Spring Muslins Page 11

  ‘I see what it is. I have told you I do not want a husband, I do not need one, but you are conceited enough to think you have only to snap your fingers and I will fall into your arms.’ She laughed scornfully. ‘Is it not enough that every other woman in Town is sighing for you that you must needs add me to your list?’

  He was staring at her, his face set, a muscle jerking angrily in his cheek.

  ‘You have a very poor opinion of me, madam.’

  ‘And why not?’ she flashed back. ‘You have suspected my motives from the moment I arrived in Town.’ Tears were very close but she fought them back. She would not cry. At least, not yet. ‘I would be obliged if you would leave me here, Sir Darius. I shall walk back.’

  ‘I cannot abandon you in the middle of the park.’

  ‘Nothing would persuade me to get back in that carriage with you.’

  They glared at one another and for one heart-stopping moment she feared he might pick her up and carry her back to the curricle. The panic and outrage roused by that thought was nothing to the shock of her disappointment when he made no attempt to do so.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, tight-lipped. ‘Lewis shall escort you home.’

  ‘There is no need – ‘

  ‘There is every need! You may think me a scoundrel, madam, but I took you up and I will make sure you are escorted safely to Portman Square.’

  With that he turned on his heel and strode back to the curricle. Blinking to clear her vision, Lucia hurried off in the opposite direction. She wanted to get back to Quidenham House as soon as possible. She had not gone far when a deferential cough behind her made her stop and turn. Sir Darius’s groom had caught up with her.

  ‘I do not need you, Lewis. You can go back to your master.’

  ‘Ah, well now, ma’am, that’s just what I can’t do,’ he replied. ‘I have orders to see you safely home.’ Lucia gave him her frostiest look and he spread his hands. ‘Sir Darius would turn me off without blinking if I disobeyed him.’

  Lucia gave a little huff and carried on, knowing Lewis would follow, but determined to ignore him. The sunshine had encouraged more people to venture out and as Lucia made her way towards Cumberland Gate the crowds increased. She hurried along, looking directly ahead of her and ignoring any curious glances from passers-by.

  Much as she hated to admit it, there was a certain comfort in having Lewis walking behind her. He might not have the status of the bewigged and liveried footmen who accompanied ladies of rank when they went abroad alone, but he had a certain terrier-like quality and a pugnacious stare that deterred any gentleman who might otherwise be tempted to approach. It did not, however, prevent the groom himself from addressing her.

  ‘Not himself at present, the master,’ he remarked, walking close to her shoulder.

  Lucia ignored him.

  ‘Never seem him so distracted as he’s been these past few weeks.’

  Against her better judgement, Lucia replied.

  ‘That is no concern of mine.’

  ‘Now there, madam, if you’ll forgive my saying so, you are wrong. I think he’s sickening for something. I think he’s a man head over heels in love.’

  Her step faltered. ‘What nonsense!’ After a moment she added. ‘And if that is so, then he should tell the lady.’

  ‘Ah well, now ma’am, that’s just it. I reckon maybe the lady don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘Hah! A singularly novel experience for the gentleman, no doubt!’

  The old groom gave a chuckle. ‘There’s many caps been set at my master, and that’s a fact, but he’s never showed interest in any of ‘em. Not in the petticoat line, Sir Darius.’

  Lucia gave a little snort of derision. He had never shown any aversion to ladies’ company at the balls and parties she had attended. She had seen the way the ladies watched him moving across the dance floor with that easy, animal grace. Or listening attentively while he talked in that deep, smooth voice that made one’s toes curl…

  ‘Which makes me think that this is something quite out of the ordinary.’

  ‘I am sure he will soon come about,’ retorted Lucia, adding bitterly, ‘and if not, I am sure he will soon find consolation elsewhere.’

  ‘Oh, aye, ma’am, I don’t doubt it. But it seems a pity, if he’s found a lady as would suit him.’

  They had reached Quidenham House and Lucia wanted only to hurry inside and indulge in a hearty bout of tears, but the groom’s last words stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘Suit him? Are the lady’s preferences not to be taken into account at all?

  ‘Well yes, ma’am, but it’s to be hoped she is already agreeable to the match.’ He fixed her with a gaze that held a wealth of kindly understanding. ‘You see, ma’am, my master’s not one to fall in love lightly. If he’s lost his heart then he will be the kindest, most considerate, most faithful loving husband any woman could wish for. Only she’d have to give him a chance to prove it.’

  And I have just rejected him.

  The groom shifted his gaze upwards and nodded towards the footman who was holding open the door.

  ‘Well, we’ve brought you home safe, ma’am. Have you any message for me to take back to Sir Darius?’

  One word, thought Lucia. That is all it would take. Just a hint for his master that all was not lost.

  ‘No.’ she said. ‘No, there is no message.’

  *

  After giving his orders to Lewis, Darius drove away at breakneck speed. He shot past a dawdling barouche as if the devil was on his heels, frightening the horses and incurring the wrath of their driver, who cursed him roundly.

  Darius paid no heed. He was still berating himself for making such an abysmal mess of his proposal to Lucia. It had not been his intention to propose, but when she had looked up, smiling at him so warmly, he could not help himself. He had realised at that moment that he wanted her for his wife. He knew it more clearly than he had known anything in his life before.

  He should have taken his time, done it properly, instead he had rushed out his offer with all the finesse of a charging bull.

  He growled. ‘Console yourself with the fact that the answer would have been the same, however you posed the question. The rejection might just have been a little more politely expressed.’

  Well, it was done. She had made her feelings for him perfectly plain. He could now forget Miss Lucia Luckington and get on with his life.

  *

  Lucy hurried up to her bedchamber, tugging at the ribbons of her bonnet as she went. How dare he propose in that odious way, without a hint of warning! If he was anything of a gentleman he would have approached Aunt Evadne first, to ask if her niece was amenable to an offer. Instead he had sprung the idea upon her, confident that she would not refuse him. He was arrogance personified!

  She was thankful to find her room was empty and she locked the door behind her, then stalked across to the dressing room and turned the key. She was far too angry to see anyone. She tore off her bonnet and threw it onto a chair, quickly followed by her pelisse. She wanted to scream out loud with anger and frustration, but instead she had to be content with stalking back and forth, clenching and unclenching her hands. It was not enough that he should throw the question at her without any notice, but he had forced his groom upon her in the guise of an escort, when really he was there to argue his case for him!

  Her angry pacing slowed. She knew she was being unfair. Sir Darius would not want anyone to fight his battles for him. Lewis’s comments had sprung from affection for his master.

  ‘But he was too far away to know why we had quarrelled,’ she said aloud and immediately replied to herself that Lewis might well have guessed. He had been with Sir Darius for many years and probably knew his master as well as anyone.

  She sank down on the edge of the bed. Had that rushed proposal been a genuine declaration of affection? Could it be that Sir Darius Claversham really, truly cared for her? For a brief instant the thought warmed her, caused her heart to flutter, j
ust a little, before it was replaced by a cold chill. If he had nurtured any affection for her at all, then she had killed it now, most certainly. After today’s encounter he could be in no doubt that she disliked him intensely.

  ‘Not that it matters in the least,’ she said aloud. ‘I had no thoughts of marriage until he made me that outrageous offer, and he will soon come to realise that it was a mistake. We are n-not suited and he is m-much better off without me.’

  And with that, she threw herself down on the covers and sobbed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was several hours before Lucia felt calm enough to face anyone. She wanted to crawl into bed and remain there, but she knew that keeping to her room would invite comment, so she washed her face and hands and changed her gown in readiness for dinner.

  Lady Quidenham was talking with Morry when Lucy presented herself in the drawing room at the appointed hour, but she broke off and gave her niece a searching look.

  ‘You are very pale, girl. Are you quite well?’

  Lucia was expecting the question, and had her answer ready.

  ‘I was walking out in the sun this morning. Perhaps for longer than I should. It made me very tired.’

  ‘Hmm.’ The dowager’s sharp eyes surveyed her. ‘I hope you are not sickening for anything. Perhaps we should not go to the Derwents’ party this evening.’

  Lucia had already considered crying off but had decided against it. Sir Darius was a good friend of Lord and Lady Derwent, and he would almost certainly be there. Her conscience told her she should speak to him, and as soon as possible, to apologise for her appalling lack of manners that morning. His proposal had taken her by surprise, but she knew she should not have lost her temper in such a foolish fashion, it was unjust and uncalled for and she bitterly regretted it.

  A more gently-worded rejection might have allowed them to part amicably, but perhaps it was not too late. An apology now might repair some of the damage. Not that she wanted to marry, of course, but she hoped they might remain friends. It was a tiny spark of hope.

  She said, ‘No, no, ma’am, I have been resting since and I am very well now, I promise you.’

  ‘My dear, are you sure you are well enough to go out?’ Miss Morrison whispered, when Lady Quidenham rose to lead the way to the dining room. ‘You do not look at all the thing.’

  ‘Nonsense, it is a touch of sun, nothing more. I should have remembered to take my parasol with me when I went out.’ She squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘Thank you for your concern, Morry. I doubt we shall stay late tonight, and a good night’s sleep will put everything right, you’ll see.’

  *

  Lucy followed her aunt into Lady Derwent’s elegant salon, scanning the crowd for Sir Darius’s tall, imposing figure. Having made up her mind to apologise, she would not rest now until she had done so. When she could not see him her spirits plummeted, only to rise again when he walked in, only moments later.

  She and Lady Quidenham were still only yards away from the door and she fixed her eyes on him as he surveyed the room. He was smiling at something his hostess was saying while his restless gaze travelled around the room. Lucia kept her eyes fixed on him, clutching her closed fan between her hands with one finger touching the tip. It was a gesture she had heard meant "I want to talk to you."

  She knew the moment he saw her. He continued to smile, but suddenly there was no warmth in it. His face became as cold and stony as a mask. Clearly, he had not read Mr Badini’s book on fanology, for he merely gave her a distant nod before strolling away to the card room.

  A bitter chill of disappointment ran though Lucia. Until that moment she had not realised how much she had been hoping she might regain something of his regard. But his cold look said it all. That was as much as she could expect from him in future.

  None of Lucy’s particular friends were in attendance, and for once it was she and not her aunt who found the company dull and insipid. Not that she allowed anyone to notice, her manner was cheerful and smiling, as ever, but by the time Lady Quidenham announced she was ready to leave Lucia’s head was aching with the effort and she was thankful to reach the seclusion of her own room and tumble into bed.

  She awoke the next morning to bright sunshine and a view of unbroken blue sky from her window. A perfect early June day. She scrambled out of bed, trying to throw off her depression with her nightclothes. She would find an opportunity to apologise to Sir Darius at some point, but for now, she had other matters requiring her attention.

  She rang for Ella to help her dress in another new gown from Orchard Street, a primrose muslin exquisitely embroidered with yellow sprigs. A matching ribbon held back the glossy dark curls from her face and Lucia went down to breakfast, consoling herself that at least she was wearing a cheerful colour, even if it could not hide her wan cheeks or the dark smudges around her eyes.

  Her aunt and Miss Morrison were already at breakfast and Lucy took her seat with a word of greeting. She smiled across the table as she reached for the coffee pot.

  ‘I have a surprise for us all, Aunt. You have been so good, escorting me to all the balls and entertainments that I thought perhaps we could enjoy something a little more educational.’ A faint hush fell over the table. Miss Morrison looked up from her plate, her face full of eager enquiry. Lady Quidenham was far less enthusiastic. Lucia chuckled.

  ‘It is not as dull as it sounds, I promise you, Aunt. There is a series of lectures being held at the Royal Institution. I thought we might go.’

  ‘How exciting,’ cried Morry. ‘What is the subject? I am sure it will be delightful, whatever it is.’

  Lucia waved her hand, saying vaguely, ‘Something to do with flower painting. I could not help noticing the beautiful watercolours at the Dower House, Aunt Evadne. I felt sure you would enjoy this.’

  ‘I did not paint them, they are not my work, I was ever an indifferent artist.’ For a moment she thought her aunt might deny any desire at all to attend the lecture, but after a long moment, she gave a little shrug. ‘But I did have an interest in botany as a girl. Perhaps it might prove interesting.’

  ‘Excellent, then we shall all go to the lecture this afternoon.’ Lucia beamed at her companions. ‘It will be a high treat for us all.’

  The marbled entrance hall of the Royal Institution was bustling when Lady Quidenham’s party arrived. The audience comprised a large proportion of gentlemen, many of them scholarly, but there were a number of fashionably dressed ladies, too, although very few of them known to Lucia or her aunt.

  ‘I would have thought Somerset House would have been a better venue for a talk on art,’ muttered Lady Quidenham, surveying the company with some disapproval.

  Lucia tucked her arm through her aunt’s. ‘Come now, let us choose our seats.’

  She whisked her companions quickly through to the library, where chairs were placed in rows facing a small wooden dais. A heavy oak lectern rested at the front of the dais, behind which was a chair and small table, flanked by two easels, each one covered with a cloth to conceal whatever works of art might be resting there. Not many people had yet come into the room and Lucia led the way into the centre of a row.

  ‘You must sit between us, Aunt, directly in line with the speaker. We should have a very good view from here, as long as no ladies with very large headdresses sit in the two rows in front of us.’

  ‘I am not sure why you should suddenly be so concerned for my comfort,’ the dowager grumbled. ‘I should have been happy to sit at the back, where I might nod off without offending anyone.’

  Lucia only laughed at that and patted her hand. She shook open her fan and settled down in her chair. The room was filling up now. She did not recognise any of the faces but she noticed that her aunt nodded to several of those taking their seats.

  Morry leaned forward to address her. ‘I did not have an opportunity to see who was speaking today, Lucia. Do you know who it is?’

  She merely smiled at that, and glanced towards the door. ‘Someone is
coming now, I think.’

  An expectant hush had fallen over the room as two gentlemen came in. Lucia silently closed her fan.

  The first gentleman stepped onto the dais and began an introduction. Lucia missed his name because she was watching her aunt who was sitting rigidly in her seat, her face alarmingly pale, her eyes fixed on the second gentleman, standing patiently to one side and waiting to take his place on the dais.

  ‘…and without further ado I present to you, Mr Linus Theale.’

  Morry and Lucia joined in the clapping as Mr Theale stepped onto the dais. He smiled at the assembly, nodding to acknowledge their applause. Lucia held her breath as his gaze wandered across and came to rest on the centre of the third row. Upon Lady Quidenham, stone-like and immobile in her seat.

  For a moment the elderly gentleman’s gaze was arrested. His smile widened a fraction and he gave the tiniest nod of his head before his eyes moved on.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Today is the final lecture in my series regarding my voyage with Captain Cook, in search of the Southern Continent…’

  Linus Theale spoke well. His voice was mellow, well-modulated and he seemed to hold his audience spell-bound, but Lucia heard barely a word for the first ten minutes. She sat tensely beside her aunt, wondering if the old lady would insist on leaving, despite having to make her neighbours stand to make way for her. Instead she remained in her seat, silent and unmoving, for the whole hour.

  When the lecture ended it was announced there would be a short break before the speaker would return to answer questions. The dowager barely waited for the applause to die before she was on her feet and making her way out of the row. Lucia and Miss Morrison had no choice but to follow her, apologising to those who had hastily vacated their seats to allow them to pass. Linus Theale was gathering together his papers, but Lucia saw him look up, his eyes following their progress towards the door. Lady Quidenham paused for the footman to open the door and, as if aware of Mr Theale’s eyes upon her, she glanced back. The gentleman’s chilly gaze was acknowledged by an equally cold nod from the lady, before she swept out of the room.