Rue Allyn (30 page)

She ducked her head. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, abashed. “My mouth does run ahead of me — ”

“And it’s going to run you right into spinsterhood, if you don’t mind yourself.”

Heat crept up Lily’s neck and over her cheeks.

“Now, dear,” Mr. Bachman continued, “poor Mr. Faircloth certainly
was
here because of your dowry. It’s big on purpose, and no doubt about it. But he also knew what color gown you wore to a ball last week. Do you know the last time I noticed a woman’s gown?”

Lily shrugged.

“Thirty years or more,” Mr. Bachman proclaimed, “if, in fact, I ever noticed to begin with.” He lifted her chin with a finger. Lily raised her eyes to meet her father’s softened expression. “You are an exceedingly pretty girl — ”

“Oh, Papa … ”

“You
are
. The way society works, however, renders it almost out of the question for the right kind of man to come calling, even if he thinks your dress
is
the most becoming shade of blue. Your dowry clears a few of those obstacles.” He took her hand and patted it. “Now, let us be done quarreling and speak of pleasanter things.”

Lily nodded hastily.

She happened to disagree with her father on the issue of her dowry. To Lily’s mind, the “right kind of man” would want to be with her, fortune or no. She thought of her dearest friend, Isabelle, Duchess of Monthwaite. Even though she and her husband, Marshall, went through a horrible divorce — reducing Isabelle to the lowest possible social status — they still found their way back together. Marshall didn’t allow Isabelle’s reduced circumstances to keep them apart, once they came to terms with their past.

For the thousandth time, Lily wished Isabelle was here. But she and His Grace were in South America on a botanical expedition-cum-honeymoon. They’d be home in a couple months, but oh, how time dragged when Lily so needed her friend’s advice.

Fortunately, Isabelle’s sister-in-law, Lady Naomi Lockwood, would soon be in town. She’d written to Lily that her mother, Caro, would be sitting out the Season to remain in the country — a singularly odd choice, Lily thought, considering the dowager duchess’ responsibility to see Naomi wed. Instead of her mother, Naomi would be chaperoned by her spinster aunt, Lady Janine.

Lily would be glad to see their friendly faces. She didn’t get on well with tonnish young women, and there was always the suspicion that men were only interested in her money. Lily often found herself lonely in the middle of a glittering crush.

“Are you attending?” Mr. Bachman said.

Lily blinked. “I’m sorry, Papa, what was that?”

“I asked,” he repeated patiently, “if you’ve decided on a project.”

Lily’s mood brightened.
This
was something she would enjoy discussing. “I have.”

“Excellent!” Mr. Bachman sat in the large armchair behind his desk, the throne from which he ruled his ever-expanding empire of industry. He moved the chair opposite the desk around to his side. “Have a seat, dear.”

Despite the tempest that had just flared between them, Lily felt a rush of affection for her dear father. Since she was a girl, he’d shared his desk with her. When she was young, he’d held her on his lap while he spoke to her about things she didn’t understand then — coal veins and shipping ventures; members of Parliament and government contracts.

At the time, it all blurred together into Papa’s Work. As she grew, she began to make sense of it all.

She understood now that all her life, he’d treated her as the son he never had, heir apparent to the name and fortune he’d made for himself. Never had he indicated any doubt in her capability or intelligence on account of her sex. He took pride in his daughter’s education, and emphasized mathematics and politics, in addition to feminine accomplishments such as drawing and dancing.

Just before they’d come to town this Season, Mr. Bachman presented Lily with a unique opportunity. He desired she develop a sizable charity project. He would fund her endeavor, but Lily had to do the work to bring her plans to fruition. She jumped on the proposal, glad for an occupation beside the
ton’s
vapid entertainments.

Mr. Bachman rummaged through a drawer and withdrew a sheet of paper covered with Lily’s neat writing.

“So, here is the list of ideas you began with. What have you settled upon?”

Lily pointed to an item halfway down the page. “The school for disadvantaged young women,” she said. “I should like to keep it small for now. Girls would receive a sound education, plus some accomplishments that would enable them to take positions as governesses, ladies’ maids, companions, things of that nature.”

Mr. Bachman cupped his chin in his hand and listened with a thoughtful expression while Lily enumerated her ideas for the school. When she finished, he slapped his fingers on the desk. “Marvelous, my dear.”

Lily swelled with pride at her father’s approval.

He took a fresh sheet of paper and jotted a note. “I’m putting my solicitor at your disposal. The two of you can select an appropriate property for purchase. Meanwhile, you also need to secure a headmistress, who can, in turn, hire the staff. You’ll need tutors, a cook, maids … ”

As the plan came together, Lily’s confidence in the project soared. There was nothing she could not accomplish once she knew how to approach a problem.

She kissed her father’s cheek at the conclusion of their meeting.

“Just think, m’dear,” he said on their parting.

“What’s that?”

“When you marry one of those lazy aristocrats, he’ll have scads of free time to help with your work.” He winked and patted her arm.

Lily scowled at his back. He seemed to think a man in need of her dowry would also, in turn, look kindly upon her efforts to care for those less fortunate than themselves. She snorted. Such a man did not exist.

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