“As careful not to declare yourself as you may be,” Lord Cabot said, “various mamas are beginning to complain. It is said that you led on Miss Mayfield most unmercifully last season and Mrs. Mayfield has declared you a rogue.”
“Miss Mayfield was a delightful diversion, I was quite taken by her,” Lord Grayson said.
“Until you weren’t,” Hayes said.
“Just so,” Lord Grayson said. “I fear I should never encounter a lady who can hold my feelings in the palm of her hand for more than a few months. A curse, but there you have it. Anyway, what about you, Cabot? Precisely how many times did you dance with Miss Darlington last season?”
“Bah,” Lord Cabot said dismissively, “we all danced with Miss Darlington, she is a pleasant lady.”
“See that she stays only pleasant,” Lord Dalton said darkly.
Hayes folded his arms. “And you Dalton? Are you in any danger?”
There was a long pause before the gentlemen round the table erupted in laughter. Even Bellamy was hard pressed to keep his expression somber. The last man on earth who would be in any danger from female wiles was the scarred Charles Battersea, Earl of Dalton.
*
Lily’s aunt, Mrs.Amelia Hemming, lived in a tidy house on Cork Street. The residence had the advantage of being so nearby more elegant addresses that it often prompted the lady to refer to it asjust offBerkeley Square. The house was not overlarge by anybody’s standards, but everything needed was neatly done. There was a suitable drawing room where one might receive callers, a dining room where twenty might be seated, a cheery though rather compact breakfast room, and even a snug library, though it contained more furnishings than books.
Above stairs, the bedchambers were on the small side of things, though Lily’s aunt had been clever in avoiding oversized furnishings that might overwhelm the space they were given. Lily did not care two figs for a room any larger than the one she found herself in—it had a charming bedstead of wrought iron, a small fireplace enameled in a lively yellow and green diamond pattern, an overstuffed chintz chair, a slender and elegant writing desk, a large wardrobe, and a lovely view of the tidy rows of the kitchen garden.
Her aunt’s lady’s maid, Pips, had unpacked her trunks and helped her out of her traveling clothes. Lily had told the maid she was perfectly able to dress herself, as she had been in the habit of it all her life. Pips had not been daunted or put off and had muttered something about backward country ways. Lily had no choice but to let the maid carry on with it in all good humor.
Now, Lily hurried down the stairs to the drawing room to join her aunt.
Mrs. Hemming’s butler, Ranier, was just bringing in the tea. He was one of those individuals that Lily thought of as “grumpy-faced.” His jowls hung over his starched neckcloth, pulling his mouth down into a decided frown. She knew better than to think his depressing visage was any kind of representation of his spirit, as she had known him since she was a little girl. Beneath that grim exterior was a kindly man who highly approved of everything she did, even if it would not have struck anybody else as noteworthy. She fondly remembered being six or seven and favoring him with drawings of her puppy which she was now certain had verged on unrecognizable. Lily had been enormously pleased when he’d exclaimed that Holbein himself could not have done better. That Ranier had been the only person who had ever said anything nice about her rather mediocre drawing skills had further cemented him in her affections.
Now, he gave her the slightest of nods to indicate his approval of her current circumstances.
Her aunt sat on the sofa in front of a charming pink marble table. Mrs. Hemming was on the short and stout side, her cheerful round face and pink cheeks crowned with an elaborate pile of graying hair held in place with jeweled combs. She said, “There you are, Lily, come and sit by me and refresh yourself after your journey. Though, I suppose it was not a particularly long journey, and here I am speaking of it as if you had just arrived from the Americas. In any event, coming from near or far, you must wish for tea. Everybody does, I suppose.”
Lily smiled. It was one of Mrs. Hemming’s idiosyncrasies that the lady spoke all her thoughts as they arrived, no matter how willy-nilly they composed themselves. She sat by her aunt and clasped her hands. “It was so kind of you to allow me to come, Aunt. I could not be more grateful.”
“Bah,” Mrs. Hemming said. “Why should I not? Of course, there is always money to think of and I do not have all that much to think about as a general thing, though sometimes I have more. But here you are and somehow your father has come up with the sum. Howdidhe do it, I wonder?”
Lily could feel her cheeks tinge pink. She had debated what she should tell her aunt about how the trip was afforded. In the end, she’d decided honesty was called for. Though, perhaps vague honesty would be best.
“We were fortunate to come into some funds that were not anticipated,” Lily said.
“Did you?” her Aunt said, pouring the tea. “Funds not anticipated sounds delightful. I should like to know about that! What a pleasant idea—one is just going along as usual and then suddenly somebody gives them some money. Who was it, dear?”
Lily had somehow forgotten how inquisitive her aunt could be. While others might take the answer at its face and comprehend that the speaker wished to say no more about it, Amelia Hemming would take in no such hint.
Lily took her teacup and set it down on the marble tabletop. “Aunt,” she said slowly, “as you know, my father has had a time of it bringing the estate back to what it once was.”
Amelia waved her hands, “No need to be nice about it, your grandfather was a reprobate and nearly ruined us all. It was a blessing he got on his horse that day, drunk as a sailor, and returned in a wood box. I know I should have been very sorry to have seen him returned to us thus, but in fact I was delighted. We all were. He was a beast to our mother, cruel to his children, and careless of the estate—we did not miss him for a moment.”
Lily pressed her lips together. Of course she was aware that her grandfather had ridden out rather the worse for wear and it had ended with a broken neck, but she had never heard it described in such terms. “Indeed,” she said. “And so you know that my dear father could not have spared—”
“Yes! And now we come to the unanticipated funds. Do go on, dear.”
“Well, it seems I’m rather good, as it happens, I find I have a penchant for—”
“Yes?”
“Cards, Aunt. I’m rather good at cards. I won the money. I’ve been gambling for the past year.”
Chapter Two
