by Claudia Dain
“Lucy!” Her sister-in-law broke into her thoughts. “Did you hear a word I said?”
Heavens, had she missed something important? “Sorry, my lady, I was woolgathering, apparently.”
“You do a bit much of that too.” Lady Elmstead huffed as she folded her arms across her wide chest. “Your head is always in the clouds, it seems.”
Because imagining herself anywhere else was better than focusing on where she currently was. “I am sorry,” she lied. “What did you say?”
“I said, I shan’t be happy to have to tell Elmstead of your behavior, but I don’t have any other choice. Someone could have seen you. He could already know.”
Not that he’d care one way or the other. “So tell him.” Lucy leaned her head against the squabs and closed her eyes. “I’d rather deal with Rupert anyway.”
Her sister-in-law sucked in more than her fair share of air, then she released it in one indignant sigh. “You will treat me with the respect I’m due, Lucinda Potts.”
Or she could jump a frigate headed for India, meet up with a snake charmer, and escape the ordinary life here. What a very pleasant daydream.
A moment later, the coach lurched to a stop. Lucy’s eyes sprang open. Recognizing that they’d arrived home, she opened the door before the driver was able to hop down from his box. She bounded from the conveyance and bounced up the steps of Elmstead House just as the front door opened. Lucy grinned a thanks to Booth, their aged butler.
“Enjoyed your afternoon, Miss Lucy?” he asked.
Not entirely, not that she would burden Booth with her troubles. The poor man had enough of his own these days, working for the new Lady Elmstead.
“Is his lordship in his study?” she asked, just as her sister-in-law bellowed from the walk in front of their townhouse, “Lucinda Potts, get back here!”
Booth winced a bit then cocked his head in the direction of the baron’s study. “Hurry on, Miss Lucy. Whatever it is you’ve done, things’ll go better if you tell him first.”
She and Booth were certainly of a mind on that score. “Thank you,” she said quickly as she bounded toward the one room in the house that was truly her brother’s domain.
“Luce!” Her brother Rupert Potts, Baron Elmstead, rose from the spot behind his desk as she burst through his door, his large frame at attention, his dark eyes filled with alarm. “Are you all right?”
“Lucinda!” her sister-in-law cried once more.
Instantly, Rupert’s face dropped. He massaged his temples as though to stave off a headache. “What now?” he asked, sounding more than disheartened.
“All I was did was talk to a gentleman in the middle of the museum and she—”
“Your sister is the most disrespectful creature in existence, Elmstead,” the baroness’ voice boomed behind Lucy, nearly making her jump from her own skin. “She behaved inappropriately in public then she bolted from your coach as though her dress was on fire just now in front of everyone on the street. She is completely out of control.”
Rupert heaved a sigh. “I’ll talk to her, my lady.”
His wife snorted. “Your talks never do any good. She is just as willful and headstrong as she’s ever been. You need to take a firmer hand with her, Elmstead. No decent man will ever offer for her if she continues to behave so commonly. Do you want us to be stuck with her the rest of our lives?”
“No, my dear.” Rupert looked from his wife to Lucy to and back. “Give us a few minutes and I’ll talk to her,” he said again.
The baroness huffed one last time before stomping off in the direction of her favorite parlor.
Lucy shut her brother’s door and leaned against it, as though her slight form could hold off any return by her sister-in-law. “How can you live with her, Rupert?”
Her brother’s visage took on a stony appearance. “Don’t talk about my wife that way, Luc.”
All the fight in Lucy seemed to evaporate, and she sagged against the door. What had happened to her brother? She didn’t even recognize him anymore. Would he ever again resemble the sweet boy she’d grown up with? “She’s awful,” Lucy said softly. “She humiliates me whenever I have to go anywhere with her. Even a stranger noticed today.”
“She just wants what’s best for you,” Rupert said.
It took everything Lucy had in her not to snort in response. That woman didn’t care one whit what was best for Lucy. She just wanted her gone. And Lucy wanted to be gone, as well. Far away from her brother and his wife. Far away from London. Far away from everything she’d ever known.
“Get along with her, Lucy,” her brother continued. “Life will be easier for everyone if you just get along with her.”
Lucy would rather eat broken glass. Her sister-in-law was awful. A mean-spirited, not terribly intelligent bully. No, getting along with her was not an option. But an escape might be. Somewhere hot, perhaps, where even the air smelled warmer.
Drew ignored the look of surprise on his butler’s face as he strode through the doors of Brookfield House. “Afternoon, Robson,” he said as he started for his study.
The butler stammered as he closed the front door, “Ah-ah, we-ah, weren’t expecting you, milord.”
Of course they weren’t. Drew barely slept at his home, and when he did, he’d rise with the sun and escape the place before its ghosts and his memories could haunt him. “Just need to send a note to a friend,” he replied over his shoulder, as though he needed an excuse for being in his own home.
“Is there something you need?” Robson asked, trailing in Drew’s wake. The poor man seemed willing and able to fall all over himself to accommodate his employer, almost like an abandoned puppy seeking his master’s approval.
But Drew didn’t have the patience to deal with needy servants today. Truly, the man should be happy to work for such an undemanding employer, shouldn’t he? “All my correspondence is on my desk?” he asked briskly.
“Yes, sir.”
Drew stepped over the threshold into his study and gestured to his liquor cabinet along the far wall. “Then as long as I’ve still got a nice brandy in there, I’ll be fine.”
“Of course, sir.” Robson blinked as though he was hoping for some sort of direction, but he wouldn’t get it today.
Drew cast the man a dismissive gaze, then shut the door. He crossed the floor to his liquor cabinet, poured himself a generous amount of brandy to keep his memories from plaguing him, then he finally dropped into the overstuffed leather chair behind his desk.
He closed his eyes, and silence engulfed him. Even after all these months, it was still so very strange to be in this house and not hear his mother’s sobs or his uncle’s nonsensical rants echoing down the corridor. That was, of course, what he’d wanted though, wasn’t it? He’d fled as far as he could from this place and from those people, not returning until after they’d both passed away. But his mind had never been free of them, no matter if he was in the Orient, Egypt, or India. The scars of his upbringing followed him everywhere.
Drew opened his eyes and reached for his brandy, and his gaze settled upon an ivory elephant at the edge of his desk. Just a little memento he’d picked up in a market before he departed Bombay last summer. An image of the delightful girl from the museum flashed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but smile.
Lucy.
That termagant had called her Lucy, hadn’t she? Pretty Lucy with the warm hazel eyes. Such a pity she’d been called away from him that afternoon, as their conversation had been one of the more enjoyable he’d engaged in of late. In fact, he was fairly certain he could have enjoyed talking with her all afternoon.
He smiled at the memory of her eyes rounding in interest when he spoke of Bombay. She had an adventurous spirit, if he wasn’t mistaken. Not that he expected she’d really hop a ship headed for somewhere else, but if she did, he hoped Lucy would have better luck escaping her demons than he’d had escaping his.
With a sigh, Drew retrieved a bit of foolscap, quill, and an inkwell. Afte
r he scribbled his regrets to Lord Albourne in regard to the next evening, he snatched the invitation to Lady Staveley’s ball and shook his head. How in the world had Ian MacLaren talked him into this nonsense?
As Drew stepped inside the famed viscountess’ ballroom, his name was intoned by a Staveley footman. The event could only be described as a crush, a testament to Lady Staveley’s popularity and reputation. The room practically vibrated with tinkling conversation, raucous laughter, and musicians playing the tune to some lively quadrille as couples crisscrossed the ballroom.
How the devil was he supposed to find Ian in all this madness?
Drew started to his left, figuring a quick walk around the perimeter, or as quick as it could be in this crowd, might be his best chance at finding his friend. A few moments later, he spotted an old school chum standing just a few feet away.
“Tristan Avery,” he said, clapping a hand to the Army lieutenant’s back. “It has been an age.”
“Indeed.” Avery frowned slightly when his eyes landed on Drew. “Russell said you arrived in Town last summer.”
Drew had forgotten in his absence that Tristan had always been the more priggish of the Avery brothers, though the lieutenant’s continued frown quickly reminded him of that fact. “Straight from Bombay,” Drew replied, turning his attention to the pretty auburn-haired girl on Avery’s arm. The man’s wife, undoubtedly. The one who’d come between the brothers Avery last fall. “We haven’t been introduced.” He smiled at the lady.
Tristan Avery released a beleaguered sigh. “Viscount Brookfield, my wife Mrs. Avery.”
“Mrs. Avery.” Drew nodded in greeting. “So nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Lord B-Brookfield?” The lady’s frown now matched her husband’s.
Drew inwardly cringed. If he had a farthing for every time someone had a similar reaction to hearing his title, he could have refilled the Treasury ten times over. “I didn’t care for my uncle either, ma’am. And I do hope never to be like him.”
“I—well—I,” she stammered.
But Drew barely heard her, because in the middle of the dance floor, a flash of color caught his eye.
Damn it all.
Lucy!
The pretty girl from the museum yesterday?
Huh. He hadn’t wagered on ever seeing her again, but there she was, smiling and laughing with the others as the quadrille came to an end. She should smile more often. She was even more enchanting now than she had been when he’d first encountered her, like a breath of fresh air and…perhaps second chances.
Second chances. If he hadn’t come tonight he might never have seen her again. But now that he had… Well, it was almost as though the Hindu goddess Maya had caught him in her spider’s web of fate.
“Drew?” Tristan began. “You all right?”
Drew cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his old classmate. Second chances. He really shouldn’t let this opportunity pass him by. He might not get another one. “Do you know that girl?” he asked, gesturing to Lucy as she crossed the floor toward a group of girls about her age.
“Which one?” Tristan asked.
“Brunette. In the jonquil gown.” If he could just get a proper introduction...
“Lucinda Potts,” Mrs. Avery replied. “Lord Elmstead’s sister. I don’t know her very well, however.”
Elmstead. Elmstead. Why did that name sound so familiar? And then the answer hit Drew almost as though an elephant had been dropped on top of him. “Old Chamber Potts?” he breathed out. What were the odds that Lucy’s brother was that oaf Chamber Potts? Good God!
Mrs. Avery gasped. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t think anyone has called him that since we were at Eton,” Tristan grumbled.
“You called Lord Elmstead ‘Old Chamber Potts’?” Mrs. Avery covered her mouth in apparent mortification.
“Just ‘Chamber Potts’,” Drew amended, as he pulled his gaze from Lucy to the Averys.
“He—um,” Tristan began. “Well, you see, Phoebe, he wasn’t the freshest smelling fellow in those days, and we were just boys back then.”
“Tristan.” She gaped at her husband. “I can’t believe you did such a thing. Poor Lord Elmstead! What a horrible moniker.”
Tristan shot Drew a look that clearly wished him to the devil. “So good to see you again, Drew.”
Shrugging an apology, Drew backed away from the couple. If Mrs. Avery was about to blister Tristan’s ears, Drew would rather not bear witness to the event. Besides, his mind was still reeling from this new information. Elmstead was Lucy’s brother? Chamber Potts, himself? Drew would have never guessed such a thing in a million years. The enchanting girl he’d met yesterday did not resemble the lumbering baron in the least.
Drew snatched a glass of wine from the salver of a passing footman, but even after he finished the drink, his mind returned to the situation at hand. Chamber Potts, for God’s sake. Elmstead couldn’t have any fond Eton memories of Drew. The portly fellow hadn’t possessed one friend in those days, and Drew had never done anything to rectify the matter. In fact, Drew was even the one who’d first referred to Chamber Potts by that more than apt nickname. Odds were the man wouldn’t have forgotten that bit.
Drew glanced back across the ballroom to where Lucy had headed with her friends, but just like yesterday in the museum, she seemed to have disappeared without notice. His heart sank a little, which was ridiculous. He’d barely met the girl. She might not even remember him, though her brother most definitely would.
Second chances notwithstanding, it was probably best to put the chit from his mind. Nothing could come of it anyway.
“Ah, ye did make it, after all.” Ian’s voice boomed from behind Drew.
“I said I would.” He turned on his spot to face his friend. “But I haven’t noticed any scheming mamas hiding behind any potted palms.”
The wry look Ian cast him made Drew chuckle. “Of course ye doona see them, Brookfield. They’re more clever than that. Ye doona think someone plottin’ yer downfall would let ye see them, do ye?”
As Lucy stepped away from the refreshment table, a glass of punch in her hand, a slight gasp from beside her caught her ear. She glanced at Lady Chloe Springate to her left, only to find that her friend’s mouth had fallen open. “If your mother sees you like that,” Lucy warned under her breath, “you’ll never hear the end of it.”
Chloe snapped her mouth closed as the threat of one of Lady Hemington’s reprimands was quite a real one. Then she nodded toward the far end of the room, her blue eyes alight with glee. “Elspeth said he would come, but I hadn’t believed her. He hasn’t been to anything all season.”
What was Chloe going on about? Lucy glanced in the direction that so fascinated her friend, and she nearly stumbled when her eyes landed on the adventurous gentleman she’d met at the museum the day before. Heavens! She never thought she’d see him again. Her heart fluttered.
Lucy nearly sighed right alongside Chloe. Ever since meeting the gentleman, Lucy had thought of little else. His words had so inspired her to make some sort of escape from her life. The only questions rattling around in her mind were… Where would she go? How should she get there? And, of course, how fast could she possibly leave her brother’s townhouse?
“If I could just manage to meet him,” Chloe said softly, breaking Lucy’s reverie.
A twinge of something twisted Lucy’s heart. Why was Chloe so taken with Lucy’s adventurer? Chloe wasn’t adventurous in the least. She didn’t even like to travel as far away as Bath, for heaven’s sakes.
Of course, there was more to the gentleman than his adventurous ways, wasn’t there? He was awfully handsome, even if he did have a bit of a wicked glint to his light eyes. And his impeccable evening attire spoke to a man with deep pockets. Chloe had always been enamored with baubles. Perhaps she thought the adventurer would provide her with more than a few if she could ensnare him. But the thought of Chloe ensnaring the gentleman made Lucy’s
stomach more than a bit queasy.
“He doesn’t look like your sort,” she said, hoping against hope to keep her friend from setting her cap for the fellow.
Chloe shook her head. “Perhaps not, but he’s so tall and so handsome.” She sighed once more. “And his accent…”
Accent? Lucy’s adventurer most certainly did not have an accent. She tilted her head closer to her friend. “Who exactly are you talking about, Chloe Springate?”
Chloe blinked at Lucy as though she was a blabbering simpleton. “Lord Ericht. Who else?”
The Earl of Ericht, Elspeth MacLaren’s brother! “Of course, of course. Sorry.” Relief swamped Lucy as she smiled at her friend. “Still, I don’t think your mother would approve.” Lady Hemington did not, after all, approve of much that wasn’t strictly English. And Scottish lairds, no matter how handsome or how deep their pockets, were not strictly English.
Chloe shrugged. “If I could just meet him, if I could just talk to him, it wouldn’t matter whether Mama approves or not.”
Because it would only take Chloe meeting the Scotsman for Ericht to fall desperately in love with her and whisk her away from her life and her mother, and they’d live happily ever after like a fairytale. At least that was what Chloe seemed to believe, and though the idea was beyond silly, Lucy had no desire to destroy her friend’s daydream. After all, Chloe’s plans might be just as likely to succeed as Lucy’s own plan to hop a ship headed…somewhere, and escape the life she knew here.
To that end, she turned her attention back to her adventurer, who was apparently well acquainted with the Earl of Ericht, as the two of them laughed about something at the far end of the room together. Lucy’s plan to escape would be much improved if the gentleman could be convinced to give her a suggestion or two.
The adventurer started toward the main entrance, with Ericht right behind him. Heavens! The pair was leaving! Lucy’s heart squeezed. She couldn’t let him get away, not without at least talking to him once more.