---

Hessian left the library door ajar, not to let the spring breezes waft through his house, but because with the door open, he could hear activity in the foyer and thus avoid an ambush if callers disrupted his day. In Cumberland, one visited back and forth with the neighbors, and that was all very pleasant, but in London, socializing was a more portentous undertaking.

Politicians’ wives held dinner parties that decided every bit as much legislation as did parliamentary committee meetings.

A conversation over cards might put a complicated investment scheme in motion.

Ladies sharing a cabriolet for the Fashionable Hour could plan a match between their grown children.

If Worth came sauntering by, or one of Jacaranda’s host of brothers dropped around, Hessian wanted even the few minutes’ notice that he gained by leaving the library door open.

Monday arrived, and well before the appointed hour for Lily Ferguson’s visit, somebody gave the front door knocker a stout rap. Hessian rose from his desk and donned his jacket. Perhaps the lady was as eager as the children—and Hessian—for this call to begin.

“When last Miss Ferguson called, I did not quite make a cake of myself,” he informed his reflection in the mirror over the library’s sideboard. “Neither did I inspire the lady into rapturous enthusiasms.”

Butterflies were shy creatures and so were certain northern earls. Hessian was rehearsing a gracious smile—charming was beyond him—when a feminine voice came from the direction of the foyer.

Not Miss Ferguson. Whoever had presumed on Hessian’s morning was unknown to him and lacked Lily’s gracious, ladylike tone. Hessian was back at his desk—for he’d got halfway across the room at the tap of the knocker—no smile in evidence, when the butler brought in a card on a silver tray.

“Mrs. Braithwaite has come to call, with her companion Miss Smythe.” Hochman’s tone—utterly correct—suggested the caller hadn’t impressed him.

Hessian took the card, plain black script on vellum. Daisy’s aunt… Drat the luck. “Show the ladies to the guest parlor and let the kitchen know we’ll need a tea tray, please.”

“Very good, my lord. Should I notify the nursery as well?”

God, no. “No, thank you. If anybody asks, the child is resting from a trying weekend.” Daisy had tried the patience of every member of the household, waking three times each night in some peculiar state of somnolent terror.

“Let’s use the good silver, Hochman, and if Miss Ferguson arrives while I’m entertaining Mrs. Braithwaite, please put the library to use. Miss Ferguson might entertain herself and the children by reading them a story on the mezzanine.”

“I understand, my lord.” Hochman bowed and withdrew, the silver tray winking in his gloved hand.

Mrs. Braithwaite was much as Hessian recalled her. Her figure was fuller and her use of henna more in evidence. She was handsome rather than pretty, and her gray walking dress sported a dizzying abundance of lace.

Mourning garb, this was not.

At her side was a lovely, willowy blonde in sprigged muslin, one of those pale, quiet creatures who belonged in some enchanted forest with a book of spells rather than swilling tea in Mayfair.

When the bowing and curtseying had been dispensed with, Hessian led the ladies to the formal parlor and ploughed onward to the civilities.

“Mrs. Braithwaite, please accept my sincere condolences on the loss of your sister. Lady Evers was much loved by all the neighbors, and we will miss her dearly.”

Had Hessian loved Belinda, Lady Evers? He’d made love with her on three slightly awkward, mostly forgettable occasions. She’d affectionately pronounced him a failure at dalliance—which he absolutely had been—but he’d liked her and had never questioned her devotion to her children.

“You are so kind to say so, my lord,” Mrs. Braithwaite replied. “I know Belinda could be headstrong, which often happens when a pretty child is overindulged. She was fortunate to find an older husband, because mature men can be so tolerant. This is a lovely town house.”

One did not speak ill of the dead, and yet, Mrs. Braithwaite had just called her own departed sister headstrong and spoiled.

“My brother found this property for me,” Hessian said. “I’m quite comfortable here.” He had been quite comfortable here, before Daisy had arrived.

“So much room for one man,” Mrs. Braithwaite said, taking a seat on the sofa. “Though I adore French silk on the walls. So elegant, but not the least fussy.”

Hessian was not prepared to discourse on the topic of French silk wallpaper—if that’s what it was. “The premises are near my brother’s residence and allow me to entertain modestly. I do hope the weather continues mild.”

He also hoped Mrs. Braithwaite had no plans to overstay the thirty minutes prescribed for most social calls. Miss Smythe had settled beside her on the sofa, so Hessian allowed himself to take a wing chair.

“We can never be certain about the weather,” Mrs. Braithwaite replied, “and I came here to discuss with you another topic entirely. I’m told my dearest niece Amy Marguerite is in your keeping.”

Oh, that was subtle, but then, Hessian preferred honesty to innuendo if the lady was intent on verbal pugilism.

“Lord and Lady Evers did me the honor of appointing me guardian of their children,” Hessian said. “Had I known you bided in Town, I would have paid a call on you in due course to appraise you of that fact.”

Whatever due course was.

Mrs. Braithwaite pulled off her gloves and laid them on the low table before the sofa. “My lord, I’m sure you did mean to pay me that courtesy, but my concern for the child will not allow me to wait upon your convenience. Her brothers will bide mostly at school, I’m sure, but she is the youngest and the only girl. I must know when you will allow her to join my household.”

Kendall, the first footman, appeared in the parlor door holding a laden silver tray.

“Kendall, if you’d set the tea before me?” Hessian gestured to the low table flanking the sofa.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Braithwaite said. “Penelope will pour out. Set the tray before her.”

Kendall, who hailed from Martinique by way of Lisbon, maintained an impassive expression— and possession of the tray.

“I shall pour for my guests,” Hessian said, “and please get the door on the way out, Kendall.”

The footman bowed and withdrew, closing the door silently. Pray God that Bronwyn and Daisy didn’t shriek the house down upon catching sight of each other.

Hessian made a good, long production out of serving the ladies tea, while he wrestled with the question of what role Mrs. Braithwaite ought to play in Daisy’s life. He’d been preoccupied with managing Daisy herself and had frankly put off the question of what to do about the girl’s aunt.

He was a widower with little experience with children, but then, Mrs. Braithwaite apparently had no experience with children.

She watched Hessian maneuver around the silver service as if China black, sugar, and milk were some arcane test of social acceptability, and she the judge qualified to eliminate those who failed the examination.

“You may speak freely before Miss Smythe,” Mrs. Braithwaite said. “She is entirely in my confidence.”

She is not in mine. “That is good to know, Mrs. Braithwaite. However, your visit today takes me by surprise. Had you written, I might have been better prepared to discuss Amy Marguerite’s situation with you, but your suggestion will require considerable thought. Amy Marguerite has endured a great loss, and I take seriously my responsibility to provide her with a safe, stable home where she can recover from the blow grief has dealt her. Do have some cake. Cook prides herself on a light hand with the sweets.”

Miss Smythe sat through this balderdash, gaze fixed on the window as if she were posing for a cameo. 

Mrs. Braithwaite set her cup and saucer on the tray. “My household would be a perfect haven for a grieving child. Surely you must see that, my lord. I live the quiet life of a widow, barely socializing, while you maintain a peer’s bachelor establishment. I can raise Amy Marguerite in gentility and propriety, surrounding her with the love of a blood relation and sparing you the bother of a small child underfoot.”

Hessian for the most part ignored his title. When the Earl of Grampion was announced, part of him still expected his father to strut forth, though Papa hadn’t been much for pomp and ceremony either.

Hessian also rarely went to the bother of voting his seat, avoided London, and, for cards and socializing, preferred a humble club favored by Border families.

But sometimes, being the earl was necessary and useful.

He topped up Miss Smythe’s tea cup—leaving Mrs. Braithwaite’s empty—and set the silver pot on the tray.

“Mrs. Braithwaite, forgive my lack of delicacy, but do you imply that I, Lord and Lady Evers’s closest neighbor, who am in fact Amy Marguerite’s godfather, who has known her since birth, and was a frequent guest in her parents’ home, am somehow less capable of providing a haven for the girl than is an aunt whom she might not even recall?”

Mrs. Braithwaite sat very tall. “I am her only adult relation, my lord. Of course, she’ll recall me.”

“You visited your sister about four years ago, if I remember aright. Amy Marguerite would have been three. How often have you written to her since then?”

“One does not write to an illiterate child.”

“Perhaps you sent a gift on her birthday or at Yuletide?”

Mrs. Braithwaite maintained an affronted silence.

“Do you even know when her birthday falls?”

“What matters the date of a child’s birth, my lord, when she can’t be with family to celebrate the occasion?”

Lily Ferguson would know what to say to that. Hessian’s responses begged for a dusting of profanity, lest this presuming creature mistake his meaning.

“Your devotion to your niece does you credit, Mrs. Braithwaite,” Hessian said, rising. “I will consider your request, but Amy Marguerite was entrusted to my care, and Lord and Lady Evers’s final arrangements made no provision for turning the child over to you for rearing. You are asking me disregard the wishes of the child’s parents and shirk my duty, and that I am unlikely to do. For the present, the girl needs stability, not upheaval, so I will thank you to respect my wishes.”

Miss Smythe scooted to the edge of the sofa, but did not rise until Mrs. Braithwaite was on her feet.

“My lord, Amy Marguerite is a female. Surely when Lady Evers assented to naming you as guardian, she did so anticipating that your household would include your own lady wife. Until such time as you can offer at least that much female guidance to the child, my household is the more appropriate home for her.”

Hessian opened the door and stood by it. “I was widowed by the time Amy Marguerite was born, and her parents well knew my circumstances. I’ll wish you good day, Mrs. Braithwaite, and thank you for your interest in your niece. Feel free to send her a note of condolence, or some small token of her mother’s memory, if any you have. Miss Smythe, a pleasure to meet you.”

Mrs. Braithwaite drew in such a long breath, Hessian thought she might pop a nacre button off her bodice. She tried subjecting him to a sniffy, up-and-down perusal, but he was a northern earl, and her indignation was nothing compared to the tempers and feuds his tenants and neighbors could get up to over imagined slights.

He accompanied the ladies to the foyer, mostly to ensure they did in fact leave the premises, and waited until the butler had closed the front door behind them.

“Hochman, I am not at home to Mrs. Braithwaite in future, unless I specifically tell you otherwise.”

“I’ll inform the footmen, my lord. Miss Ferguson and Miss Bronwyn have arrived, and Miss Daisy has joined them in the library.”

“Well done. The young ladies might want a tea tray in the garden.”

“With plenty of biscuits?”

“Hochman, you are a man of discernment.”

While Hessian was a man much in need of sensible conversation and a strategy for dealing with Mrs. Braithwaite.

No more embracing, no more yearning, no more kissing.

Lily’s strategy where Lord Grampion was concerned was simple, also painful. She resigned herself to cordiality—he deserved at least that—and to as much truthfulness as she could afford. She had stolen a memorable kiss, and must content herself with that treasure.

“Greetings, ladies,” the earl said, bowing over Lily’s hand and then over Bronwyn’s. “I am delighted to see you.”

“So am I,” Daisy said. She aimed a smile at Bronwyn, who grinned back, and for reasons known only to little girls, this occasioned a cascade of giggles.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, Lily had giggled like that with Annie, and the sound still had the power to make her smile.

“What will you be today?” his lordship asked. “Corsairs, Wellington at Waterloo, Good Queen Bess presiding over her court? Perhaps you’ll put the fountain to use re-enacting the Battle of Trafalgar, though the weather’s a bit cool for that entertainment.”

He aimed the question at the girls, and Lily was assailed by the realization that at some point, this rather serious, titled fellow had been a boy. He had climbed trees, dammed up streams, likely built campfires in the home wood, and gone swimming without benefit of clothing or adult supervision.

Despite the typical self-absorption of an adolescent, he’d also noticed at least one difficult, younger female child taking the air in Hyde Park.

“What’s Trafalgar?” Daisy asked.

“That’s where Lord Nelson died.” Bronwyn said. “Heroes can be dead and still be heroes, but I prefer the ones like my papa and Wellington, who are still alive. Wellington’s horse is Copenhagen. He was sometimes naughty, but a fine battle mount.”

Daisy looked fascinated. “Your papa is a hero?”

“Perhaps you ladies might finish that discussion in the garden?” his lordship suggested.

“Or in the nursery,” Lily said. “The weather is becoming threatening.”

“So it is,” the earl said. “We’ll send a tea tray up to the nursery, then. Be off with you, and mind the breakables.”

Daisy shot him a curious look as Bronwyn snatched her hand and dragged her toward the door.

Leaving Lily alone with a man whom she must neither encourage nor alienate.

“I had thought to leave Bronwyn with you for a short time,” she said. “My cousin Oscar was to have accompanied us here, but woke with a megrim. I can return for Bronwyn later, or you can send her home with a nursery maid or footman.”

Lily should have marched smartly for the door, but his lordship put a hand on her arm. “You walked here, did you not? With rain threatening, I insist on having the coach brought around. Allow me that small courtesy, for I’ve a favor to ask of you.”

His blue eyes held no guile, no subtle, improper meaning. Had he leered at her, Lily’s decision would have been so much easier.

“I like to stretch my legs.” In truth, Lily had learned not to take Uncle Walter’s coach when Oscar’s gentlemanly excesses rendered him incapable of moving about on foot during daylight hours.

“Then perhaps you’ll agree to walk in the park with me and Daisy on Wednesday?”

Say no … feign another obligation, fabricate some appointment you must keep. Except, feigning and fabrication were the genteel relations of deceit, and Lily had promised herself to be as honest with Grampion as possible.

“Your lordship’s invitation extends to Bronwyn too, I presume?”

“I have the sense that every expedition benefits from Captain Bronwyn’s leadership. Shall we sit?”

No, no, no. He hadn’t yet ordered his team put to. A tea tray was doubtless being prepared for the library in addition to one for the nursery, and Grampion had mentioned a favor. Nobody asked Lily for favors, and she preferred it that way.

“I cannot stay long, my lord. My companion should have accompanied me in Oscar’s absence, but she is inclined to colds when the weather is changeable.” Miss Fotheringham also detested small children, hence Lily’s choice of Rosecroft for her earlier call on Grampion. 

Grampion patted the back of a wing chair. “You see before you a man wrestling with a dilemma, Miss Ferguson, and you are uniquely positioned to aid me in resolving it. Please, won’t you tarry a moment?”

He invited, he flattered, he honestly requested. Lily had no defenses against these tactics. Had Grampion been imperious or improper, her arsenal would have been adequate to repel his advances, but he was simply gentlemanly.

She took a seat in a chair so comfortable, it practically begged her to toe off her slippers and curl up with a book. The faint scent of cedar came to her, suggesting this was his lordship’s preferred reading perch.

“I was ambushed earlier today,” Grampion said, taking the near end of the sofa. “Daisy’s aunt presented herself on my doorstep, bold as you please, demanding that I hand Daisy over to her.”

Oh dear. “You were tempted to comply?”

“I am a bachelor and a peer. In Mrs. Braithwaite’s opinion, both sad attributes disqualify me from supervising the upbringing of one little girl. She is Daisy’s only female relation, and thus I must uproot the child and surrender her posthaste, for I lack a wife, auntie, or other handy female to protect Daisy from my male ineptitude.”

He was angry at the aunt’s presumption, but Lily suspected he also felt honor-bound to consider the woman’s request. “What was Daisy’s reaction to her aunt?”

Grampion crossed his legs, a Continental pose most Englishmen eschewed, and twitched a seam straight on his breeches.

“Mrs. Braithwaite did not ask to see the child, did not seem to know that Daisy was under this very roof.”

Or she had not cared. “Where else might Daisy be, if not here with you?”

“In Cumberland, in the care of the staff she’s known her entire life. I’ve made arrangements for the  remaining nursery maids from the Evers household to join my household at Grampion Hall when I return north.”

When his wife-hunting was successfully concluded. “In the weeks since Lady Evers’s death, Mrs. Braithwaite hasn’t troubled to find out where Daisy is?”

A lordly nose wrinkled. “Either she hasn’t troubled to find out where Daisy is, or she knew Daisy was here and anticipated that I’d refuse a request to meet with the girl.”

“Would you have?”

“You should have been a barrister.” He rose and used the cast-iron poker to move coals about on the hearth. “I took Mrs. Braithwaite into dislike when I met her several years ago at one of Lady Evers’s dinner parties. I could not tell if Mrs. Braithwaite was flirting with me, or if she was nervous to be in titled company. Some people are. Or perhaps she’d had too much wine. She tittered and batted her lashes and found rather too many opportunities to lay her hand on my arm, which behavior I expect from nervous debutantes.”

Lily expected the equivalent from presuming lords and knew exactly why Grampion had formed such a bad impression of Mrs. Braithwaite. The widow was Lord Stemberger in a dress, regarding everybody in her ambit as either an opportunity or an obstacle.

 The earl stared at the flames, then added half a scoop of coal and dusted his hands. “I ought not to judge people on scant evidence, but ladies who are too fond of cosmetics provoke me to caution. This is not rational or fair, I know, but why alter one’s appearance beyond the endowments conferred by the Almighty? Society should be accepting of an honest appearance, and to present oneself as something one is not… I’m maundering. My brother says I excel at maundering.”

He resumed his seat. “She uses henna and rice powder in obvious quantities when there’s no need. She’s well-enough looking, not victimized by small pox. And her clothing is loud.”

This last was offered quietly, like a confession. “Her clothing is loud?”

“All fussy and frilly to the eye, and she cannot lift a hand without rustling and swishing. My late wife used the same tactic. She could rivet a man’s attention by virtue of adjusting her skirts, straightening a cuff, or merely crossing a room. After she died, I thought I heard the rustle of her clothing rather than her voice.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I am daft. You will forget I said that. I spend much time reading poetry in duck blinds, or napping. My mind tends to run about like a march hare on the moor. What shall I do with Mrs. Braithwaite?”

Lily had the oddest urge to take his hand. “You must do what is best for Daisy, and I cannot think more upheaval and change fits that description.”

“Precisely what I told Mrs. Braithwaite. I did my lordly best to crush her presumptions, but she’ll be back. Scheming women have to be persistent, else their plans never come to fruition. One can’t blame them, but neither can one afford them any sympathy.”

His words were no less measured than any other comment he’d made, and yet, they cut Lily to the soul.

“Then you must crush her presumptions again,” Lily said, rising, “and I really must be going.” Before she began to cry, which would be stupid and useless.

“I haven’t ordered the coach yet,” Grampion said, standing as gentlemen must when a lady leaves her seat, “and I have yet to puzzle out exactly how I’ll crush Mrs. Braithwaite’s presumptions. She is Daisy’s aunt, and I am…”

“You are an uncle,” Lily said. “You have nieces too and thus have some familiarity with how a household accommodates a little girl. You mentioned a sister who bided with you in the north.”

Grampion peered down at her, and Lily realized she’d made a mistake. The earl’s brother had recently come into a minor title, a knighthood, or a baronetcy—Lily forgot which—but Worth Kettering was not of such a social stature that Lily should know the configuration of his household.

When Uncle Walter had revealed that he sought to partner with Kettering on some investments, Lily had done the usual research, else she would not have learned that Grampion’s brother had married the current Earl of Casriel’s sister, much less that they had one girl child and half-grown niece under their roof.

“I am an uncle, you’re right, and I do have a half-sister, whom few know of. Yolanda was born on the wrong side of the blanket, though I’ll call out anyone who mentions that fact, and Worth will gladly serve as second. Shall I ring for a tray? When I hosted Mrs. Braithwaite’s call, I barely partook, and Cook will be wroth with me unless I do justice to her next offering.”

You haven’t ordered the coach for me. Except Lily was back in her chair, once again felled by Grampion’s casual honesty. He had a bastard half-sister, of whom he and his brother were ferociously protective.

“I’ve upset you with all this family linen flung so casually out to dry,” Grampion said, resuming his place on the sofa. “I apologize. Mrs. Braithwaite discommoded me.”

“She apparently delights in discommoding others.” She and Uncle would suit famously. “How do you suppose Daisy would fare in a household run by such a woman?”

“Daisy would fade into perfect, miserable obedience. I doubt Mrs. Braithwaite’s companion said two words during the entire visit. Miss Smythe took not one tea cake and didn’t so much as move from her seat without her employer’s leave.”

He fell silent, giving Lily a moment to study his profile.

“You have made up my mind, Miss Ferguson. Mrs. Braithwaite can be a doting auntie, but no more. I doubt she knows how to dote, but I suggested she start with a note of condolence to the child and some token in remembrance of Belinda.”

“Belinda?”

Now Grampion was back on his feet. “Lady Evers.”

Was he embarrassed by that slip? Neighbors of long standing grew familiar with each other, particularly in the remote countryside, and yet, Grampion looked uncomfortable.

“You cared for Lady Evers.”

“Yes. Perhaps more than I ought, but when my wife died, Lady Evers took an interest in my welfare. She did not allow me to brood, at which I excel, particularly in winter.” He tugged a bell-pull twice. “I suspect she had an agenda where I was concerned, but I was too grateful for her concern to take much notice of it.”

Lily had no idea what he was going on about, but now she was compelled by manners to share a damned tea tray with him.

“You should order the coach brought around, my lord.”

“When we’ve had our tea. I’m not in the habit of lengthy conversations and must fortify myself accordingly. Are you often burdened with the confidence of others?”

When Uncle Walter told Lily to elicit confidences, she did her best to accomplish that goal. “Sometimes. Young men tend to see me as safe, because Uncle won’t allow them to develop presumptions. I’m not above their touch, but the family fortune means I’m beyond reach all the same. Most young ladies see me as plain and elderly, which makes my fortune less of an injustice in their eyes.”

“If you are elderly, what am I—a fossil? I cannot call to mind any more ridiculous, irrational, tedious organization of creatures than polite society. What do you suppose the girls are up to?”

“Likely delivering old Boney a drubbing.” Lily’s composure was certainly taking a drubbing.

Rapid footsteps thundered overhead.

“The French are doubtless retreating,” Grampion said as a footman brought in a tray. The service was porcelain and pretty. “Will you pour out, Miss Ferguson?”

Lily wanted to leave, not deal with the tedium of the tea tray. And yet, Uncle had told her to curry Grampion’s favor.

“I’m happy to serve,” Lily said, which was half-true. “How goes the wife-hunting, my lord?”

“Wife-hunting?” He sat as well, while overhead, the British gave such enthusiastic chase that the chandelier swayed and bounced. “Oh yes… the infernal countess hunt. No progress, alas. I suppose if I were engaged, Mrs. Braithwaite might be more easily subdued. Scheming women tend to hover like midges until they’ve accomplished their ends.”

Lily nearly dropped the teapot. “You’ve dealt with many women bent on intrigue?”

“My late wife dissembled her way into marriage, but that’s a tale for another time. I’ll take mine plain.”

Lily passed him a full cup. “One woman does not represent the entire gender.” Though one duplicitous wife would be hard to forget.

Grampion waited until Lily had fixed her own tea before he took a sip. The blend was aromatic and rich and the comfort lovely. She troubled Uncle Walter’s staff as little as possible, because every one of them answered to him, reporting when Lily rose, when she dined, where she shopped, and with whom she danced.

“My wife was quite young, and I was an idiot,” Grampion said. “In the end, we both had much to regret. I don’t intend to let Mrs. Braithwaite impose any regrets on me.”

“For Daisy’s sake, I’m relieved to hear it.” Also for his.

“I’ve no doubt that Daisy’s aunt merely wants my money. A woman intent on her own material security knows few scruples.”

Sometimes, she knew no scruples at all. “Another lesson learned from your lady wife?”

Grampion held up the tray of cakes. “Yes, but as you say, that’s no excuse for impugning a whole gender. I am in the company of a woman who neither deceives nor manipulates, and she takes a kindly interest in Daisy without having any ulterior motive at all. Have as many cakes as you please. The children are not on hand to supervise us, and I’ll eat whatever you leave on the plate.”

Lily took two cakes.

Grampion aimed a look at her. His expression was utterly serious, his blue eyes were dancing.

She took two more.