Love for Lucinda (8 page)

Mrs. Grisham brought her daughter to be introduced to Lady Mays and Miss Blythe. She was an ambitious mother, and she was shrewd enough to know that an invitation to any address as prestigious as Mays House could not but help her daughter’s consequence.

The girl was a pretty minx who was obviously more interested in fixing the interest of any gentleman that came within her range than in meeting two unattached ladies. Miss Amanda Grisham was shocked when she met Lady Mays. It had never occurred to her that a widow could be either young or beautiful. As she responded to Lucinda’s greeting, there was an instant antagonism in her expressive eyes. Lucinda was a good deal astonished to realize that the girl saw her as some sort of rival.

Lady Mays’s companion, Miss Blythe, was thought to look very well also. Mrs. Grisham was particularly impressed. “Such an elegant, respectable creature. She is obviously of good birth. You would do well to pattern yourself after her, Amanda,” said Mrs. Grisham to her daughter as they left the box.

“Yes, Mama,” said her obedient daughter, casting a languishing glance at a young gentleman just then passing them. He turned his head, startled.

It was not at all surprising that a number of gentlemen seized the opportunity to make themselves known to the beautiful widow. Many relied upon ladies of their acquaintance to perform the necessary introductions. However, it was already becoming common knowledge that Mr. Stassart was Lady Mays’s cousin, and Ferdie found himself in the pleasant position of being importuned for his good offices. He allowed himself to be persuaded when the anxious gentlemen began to offer him small considerations that were of value to him. Several of his outstanding vowels were retired upon his promise to secure for the grateful bucks special entree into Lady Mays’s presence.

Thus it was that Ferdie came into the box with three gentlemen in tow. A large smile lit his pale countenance. “Cousin! I bid you a fair evening.” He bowed low over Lucinda’s outstretched hand.

Lucinda smiled, her eyes twinkling across his pomaded locks at Miss Blythe’s arctic expression. “Hello, Ferdie. Have you come to discuss your impressions of the play with Miss Blythe and myself?”

Mr. Stassart belatedly acknowledged the older woman. “Miss Blythe, your obedient servant.” He started to turn immediately back to his cousin.

“Civil of you to say so, Mr. Stassart,” said Miss Blythe primly.

One of the gentlemen, who appeared considerably older than his companions, gave a rumbling laugh. Ferdie flung a flickering, annoyed smile in Miss Blythe’s direction before he addressed his cousin. “Alas, I am not a learned fellow, so I shall not bore on about the merits or drawbacks of tonight’s performance. I am come, however, to pay homage to the loveliest lady of my acquaintance.” He regained possession of Lucinda’s hand and folded it between his own. Dropping on one knee, he uttered, “Dear cousin, but smile upon me and I shall be satisfied!”

“Very nice, Ferdie,” said Lucinda admiringly. When his grip slackened with surprise, she managed to free her hand. “I do believe that you could rival tonight’s leading man. I had no notion that you had such a turn for the dramatic. Had you, Tibby?”

“I have always been of the opinion that Mr. Stassart exhibited a rare flare for playacting,” said Miss Blythe blandly.

At a snort of appreciative laughter from the same amused gentleman, Mr. Stassart’s fine nostrils flared. With smiling viciousness, he snapped, “Gentlemen, my cousin’s former governess.”

“And my very good friend,” said Lucinda quietly. She was still smiling, but winter edged her voice. “Pray introduce us to your companions, Ferdie.”

Mr. Stassart realized that his cousin had been angered, and he silently cursed the Blythe biddy. However, nothing of his inner outrage was betrayed in his manners. “Lord Levine and the Honorable Albert Pepperidge, who are particular friends of mine,” he said.

The two gentlemen came forward, eager to pay their compliments to Lady Mays. She introduced them at once to Miss Blythe, and they reluctantly but politely greeted her chaperone.

Ferdie gestured to the third gentleman, a measure of annoyance entering his eyes. It had been this gentleman who had derived amusement at his expense. “And this is—”

The gentleman, who had stood back watching the vying byplay with a lift of amusement to his mobile mouth, stepped forward and smoothly presented himself. “I am Marcus Weatherby, Lady Mays. Miss Blythe, your servant. What your cousin is too nice to reveal, Lady Mays, is that I attached myself to his coat-tails when I overheard that he was coming to your box. I have used him abominably, for we are the merest acquaintances.”

Mr. Stassart was emboldened by this confession to give voice to his hidden resentment. “Quite. I have never been on more than nodding terms with you, Weatherby.”

Lucinda acknowledged Mr. Weatherby’s bow with a cool smile, then turned back to her cousin. “But how well you have handled an awkward situation, Ferdie,” said Lucinda, smiling at him. She really did not understand why she should set herself to soothe his feathers, but that it was advantageous to do so was immediately obvious.

Mr. Stassart was mollified, even unbending enough toward Mr. Weatherby to volunteer the information that the gentleman had just recently sold his commission in the army and that previously the gentleman had spent some years in India. “Weatherby is considerably older than I or Lord Levine or Albert here,” he finished.

Mr. Weatherby smilingly agreed to it and sat himself down beside Miss Blythe. He bent his head toward the lady, the silver in his dark hair glinting in the candlelight.

Lucinda cast a swift thoughtful glance in the gentleman’s direction. Mr. Weatherby was almost certainly all of forty years of age. He was an attractive man, well set up despite his obvious handicap. His left sleeve was empty and was neatly pinned up to the shoulder. His entire demeanor and dress proclaimed him to be a gentleman of quiet means. There was nothing of the fop or dandy about his person. He was as unlike her cousin and those others as a raven was to a songbird, she thought.

She wondered why Mr. Weatherby had chosen to thrust himself into her notice, for he did not in the least act like a man who was anxious to pay court to a lady that he admired. He had quite willingly left the field open to those with whom he had entered the box.

Lucinda’s attention was reclaimed by Lord Levine, who offered his assessment of that evening’s entertainment. “Dashed dull play, what?” he asked with a superior air. Mr. Pepperidge was quick to interject his own opinion. Lucinda smilingly allowed the two gentlemen to vie for her favor, all the while wondering what Mr. Weatherby could possibly be saying that was keeping her chaperone so riveted.

Mr. Stassart and his friends stayed a few minutes more. They left eventually, casting somewhat jealous eyes over Mr. Weatherby, for he had not yet been given a gracious cachet by Lady Mays. But they consoled themselves with the reflection that he had been relegated to talking to Miss Blythe while they had monopolized Lady Mays’s attention. In any event, his age and his infirmity surely put him outside the interest of any lady. So the trio left in fairly high spirits, convinced that they had acquitted themselves well.

Mr. Weatherby looked up when the door closed and inquired, “Are those prosing pups gone at last?”

Miss Blythe chuckled while Lucinda actually laughed. “For shame, Mr. Weatherby! One must protest such incivility, however appropriate the sentiment.”

“I say what I think, my lady. I am not one of your London exquisites who mouths pretty flatteries. Paugh!”

“Then what are you, Mr. Weatherby?” asked Lucinda, curious to hear what he might say.

Mr. Weatherby smiled. “I am a nabob, an old soldier, a thistle in the wind, my lady!”

“Lucinda, Mr. Weatherby has been recounting to me the most interesting tales of his travels. Only fancy, he has actually been to Greece,” said Miss Blythe. “Oh, how I should like to tour the country of Homer and the Iliad!”

“It is a hot, dirty place, but nevertheless there is much of interest. But I would recommend that your travels wait until this civil war with the Turks is quite settled,” said Mr. Weatherby. He rose from his chair. “I see that the curtain is about to rise. I shall take leave of you now, my lady, Miss Blythe. Your servant.”

When he had gone, Lucinda turned to Miss Blythe. “Well! I believe that to be the most intriguing gentleman that I have yet met in London.”

“Is he, my dear? I own, I found Mr. Weatherby to be a fascinating conversationalist. But do you not think that the gentleman is a trifle old for you?” said Miss Blythe.

“Oh, I have no notions in that direction, I assure you,” said Lucinda. “However, I do like his odd manners, and he seems to irritate my cousin. Is that reason enough to invite Mr. Weatherby to our supper and ball, do you think?”

“Really, Lucinda!” said Miss Blythe, her lips twitching. Though she shared her ladyship’s sentiments, she would not say so. She had never liked Mr. Stassart above half, but it would be most improper in her to encourage such flippancy. She determinedly turned her attention to the performance on the stage.

Chapter Eight

Lucinda and Miss Blythe left the theater. It was a very damp night. While the ladies waited for the carriage to come up to the curb, they hugged their cloaks close about them against the cold. The sky had been overcast all day, and dark had fallen early. The ladies, both pleasantly tired, reflected on the evening.

“It was a wonderful performance. I am so glad that we came,” said Miss Blythe.

“Oh, yes! And it was not only the play, Tibby. The evening progressed in a satisfactory fashion otherwise, don’t you think?” asked Lucinda. “I anticipate that we shall see any number of new invitations on the morrow. Why, we are becoming quite popular!”

“Yes, indeed. Everyone was most gracious,” said Miss Blythe.

Suddenly the dense, threatening clouds opened up. Rain and sleet swept down, surprising all that were leaving the theater. Cries and curses alike were startled out of the theatergoers, and there was a dash for shelter.

The carriage had drawn up at that moment, and Lucinda and Miss Blythe scrambled up into it with unladylike haste. The door was slammed shut. The carriage dipped as the driver climbed back up on top. Lucinda and Miss Blythe pulled a rug over their knees and put their feet on the hot brick. Rain and sleet drummed on the carriage roof.

Water dripped from Lucinda’s nose, and she brushed it away, laughing. “We must look like two drowned rats! What an end to a perfect evening. That will teach us to get so puffed up in our own estimation.”

Miss Blythe sneezed. She apologized, ending with, “It is a most salutary lesson, indeed!”

As soon as they had returned to Mays House, Lucinda and Miss Blythe repaired instantly to their respective bedchambers to remove their wet cloaks and finery. Madison gave a distressed cry at sight of her mistress’s wet appearance. “My lady! Oh, you must be frozen!”

“I am all right, Madison. But I fear that my slippers are ruined,” said Lucinda, wiggling her toes in the sodden footgear. She dropped the heavy wet cloak over a chair.

“We shall soon have you out of these wet things and into your gown, my lady,” said Madison. Her fingers flew over the many small buttons on the back of the gown. Within minutes Lucinda was cozy in a warm gown and robe.

The housekeeper had ordered up hot toddies for the ladies. Mrs. Beeseley herself performed the task of warming Lady Mays’s bedsheets. As she energetically moved the warming pan back and forth between the sheets, she scolded her mistress. “Anyone could have seen that it was going to rain. You ought to be more careful, my lady. No doubt you will catch a terrible chill.”

“Nonsense, I am never ill,” said Lucinda. “A little wetting shan’t harm me in the least.” She tightened the tie on her robe and turned to the fire, spreading her chilled fingers to the warm blaze.

“Perhaps not, my lady,” said Mrs. Beeseley, a note of doubt in her tone. She straightened, done at last with the warming pan. “Howsomever, I do have my doubts for poor dear Miss Blythe. Why, I left her not three minutes ago sneezing and sniffling something awful. The poor lady looked as miserable as a wet cat.”

Lucinda looked around, her sympathy immediately aroused. “Poor Tibby! I shall go to her at once.”

Lucinda went along the hall to her companion’s bedroom. She knocked on the door, and the maid opened it to her. The woman bobbed a curtsy. “Good evening, m’lady.”

Lucinda entered with a quiet word of greeting. “How is Miss Blythe?” she asked softly.

The maid shook her head. “Miss is sitting before the fire, feeling as wretched as she can be, m’lady.” She closed the door as Lucinda went to see for herself.

Miss Blythe was huddled in a wing chair with a rug thrown over her knees.
Her hair had been let down from its pins, and it hung in a thick screen over her shoulder. She cupped the hot toddy between her hands and carefully sipped at the hot brew. Her eyes were watery, her nose was red, and when she greeted Lucinda, her voice came out in a rasping croak.

Lucinda was shocked and concerned. “Tibby, you must instantly get into bed.”

“It is only a small chill. You must not be anxious on my account,” said Miss Blythe hoarsely.

The maid leaned quietly toward Lucinda. “Miss refuses to get into bed, my lady, and here I’ve warmed it up proper for her. Miss says that she don’t mean to coddle herself and won’t go to bed earlier than her usual.”

“Tibby, how can you be so nonsensical? Of course you should go to bed,” said Lucinda.

“I shan’t coddle myself. It is a very bad habit in which to fall,” said Miss Blythe. Her stern declaration lost most of its effect when she dissolved into a fit of sneezing.

“Well,
I
shall coddle you! Here, I shall help you into bed.” Lucinda took the cup from Miss Blythe’s hands and gave it to the maid.

“But I do not believe in coddling one’s self,” protested Miss Blythe, sniffling.

“Of course you do not. I am a great bully, however, and I insist that you get into bed. You will be much more comfortable,” said Lucinda. Ruthlessly, she threw the rug off Miss Blythe’s knees. She put her hand under Miss Blythe’s elbow and levered her up out of the chair. “Come along, Tibby. I will not be denied.”