A Lady in Name (18 page)

‘Only Mr Oade is murderous,’ Lucy pointed out.
‘Poor Mrs Oade is rather a victim of his acts. I do hope he will not visit his rage upon that poor old creature.’

‘I think not,’ Stefan said judiciously.
‘Recollect his venom is directed upon his sister.’

‘And me, as the living embodiment of her sin.’

‘It is all bluster, I am persuaded,’ he soothed. ‘I have frequently remarked that persons who have done a great wrong are apt to work themselves into a fever of fury against their victims, as if to justify their actions.’

‘But he does not think it was wrong,’ objected Dion.
‘He believes he did right to encourage his father to throw Lucy’s mother out.’ She looked sharply round at Lucy. ‘It must have been he who discovered her condition.’

Lucy was swept with an abrupt resurgence of the bitterness that had overtaken her when she first heard of her state.
‘What an inconvenience I have been to so many persons! Perhaps it would be as well if my charming uncle carried out his threat to dispose of me.’

‘Lucy!’

She ignored Dion’s shock, but she was unprepared for Stefan’s reaction. His hand moved sharply, the horses slowed and were pulled up, held under iron control. Lucy glanced round in question and met a thundercloud. Her heart thudded heavily in her breast.

Stefan was white-lipped, his eyes mere chips of ice-cold steel.
His voice bit at her, cutting like a whiplash.

‘If you ever utter another such foolish sentiment, Lucy Graydene, I will wash my hands of you!
You are far less dismally situated than a great many unfortunates, and to speak in such a fashion is a base ingratitude to those who have your interests at heart.’

A wash of dismay and remorse swept through Lucy, and she struggled to keep from bursting into sobs.
Her heart was thumping like a battle drum, and she felt altogether worse than she had done all day.

He had paused as if for breath, his chest driving in and out.
Lucy wanted to say something, anything to mitigate the hateful fury in his face, but her mind was devoid of words. She opened her mouth to begin to form some semblance of apology, distressed beyond bearing. But his whip hand came up and one finger pointed a warning.

‘Don’t dare come back at me!
But one word, and you will tempt me to use you in a manner unbefitting the conduct of a gentleman.’

With which, Stefan turned his face deliberately from her, and put his attention on his horses.
Next moment, the curricle was in motion and Lucy’s composure in tatters.

A shred of pride alone enabled Lucy to withstand the near overwhelming urge to give way to a passionate desire to weep her heart out.
That and the horrid tense silence in the curricle. Then Dion’s hand slipped covertly into hers, and squeezed.

Lucy dared a peek, and the speaking look of compassion in Dion’s eyes nearly overset her.
Lucy could only return the proffered squeeze and turn her gaze back upon the road, blinking hard and swallowing on the lump in her throat.

By and by she became aware she could still feel the hardness of Stefan’s knee against her own, the muscles of his thigh working as he controlled the horses round the bends of the road, and the rub of his rein arm against her side.
A faint echo of the heat she had earlier felt returned, but the present circumstances so militated against such feelings Lucy could not endure them. She inched carefully towards Dion, and managed to shift just enough to lessen the rub. Next instant, she was mortified to feel Stefan had noted the change, for the muscles stiffened all along his thigh. Lucy saw his legs turning a little to the other side in a manner which managed to pull away sufficiently so she could only feel his body at the hip.

Her stomach seemed as if it hollowed out suddenly, but it took Lucy a few moments to recognise the feeling.
She was bereft. How could this be? Surely his conduct must rather have alienated her? Such intimacy was last thing she wished for, after the manner of his reprimand. Yet the sense of loss persisted and Lucy could do nothing but endure.

No further word was exchanged throughout the remainder of the journey back to the Half Moon, Stefan maintaining a silence fraught with heavy disapprobation.
Lucy dared not address him, though she longed to dissipate the dreadful atmosphere. What could she say, even if her tongue would obey her command?

The words that had so angered him filtered into her head, and she wondered at her own stupidity.
She had not meant them. She was merely expressing her distress. Should he not have known it? Could he not have seen it?

By the time the curricle arrived at the Half Moon, a creeping sense of ill-usage had begun to infect Lucy’s mind.
When Stefan, tight-lipped, had handed down his sister, Lucy found herself wishing she might reject his proffered help. Reflecting that it would only serve to make her look the more foolish, lowering her further in his eyes, she managed to refrain from so petty a revenge.

But the instant she laid her hand in his, it was as if a snake leaped from his fingers and raced up her arm.
Lucy could not forbear snatching her hand away, shocked by the effect his touch had on her.

Stefan glanced up sharply, a frown drawing his brows together.
His lip curled. ‘I will not bite. Come.’

He held up his hand again.
Lucy took it, this time feeling only a sliver of warmth. She was strongly aware of his grip as she descended, but the instant she was safe upon her feet, Stefan released her. There was nothing for it but to hold her head up high and follow Dion into the inn.

During dinner, Lucy was grateful for Dion’s valiant attempts to return the three of them to normality, although she signally failed.
For the most part, Stefan’s responses to her sallies were delivered in monosyllables, while Lucy felt unequal to participate beyond a word or two, so conscious was she.

There was no trace in Stefan of the fury that had provoked him into lashing out at her, but there could be little doubt the gulf between them was felt as keenly on his side as on Lucy’s.

A very brief lull occurred when Dion made a point Lucy could not but find pertinent.

‘What I can’t understand, Lucy, is how your Papa failed to find the Oades when we located them so very easily.’

Lucy frowned, diverted from her clouded thoughts. ‘I had not thought in the press of events, but you are right, Dion.’

‘Perhaps Oade turned him away,’ Stefan suggested.

‘Only too likely, I should think.’

‘But Papa would not have flinched, even from a blunderbuss,’ Lucy objected.

She found Stefan’s grey gaze upon her and her chest tightened at the lack of warmth therein. But his words were mild.

‘Then let us suppose, assuming he did locate the Oade
s, that he chose to bring you up himself rather than thrust you into a family who could be depended upon to treat you with contempt, even could they be induced to take you in.’

‘
Gracious, yes,’ Dion chimed in. ‘Especially if his approach to Uncle Beves had met with so little success.’

Such a decision would indeed have been typical of
the vicar, Lucy reflected. But one aspect troubled her.

‘I cannot think Papa would have made pretence to me of not knowing who
my mother was when he told me the truth.’

‘Not even to spare you
pain?’

Lucy looked quickly towards Stefan, struck by an odd note in his voice that reminded her horribly of the contretemps earlier in the day.
Her throat ached and she could barely summon words.

‘Yes, perhaps,’
she managed.

‘Added to that, assuming as we must that he knew your character through and through, Mr Graydene must surely have preferred that you
would seek out your father’s family, should you do precisely what you have done.’

‘How right you are, Stefan,’ Dion put in. ‘Having given you such an upbringing, your papa could not have wished for you to sink below your own worth.’

‘Such as it is.’

The words slipped out. Instantly conscious, Lucy
felt a stupid rise of apprehension and cast a glance at Stefan. He did not speak, but a faint frown creased his brow and she became uncomfortable all over again. Relief came from Dion.

‘Lucy, you look utterly exhausted, and no wonder.’

This provided just the excuse she needed to retire early to bed. She was hastened on her way by an admonition from his lordship to be ready to leave for Pennington in the morning. Lucy made him no answer, but slipped quietly out of the parlour and made her way upstairs. Scarcely had she changed into her nightgown than there was a scratch at the door. It opened and Dion’s head poked around it.

‘May I come in?’

‘Of course,’ Lucy said, in as natural a tone as she could manage.

Dion tripped over and gave her a convulsive hug.
Drawing away, Dion let her hands slide to Lucy’s arms and held them.

‘There.
Just to show you at least one Ankerville is in your camp.’

Lucy sighed.
‘We have made things uncomfortable for you, have we not?’

‘Fiddle
. It was not you, but Stefan. I declare, I have never seen him as angry. He has cooled now, thank goodness, but I cannot think what came over him.’

This was cold comfort to Lucy.
To know she had been the cause of provoking Stefan to a fury unknown in the bosom of his family could not but reawaken the feelings of remorse she thought she had subdued. She shrugged off Dion’s hands.

‘I should not have spoken in that way.’

Dion snorted. ‘Oh, stuff. I am sure I have expressed much the same sort of thing in the past, and Stefan cared nothing for it. No, depend upon it, there is some other force at work upon him.’

Lucy was sceptical.
‘Such as?’

Dion twinkled.
‘If I knew that, Lucy, he would not have set me in a puzzle.’

‘Thank you for trying to set all to rights.’

‘I cannot be said to have got much good by it. The wretch is as surly as a bear. I have a very good mind to speak to him.’

‘Oh, pray don’t,’ Lucy begged, blenching at the thought.
‘You will only quarrel with him and make bad worse.’

‘Very likely.
But I am excessively cross with him for speaking to you like that. Why, anyone would suppose he was married to you.’

Something stabbed violently into Lucy’s
stomach, and she was deprived momentarily of speech. Dion appeared to have no notion of having said anything amiss. It was clearly a mere figure of speech. Lucy tried for a light note.

‘If that is how he means to conduct himself towards his unfortunate spouse, whoever she may prove to be, I must confess myself sorry for the poor creature.’

Dion laughed merrily. ‘Yes, and we may thank our stars you are hopelessly ineligible. Stefan could not possibly marry you, even should he wish to.’

‘Which is in the highest degree unlikely,’ agreed Lucy, desperately hoping the sudden access of dismay did not show in her face.

To her consternation, Dion’s bright eyes regarded Lucy’s countenance in a considering way. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Stranger things have happened.’

Lucy whisked away from her, crossing to the washstand and making play with pouring a little water into the basin from the ready jug.

‘What a fortunate thing then that neither he nor I are the least inclined in that direction. Besides, I shall soon be removing from Pennington to make my way in the world.’

A giggle erupted from Dion.
‘I wonder what Stefan will have to say to that?’

‘Good riddance, I should imagine, if we are to judge by his outburst today.’

Lucy lowered her face to the basin and began to splash it with water. From the doorway, Dion spoke again.

‘Well, at least I have dragged you out of the dismals.
Goodnight, dear Lucy.’

The door shut behind her, and Lucy froze over the basin.
If only that were true. With Dion’s departure, her spirits immediately dropped. Fond as she had become of the girl, she could wish Dion might refrain from talking the most arrant nonsense.

Reaching for the towel, Lucy patted her face dry.
In vain. Within a moment of her snuffing out her candle and getting between sheets, her eyes sent a deluge down her cheeks and she was obliged to hunt for a handkerchief to stem the tears she had been keeping back all day. Cursing, Lucy got up out of bed to wash her face again, glad of the moonlight seeping under the drapes at the window. Tucked once more between sheets, although she no longer felt like weeping, sleep eluded her and the night hours dragged.

* * *

Stefan had slept but fitfully. The consequence of his unprecedented fit of anger haunted him. He could not now imagine what had driven him to so violent a reaction towards Lucy. She had been foolish, yes. But he was perfectly aware the words had been said in the agitation of the moment. There had been no serious intent behind them.