A Lady in Name (21 page)

‘It is not profitless
.’

‘When you know perfectly well Stefan will veto anything you suggest?’

A little pulse skipped in Lucy’s breast. ‘Why should he? He knows I never meant to stay here.’

‘He may know it, but that does not mean he will allow you to leave.’

Lucy began to be irritated. ‘He has nothing to say in the matter.’

‘Oh, I doubt that.’
Dion giggled. ‘I imagine he will have plenty to say.’

With which Lucy could not argue.
She hoped Stefan was not concocting a scheme which must keep her in his vicinity. If so, his motivation was duty, and Lucy would be expected to be grateful.

‘Don’t you want to stay here, Lucy?’

She looked up. Dion sounded a little hurt, and remorse gnawed at Lucy. ‘I would, if I were not here under false pretences.’

‘False pretences?
You are an Ankerville.’

‘I am half an Ankerville.’

‘Even Corisande accepts you without question.’

Mrs Ankerville had welcomed Lucy back into the household without a blink, entirely failing to enquire into her mission, instead embarking upon a dissertation on the probable whereabouts of the writings of a medieval troubadour that happened to be of current interest.

‘She has been very kind. But she does not know about Mr Oade.’

‘Your mad uncle?’
Dion laughed. ‘I am persuaded Corisande would not turn a hair. She would probably unearth an anecdote about some insane Ankerville to cap our story and render it second rate.’

But at dinner that evening, Lucy discovered Dion was less cognisant of her mother’s character than she supposed.

‘Has it occurred to any of you,’ she said over the entrée of asparagus dipped in a cheese sauce, ‘to think how you are to present Lucinda to Paulina? She was here during your absence, you know, Stefanus, and I was obliged to tell her something of your purpose.’

‘Oh, Mama,
why?’ came fretfully from Dion.

Mrs Ankerville was not in the least put out.
‘Because she expressed surprise at your having gone along, Dionisia.’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘That you were chaperoning Miss Graydene.’

Stefan glanced at Lucy, inwardly cursing his cousin’s inconvenient curiosity.
It was another of the matters niggling at him, and he should have brought it up before this. Except that Lucy had been both aloof and snappy since the return, and he was loath to invite another outburst. It was like dealing with a cat of uncertain temperament. One never knew when she might lash out and scratch.

She was avoiding his eye as usual.
Stefan could not believe her attention was wholly taken up by the contents of her plate as it appeared to be, particularly in view of her obvious lack of appetite. She was industriously digging with her fork, but the implement made few journeys to her mouth. Regretfully rejecting the notion of taking up the fork and feeding her himself, Stefan turned to his mother.

‘We do need to address it, Mama, you are perfectly right.’

He caught a flashing look from Lucy before she lowered her gaze to her plate again. But Dion was all eyes and question.

‘Gracious, I had thought you would have had it all sewn up already, Stefan!’

He could not forbear a grin, though he cast a wary glance at Lucy. She did not look up. ‘I have, as it happens.’

Not much to his surprise, Lucy flung up her head, throwing him an ireful look which boded ill for the barrowful of schemes he had in his head.

‘For my part,’ said his sister, before Lucy could edge in a word, ‘I think we should stick to Mama’s notion and tell her Lucy is an indigent relative. Did you not tell Paulina so when she asked after us, Mama?’

‘Do you take me for a fool?’ demanded Corisande.
‘Of course not, when it is perfectly obvious—’

Hawkesbury coughed, and Stefan looked towards him.
A discreet jerk of the butler’s head drew his attention to the footman, just re-entering the room bearing a heavy tray.

‘Ah, here is James with the next course,’ Stefan said loudly, giving his mother a warning look.
There was no need to remind Dion of the necessity for discretion. Hawkesbury could be relied upon to keep his tongue, but he did not need rumour of Lucy’s true identity to become rife in the servants’ hall.

‘I am surprised Paulina is able to make the journey,’ Dion uttered by way of changing the trend of the conversation.
‘She must be nearly at her time.’

‘She has a week or two yet.’
Corisande laid down her utensils. ‘I do trust she will content herself with this one. I cannot think what she wants with so many babies.’

‘It is only her third, Mama,’ Stefan pointed out.
‘Admittedly, they have come in quick succession.’

Lucy was looking at Corisande.
‘I saw her the first day. She appeared to be very well, despite being so close to her confinement.’

‘Yes, I forgot you had met her,’ said Stefan,
and was satisfied to have drawn Lucy’s eyes in his direction.

‘It was hardly a meeting.
She took me for a servant. She thought I had come to be interviewed for an appointment.’

Stefan found it typical, but Dion was up in arms.
‘How rude. Not but what it is just what one would expect.’

‘I can scarcely blame her,’ Lucy said.
‘My dress is plain, if respectable, and my mourning may make me appear less than I am.’

‘Yes, like the housekeeper or something of the sort,’ agreed Corisande.
‘But we can remedy that.’

Stefan found his mother’s eyes upon him, expectation in them.
She wished him to substantiate it? And risk Lucy’s wrath? So be it. But Lucy forestalled him.

‘I don’t think so.
It seems to me admirable to our purposes if Lady Sarclet does think me a servant. Indeed, it fits well with Mrs Ankerville’s earlier suggestion, that I am an indigent relative come to help with her work.’

Conscious of listening ears, Stefan looked round for the footman, but Hawkesbury gave him a nod of reassurance.
Having removed the used dishes, James had left the dining parlour.

‘Paulina would never believe Mama had engaged a helper,’ he said, giving Lucy an apologetic look, ‘though it is an excellent notion.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘You need not patronise me, my lord!’

The room fell silent.
Stefan clamped down on a rise of annoyance. Dion was frantically trying to engage Lucy’s attention with a pair of wriggling eyebrows, while Corisande was looking at Lucy as at a rare poem.

Mortified at forgetting herself in public, Lucy could only be relieved when the butler saved the day by beginning to serve the next course.
She really must make more of an effort to keep her tongue.

‘What was it you had decided, Stefan?’
Dion asked.

He did not look at Lucy, who was thus able to watch him surreptitiously as he responded.
‘I was of the opinion we should use the tale I gave to the curate.’

‘What, that Mr Graydene commended Lucy to Uncle Beves’s care because of some long-forgotten obligation?’

‘Precisely. But on reflection, I suspect it will scarcely pass muster with Paulina.’

‘Gracious, yes.
She would be bound to plague us with question. She always does when her papa is in the case.’

‘Which is why I think the indigent relative is preferable.
And we had best make it on Corisande’s side. To set the relationship far from any connection with the Ankervilles seems to me the safest course.’

He was unprepared for what his mother had to say to this.
‘You cannot expect Paulina to be blind, Stefanus. Do you suppose she has never looked in a mirror?’

Stefan frowned.
‘Meaning?’

Corisande raised her brows.
‘For all I know Beves fathered a multitude of bastards, but there can be no doubt he left his mark on his daughters.’

Shock rippled through Stefan.
‘Mama, how did you know Lucy is his daughter? I distinctly recall it was not mentioned.’

‘No, indeed,’ agreed Dion.
‘You asked no questions, Mama, so we said nothing.’

Lucy’s chest had dropped sharply at Mrs Ankerville’s words, and she was the more disturbed by the expression of astonishment on that lady’s face.

‘Why should I need telling? I have eyes in my head, have I not?’

Dion’s own eyes were popping as they came around to Lucy’s face.
‘You mean she looks like Paulina? Oh, no. No, no, Mama. Why, Lucy has a charming countenance, while Paulina—’ She left the sentence unfinished, her wrinkled nose proof enough of her opinion of her cousin’s features.

Lucy caught Stefan looking at her, his brows beetled in a concentrated frown.
‘I confess at first I could see points of resemblance. Paulina has dark hair like yours, Lucy. And her eyes are perhaps similar, but paler in colour.’

Mrs Ankerville uttered a disbelieving laugh.
‘Hair? Eyes? Heavens, Stefanus, but use yours!’ Her hand swept an encompassing arc across Lucy’s features. ‘The shape of the face; the little determined chin; the width of the brow. Granted, Paulina has grown chubby in the face, big as she is with child. But you cannot have forgotten how she looks under normal circumstances. They might be sisters.’

* * *

‘I must be gone from here!’

Lucy was pacing the carpet in Stefan’s study, while he perched upon the edge of the desk, watching her.

The shock in her face at Corisande’s appalling revelation had struck him to the core. He had known how desperately upset she was, and it did not surprise him when she developed a headache before dinner was over and excused herself.

Dion had risen.
‘Shall I go after her? Though what in the world can be said?’

Corisande had looked from one to the other of them.
‘Dear me, have I put the cat among the pigeons?’

‘Well and truly, I fear, Mama,’ Stefan said drily.
And to Dion, ‘I will go. This is likely the opportunity I need, though I’ve been reluctant to look for it.’

He had left the room on the words, giving Dion no opportunity to enquire further into his meaning.
It had not taken many minutes to track Lucy down. He caught her up in the corridor on her way to her chamber. He had given her no chance to evade him, taking her arm in a firm grip.

‘Come to my study.’

In the event she had not resisted as he marched her back down to the first floor and into his private sanctum. There he had released her, going immediately to the bell pull and tugging on it.

‘I’ll send for brandy.
A sip or two will do much to alleviate shock. Unless you would prefer tea?’

‘I want nothing, I thank you,’ she’d uttered on
a fretful note, already shifting to and fro in a manner reminiscent of a caged animal. Stefan went to perch on the desk, waiting until Lucy should have calmed sufficiently to talk.

She ceased her pacing and turned to look at him.
‘I cannot stay here, you must see that.’

Stefan
warned himself to be careful how he handled her. He tried for a measured tone. ‘Where would you wish to go?’

‘Anywhere!’

He could not forbear a smile. ‘Highly impractical.’

She struck her hands together.
‘Oh, don’t jest. Cannot you see how impossible it is I should remain here? Your mother had no notion of Lord Pennington being my father, and yet she saw sufficient resemblance to know that this woman is my sister.’

‘Yes, I heard it,’ Stefan said smoothly.
‘And she is only your half-sister.’

‘What does that matter?
How do you suppose she must feel when she finds you are housing a female who shares the same father as she? In her place, I should be insulted beyond all bearing.’

Stefan rose from the desk and went to her, attempting to take her hands.
Lucy would not let him, instead holding them palm up against him and backing away.

‘Don’t touch me!
I cannot endure you to touch me!’

He stopped short, a shaft slicing into his chest.
For several moments he was deprived of breath, and his mind refused to operate. All he knew was a sensation of corroding hurt.

A knock at the door penetrated his consciousness.
Stefan turned sharply, calling out, ‘Come in.’

The door opened to admit the housemaid.
She dropped a curtsy. ‘You rang, my lord?’

He had done so, yes, but at this precise instant he could not recall why.
He struggled to clear his head. ‘Yes. Yes, I did. Desire Hawkesbury to bring brandy to this room, if you please. And two glasses.’

Turton’s eyes went from him to Lucy and Stefan came to a sense of how they must both appear.
His sharpened his tone.