What Lucinda Learned (5 page)

At the edge of the dance floor she caught sight of Will. He was gesturing animatedly, his face excited. A turn of the dance revealed his companion: Beau Devereux.

Lucinda’s heart jumped and she lost the rhythm of the dance. Her gangly young partner blushed scarlet as she trod on his toe and began to stutter incoherent apologies. Guiltily, Lucinda devoted herself to him for the rest of the set.

But when she returned to the chaperons’ corner, she looked eagerly about. With another stab of expectation she saw them coming towards her.

“Lucinda,” Will called out to her. “You cannot guess!”

His enthusiasm was infectious, and Lucinda laughed a little as she clasped his hand, before turning to greet Mr. Devereux with a more correct, cooler smile.

The contrast rather piqued that gentleman, but before he could speak, Will rushed on. “Cinda, Mr. Devereux has Castor and Pollux!”

“You have, sir? I cannot tell you what a relief that is. We have been so worried since Lord Mountmellor died.” And Lucinda beamed on him.

“Mountmellor was my godfather, Miss Neville. He left me his stables, including the horses you mention.”

“We knew he had no family and we were so anxious...”

“Forgive me, Miss Neville, but why?” Lucinda and Will stared at him. Mr. Devereux smiled slightly. “I only received the horses last week. Any of their papers will have been sent to my place in Devon.”

“So,” said Will, “you haven’t had a chance to look at their bloodlines sir? Lucinda’s papa bred ’em, out of Jupiter. You’ll have heard of him.”

“Only their mother died just after she foaled,” put in Lucinda. “We had to raise them by hand.”

“When Lucinda says ‘we,’ she means
she
did. She even persuaded her father to let her sleep in the stable—with her maid, of course.”

“I shouldn’t think Emmie has forgiven me yet,” Lucinda said, chuckling. “But they were so very tiny and they had to be fed every three to four hours, so it was quite absurd to be running between the house and stables all night.”

“And Lucinda was the only one they’d either of ’em take the milk from.”

“You seem to have a veritable knack for such animals, Miss Neville.”

“She does, she does. Why, she’s as good as the local horse doctor any day.”

“Will,” Lucinda protested. “Mr. Devereux doesn’t want—”

“In fact,” Will went on, unheeding, “if one of my cattle were sick, I’d as lief have Lucinda anytime.”

Lucinda flushed. “Don’t be absurd, Will. You know that I couldn’t do surgery or the like and you must—”

“And she rides to perfection.” Will was, it seemed, determined to boast of Lucinda’s talents. “Firm seat, hands like a feather, able to manage the strongest horse, even though she looks like a little bit of a thing.”

Mr. Devereux eyed Lucinda’s slender figure. “I’m sure you are a famous rider, Miss Neville, but were you not dismayed when your father sold Castor and Pollux?”

“I saw them regularly at Lord Mountmellor’s. But indeed I was greatly worried over what would become of them. I am glad to be reassured.”

“Are you so sure they will be safe with me?”

Lucinda stared at Mr. Devereux, whip extraordinaire and member of the Four-in-Hand Club. Doubt flickered in her eyes. “W-what do you mean?”

Richard bestowed one of his rare smiles on her. “I am merely reminding you to take nothing for granted, Miss Neville. I shall indeed take good care of the horses, but you should enquire further.” He held out his hand. “I shall submit myself to your cross-examination, if you will submit to the next dance.”

Lucinda was so very far from availing herself of this permission that she said nothing at all for the first few moments of the dance. Belle was right about Mr. Devereux’s dancing ability, she thought, her gaze resolutely fixed on the floor. Hitherto, she had been partnered by young men as green and nervous as herself. But this...

“Now, Miss Neville...” Mr. Devereux sounded amused. “I am sure those are charming slippers you are wearing, but you are permitted occasionally to glance at your partner, you know. Not even the strictest duenna would forbid it.”

Lucinda chuckled. “Ah, but sir,” she said, peeping up at him through those long, sweeping lashes, “if I were to miss my step, everyone would know it was my fault. For how could the accomplished Beau Devereux be so clumsy?”

To say that Mr. Devereux was enchanted would be too much. But he was amused—and a little intrigued. The little Neville, he told himself, was something out of the usual style.

In her endeavours not to stare too directly at him, Lucinda had been scanning the crowded dance floor. Now her glance focussed on a couple gliding by. Even in that dazzling company the woman stood out.

Her hair was of the palest gold, twisted elaborately about her head. Her white gown held only the faintest hint of green and she wore magnificent diamonds. Above all, however, Lucinda noticed her air of complete self-possession.

“How lovely,” Lucinda breathed. “Who is she, do you know, sir?”

He followed her nod. “That is Lady Chloris dePoer,” he said evenly.

Lucinda’s face grew crimson.
Oh no,
she thought,
not the woman he was supposed to marry!
“She’s very beautiful,” she managed to murmur, trying to appear cool.

“Indeed, she is accounted a diamond of the first water.” His voice held nothing but casual interest. Then he went on, “Now, about those cattle you raised, Miss Neville...”

Lucinda was glad enough to change the topic, but all Mr. Devereux’s easy conversation could not banish her sense of humiliation. So she was both relieved and obscurely disappointed when the dance ended and he led her back to cousin Ethelreda.

“Thank you, Miss Neville,” he said making his effortless bow. “And, Mrs. Cleeson, I hope I see you well?”

“Indeed, sir,” Mrs. Cleeson answered, all aflutter. “So many people I haven’t seen for so very long. It is quite a reunion for me.”

“I shan’t keep you from them, then. But I hope you and Miss Neville will permit me to call upon you soon.”

“Why, of course, Mr. Devereux. We shall be delighted.”

“Next time, Miss Neville, I hope I may show you the subject of our conversation—in the flesh.” With another bow, he turned and melted into the crowd.

Gone to find Lady Chloris, Lucinda supposed. What a striking couple they must make—he so dark and she so fair. She became aware that cousin Ethelreda was speaking.

“... becoming quite chilly I think.”

Privately, Lucinda found the room stiflingly overheated, but aloud, she said, “You must put on your shawl, cousin.”

“Oh, dear.” Ethelreda looked vaguely about. “I know I brought it with me.”

“We were in the ladies’ withdrawing room,” Lucinda said. “Would you like me to see if you left it there?”

“So kind of you, dearest.”

Lucinda threaded her way through the guests, nodding at those she recognized. Nowhere, however, did she see either Lady Chloris dePoer or Mr. Richard Devereux.

It was cooler and much quieter in the hall outside the ballroom. She knew the room was down the corridor on the left. But which door was it? She tried the first one.

It opened on what appeared to be a butler’s pantry, and as she was reclosing the door she heard a scurry of footsteps. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a wisp of pale green whisking around the end of the hall. Lucinda smiled indulgently. Had she interrupted an assignation?

The next door was the room set aside for ladies to rest or readjust their toilettes. There was cousin Ethelreda’s Norwich shawl trailing over a sofa back. Lucinda gathered it up, but the long fringes had caught on the sofa’s carved leg. As she bent down to free them, Lucinda caught sight of a glitter in the carpet.

It was a brooch, a pretty thing of citrines and diamonds. As she looked more closely at the white and yellow stones, she saw that the design comprised two interlinked initials. She traced them out with her fingers: C and R.
Lucinda sat back on her heels. C and R and a flash of ice green—Chloris and Richard. Chloris and Richard slipping away from the ball for a lovers’ tryst, perhaps even to exchange this lovers’ token.

Lucinda did not know how long she stayed there, crouching on the floor with the love-gift in her hand. It was a delicate little piece, but in her hand it became a lump of heavy ice. The cold radiating from it chilled her blood and numbed her heart.

“Ah, there you are, Cinda.” Will stood at the door. “Mrs. Cleeson was worried when you didn’t return.”

Lucinda jumped hurriedly to her feet. She slipped the brooch into her reticule and reached for the shawl. “Here I am, Will. Let’s go back to my cousin.”

Lucinda had been carefully brought up. She would not dream of allowing anyone to guess at the turmoil in her mind. So as the ball continued, she danced, talked and went in to supper. But she could not forget those entwined initials. Now hidden in her reticule, the jewel had become a fiery torch, burning relentlessly into her thoughts.

CHAPTER FIVE

At
the correct hour
next morning, Mr. Devereux presented himself in Lady dePoer’s salon to take Chloris for a drive in his high-perch phaeton. He responded politely to his hostess’s string of inanities, but his thoughts were busy elsewhere.

As he had told his uncle, his mind was not yet fully made up; however, his Aunt Melpond had given voice to a concern that had lately been growing in him. He was aware of his duty to his family, and that meant marriage.

He had enjoyed a number of liaisons with a series of expensive and extremely dashing high-flyers. He had conducted these affairs amiably and ended them equally so; after which, he had never given them another thought.

Any number of well-bred girls, beautiful and plain, wealthy and poor, clever and dull, had left him equally unmoved. But if he must marry, it was from the ranks of such women that he must choose—though he had never met one with whom he would care to spend the rest of his life.

But how many of his friends, he reflected cynically,
did
spend their lives with their wives? Didn’t most of them pursue entirely separate interests, meeting politely when appearances demanded, but otherwise impinging upon their spouses scarcely at all?

It was, he thought, unaccountably nice in him to baulk at such an arrangement.

“Ah, here’s Chloris now,” said Lady dePoer.

Richard rose as she came towards him. She was dressed for driving, and when she gave him her hand, her manner deftly blended warmth and discretion. She gave no hint that she suspected he had any purpose beyond that of a morning ride.

She’s very pale
, Richard thought.
What she needs is a little of the Neville girl’s colour. And what,
he asked, catching himself,
is the point of that very irrelevant comparison?

He bowed over Chloris’s hand. “Lady Chloris, I have persuaded your mama to entrust you to me for a drive.”

“Why, sir,” Chloris replied in her cool voice, “how could Mama be anxious when I shall be with such a famous whip?”

They took leave of Lady dePoer. As he handed Chloris into the phaeton, Dev considered her again. Her lemon-coloured driving habit was in excellent taste, her hat decidedly flattering and her whole manner precisely judged.

But, he asked himself, was there anything more to her than this perfect, doll-like surface?

Lady Chloris dePoer
also occupied Lucinda’s thoughts that morning. She sat up in bed, sipping chocolate and eyeing her reticule. What was she to do with that brooch?

Should she send a footman to deliver it to Mr. Devereux? To Lady Chloris? Should she, perhaps, give it, herself, to Mr. Devereux the next time they met? But it was a love-token, something no outsider was meant to see.

Not yet, anyway, for no engagement had yet been made public. It would be embarrassing for everyone were she to thrust herself into the secret. If she were to send it to Lady Hoxborough, that lady would doubtless bruit it all over Town. Perhaps returning it anonymously to Mr. Devereux would be the best plan.

Should she show it to cousin Ethelreda? Mrs. Cleeson would certainly have some useful suggestions, but somehow Lucinda shrank from sharing her find with anyone else. She kept her thoughts about the brooch resolutely centred on how to return it, and she soon persuaded herself that she had no concern for doing so beyond the correct procedure.

“What, still in bed, dearest? You must not be late you know. You are to join Will and the others for a drive in the Park this morning.”

Lucinda put down her cup and made to get up. She had quite forgot the arrangement they’d made last night.

“You might wear that new driving habit—the chocolate brown one—and the hat with the white feather, I think.”

There is nothing like new, becoming clothes to cheer one up. As she sat beside Belle in Will’s new sporting curricle, Lucinda felt quite pleased with the world. It was fashionable to ride in the Park at this hour, and she and Belle garnered quite a number of appreciative stares. She was even able to greet a selection of persons herself, and while these were not nearly as numerous as Belle’s acquaintances, it gave her a gratifying sense of belonging.

After they had stopped for the fifth time, Will said good-naturedly, “Next time we had better walk. You girls seem to be on speaking terms with half the ton.”

“Will!” Lucinda clutched his arm and pointed. “Look over there. What is that man doing?”

“Where? Ah, I see. The fellow with the two-wheeled contraption. I’ve only seen a few of them. They’re called pedestrian curricles.”

Lucinda watched fascinated as the man got up a little speed by running. Then, when the wheels of his curious vehicle were rolling swiftly, he put up his feet and coasted along till it was time to run again.

“Some people call it a Hobby-Horse bicycle,” Belle said knowledgeably.

As they passed the vehicle, Lucinda saw the rider’s face was red and shiny with perspiration. “It looks an awful lot of work,” she said doubtfully. “I think I should prefer to walk.”

“Look!” said Belle in her turn. “There’s Mr. Stratton.”

Lucinda watched the young man riding towards them. He was handsome in a rather showy way. Like his horse, Lucinda thought. Flashy, but she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if that mount were touched in the wind. She had noticed Belle dancing with Mr. Stratton last night. Now, something in Belle’s manner made her wonder if their meeting had been prearranged.

Mr. Stratton reined in beside them and swept off his high-crowned hat. “Ladies, Ryland, your servant. What a lucky dog you are, Ryland, squiring the two most beautiful ladies in London.”

Belle laughed musically and began to flirt with Stratton. But Lucinda could not like the young man’s coming manners and, in truth, she was rather shocked at Belle’s forward response. Neither she nor Will took much part in the conversation.

Will was staring glumly at the passing scene when he exclaimed, “There’s Charles Grantham!” He gestured to where Charles stood glowering at them. “Belle, I must speak to Grantham. Bid you good morning, Stratton.”

Miles Stratton sighed extravagantly. “You will take the sunshine with you, Miss Ryland.”

“Oh, fie, Mr. Stratton! I am sure you will find other suns—and other ladies.” Belle tossed her blond curls in a way Lucinda found odiously coy.

“Macaroni merchant!” snorted Will as he urged his horses on.

“Do you think so? But he is such a superb dancer,” Belle answered provocatively.

They took up Sir Charles, whose frown had grown alarmingly. His temper was not improved by Belle’s continuing encomium of Miles Stratton. He ground his teeth audibly and responded to any attempts at conversation with a terse snap. Lucinda was quite out of patience with both him and Belle when Will touched her arm and pointed with his whip. Bounding towards them was a high-sprung phaeton pulled by two magnificent bays.

“Castor and Pollux!” Lucinda cried. Mr. Devereux was driving, and she recognized his companion as Lady Chloris dePoer.
C and R,
she thought with a sudden drop in her spirits.

Richard halted beside then and introduced Lady Chloris, who behaved correctly, if without any great degree of warmth. She was truly beautiful, Lucinda admitted, but so pale, and surely such excessive reserve could not be pleasing? She started as she realized Mr. Devereux was speaking to her.

“I wondered, Miss Neville, if you were pleased with the appearance of your former charges?”

“How could I not be, sir? They look decidedly splendid.”

“Straining for a run, though. There is too much traffic to spring them here. But I trust you will soon be able to reassure yourself completely as to their well-being.” He touched his whip to them as Chloris bade the group goodbye in her colourless well-bred voice.

Lucinda watched them depart.
What can he see in her?
she wondered. She was indeed a veritable Ice Queen.

“Well, Cinda,” Will said, after they had set down Belle and Charles, still apparently on the outs with each other, to meet Lady Grantham. “What do you think of London now?”

Lucinda wrinkled her forehead. “It’s quite different from what I expected. So many people, so many things to do and to see. And the shopping! Will, I had no idea people could spend so much time shopping.”

“I can’t,” said Will with a grin.

Lucinda looked at him. He was more carefully dressed than he would be in the country. But no one was ever going to take his coat for one of Beau Devereux’s. As she watched him turn into Agincourt Circle, Lucinda felt again how very
dear
he was: solid, sensible, unchanging Will.

“And of course,” she said impulsively, “our being, you know, engaged has made it all so much easier for me. I am glad that you’re in London, too, Will.”

Will flushed a little and shifted in his seat. “Dashed generous idea of yours, Cinda; just like you.”

“Hush.” Lucinda raised her hand. “You are my dearest friend, Will. I should always want to help you.”

The reins seemed suddenly to require a great deal of Mr. Ryland’s attention. Then, clearing his throat a couple of times, he said, “Where is the London Hospice, Lucinda?”

“It’s in the Isle of Dogs. Mr. Bunthorpe thinks that is the most salubrious location.”

“Well, he’s a sound chap. I expect he’s right.”

“Yes, I feel it quite remiss in me that I haven’t been to visit him yet. Cousin Ethelreda says we shall go, but there seems to be so little time. I think perhaps she does not really want me to go. It’s not that she disagrees with the idea; it’s just that she thinks we shouldn’t be so involved personally.”

“Told Miss Grantham about it,” Will’s speech became progressively more staccato. “She’s all for it. Said she’d like to see for herself. Told her I’d ask you.”

“But that is the solution, Will. You and Patience and I shall go. Then we shan’t have to bother cousin Ethelreda. What an excellent notion!” And Lucinda squeezed his hand affectionately before she took her leave.

In the meantime,
Mr. Devereux had returned Chloris to her mama and was now at home, changing for his afternoon engagements. He was speaking his thoughts aloud, as was his wont, to his long-time valet. This was a thin, pinch-faced individual, who spoke so seldom that he was known below stairs as “Dumb” Dowsett.

“There can be, of course,” Richard was saying, “no objection to Lady Chloris as an appropriate choice. She has beauty, breeding and manner. Her fortune is respectable, though that does not signify. What more could a man ask for in a wife?”

Dowsett proffered a perfectly laundered linen shirt. True to form, his usual expression of comprehensive disapproval did not vary.

“You are quite right, Dowsett.” Mr. Devereux held out his arms for the cuff studs. “Clearly I have windmills in the head to expect anything else.” He took up a cravat. “My Aunt Melpond is correct. It is high time I set up my nursery.”

Impassively, Dowsett watched as, in his first try, Mr. Devereux achieved a perfect Mathematical. He began to assist his master into his coat.

“You relieve my mind, Dowsett. I believe I must be suffering from the usual pangs of a bachelor contemplating matrimony. How lowering to realize that I am not free from such commonplace emotions.” Dowsett smoothed the coat over his master’s wide shoulders. With a final flick at his cravat, Mr. Devereux took himself off to meet Sir Charles at a modish coffee house.

His friend had arrived before him and as Devereux approached, he suddenly stopped and clutched at a chair back. “Charles,” he said, shutting his eyes. “Charles, my dear fellow, is that—can it be
—a yellow
waistcoat?”

“Don’t you like it, Dev?”

“No, Charles, I do not. I cannot claim any desire to dazzle the eyes of anyone unfortunate enough to glance my way.”

“It ain’t that bright.”

“Do you think not?” Devereux asked solicitously. “And have you had this trouble with your eyes for a long time?”

Charles grinned. “All right, Dev, all right. Sit over there, where you’re not looking straight at me.” He beckoned the waiter and then changed the subject. “Wasn’t that Chloris you were driving with this morning?”

“Yes, but I did not see you.”

“Er, no.” Sir Charles looked a little sheepish. “I was waiting for someone.”

Richard raised one straight dark eyebrow. “I wonder if Ryland was driving his beautiful sister this morning?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, he was.” Charles coloured at his friend’s ironic expression. “And Miss Neville, of course. You know, Dev, I can’t help thinking you’re wrong about her. She isn’t a man-eater at all. In truth, I’d say she was in a fair way to setting her cap at Ryland himself.”

“Cupid has certainly been busy recently.”

“Speaking of which, did you see Ivor at the Hoxboroughs’? He came late but as soon as he saw Mrs. Cleeson, he made a bee-line for her. I never saw Ivor so interested in the petticoat line before.”

“I collect they are old acquaintances.”

Sir Charles smiled wickedly. “Perhaps Ivor will surprise us all. Perhaps he will take a leg-shackle at last and save you from the Ice Queen.”

Richard drained his coffee cup. “I wish I could convince you that I am looking for a wife, not a love match. Lady Chloris possesses all the necessary qualities for such a marital role.”

“Yes, yes, a veritable paragon.” Sir Charles rose. “Let us get on to Manton’s then, Dev, or we shall have to wait for a gallery. Let us shoot and forget all about women.”