watched.

“Dressing up as a fine lady never much appealed to me,” Lily said, “but even a small child can appreciate a fan on a warm day.”

“Maybe travel books are more to your taste?” the owner asked, drawing Lily away from Oscar’s discussion of toy guns and aiming for small targets.

“I do enjoy reading,” Lily said as the owner thrust a book into her hands.

“I particularly like the story that begins on page fifty-one. So full of inspiration for young ladies in difficult circumstances.”

She moved away, leaving Lily with the book. In the margin on page fifty-one, somebody had scrawled a few words in light pencil:G heading south. Complications. Delay WL’s plans at all costs. R.

Lily read the message three times and turned the page just as Oscar came up on her elbow. “Should I purchase your morning gift from among this inventory?” He snatched the book from her. “Travel stories? Perhaps you’d like a wedding journey?”

Lily took the book back and set it on a shelf between a stuffed bear and a stuffed horse. Rosecroft’s message had said to delay at all costs.

“I’m more concerned with where the happy couple will live,” Lily said. “What have you and Uncle decided?”

“Decided?” Oscar had lowered his voice, as if Lily had brought up a great scandal.

“Let’s discuss this in the coach.” Lily prayed the shop owner was eavesdropping as she tallied a purchase for another customer. “I can come back tomorrow morning to browse at greater length if the weather is too dreary to begin my day riding in the park.”

“Your infernal racketing about will stop when we’re married.” Oscar tipped his hat to the shop girl and held the door for Lily.

So polite while others were watching, and so intent on ruining Lily’s future.

“What do you expect me to do all day, Oscar? Sit about embroidering your initials onto my handkerchiefs?”

“Heavens, no. You’ll be too busy embroidering them on mine.” He handed her into the coach, smiling as if he’d made a joke.

Lily settled on the bench and pulled the shade down. “Oscar, please tell me you’ve at least read the settlements before you speak your vows. I do have paternal family, and they will expect that much of you if you’re determined to keep them from seeing to my welfare. What do the agreements say about my pin money, for example?”

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.