“Well, why did you not tell me this last night? This is why you disappeared, then, isn’t it?”
“Oh, Auntie, I don’t know why I couldn’t tell you.” She went to the settee, her aunt following her and sitting close by her side. “I fear the marquess causes conflicting emotions within me and I don’t always act rationally as far as he is concerned.”
“Lucy, dear, have you formed a tendre for him?” Aunt Agatha asked, reaching for Lucy’s hands and giving them a squeeze.
“No, of course not.” She sighed impatiently. “I’m much too sensible for that. But nevertheless, he does vex me. I cannot explain it, really.”
“Well, I must make another confession, then. That night he dined with us at Glenfield, I concluded he was more than agreeable. We conversed at length and he was most interested in your skills, and I believe it was more than polite interest. In fact, he seemed admiring. I might have bragged a bit about you. I told him about the twin foals you saved.” “Did you? I suppose that explains why he summoned me to Covington Hall to assist in Medusa’s foaling. I wondered what the two of you were discussing so seriously that evening.”
“I admit to playing matchmaker. But he seemed so broad-minded, so appropriate for you. How old do you suppose he is, anyway?”
“I cannot say. Perhaps two and thirty? But it is of no consequence. There is nothing between us, and never will be.”
“How can you be certain of that? The Season has only begun.”
“He told me directly that when he does marry, he will marry well.”
“Humph.” Her aunt kicked at the carpet with a scowl.
Lucy shrugged. “Besides, there is also Susanna to consider.”
“Susanna? Whatever does she have to do with this?” Agatha looked puzzled. “I’m afraid Susanna fancies herself in love with Lord Mandeville.”
“No,” her aunt gasped in surprise.
“It’s true. She admitted her feelings just this morning.”
“But Lucy, if there is a chance that you and he—”
“But I’ve told you there’s no chance of that. I confess I’m unsure of my feelings toward him, but I do know I’m not in love with him and I certainly have no wish to be his mistress.” There, she’d said it.
“Oh,” her aunt gasped, her cheeks reddening. “Do not even say such a thing, not even in jest. Anyway, perhaps he will change his mind about marriage, once he finds the right girl.”
“Susanna said much the same.” Lucy shook her head sadly. “I only wish he were aware of her feelings, so that he could refrain from encouraging her further.”
“Has he said something to encourage her, then?” Agatha asked.
He had truly done very little to warrant Susanna’s encouragement other than being kind and friendly to the girl. She could not fault him for that. She shook her head. “No, not really, but Susanna is young and hopeful. I suppose she takes any attentions from him as encouragement.”
Aunt Agatha reached over to pat her cheek. “Well, dear, do not cross him off your list just yet. There are many weeks left in the Season. Let us see what develops.”
Lucy shook her head resolutely. “No, I shall simply avoid him as much as I can, that’s all.” The clock chimed loudly, announcing the hour. “I really must go.”
“Yes, of course. Go on, then.” Aunt Agatha stood and smoothed her gown.
“Good bye, Auntie. And thank you,” Lucy called over her shoulder, feeling deliciously unburdened. On her way out, her gaze fell upon the sideboard, drawn inexplicably to the lovely arrangement Lord Mandeville had sent. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she reached over and plucked out one exquisite indigo bloom.
The same color as his eyes.
She quickly untied and removed her bonnet and gently tucked the blossom into its band. She retied the ribbons under her chin and stepped outside with a smile. Standing there on the front steps of Rosemoor House, she looked up at the sky, a beautiful cerulean blue.
What a glorious day!
***
Henry cursed under his breath. Why had he sent flowers to Miss Abbington? What a ridiculous, impulsive thing to have done. Yes, he was sorry he behaved so badly, damn the whisky. But he didn’t want to give her false hopes. He’d meant it when he’d warned her not to fall in love with him.
He crossed the length of his bedchamber and sat down in front of the fireplace, staring blankly into the dying flames. His muddled mind could barely grasp the two very different images: the girl in Essex who rode about in boys’ clothing, so capable, so skilled, and so easy to talk to; and the young lady at the ball the night before, dressed in the most fashionable, most seductive of gowns, smiling and flirting, batting her lashes at every man with a title.
No, they could not be the same person.
He reached down to pull on his boots, which gleamed like ebony, reflecting the flames with their mirrorlike luster. His head throbbed painfully, probably from the champagne on top of the whisky last night. It had been so very long since he’d imbibed so excessively. After he’d left the Rosemoors’ ball, he’d started to walk home but found the short distance between Rosemoor House and his own lodgings insufficient to clear his head. He’d found himself walking aimlessly toward Covent Garden, alone but for the fancy women eager to offer their favors for a price. He’d realized he’d gone there purposefully, intending to find a willing body to keep his own warm for the night. But he’d found he couldn’t do it. He’d kept his head down, ignoring the suggestive glances and lures cast his way. Instead, he’d gone home—alone—and lain in bed thinking about her half the night.
Suddenly he wished to be outdoors. He walked to the window and peered out appreciatively. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the fresh air would clear his aching head. Perhaps he’d go to Eleanor’s, suggest an outing to the park with the children. He’d behaved badly to his sister at the Rosemoors’ ball, after all, leaving her there without a word. He stood and called for Philbin to tie his cravat and fetch his coat. As his valet finished his ministrations, Henry resolved to make amends with Eleanor. They could arrange for a luncheon to be packed, and he would indulge her odd propensity for dining alfresco—surely that would please her. Dismissing Philbin, Henry retrieved his hat and whip and set off toward Grosvenor Square with a smile.
Chapter 9
Henry wasn’t surprised to see so many people in the park enjoying the day’s offerings, and he was glad Eleanor had agreed to join him. The sky was brilliantly blue, dotted with thick, feathery clouds that drifted lazily on the summer breeze. The brisk clip of horses’ hooves and the rattle of curricles pulled by elegantly matched pairs could be heard over his nieces’ and nephew’s laughter. Their governess sat a short distance away, watching them frolic on the lawn, and Eleanor sat by his side, a slim, leather-bound volume clutched in her hands. Henry sighed with content, unable to think of a better way to pass the day.
He returned his attention to the pad lying on the ground in front of him, surveying the sketch he’d been working on while his sister read. A charcoal study of Phantom, and not too bad, either, he thought with a satisfied grin.
Eleanor’s voice rang out, startling him. “Miss Abbington?”
He looked up to see the girl reining in her horse, a look of unmasked surprise upon her features.
“Good day, Lady Worthington,” Lucy called out from the lane with a nod. “Lord Mandeville,” she added, turning toward him and favoring him with a dazzling smile that lit up her entire face.
He roughly closed his pad and stood, as Eleanor laid aside her book and joined him.
“How lovely to see you again,” his sister called out, striding over to the girl with a welcoming smile. “Won’t you join us? We were about to enjoy some sandwiches and lemonade.”
Henry groaned. No, she most definitely should not join them. Too dangerous.
Luckily, the girl seemed to agree. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.”
“Of course you can. Your company would give me great pleasure,”
Eleanor persisted.
Lucy was starting to look panicked. “No, I couldn’t intrude.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I insist. Have your maid take the horses over there to our carriage, and then join us. Please.”
Lucy finally nodded her assent. The poor girl had no choice, really. Henry wondered if his sister would have physically dragged the girl from her mount had she refused again.
Lucy did as Eleanor instructed, and when she returned she found Freddie standing before her, looking up at her quizzically.
“Why, a good day to you, sir,” she said as she knelt down to his level. “I’m Miss Abbington. What’s your name?”
“I’m Frederick,” he said. “Are you a governess?”
“No, I’m not a governess,” she said with an amused grin. “Why do you ask?”
“You look nice. Miss Rawlings is our governess, and she’s nice. I’m hungry.”
Henry cleared his throat. “I see you’ve made quite an impression on my nephew. Come, Freddie, leave Miss Abbington alone. Go to Miss Rawlings—you can have a sandwich soon enough.”
Miss Abbington laughed as the boy scampered away.
“Here, come meet my nieces,” Henry said, and Lucy followed him across the lawn to where two dark-haired girls lay sprawled on their backs, gazing up at the sky. “Katherine, Emily,” Henry called, “come meet Miss Abbington.” His nieces bolted upright, their eyes wide with surprise, before jumping to their feet and running to his side.
“Miss Abbington?” Emily questioned, breathlessly. “The one who Uncle Henry...oof!” Katherine jabbed her sister in the ribs with her elbow. “Ouch! Why ever did you do that, Katie, I was only asking—”
“I’m glad to meet you, Miss Abbington.” Katherine smiled up at Lucy curiously before taking her younger sister firmly by the elbow and leading her over to their governess.
Henry reached a hand to his forehead with a grimace. Damn his loose lips. He never should have told Eleanor about the flowers, certainly not in front of the children. “I’m afraid I forget how sharp their minds are. I was telling my sister I sent you flowers and—”
“Oh, how rude of me, I nearly forgot.” Lucy’s cheeks flushed a most pleasing pink, and she reached up to finger a single bloom tucked into the band of her bonnet.
A perfect blue delphinium blossom. Unmistakably from his bouquet.
“Thank you, my lord. The...the flowers were lovely,” she stammered, her flush deepening.
“I hope you’ll accept my apology for my behavior last night. I’m afraid I overindulged in drink.” His heart accelerated at the memory of her warm, lush body pressed against his, the feel of her voluptuous breasts straining against the thin fabric of her gown, just waiting for him to—
“Yes, of course,” she said, her eyes downcast. “Your apology is accepted.” Her mouth was drawn and she looked terribly uncomfortable.
“Good, then let us eat,” he said, swallowing hard and attempting to push the memories of last night as far back into the recesses of his mind as possible. He led her back to his sister and the cloth on the ground, eyeing appreciatively the feast that lay before them. Baskets filled with sandwiches and pastries, fruit-filled bowls, and trays with bread and cheese were all spread out atop crisp white linen under a shade tree. Henry was suddenly ravenous. The children joined them, and one and all dug into the collation with evident enthusiasm.
“Mmmm, this is delicious, Lady Worthington,” Lucy said, reaching for a second tiny sandwich. “It was so kind of you to ask me to join your family. There’s nothing more delightful than dining alfresco on a lovely afternoon.”
“My sentiments exactly.” She looked to Henry with a smug smile. “We’re delighted to have you, aren’t we?” Eleanor asked Henry pointedly.
“Of course,” he said, reaching for another sandwich and taking a bite. He chewed for a moment in silence, thinking how to steer the conversation to a safe topic. “How are the Rosemoors recovering from last night’s festivities?” he finally asked.
“Quite well, thank you. In fact, I think everyone is relieved for it to be over with, and to have the household returned to normalcy.”
“It was a lovely party, Miss Abbington,” Eleanor said. “You must be pleased.”
“I am.” Lucy reached for an apple tart. “I had such a very good time, and most unexpectedly.”
“Why unexpectedly?” Eleanor asked.
“I’m not quite used to such grand affairs. My life at home is quiet and simple in comparison.”
Henry noticed a small sparrow hovering near the edge of their cloth, and he watched in fascination as Lucy plucked a crust of bread and held it out temptingly. Within moments the bird alighted beside her, cocking its head as it hopped closer and closer. At once the bird came right to her hand, snatching the bread away in its beak before flying off to enjoy its reward.
“However did you do that?” Katherine watched the bird disappear in amazement, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“Yes, can you do it again?” Emily asked.
“I want a bird to eat from my hand,” said Freddie with a pout.
Lucy laughed. “Well, it’s not so hard, really. Just make them feel safe and secure, so they trust you.”
Henry looked up sharply, and though their eyes met only briefly he felt it physically, as if he had been punched in the gut. Looking away, he reached for a slice of bread just as Lucy reached for one herself. Their hands collided over the basket, and Henry’s tingled as if a spark had passed from her fingers to his.
He reached up to rub his temples. Bloody hell, what was going on? What was she doing to him? She was some sort of enchantress—there was no other logical explanation.
“Here, like this.” Lucy returned her attention to the children and broke off another bit of crust, holding it in an outstretched hand. A sparrow swooped down and took the bread, and the children’s delighted laughter rang out in response.
“Me, me,” Freddie begged.
“Come, sit here.” Miss Abbington settled the boy into her lap and put a bit of bread in his hand, which she held cupped in her own. “Shhh, quiet.” Within seconds the greedy bird returned, and Freddie squealed with glee. Katherine and Emily demanded their own turn before Eleanor entreated them to let Miss Abbington alone.
“You must have many suitors, Miss Abbington,” Katherine said, biting into a pastry. Emily nodded in agreement, a dollop of jam on the tip of her nose.
“Suitors?” A faint smile tipped the corners of Lucy’s mouth.
Henry was hardly listening—his attention was focused on that lovely mouth of hers. He was remembering how warm, soft, and silky it felt beneath his; how heavenly she had tasted, so intoxicatingly sweet... He took another bite of his sandwich, attempting to rein in his straying thoughts.
“I’m afraid not,” Lucy was saying. “I haven’t much time for suitors, you see, I—”
“No suitors?” Katherine looked puzzled. “But you are so very pretty, and so kind. Perhaps you will consider Uncle Henry, then.”
Henry choked on his sandwich.
“He’s terribly handsome,” Katherine continued enthusiastically. “Why, just this morning I heard Miss Rawlings say...” Katherine looked flustered, raising a hand to her mouth. “That is to say, I mean...well, he is handsome, is he not? And he is a marquess, after all. That must count for something, especially to someone like you.”
Henry could barely breathe. A thick slice of roast beef seemed to be lodged in his throat.
“Katherine!” Eleanor cried out, her eyes wide and her face crimson. “Enough. You will apologize at once to Miss Abbington.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking as if she were about to cry.
Lucy reached over and patted her hand. “It’s quite all right, Katherine.”
“Go now, all of you, off to Miss Rawlings. Now!” Eleanor bellowed, and all three children sprang up wordlessly and hurried over to their governess. “I apologize for her impertinence, Miss Abbington.”
�
��No apology is necessary, Lady Worthington. I assure you no offense was taken. Truly, the children are delightful.”
Henry studied her sharply but could find no signs of artifice in her countenance. He watched raptly as she plucked a ripe strawberry from a bowl and popped it into her mouth. His eyes were involuntarily drawn back to her lips, perfectly shaped and delectably luscious.
“Thank you again for your kindness,” she said, a tiny spot of strawberry juice on her chin. Henry longed to lean over and lick it off himself. Instead, Lucy lifted her napkin and daintily blotted her mouth.
“Henry,” Eleanor said, “why don’t you and Miss Abbington take a stroll? I’ll help Miss Rawlings get the children cleaned up and ready to go.”
He fixed an angry glower upon his sister.
“Oh, no,” Lucy demurred. “I was told to expect callers later, and I must get back at once.”
Callers? Yes, of course. After last night every unattached man in London would be banging on her door, wouldn’t they? “I insist,” he said, surprising himself. “Just a short stroll along the Serpentine.”
Eleanor looked as if she might applaud.
“Yes, then, I suppose if you insist.” Lucy brushed the crumbs from her frock and stood on shaky legs. She took the marquess’ proffered arm reluctantly, her heart fluttering against her ribs. She was almost afraid to touch him, afraid of her own reaction. She tried to make herself think of something—anything—other than the feel of his hard, taut muscles beneath her fingers. Her breath came faster as they walked briskly for a moment in companionable silence.
Lucy smiled, reflecting on the children’s wide-eyed wonderment. They were delightful, and she could not hold speaking the truth against Katherine. For a brief moment she allowed herself to consider the notion that if she never married, she would never have children of her own, never experience the joys of motherhood. These intruding thoughts deeply saddened her, and she forced them from her mind. No use dwelling upon such unpleasantness.
Unlaced (Undone by Love Book 1) Page 10