Lucinda could have sworn the horse’s ears pricked up at the lengthy compliment and his stride took on a prouder attitude. She smiled with delight.
Lord Weston mouthed “Thank you” as he stroked Pokey’s neck. “He is indeed, and we thank you kindly for your generous words.”
The rain began to pour in earnest and the wind picked up, ruffling the skirt of Lucinda’s blue velvet riding habit. “Shall we, Lord Weston?”
“We shall,” he returned, settling his hat more firmly as he pulled the brim lower on his brow.
They urged their mounts into a faster trot and made haste for home.
“My dear, we leave for Clairemont House soon,” Charlotte called from the drawing room.
Lucinda slowed her steps, her bedraggled riding habit dripping water on the marble foyer floor, and stopped just beyond the threshold to the room. Somehow, Lucinda had convinced herself that if she forced all thoughts of Her Grace’s kind invitation for tea from her mind, perhaps Charlotte would forget as well.
Clearly, that had been wishful thinking.
“Do we have an engagement?” She stood in the doorway, feigning confusion. Attempting to tuck-up her rain-soaked hair was a useless effort, as was smoothing her sodden, wrinkled skirt. Her efforts did little to right the ruined garment.
Charlotte looked up from her needlepoint, her shock at Lucinda’s appearance quickly giving way to concern. “Good heavens, Lucinda, you’re soaked through to the skin.” She hastily rose from the settee and crossed the room, yanking at the bellpull.
Mary appeared instantly, taking one look at Lucinda’s soggy state before urging her upstairs.
“We must get you out of those clothes, my lady,” she instructed, pausing mid-flight to stop a footman and demand that hot water be brought up.
Lucinda lifted her sodden skirt as she trudged up the stairs, Mary urging her from three treads above as Charlotte huffed from behind.
The moment they entered the bedchamber, Mary undressed Lucinda then went to supervise the filling of the tub. Once it was full, she summoned Lucinda and waited to leave until her lady was safely emerged in the steaming hot water.
Charlotte came to stand next to the tub. “You soak every last ounce of rainwater off of you, young lady. I need to see how the gardener is managing my rosebushes this morning, but I will come and check on you shortly. I want you warm and dry by the time I return.”
“You enjoyed your time with Lady Clairemont,” Lucinda said, not making it clear whether her words were a statement or a question.
Or had it been an accusation?
Charlotte paused dropping her gaze to look at Lucinda. “I did, very much so.” She turned her gaze back to the doorway and began walking, stopping just short of the hallway. “It is as if she is experiencing life for the first time, now that her husband has died.”
“She has her freedom,” Lucinda answered quietly.
“Exactly.”
Charlotte disappeared around the corner, leaving Lucinda to stare at her toes.
Her aunts had extolled the value of a woman’s independence since she was a child, until it had become her credo. Freedom was more than most women could hope to attain.
The pursuit of absolute freedom had been the impetus for her involvement with Will, King Solomon’s Mine being the key. With the stallion they would not only establish a credible reputation within the male dominated equine world, but they would improve upon it, breeding quality horses and providing for the studs into their retirement years. Will could not give her what the prized stallion surely would.
“That is it, then,” she said out loud, letting the water trickle through her fingers. “You choose a horse over a man.”
In some measure, the choice had been made for her, since Will’s feelings clearly did not match her own. But she took some small comfort in uttering the words nonetheless.
She reached for the perfumed soap, a new feeling of resolve blooming in her breast. She would have tea. She would, before this charade had run its course, have danced, flirted, made polite conversation, and demurely deflected countless empty compliments.
“It is a small price for freedom,” she said, quietly but firmly, then began to scrub in earnest.
Clairemont House overlooked St. James’s Square and was surrounded by sumptuous homes that only the cream of the ton could call their own. Hidden from the street by a sizeable iron gate, the short drive curved in a graceful arc, affording guests the opportunity to view the house and extensive grounds as they approached. Despite the dazzling quality of its fellow structures, Clairemont House stood out. The façade was entirely of Portland stone, the architecture fashioned in the neoclassical style, complete with eight massive columns and as many windows framed in ornamental carvings.
“Don’t gape, dear,” Charlotte said to Lucinda, straightening her own bonnet ribbons as the carriage came to a stop.
Lucinda pursed her lips, taking in the house before her. “Aunt Charlotte, I am not one given to gaping, but this …” She blinked, gesturing to the view beyond the carriage door. “It is—”
“Impressive? Yes, I know. I still remember my first ball here. Such grandeur, such opulence.” Charlotte’s features turned wistful for a moment before she returned to her practical self. “It’s as breathtaking inside as it is on the outside, so I suggest you take a moment before we disembark to collect and prepare yourself.”
Lucinda sat back against the wheat-colored squabs and took a deep breath, then expelled it with all the force she could muster.
“Better?” Charlotte inquired.
“Yes, thank you,” Lucinda answered, though a question niggled at her. “You spoke of attending a ball here, yet I have never heard of any events being held here. Why is that?”
Charlotte looked to the house again. “It’s my understanding that the duchess refused to host parties of any kind once the boys were sent off to school.”
“Good for her,” Lucinda said, following Charlotte’s gaze.
“Yes, I would have to agree,” her aunt said with a firm nod. “Are we ready, then?”
As ready as I will ever be, Lucinda thought to herself. “Yes, of course. A cup of tea would be most welcome.”
Charlotte’s fist thumped the ceiling of the carriage twice. The liveried footman jumped down immediately, lowered the step, and opened the door. Charlotte descended first, taking the driver’s arm and allowing him to assist her safely to the ground.
Lucinda took one last, deep breath and stepped out onto the graveled forecourt to join Charlotte. Together, they strolled to the impressive front door, where the beautifully carved knocker announced to the world that the duke was in residence.
A house footman held open the massive oak door, bowing to usher them over the threshold. An anxious-faced butler waited just inside, his build and demeanor reminding Lucinda of a nervous bird she’d once seen at the Kew Botanical Gardens.
“Madam,” he said, bowing to each of them in turn with quick, efficient bobs of deference. “This way, if you please.”
He led them through the sumptuous foyer, their slipper heels tapping lightly on the black and white marble floor. Lucinda tilted her head back to better admire the Doric frieze that adorned the ceiling high above. They reached the impressive staircase, a wonder of engineering in stone that possessed a gorgeous balustrade done in trompe l’oeil.
The butler slowed, stepping aside when they reached the stairs. He gestured for them to ascend, then followed. Charlotte gripped the ornate iron baluster, while Lucinda counted the steps.
“Sixty-two,” she said under her breath as they reached the first floor.
“Pardon? Did you say something?” Charlotte asked somewhat breathlessly, though to her credit she did not faint on the spot.
“No, nothing. Nothing at all,” Lucinda replied, bending her head to conceal her gaze from Charlotte. She tightened her grip on her rose print skirt, lifting it to clear the toes of her slippers as she climbed, and attempted to hide her fatigue.
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She rather suspected that she hadn’t managed a single good night’s rest since meeting Will. She tossed and turned, trying to remember every word they’d spoken, and then worse, thinking on each one until she was dizzy. And if she managed to finish that, she spent the next hour berating herself for being unable to sleep.
It was madness, and it had to stop, but for once in her life, she could not make her feelings bend to her will.
They reached the top of the stairs and followed the butler down a long hall lined with Grecian busts, stopping midway. Lucinda paused to allow her aunt to enter the room first.
“Lady Charlotte Grey and her niece, Lady Lucinda Grey, Your Grace,” the butler announced.
Lucinda looked to the end of the room, where a massive fireplace took up nearly the entirety of one wall. Graceful wood furniture was arranged before it, The duchess seated in a chair nearest the window. Lord Michael rose.
Lucinda’s gaze swept the length of the room from one end to the other, frowning when she didn’t find Will.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse my brother,” Lord Michael said, strolling toward them. “He’s been detained by business and will not be able to join us.”
He met them halfway down the long room and escorted them to join his mother. Both Charlotte and Lucinda dipped a curtsy to the duchess before taking seats, side by side, on the embroidered, blue silk cushions of the settee.
“I hope the duke’s business matters aren’t of serious concern for him,” Lucinda said, unable to contain her disappointment—and, if she was being completely honest, a healthy dose of irritation. How was she to stop loving him if she was never given the opportunity to observe what she assumed were his many shortcomings?
Her Grace smiled politely. “No, no, nothing is amiss. Simply a matter that required his strict attention, that is all.”
Two footmen and the butler entered the room. One held a large tray with a gleaming silver tea service while the other two brought forth a variety of sandwiches, tea cakes, and other delecacies.
The duchess waited until they had deposited the trays and departed the room, then sat forward in her seat and saw to the tea, pouring with consummate ease as she made polite conversation.
Lucinda participated in the discussion of the latest on dits, though her mind couldn’t help but wander. What business could be keeping Will? To the best of her knowledge he was not in the least committed to the duties a duke would normally shoulder.
She accepted from Her Grace a delicate china plate holding a cucumber sandwich and nibbled. Was it possible he had simply grown tired of their game? A sense of indignation washed over her. If that was the case, she would refuse to release him from their agreement, and King Solomon’s Mine would be hers.
“Lady Lucinda?”
Was he avoiding her?
“Lady Lucinda?”
Lucinda looked up to discover Will’s brother addressing her. She swallowed her bite of sandwich quickly and smiled. “I’m sorry, Lord Michael. You were saying?”
Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Would you join me in a stroll about the room?”
Lucinda arched an eyebrow and tilted her chin. She might have pleaded a reluctance to leave the conversation, but was curious to know what Lord Michael wanted. So she gave him a small nod of acceptance and rose.
He tucked her gloved hand through the crook of his arm and led her toward the far end of the room, beginning a clockwise circuit.
“A shilling for your thoughts,” he said in a low tone.
Lucinda glanced out the window, desperate to keep the discouragement of Will’s absence to herself. “And just what would lead you to believe I am thinking on anything in particular?”
Lord Michael let out a low chuckle. “Come now, Lady Lucinda, you and I have no need to play games.”
She turned back to face him. “You’ve your brother’s laugh.”
“And you lack the talent for subterfuge.”
“Fair enough.”
The two remained silent as they passed Charlotte and Her Grace, though they needn’t have bothered. The ladies had their heads together and were giggling like two young girls.
“Now then,” Lord Michael continued. “Where were we?”
“You were prying, I believe,” Lucinda answered succinctly.
“Yes. Do continue. You were going to tell me what thoughts absorbed your attention so completely.”
Lucinda drew a deep breath, holding it for a moment before expelling it in a heavy sigh. “I suppose there would be no harm in sharing my dilemma with you. It’s just that … well …” she began, hesitating as she leaned in to murmur privately, “the Foster masquerade ball is nearly upon us and I have yet to decide on a costume.”
Lord Michael’s serious expression turned to confusion and then amusement. “That is a dilemma. A much larger one than I’d first assumed.”
“Yes, well, not being a woman, how could you have known the paramount importance of choosing just the right attire?”
“A gown is a much larger dilemma, indeed, than my brother could ever be.”
Lucinda, to her credit, did not break her stride, though the mention of Will made her heartbeat stutter. “I do not believe we were speaking of the duke.”
“Indeed we were not.” He paused. “But now we are.”
Lucinda narrowed her eyes at Lord Michael. “In addition to his laugh, you clearly share the duke’s ability to manipulate a conversation to your advantage.”
“I will take that as the compliment I’m sure it was meant to be,” he replied. “But I believe we were speaking of His Grace.”
Lucinda came to a complete stop, forcing Lord Michael to follow suit. “I am at a loss for words.”
“Then allow me to help you,” he murmured, looking out over the extensive gardens at the back of the house. “Do you intend to marry my brother?”
Lucinda let out a squeak of surprise, though thankfully they were far enough away from Charlotte and the duchess not to draw their attention. “Lord Michael, I do not believe we have known each other long enough to speak with such frankness.”
“Come now, Lady Lucinda.” He eyed her consideringly. “Avoidance is hardly attractive in an intelligent woman such as yourself.”
She raised her chin and met his stare. “I believe, Lord Michael, that you must address your questions to your brother.”
“Forgive me, Lady Lucinda. Perhaps I should have asked, if the offer is made, will you accept?”
Lucinda’s heart raced, the tattoo it beat out faster than she would have preferred. In a desperate attempt to end the questioning, she purposely turned to the garden view framed by the window. “Your gardens are beautiful. And the beds of tulips and daffodils are exceptionally fine—they are truly lovely this time of year.”
“Yes, quite,” Lord Michael answered impatiently. “Lady Lucinda, allow me to apologize. I do not usually act in such a forward manner, but when it comes to my brother, time is of the essence. Despite his assumptions to the contrary, the duchess cares very deeply for him and would like nothing more than to see him happily settled.”
Lucinda nearly nodded her head in agreement. It was exactly how her aunts had described it, and after meeting Will’s mother, she now shared their opinion.
Lord Michael continued. “You are the first woman His Grace has shown any real interest in. Some indication that the courtship is progressing toward the desired outcome would be most welcome.”
“The natural outcome of most serious courtships in our social strata is marriage,” she began, looking back at the duchess and Charlotte. The two women were now unabashedly watching her and Lord Michael brother converse. She managed a brief smile before turning back to her escort. “But, as you know, nothing can be assumed when dealing with the duke. What I can confirm is that, for my part, the courtship is progressing as expected.”
Lucinda congratulated herself for providing such a vague, yet perfectly polite answer. Lord Michael’s questions clearl
y indicated he wasn’t privy to the details of her and Will’s agreement. And if Will had not shared the truth, she certainly was not prepared to do so.
Lucinda released Lord Michael’s arm, turning to look up at him when they were still several yards from Her Grace and Charlotte, but far enough removed to allow private conversation. “Is that the information you hoped to gain, my lord?”
“Hardly,” he answered. “It appears I must question my brother on the topic.”
“And you’re brave too,” Lucinda exclaimed lightly. “I marvel you’ve not married.”
He chuckled, the low, gruff quality sounding so much like Will that Lucinda’s heart caught.
“I suspect it’s not bravery on my part,” he replied. “You mentioned that I am like my brother in many ways. Pigheadedness, I’m afraid, is one of those qualities we seem to share.”
He turned toward her, and she smiled, thinking that he was ready to allow the conversation to drift toward less personal waters. But then his eyes met hers, and there was something so stark and raw in his expression.
She wanted to cry. She had no idea where it came from, this sudden burst of emotion, but it was all she could do to hold it back, to cling on to some semblance of her dignity.
“I suppose,” he said, his voice catching slightly on his words, “that despite my brother’s oft-demonstrated dislike for all things familial, I cannot help but want the best for him.”
“He loves you, you know. Deeply,” she blurted out in a soft murmur, her hand flying to her mouth as soon as the revealing words were uttered. As much as she wanted to tell him of all that her aunts had shared concerning the duke’s painstaking efforts to keep his brother safe, she dared not speak another word.
“Michael, Lady Lucinda—do rejoin us before we eat the remainder of the pastries,” the duchess called. Charlotte’s good-natured harrumph of confirmation regarding the disappearing confections made Lucinda laugh despite the tears that hovered on her lashes.
“I should not have said that,” she murmured, brushing her fingertips across her lashes. “Please accept my most sincere apologies. It’s not my place to speak of such intimate matters.”
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