A Lady in Name (33 page)

* * *

Lucy drifted out of sleep into a grey world of alien flesh and unfamiliar aromas. For several seconds she could not remember where she was.

Bit by bit it was borne in upon her she was lying face to face with Stefan with her head pillowed on his arm.
Shock held her silent and still, her eyes roving the sleeping features on the pillow beside her. A patch of warmth gradually resolved itself into the realisation that Stefan’s hand was resting on her bare hip. Under her nightgown!

Flame burst into life inside her and shot downwards to roar like a furnace in her secret inner depths.
A gasping cry escaped Lucy’s lips and her limbs shuddered uncontrollably, half flailing under the covers.

Beside her, Stefan woke with a jerk.
He reared up in the bed, turned quickly and took in Lucy’s condition in one sweep across her semi-exposed limbs. Without thought, he threw himself half over her, catching her into him, and murmuring words of reassurance.

‘It’s all right, sweetheart.
It’s no matter. Be still now, be still.’

Lucy was jelly, wracked by tremors she could not control.
‘It’s not all right. I am on fire!’

Stefan’s hand ran comfort all along her back and down her thigh, hushing her as he lowered his head to hers.

‘There is nothing to fear, my sweet, I promise you.’

Then his lips sought hers and Lucy stilled beneath his hold.
The sensation of his mouth upon hers was exquisite, the velvet softness of his tongue a touch of wine and magic.

Lucy felt his hand stroking the flesh of her thigh, and gasped, pulling out of the kiss.
Stefan’s arm beneath her tugged her to him and Lucy uttered a little cry that was not of pleasure.

‘You’re prickly!’

Stefan lifted his head, a laugh escaping. ‘I beg your pardon. Near a day’s growth of beard, I’m afraid.’

Lucy freed her hand and reached up to his face, feeling his cheek.
It felt rough, but not unpleasantly so. She saw him watching her, a lurking smile in his eyes. A rush of affection flooded Lucy.

‘Oh, but I love you so.
’

His eyes lit and Lucy impulsively reached behind his head and pulled him to her, setting her mouth to his again.
She heard his indrawn breath and felt the muscles harden in his legs. Only now did she recognise how entangled were their limbs. And then she lost herself in the intense pleasure of his kisses.

The heat engendered by the ministrations of his mouth upon hers was so intense, Lucy could not have imagined anything could surpass it.
But presently she felt the brush of his fingertips against her inner thigh. Heat streaked through her and she bucked.

‘Gently, my love,’ he
said softly. ‘We have all the time in the world.’

Sighing, Lucy relaxed
and gave herself up to his lovemaking.

* * *

They arrived in Upledon to a scene of disorder. The to-ing and fro-ing of workmen carting trunks and items of furniture from two wagons parked in the road, showed evidence that the new incumbent had arrived at the vicarage and was in the process of moving in.

Upon enquiry of a burly porter, it was discovered the curate was at that moment showing the new vicar around the parish.

Lucy regarded the chaos with dismay. ‘We will never manage a private conversation with Mr Waley with all this going on.’

‘Don’t fret,’ Stefan advised, casting a look of disfavour upon the proceedings.
‘I will take you to the Half Moon, and then come back and extract the fellow myself.’

Lucy was sceptical that even Stefan could manage to interrupt the business of the day successfully.
But having partaken of refreshment in her company, Stefan set off on foot while Cobbold attended to the horses.

Lucy chafed and worried for an hour or more over what she would say to Mr Waley should Stefan manage to find him and bring him to their private parlour in the Half Moon.
And then she recognised the curate’s voice.

Running to the door, she opened it and peered down the passage.
There was Mr Waley, ushering a stout gentleman into the tap room. There was no sign of Stefan. Sheer luck had brought the man just where he was most wanted.

Lucy stepped out through the door.
‘Mr Waley!’

He halted in the doorway and looked back, starting a little.
‘Miss Lucy!’

Lucy took a few steps towards him.
‘Mr Waley, I must speak with you.’

She thought his thin features registered surprise, but in the darkness of the passage she could not be sure.

‘One moment, if you please.’

He disappeared into the taproom, and Lucy waited, in a state of impatience and agitation.
The instant he came out, she called to him again.

‘Pray come into the parlour.’

He did as she asked, and Lucy closed the door behind him, then moved to the other side of the table, the better to confront him.

‘Miss Lucy, I did not expect to see you.
And so soon. Why have you returned?’

Lucy thought she detected a little rise of expectation as he looked at her through his spectacles.
‘I have come expressly to see you.’

Was it the light of hope?
Lucy took some satisfaction from the knowledge that if it was, she was about to dash it from his eyes.

‘You have not come alone, I trust?’ he asked, seeming to realise for the first time there was no one else in the room.

‘No, I have not.’

She did not elaborate.
Wherever Stefan was at this moment, there would be time enough for Mr Waley to learn of his presence.

‘Mr Waley.’
A quick frown came into his face, and Lucy was pleased to note her tone had an effect. ‘Yesterday I was at St Bride’s church in Much Marcle.’ He started. Was there a shade of guilt? ‘I learned there that my mother Alice Oade was married to the late Lord Pennington some six months before I was born.’

She waited for some sign of surprise or exclamation.
Mr Waley did indeed raise his brows, and draw in his cheeks, making his face ever more skeletal. But he did not speak.

Lucy was struck anew with the flood of resentment that had assailed her last night.
‘Can you not guess why I have come, Mr Waley? You were curate there at that time. The entry was written in your hand, for I recognised it almost immediately.’

His lips pursed, and he looked away from her.
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose it was certain you must do so, were you ever to see it.’

‘But you never meant me to see it, did you?’ she blazed, moving closer.
‘How could you keep it from me? You must have known—or remembered—when my aunt told you and you looked for the entry of my birth in the church here. It could not have escaped you. Pray do not try to tell me so, for I know for a fact you revisited St Bride’s in the recent past.’

The curate swayed a little, and staggered slightly.
Lucy started forward automatically, but he held up a hand to stop her.

‘I am all right.
If you will forgive me, I will sit down for a moment.’

Lucy went to the table and tugged out a chair with some violence, looking at him pointedly.

‘Thank you.’

He sat, and Lucy saw how his breathing seemed shallow.
Despite all, her compassion was stirred. ‘Are you unwell, Mr Waley?’

He shook his head.
‘A little shocked, that is all. I did not expect this.’ He put a hand to his chest and kept it there. ‘How did you come to be searching for that entry? How did you know of the marriage?’

‘By a method you could not have foreseen.’
Her unreasoning anger was dissipating. She pulled out another chair and sat down near him. ‘Lord Pennington had told his secret to only one person. She is an old lady now and perhaps her ability to hold to discretion is impaired.’

Mr Waley nodded.
‘God works in mysterious ways.’

‘Why did you do it, Mr Waley?’
Lucy’s tone was almost gentle. ‘You knew my distress at believing I was Lord Pennington’s love child.’

‘Yes, I knew it,’ the curate agreed heavily.
‘You will not believe it, I dare say, but I thought it was for the best.’

‘How could it be?’

A hand wavered. ‘Bear with me, Miss Lucy. I will come to it.’

She wanted to urge him, but Lucy held her tongue, waiting for him to arrive at his explanation.

‘I did not remember it at first. It was a long time ago, and I had no reason to connect you with the event until I understood the circumstances of your birth. But the names niggled at me, until at last I recalled the marriage I had witnessed. I did go to St Bride’s. I had to be sure.’ He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. ‘After, I deliberated long and hard, Miss Lucy. It did not seem to me likely that the noble family of Pennington might welcome what must undoubtedly prove a skeleton in their closet. I feared your impulsive nature would lead you to seek them out. I feared even more that you would meet with a rebuff, which must be more painful than to think yourself a natural daughter of the family.’

‘That won’t fadge!’

The voice was dry and Lucy started almost as violently as did Mr Waley. She shot a look to the door where Stefan was standing, his hand upon its edge.

He shut it and came into the room, even as the curate rose shakily from his chair.
Lucy knew from the glint at Stefan’s eye that he was furious. But before she could intervene, he was addressing the curate.

‘You must have realised there had been no rebuff when we escorted Lucy here to fetch her belongings.
Yet you failed to reveal the secret knowledge you believed you alone possessed.’

Lucy’s shock hammered protest in her head.
She eyed the curate with dawning anger. ‘You said nothing. Instead you asked me to marry you.’

Stefan uttered a short bark of laughter.
‘Of course he did. He never had the least intention of telling you.’ He closed in towards the curate, who flinched back, cheeks pinching tight. ‘Is that not correct, my dear sir? You used cunning, I’ll grant you. You surmised Lucy might be less inclined to marry you if she knew the truth. Your best chance of success lay in being the magnanimous parson who would marry her in despite of her nameless state.’

Dismayed, Lucy stared at him.
‘Is it true? But why did you want me? How could I benefit you? It could not be love!’

The curate threw out a hand at this.
‘Believe what you wish, but my regard for you is sincere.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ Lucy declared.

‘Oh, I think you may,’ Stefan said unexpectedly. ‘I doubt he had the wit to think he might gouge a petty fortune out of the Ankervilles.’

Mr Waley drew himself up straight, his cheeks flying colour.
‘Sir, you insult me!’

‘On the contrary,
I have just said I acquit you of any mercenary motive. But I take leave you tell you that I find your actions cowardly and dishonourable. You are a disgrace to your cloth.’

Mr Waley seemed to shrink into himself.
His legs buckled, and he just managed to reach the chair before he fell into it. Lucy could not withstand a rush of pity.

‘Enough, Stefan.
You have reviled him enough.’ She went to the curate and held out her hand. ‘I must bid you farewell. For Papa’s sake, let us part as friends.’

Mr Waley managed to nod as he took her hand in a weak grip.
‘You are very good, Miss Lucy.’

‘May I help you up?’

He shook his head, releasing himself. ‘I will manage, I thank you.’

Rising shakily from the chair, he made his slow way towards the door.
But Stefan moved, halting him with a hand upon his arm before he could reach it.

‘One moment.
If you are minded to make amends, you may readily do so. I am in need of a special licence. Where may I find the nearest bishop?’

* * *

Lucy felt fortunate in the weather as the curricle, equipped with a borrowed team from the Rose and Crown, bowled along in the direction of Chaseley and the Cullicudden farm. It was a crisp afternoon, but the sun peeked intermittently between the clouds, making the day pleasant. The way was convoluted, but Stefan recalled it from their previous visit.

Lucy had asked Stefan at
luncheon if he would take her back to the Oade farmstead, a decision he had not hesitated to question.

‘Are you sure you want to return there?’

‘Yes,’ Lucy said staunchly.

Stefan eyed her
frowningly as he forked a mouthful of pie. ‘But, why?’

‘It came to me all in a bang, when you said we must be married
without delay.’

Last night, in t
he aftermath of Stefan’s careful initiation of his prospective bride into the intricacies of the marriage bed, which proceeding Lucy had enjoyed with a fervour she could not conceal, he had been adamant their wedding must take place immediately.