“Are you laughing?” Colin asked incredulously, his face turning bright red. “This is no laughing matter, Lucy.”
“I cannot help it,” she said. “You should see yourself—you look just like my papa, like a bullfrog in a fit. Dear Colin, I never should have burdened you with this. Please forget I mentioned it. You know I can take care of myself.”
“Lucy, it isn’t right.” He shoved his fists into his pockets. “Not right, I tell you. He’s hurt you. I can see it in your eyes.”
Lucy tried to erase any trace of emotion from her features. “Promise me, Colin, that you will not speak of this to anyone, especially not to Lord Mandeville.” Lucy wanted to forget the incident ever happened. No good would come of him confronting the marquess about it.
“No, I cannot.” Colin vigorously shook his head.
“Colin, please.” She reached a hand to his cheek. It was burning. “Do this for me.” Her voice caught painfully in her throat. “I cannot bear it, otherwise.” He reached up to cover her hand with his own.
“As you wish, Lucy. But if he ever, ever, lays a hand on you again, I will not be so restrained.”
“Thank you.” She sighed with relief.
“Go back inside, then,” he said gruffly. “You are a hit, you know,” he added, a smile creeping across his face.
“Will wonders never cease?” Lucy laughed. “The evening is not yet over. I’m sure to ruin it somehow.” Her heart a good deal lighter, she headed back inside.
“My dance, I believe, Miss Abbington?” A tall, slouchy man bowed before her as she reached the ballroom.
Was it? Lucy could not find her dance card, could not remember this gentleman’s name. Had they been introduced? Where had her dance card gone to? “I’m sorry, sir, but I confess I have forgotten your name.”
“Sinclair, Miss Abbington,” the man said, drawing himself up to his full height. “Lord Thomas Sinclair.”
“Yes, of course,” Lucy covered, “Lord Thomas Sinclair.” She was almost certain they had not been introduced.
“Perhaps a lemonade instead?” he asked.
“Yes, that would be lovely.” She was quite thirsty, she realized, as she led the man to the refreshment table. With a practiced smile, Lucy took the cold glass Sinclair offered and sipped appreciatively.
“If you will forgive my boldness, Miss Abbington, I cannot help but declare you the most beautiful girl in this room tonight,” he said. “Perhaps in all of London.”
Lucy’s hand flitted to her throat nervously. “Thank you, sir, for such a compliment. But I fear you are being too kind.” And too forward. She looked around desperately for Jane, but found her friend occupied across the room with a handsome blond man.
“I apologize, Miss Abbington. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. There is no need for escape.” He laughed, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
Had she been so transparent?
“Would I be worsening my prospects if I asked permission to call upon you tomorrow?”
Lucy looked up at the man sharply. He was handsome, she supposed, and had an appealing look of boyish charm. She couldn’t help but admire his resourcefulness. But she wasn’t sure how she should respond to his request. Blast the etiquette book; there had been no rule for this situation. “Yes,” she murmured, hoping she was taking the right course. “Of course you may call. Now perhaps that dance you suggested?” If they were dancing, there would be less opportunity for talking.
They joined the forming set for a lively Scotch reel, one of Lucy’s favorites. Thankfully, she had long been considered a graceful dancer—one skill she had not had to polish for her debut. Dancing was, well, active, and she detested sitting still. She never missed a dance at the local assembly hall, and she’d even managed to learn the tricky quadrille long before she’d come to London. She couldn’t help but smile as she took her place and waited for the music to begin.
Her smile faded as snippets of conversation reached her ears, even as the music began.
“Lord Mandeville, actually here tonight ... Scotland... Mrs. Ridgeley... broke his heart... Yes, Lady Charlotte, they say...”
Lucy felt the prick of tears. The last thing she wanted to hear was talk about him. She looked up at Sinclair and smiled falsely as she reached for his hand and began to move silently through the figures.
When the music ended, Lucy curtseyed politely. Looking over Sinclair’s shoulder, she saw Susanna gesturing for her attention. She declined her partner’s offer of more refreshment and excused herself with much relief, anxious to be rid of the man’s company. Something about the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d touched her as they danced, had made her uncomfortable.
She hurried to her friend’s side and reached for her hand. “Whatever is the matter, Susanna?” Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes looked bright and excited. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Oh, Lucy, I could not wait to tell you.” Susanna threaded her arm through Lucy’s and led her toward the room’s far corner, away from the orchestra as they struck up again.
“Go on, you could not wait to tell me what?” Lucy settled herself onto a bench next to Susanna.
“Lord Mandeville!” Susanna gushed. “I have reason to be much encouraged.”
Mandeville? Whatever did she mean? Lucy tried to hide the surprise in her own expression. “Is that so? Tell me.”
“Well, you see, I had hoped for a dance with Lord Mandeville, but he arrived so late my dance card was already filled. I hadn’t even the chance for a conversation with him.” Susanna dropped her hands into her lap dramatically. “And then at once I saw him stride by, and in such a hurry. I have no idea where I got the courage, but I called after him.” Susanna reached for Lucy’s hand. “‘Lord Mandeville’, I called, and he bowed and came to my side at once and complimented me most graciously, though he did seem distracted. And then he said, would you believe, he said he wished most fervently that he could favor me with a waltz, but he had been urgently called away on business and must depart at once. I have no idea what kind of business he must attend to at such an hour, but I watched him go and he did indeed leave immediately.” Susanna paused long enough to catch her breath. “I believe he was sincere. Is that not most encouraging?”
Lucy felt a lump in her throat. Could he not see the girl was infatuated with him when it was so plain?
“Lucy, dearest,” Lady Rosemoor called out, striding up to the seated girls with a woman by her side. “I’d like to introduce you to Lady Worthington.” Lucy and Susanna stood respectfully. “She is Lord Mandeville’s sister, you see. Lady Worthington, I present Miss Lucy Abbington. She has already made your brother’s acquaintance.”
“I am so pleased to meet you, Miss Abbington. My brother has spoken of you,” the baroness said, causing Lucy to blush furiously. “He told me quite cryptically that you ‘helped him with his horses.’”
“Yes, madam, it is true,” Lucy said. “I assisted with a foaling, you see, and with Phantom’s injury.”
The baroness looked to Lady Rosemoor quizzically.
“Miss Abbington has, well, special talents, you might say, with animals,” Lady Rosemoor explained. “She is quite the healer.”
“Really? How fascinating.” Lady Worthington appeared sincere. “And how nice to see you officially out, Miss Susanna. I do hope you two are enjoying your success.”
“Lucy and I were just saying what a lovely evening it has been,” Susanna answered with a nod.
“I’m so glad to hear that. Well, I fear I must go as my brother, who was acting as my escort, has abandoned me. But I’m happy to have made your acquaintance, Miss Abbington.” Lady Worthington reached for Lucy’s hand.
“Thank you, Lady Worthington,” Lucy replied, taking her hand and smiling warmly.
Lucy exhaled as the two women disappeared back through the crowd just as a waltz struck up. Colin caught her eye from across the room, and with a raised brow, motioned her to his side. Since he was acting as her escort,
her first waltz was promised to him. The evening was far from over. She gave Susanna’s hand a squeeze before hurrying into Colin’s welcoming arms.
Indeed, it was only just beginning.
Chapter 7
“Lucy, another bouquet for you. That makes seven so far. And Susanna has five. Oh, how exciting.” Jane reached into the blossoms and plucked out the white card. “Lord Thomas Sinclair,” she read.
“Sinclair.” Lady Rosemoor made a clucking noise. “No, that will not do— will not do at all, I am afraid. Most inappropriate. Did we really invite him?” She tapped her temple thoughtfully with a frown.
“I believe so, Mama. His father is a duke and a friend of Papa’s,” Jane replied.
Susanna rushed in breathlessly. “Any more for me, Mama?” She looked around expectantly.
“No, dear, but you do have five. Very impressive, indeed.”
“But no new ones have arrived?” She looked disappointed. Mandeville, of course. Lucy knew Susanna hoped to receive a bouquet from Lord Mandeville.
Lady Rosemoor looked around and shook her head. “Where is Mrs. Millington? We need several more vases.” She clucked once more and bustled out in search of the errant housekeeper.
Lucy took a deep breath, inhaling the rich scent of hothouse flowers that filled the drawing room. So many of them for her! There were bouquets everywhere, every hue of the spectrum vividly represented.
“So many flowers,” Lucy said in amazement. “Is this always the custom?”
“Indeed it is,” Jane said, “and a great gauge of one’s popularity. This afternoon you will likely have several suitors call upon you, as well. I suppose I shall be less busy with callers than the two of you, however, as I have only received two bouquets.”
“Oh, Jane, only two?” Susanna’s eyes shone with unshed tears.
“Remember, Susanna, it is quality, not quantity, that matters to a lady. I’m quite satisfied with my two.” A mysterious smile flitted across Jane’s features. “After all, it is my second Season. This was your come-out, yours and Lucy’s. I’m delighted for you both.” Lucy knew that she was. Jane had the most generous, unselfish heart.
“And who are they from, Jane? Your two? You must tell us at once.” Susanna began poking around the arrangements.
“Alexander Clifton,” Jane said.
Clifton. Had Lucy danced with him last night?
“And William Nickerson.” That mysterious smile tugged at Jane’s lips once more.
“Nickerson? Colin’s chum?” Susanna rushed to Jane’s side with a giggle. “How very interesting.”
“Isn’t it?” Jane said. “I admit, I never thought of him as a potential suitor until just last night.”
“Oh, Jane, how very romantic.” Susanna squeezed her sister’s hand.
“Very romantic indeed,” Lucy said. “And what of Alexander Clifton?”
“Oh, Clifton.” Jane waved her hand dismissively. “He is quite dashing, I suppose. I will let him court me, but it won’t amount to much. A rakehell, I’m afraid, but a handsome one.”
Lucy recalled a tall, dark-haired man with warm brown eyes. Yes, Clifton had been his name.
“So, Susanna, who can you count amongst your suitors?” Jane asked.
“Let me see...” Susanna fingered the cards in her hand. “Bostock, Lord Roxburgh, the Duke of Eastham’s eldest. Oh no, Sir Thomas Minton. And the youngest Marsden.”
“That’s exceptional, Susanna,” Jane said. “Then why the long face?”
Lucy wondered yet again how it was that Jane hadn’t recognized Susanna’s infatuation with Lord Mandeville.
Susanna looked to Lucy, then back to Jane, her face a mask of frank indecision. “I confess, I was hoping perhaps Lord Mandeville—”
“Mandeville?” Jane practically shrieked the name.
“Shhh,” Susanna said. “Lower your voice. I do not want Mama to hear.”
“I should think not,” Jane whispered. “Mandeville? Oh, Susanna, dear!” Her voice rose again. “Not Mandeville.” Jane looked to Lucy, who refused to meet her eyes. Instead Lucy plucked a bloom from a bouquet and pressed it to her nose.
“Why ever not? I think I’m in love with him,” Susanna said dreamily. “He was quite encouraging last night, and I thought perhaps...well, you know.”
“No, I do not know at all. He is much too old for you, Susanna. Too old and, well, not suited to you. And besides, I thought perhaps Lucy...” Jane looked toward Lucy, who was thankfully out of Susanna’s line of vision. Lucy madly shook her head ‘no’, her eyes widened in horror.
“I only meant that, well...Lucy and Lord Mandeville have much in common so I had thought perhaps... Oh, never mind.” Jane looked flustered. “You are just a child, Susanna, and Mandeville is more than thirty, and a confirmed bachelor at that. You should place your hopes on someone more appropriate. The Season has just begun, after all. You would do well with the likes of Eastham.”
Lucy’s eyes darted around guiltily. She could not bear the raw disappointment in Susanna’s eyes.
“You may be right, but I’m not a child, you see, and a girl can hope, can she not? Even the most confirmed bachelors do sometimes settle down and take wives. If they can find the right girl, that is.” Her frown gave way to a hopeful smile.
Just then the butler stepped into the room offering another arrangement, this one smaller than the rest, but exquisite. A simple, elegant arrangement of forget-me-nots, lilacs, and delphiniums. “For Miss Abbington,” Penwick said, setting the bouquet down on a corner of the sideboard, the only available surface in the room.
Lucy rushed over to the bouquet and spied the card nestled amongst the blooms. Purples and blues, her favorite colors. Her heart raced. Somehow she knew who had sent them, she just knew—though she could not say how. As she bent over to smell the blossoms, she surreptitiously plucked the card out and tucked it into her sleeve. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “They’re beautiful,” she said, turning to smile at her friends.
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense. Who are they from?” Jane’s eyes danced in anticipation.
“I haven’t any idea. There’s no card.” Lucy feigned disappointment.
“No card?” Susanna questioned. “How can that be?”
“I...I do not know.” Oh, she felt terrible lying, but it could not be helped. “But I believe the scents are giving me a headache. Perhaps I should get some fresh air.” Jane and Susanna gaped at Lucy in stunned surprise as she rushed from the room rubbing her temples. It was not such a lie as her head was beginning to pound.
As she reached the sanctuary of the stairs, she retrieved the small white envelope from the folds of her sleeve. With shaking hands she opened it, pulled out the heavy card, and read.
“Forgive me,” was scrawled in black ink. It was signed simply H.
***
“That’s lovely, Lucy. Really, such a lovely, er, tree?” Colin scratched his head and moved to the opposite side of the canvas for a different perspective.
“Oh, Colin, it does look somewhat like a tree, does it not?” Lucy stepped back from her easel to survey her work in progress. “Papa suggested I try my hand at landscapes. More appropriate, he said. I confess it is not my forte.”
“But over here, off to the side. The horse you’ve painted is wonderful. You should have made that the focal point instead,” he suggested.
“But then it wouldn’t have been a landscape now, would it?” She huffed impatiently and returned to her work in earnest.
Colin looked to the sky. “Quite a clear day, isn’t it? Nearly a chill in the air.”
“Goodness, you’re beginning to sound like Mr. Cogglesworth. Please, no talk of the weather, I beg of you.” She put down her palette and brush and readjusted her bonnet. The sun seemed unusually bright. It had rained most of the night, a cleansing rain, taking with it the oppressive humidity and replacing it with cool, crisp air. Lucy took a deep, revitalizing breath and returned unenthusiastically to her work.
�
��So, Lucy, I heard you received quite a few bouquets this morning. Bound to happen now that you’ve officially entered the marriage mart.”
“The ‘marriage mart’? Oh, that’s awful. Do they really call it that?” She looked to Colin with a frown.
“They do. You’ve much to learn about the ton, I’m afraid. Not much substance behind anything. It’s all about connections, appearances.”
“Are you a part of this ‘marriage mart’ business?”
“As your escort, I’ve no choice.”
“Ugh. I really find this whole business exceedingly deplorable. I simply don’t understand why my papa couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“Well, you are over twenty. I suppose it’s time you find a husband.”
“Why must I find a husband?” Lucy felt the blood rise in her face.
Colin shrugged. “That’s just the way it’s done.”
“I’m not going to find a husband in London, certainly not amongst the ton. I prefer my life at Ludlow House. I’m allowed many freedoms a husband might wish to restrict.”
“Perhaps you’ll find a husband who will allow you your freedoms.”
“You don’t truly believe that. Didn’t you just say the ton was all about appearances?”
He nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“What about you? You’ve enjoyed bachelorhood a number of years now. Will you finally choose a bride this Season?”
“I suppose I’ve put it off long enough. Perhaps I will.”
She looked up at him sharply. “Is there a particular lady you’re considering?”
“No.” He took a deep breath and shrugged. “I’m six and twenty and no woman has yet captured my attention. I’m beginning to doubt one ever will. Each Season it’s the same—nothing changes but the frocks. Last night proved that to me. I suppose I should do like most and find some agreeable debutante. Anyway, enough about my sad state of affairs. Or lack thereof.” He smiled slyly.
Lucy returned her attention to her painting, feathering the canvas with light strokes in an attempt to pattern a willow’s leaves.
Unlaced (Undone by Love Book 1) Page 8