Love for Lucinda

LOVE FOR LUCINDA

Gayle Buck

Chapter One

It was early morning. The winter sun slanted through the chilled panes of the windows. The gloom was not entirely dispelled in the bedroom, and a bunch of candles burned for additional illumination. The fire crackled on the hearth and kept the chill at bay.

A maid fussed briefly over the day dress that was laid carefully on top of the bed coverlet. She kept one eye upon her mistress, watching her pace slowly back and forth across the carpet. There was only the soft rustle of her lady’s heavy skirt to break the expectant silence.

The mantle clock struck the hour. It was the sound for which her lady had been waiting.

Lady Lucinda Mays turned and looked into the cheval glass. Her examination of herself was critical. She saw the same lovely countenance, set with the same wide blue eyes and the full, rather sensuous mouth. She looked much as she had at eighteen. But instead of a gay riband threaded through her hair, her head was covered with a delicate lace cap tied with gray ribbons. Instead of being attired in a pale elegant muslin, her neat figure was arrayed in a subdued dove-gray day dress. The gown was cut close to the throat and had full-length sleeves. A black-edged handkerchief was tucked inside one laced cuff.

With a deliberate movement, Lucinda reached up to remove the confining lace that covered her wavy dark hair. She flung down the hated cap and turned away from the mirror.

Madison, her dresser, stood waiting with her hands clasped in quiet anticipation. The woman stood beside the bed, upon which was lying a day dress of bright robin’s egg blue.

“One year to the day, Madison,” said Lucinda quietly. A smile quivered upon her lips. “Pray get me out of this ugly gown. I hope never to wear mourning again!”

“Yes, my lady, and with pleasure,” said the maid.

Within minutes Lucinda had been divested of the despised mourning gown and was reattired in the blue day dress. She turned again to look at herself in the cheval glass. A smile curved her lips. The transformation was complete. A bubble of joy swelled up inside her. She laughed for the sheer pleasure of the moment.

Lucinda turned to her dresser. Her brilliant blue eyes were dancing. “I am free at last. Give the orders, Madison. We are going to London. I wish to leave first thing after breakfast tomorrow.” She picked up a paisley shawl and arranged it about her shoulders before she swept across the room to the door.

“Yes, my lady!” Madison hurried to open the bedroom door for her mistress. As Lady Mays exited, the dresser stood to watch her stepping briskly down the hallway. The dresser smiled and softly closed the door.

Lucinda came to the head of the stairway and started down. Halfway down the stairs she paused. She took a fortifying breath.

Her father would be in the breakfast room, waiting for her. He had arrived unexpectedly three days before. Lucinda had been dismayed that he had chosen this particular time to pay her one of his paternal visits, but it could not be helped.

Lucinda had said nothing to Sir Thomas of her plans. It was perhaps unfortunate that he had delayed in his departure from her home. She had given only a passing thought to setting aside those same plans until her father had left. It would have been cowardly to wait, only to spare herself what could possibly be a distressing scene. Yet now, on the verge of the telling moment, she felt a flutter of trepidation.

Lucinda straightened her shoulders. She had vowed to herself that when this day dawned, she would claim back her life and so she would. She had already begun by putting off the detested mourning, thus symbolically cutting once and for all the bonds that had been placed upon her when she had wed three years before. Answering her father’s inevitable questions would be a good test of her fortitude.

Lucinda traversed the remainder of the stairs and crossed the hall. She entered the breakfast room. No matter what time her father arose, it was Sir Thomas’s unchanging custom to delay his own meal until there was someone to share the breakfast table with him. He disliked being left to his own company at any time, but especially in the quiet of the morning. Lucinda had often wondered about that particular quirk of her father’s. He had always seemed to have a distaste for solitude, and it was incomprehensible to him that others should feel otherwise.

Sir Thomas was already seated at the table when Lucinda entered. She advanced with outstretched hands. “Papa.”

Sir Thomas Stassart looked up, smiling, as he rose from the table. But his genial expression swiftly faded upon catching sight of his daughter. He received Lucinda’s filial salute upon his cheek with total disregard. “Daughter! What is this? You have put off your mourning!”

“Yes; do you not agree that this blue suits me, Papa?” asked Lucinda calmly, disengaging herself and moving away to seat herself opposite her father at the table.

The footman in attendance seated her. She thanked him with a brief nod and a smile before she turned again to her stunned parent. “Did you sleep well, Papa? I do trust that Pottsby has served your morning coffee just as you like it?”

“Never mind my coffee or how I spent the night, Lucinda,” said Sir Thomas testily, returning to his chair. He was a short, portly gentleman, and just then he resembled nothing so much as a ruffled pheasant in his brown coat and striped waistcoat. “I wish to know what maggot you have gotten into your brain.”

Lucinda arched perfectly formed brows. A lift of amusement marked her lips. She chose to be deliberately obtuse. “I fail to understand you, Papa.” She nodded to the footman to serve her a portion of eggs and kidneys. “Yes, please. And the toast and marmalade. Thank you.”

Sir Thomas waited only until the footman had stepped back from the table before he exclaimed, “This gown, Lucinda! What means it?” He waved a comprehensive hand at his daughter’s elegant attire.

“You do not care for it, Papa? I am disappointed. I was certain that it was all the crack. I think it rather becoming, actually,” said Lucinda, putting marmalade on her toast.

“You well know that it is not your fashion sense that I question,” said Sir Thomas, feeling goaded. “Do not play the clothhead with me, Lucinda. I am referring to the putting off of your mourning. Why, Lord Mays was laid in his tomb scarcely a year ago and—”

“I beg your pardon, Papa, but I must correct you. Lord Mays expired on this day one year and”—Lucinda glanced at the mantle clock and continued—”a half hour past. Or so I was informed.”

There was a muffled choke at the sideboard, quickly covered by a rattle of cutlery. The butler bent a censorious glance upon his subordinate. However, he, too, was suddenly smitten with a sudden industriousness with the side dishes so that he could bend his ear. The conversation at the table had taken an interesting turn.

Lucinda and Sir Thomas took no notice of the servants. She did not care what was overheard, for her position was no secret. As for her father, he was at that moment so overcome that he scarcely recalled his surroundings. All of his startled attention was riveted upon his daughter.

“Lucinda, your attitude is preposterous!” said Sir Thomas.

Lucinda said coolly, “On the contrary. My obligatory period of mourning was ended some minutes ago. I have therefore put off my widow’s weeds.”

“Lucinda! Of all the outrageous—”

She held up her hand at the expression upon her parent’s face. Very quietly, she warned, “I will brook no censor, Papa, even from you.”

Sir Thomas was taken aback. He looked narrowly at his daughter. As he recollected that she was no longer a young miss dependent upon him, he thought better of what he had been about to say. He cleared his throat. “No one knows better than I, unless it is perhaps your mother, how difficult has been your position, Lucinda. You have borne your exile here at Carbarry with admirable fortitude. It was very bad of Mays to banish you in the manner that he did, especially in light of his ...” Sir Thomas stumbled, a dull flush coming into his face. One did not discuss such things with one’s daughter even though she had been a married woman. “But I shall say nothing of that, for I would spare you pain.”

Sir Thomas’s daughter was not so nice in her sensibilities. “You are referring to my husband’s paramours,” said Lucinda flatly.

There was another rattling as the footman dropped a lid. The butler shot such a sulfurous look at the man that he blanched. This time, just as the butler had feared, the noise was noticed. Sir Thomas suddenly became aware of their audience. “Daughter!”

Sir Thomas rolled his eyes in the direction of the servants. Repressively, he said, “Perhaps we should discuss this between us at a more opportune time.”

At her father’s unmistakable signal, Lucinda shrugged with indifference. “It is scarcely a secret, Papa. How could it be? Lord Mays had his train of mistresses before he ever acquired me. He retained them instead of me when the novelty of parading a wife palled.”

Sir Thomas forgot the presence of the servants. “Lucinda, surely you exaggerate. No man in his right mind rids himself of a wife because he is bored!” he exclaimed.

“Believe me, I was not long in stumbling onto the realization that my sole value to Lord Mays was founded upon my reputation as a touted beauty,” said Lucinda with a tiny smile. She gestured expressively. “It was considered the coup of the Season when Lord Mays carried me off to the altar. Once the acquisition was made, of course, the other contenders took only a waning interest in the prize. Lord Mays soon found himself possessed of a beautiful, well-bred wife, and no one cared anymore.”

“This bitterness ill becomes you, Lucinda,” reproved Sir Thomas, though feeling a stir of distress. She was his daughter, after all. It disturbed him that she had suffered such an indignity as she was declaring.

“Am I bitter?” Lucinda thought about it a moment. She shrugged a little. “Perhaps I am. Yet I am grateful for one thing. I am grateful that Lord Mays did banish me just seven months after we were wed, for I found it increasingly intolerable to put up a smiling front. It saved my sanity, I think, to come to Carbarry. And though I was naturally sorry to hear that Lord Mays was dead, I will freely admit to you, Papa, that I was also rather relieved. The farce was at last played out after three long years.”

“Lucinda!” Sir Thomas smashed his fist down onto the table. The cutlery jumped. His distress had given way to horror at his daughter’s seeming callousness. There was obviously much more that he wished to say, but his feelings overcame him. He seemed at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing.

In the excess of his emotion, Sir Thomas had forgotten that they were not alone in the breakfast room. Lucinda had not, however, and she realized that the butler and footman were now unashamedly listening. Lucinda saw how overwrought was her parent, and she thought it prudent to draw a measure of privacy over the rest of the conversation. She dismissed the servants with a gesture, and with visible reluctance they exited.

Scarcely before the serving door had closed, Sir Thomas burst out, “I forbid you to speak anymore in this disrespectful and erratic vein. When I recall how Lord Mays provided everything—everything!—that you could possibly desire!”

“Jewels and gowns and fripperies to make the envious stare and the rest of society to convey their compliments on how well I reflected honor upon his lordship. My portrait painted by the most expensive artist that one could afford. Oh yes, and let us not forget the loneliness and tears and the daunting prospect of living out the remainder of my life in such a sad fashion,” said Lucinda. She sighed and shook her head. “You are quite wrong, Papa.”

“How can you talk so? Why, any woman alive would have been eager to have had all that you were given,” protested Sir Thomas.

Summoning up a little smile, she said quietly, “No, Papa, I do not believe so. I was given nothing that I desired. With the marriage settlements, Lord Mays gave you and Mama everything that
you
desired.”

At this home shot, Sir Thomas’s florid face reddened. “You were not unwilling to wed Lord Mays, as I recall. Your mother and I—we would not ever have forced you into a marriage that you found repugnant. Why, Lord Mays embodied all that one could hope for one’s daughter—wealth and position and birth. His ... his predilection for sordid feminine company was unfortunate, of course, but we were confident that once you were wed that
that
would be a thing of the past.”

“Yes, so Mama explained to me. But it did not prove to be so.”

“No, it did not.” Sir Thomas sighed heavily. His daughter’s expression became amused, and he realized suddenly that he was beginning to tread dangerous ground. He instantly reiterated his strongest point. “You were not an unwilling bride, Lucinda. You, too, saw all the advantages of the match!”

“I was a dutiful daughter,” Lucinda agreed. She smiled at her afflicted father. “Pray do not misunderstand me, Papa. I do not blame you or Mama. I had every expectation of finding happiness with Lord Mays. I meant to be a good wife to him so that in time he would come to have affection for me. However, it was simply not to be. Now I am free of my unhappy state. Pray do not grudge me my happy content that it is so.”