Lucy turned bright pink. Impulsively, she rushed to the mirror and ineffectively fussed with her hair. Her own plainness, reflected back to her in the unforgiving mirror, soon brought her back to her senses, however. Sheepishly, she turned to face Lady Viola, certain that the other girl must be laughing at her ridiculous display of vanity.
Viola was not laughing. To Lucy’s surprise, she had turned as pale as death. With white fingers, she gripped the arms of her chair. “Oh, Lucy!” she gasped. “I cannot see him!” Releasing the arms of the chair, she clutched her belly as if in physical pain. “I am still in love with him. I thought it was all finished, but evidently it is not. Though he has hurt me—though he has broken my heart—I still love him, fool that I am.”
Lucy sank slowly into her chair, her heart pounding with dread. “You are in love with Mr Devize?” she whispered.
“I am,” Viola moaned. “I thought we would be married, but I was wrong.”
“Did he promise you marriage?” Lucy asked, astonished.
“Yes. Every day! But he has betrayed me.”
Lucy struggled to keep her composure. “I cannot believe it. Mr Devize is an honorable man. He would not betray you. I am sure of it.”
Viola blinked at her. “You know him?”
“Yes, I know him very well,” Lucy replied. “If Mr Devize has promised to marry you, then marry you he will.”
Viola grasped her hand. “Do you really think so, Lucy?”
“Yes,” Lucy said simply.
Viola ran to the mirror. “Will you go down first, Lucy?” she asked, adjusting the ribbon in her hair. “I want to look perfect for him.”
Lucy felt a stab of violent jealousy. Lady Viola had everything: beauty, wealth, and rank. She even had cleverness and charm. Now, it seemed, she had Alex, too.
“Of course, Lady Viola,” she heard her own voice say.
“Miss Andrews!” Viola corrected, dabbing on perfume. “He does not know I am Lady Viola. I thought—I still hope—that he loves me for myself alone.”
Lucy went down like a sleepwalker and greeted her guests with determined politeness.
Lady Cheviot was looking especially charming in her emerald green riding habit. “My dear Lucy,” she said, eyeing the girl’s lifeless gray gown, “how elegant you look.”
Alexander Devize was standing at the recently dusted mantelpiece, looking very gentlemanlike in his riding coat and breeches. “Good morning, Miss Rampling,” he greeted her cheerfully. “You did not visit us at Cross Mere yesterday, or this morning. The twins were quite sure their auxiliary governess had been murdered!” He smiled. “My sister and I have been dispatched to kidnap you and bring you to the tree house without delay.”
Lucy stared at him in agony. His dark eyes were twinkling. His smile was warm and charming. In spite of his pockmarks, she had always thought him handsome. She had always loved him. It had given her great pain to refuse his offer of marriage. She did not begrudge him the right to marry someone else. But could he not have chosen a plain, ordinary woman, preferably a woman completely unknown to herself? Did he have to punish her by choosing Lady Viola Gambol as his wife?
“I have been very busy, Mr Devize,” Lucy said stiffly. “Do please convey my regrets to Henry and Elizabeth. It is a warm afternoon,” she went on. “Shall we have lemonade?”
“I have already ordered it,” said Cornelius. “Is Miss Andrews not coming down?” he asked Lucy when they were all seated. “Is there a problem with…you know who?”
He spoke in an undertone, but Lady Cheviot had excellent hearing. Her brows rose. “Miss Andrews?” she repeated politely. “Have you a visitor, Miss Rampling?”
Lucy’s reply was hardly attended as Viola entered the room, regal in peacock blue, her small white dog in her arms. Alex Devize and Cornelius sprang to their feet. Perdita stared at Viola in astonishment. Everything and everyone in the room paled in comparison to the new arrival. Perdita felt fat and sweaty, and Lucy simply faded into obscurity.
Cornelius hastily performed the introductions. Lucy watched obliquely as Alex Devize bent over Viola’s hand. How they both dissembled! Why, they might have been strangers.
“Your friend is very young, Miss Rampling,” Perdita remarked coldly, looking down her nose at the overdressed beauty. “Does she mean to stay long in Hampshire?”
“With Lady Caroline so ill, I am come to help poor Lucy manage,” Viola explained. “I shall stay as long as I am needed, Lady Cheviot.”
“But, Lucy, my dear!” cried Perdita. “I did not know your mama was ill.”
“It was immensely sudden,” Viola explained before Lucy could say a word. “The house was in the most shocking state when I arrived, but I believe I am making progress. Poor Lucy doesn’t know the first thing about running a household of this size,” she added kindly, patting Lucy’s hand. “The servants have been taking full advantage of the situation, of course, but I will soon have everything set to rights.”
“Have you had the doctor?” Alex inquired of Lucy, but, again, Viola answered.
“Oh, yes, Mr Devize. Dr Chadwick was very helpful. Lady Caroline is to be confined to her room until she is quite well again.”
“What a pity,” Perdita murmured. “I was hoping Miss Rampling might attend a little assembly I am giving at Cross Mere on Wednesday.”
“Oh?” said Viola.
“I’m sure my sister will postpone her ball until Miss Rampling can attend,” said Alex.
Perdita looked startled. “Postpone! Impossible, I’m afraid.”
“Is it a ball?” Viola inquired. “Or a little assembly?”
“It’s really just a small party to introduce my brother to the neighborhood,” said Perdita, annoyed. “There will be dancing, of course, and supper.”
Viola chuckled. “Are you having a Come-Out Ball, Mr Devize?” she teased him.
Alex smiled back. “Something like that, Miss Andrews.”
“What a pity Miss Rampling cannot go,” sighed Perdita. “She will be missed.”
“Nonsense,” said Viola. “An evening of good food, good exercise, and good society would do Lucy a world of good, I am persuaded. I’m afraid,” she added in a stage whisper, “that Lady Caroline has been a difficult patient. So hard on Lucy, you know.”
Lady Cheviot forced a smile. “Yes, do come, Miss Rampling. Miss Andrews, you are very welcome, too,” she added reluctantly.
“Oh, heavens, no,” Viola said carelessly. “I must stay here with poor Lady Caroline.”
“Oh, no,” Lucy said. “I will stay with Mama. You should go, Miss Andrews.”
“Dear Lucy, I’m your mother’s nurse,” Viola replied. “I’m not here to go to balls or assemblies or whatever. I’m here so that you can go to balls and assemblies and whatever.”
Lady Cheviot eyed Viola’s diamond ornaments suspiciously. “Nurse? You?”
“Your brother can escort you, Lucy,” Viola went on. “I daresay Lady Cheviot will be glad of an extra gentleman. There are never enough men to go around at these small country gatherings. Lady Cheviot, you must promise to get Lucy partners. That is my one condition.”
“I should be very glad to dance with Miss Rampling,” Alex said warmly.
Lucy looked at him, startled. How could he ask her to dance, when he was betrothed to Viola? It was cruel to both Viola and to herself. At the same time, she could not help but admire Viola’s ability to hide her feelings. No one would ever suspect that she was in love with Mr Devize. She seemed supremely indifferent to his very existence.
Alex looked at Lucy, puzzled by the look she gave him. “I thought perhaps we could open the ball, Miss Rampling. As old friends, you know.”
“Alex,” Perdita said reproachfully, “you forget you are engaged already for the first dance. And for the supper dance, too. But I see no reason why Miss Rampling cannot have you for the two-third, or the two-fifth.”
“Let us put him down for the two-third,” Viola said shrewdly. “And, of course, you will give L
ucy your husband for the supper dance.”
Perdita stiffened. “I’ve half promised Lord Cheviot to Mrs Chisholm, I’m afraid.”
Viola waved her hand. “Oh, a married lady can always take herself to supper.”
“Mrs Chisholm is extremely nearsighted,” Perdita snapped. “She requires the arm of a gentleman.”
Viola sighed. “Oh, that is unfortunate for Lucy. Who else have you got?”
As Viola and Lady Cheviot haggled over available gentlemen, Alex turned to Lucy and said quietly, “I should a thousand times prefer to dance with you.”
Lucy stiffened at this pleasantry, and Alex was left wondering what he had done to offend her.
The servant brought the lemonade. “Begging your pardon, miss,” she addressed Viola. “The cook would like a word with you.”
Viola stood up, relegating Lucy to serve the lemonade to her guests. “I daresay it’s about the fish,” she sighed. “Is there no salmon to be had in Hampshire?”
Lady Cheviot positively smirked. “I’m afraid that’s my fault, Miss Andrews. My cook always gets the salmon—why, she must get up before the dawn! There’s plenty of haddock, however. I myself do not care for haddock, but other people seem to find it edible. I’ll have my cook send your cook her receipt for white sauce.”
“It’s very civil of you to offer, Lady Cheviot,” Viola said coolly, “but I am hoping we need not resort to white sauce! Please excuse me.”
Lady Cheviot and her brother did not stay long after that. After the departure of her guests, Lucy had no more than a few moments alone in her room before Viola descended upon her with a selection of gowns for the ball. “We haven’t much time,” said Viola. “Lady Cheviot should be shot for inviting you on such short notice. Under the circumstances, I think the best we can do is take one of my dresses and cut it down for you. The question is which one.”
The rest of the afternoon was taken up with this momentous decision. Viola pinned and scrutinized each gown in turn, finally selecting a sapphire blue silk. “This will do,” she said with an air of resignation. “I have a set of amethysts that should bring out the blue in your eyes.”
“My eyes are gray,” Lucy said doubtfully.
Viola ignored her. “And the velvet cloak will go very well with golden ringlets.”
“My hair is brown, Lady Viola. And it will not hold a curl, I’m sorry to say.”
“I can’t decide if I want to give you a bosom or not,” Viola said, frowning as she studied Lucy’s small, thin frame. “I’ve never needed to wear shapes myself—obviously—but a little padding might be just what you need.”
“Certainly not!” said Lucy, blushing furiously.
“That settles it,” Viola said. “I’m for anything that puts a little color in your cheeks!”
It was left to Lucy to bring up the subject of Mr Devize. “He should not have asked me to dance,” she apologized. “He only did so because we are old friends. I hope you were not hurt by this meaningless gesture.”
Viola looked at her in amazement. “What are you talking about? Why should I care?”
Lucy blinked in confusion.
Viola laughed suddenly. “That was not my Mr Devize! Why, I’d completely forgotten that Julian has an elder brother. Mr Alexander Devize is nothing to me. He’s not very handsome, is he?” she added, wrinkling her nose. “What’s the matter?” she cried, catching sight of Lucy’s pale face.
Forgetting that her dress was pinned all over, Lucy sat down hard on the bed and instantly jumped up again. “Nothing,” she said.
“You’re white as death,” Viola said. “You’re in love with him yourself!” she accused.
“No!”
“Oh, and he doesn’t even know you’re alive. Poor Lucy!” Viola clucked her tongue sympathetically. “How very sad.”
Lucy was provoked. “He does know I’m alive! Indeed, he asked me to marry him.”
“Oh?” said Viola, interested.
“It was a long time ago, and I refused him, of course,” Lucy said quickly.
“Because he’s not handsome?” said Viola. “That’s rather shallow, don’t you think?”
“I refused him because the match would not suit,” Lucy said indignantly. “My father’s suicide…My lack of a fortune…His family did not approve the match.”
“Presumably, he knew all that when he asked you?”
“Well, yes, but…I could not accept him. I could not condemn him to a lifetime of regret, even though he was willing to condemn himself.”
“Hardly a lifetime,” Viola pointed out. “Your lives are half over already.”
“I vowed never to regret my decision,” Lucy said stiffly. “I know I was right. Sooner or later, he would have come to regret his folly.”
Viola sighed. “In my case, I have nothing but regret, and I know I was wrong.”
“In your case, there is still hope,” Lucy said kindly.
Viola shook her head. Taking a scrap of paper from her pocket, she gave it to Lucy, saying, “Read this and tell me to hope, if you can!”
The handwriting was not the best, but Lucy managed to decipher it.
Dear Sir—
Let us be direct and come to terms. I will give you 20,000 guineas for Miss A—. This will yield you an immediate profit of 3,000 guineas. If you are amenable to my offer—as I am sure you will be—you may find me in my rooms at the Albany.
It was signed simply, Simon Ascot.
“Who,” cried Lucy, bewildered, “or what, is ‘Miss A’?”
“I am!” Viola told her. “I am Miss A. You see? Julian Devize lured me into his web with a promise of marriage, then he tried to sell me to another man—a man I don’t even like!”
Twisting her hands together, she began to stalk the room. “He filled my head with nonsense. That is what they do, you know. They promise you marriage, the moon, and the stars. Then they take advantage of your innocence and trust. When they are quite finished with you, they simply abandon you or pass you on to the next man.”
Lucy was pale with horror. “Good heavens, Lady Viola! You didn’t let him—you didn’t let him kiss you?”
Viola stopped dead in her tracks. She did not approve of lying, of course, but occasionally it was absolutely essential to do so. This was one of those occasions.
“Lord, no,” she declared vehemently. “Are you mad? You must know I’d never permit such a thing. I’m not a complete fool, you know. I was speaking hypothetically.”
“Of course,” Lucy said quickly, although she was now quite convinced that Viola had been kissed. “I–I never thought otherwise!”
Chapter Seventeen
A Great Dane and a Dalmatian greeted the Duchess of Berkshire as she walked up the steps to Gambol House on Friday morning. Looking very smart in a lilac costume overlaid with black lace, she fended them off as best she could with her parasol until her footman rescued her.
One of the duke’s footmen emerged from the house in what can only be described as a lackadaisical manner and rounded up the dogs. “Is the wedding to take place today?” the duchess demanded of him, handing her shredded parasol to her own footman. “There was no notice in the Post. I received no invitation.”
This particular footman had traveled with the duke from Yorkshire. “I don’t know nothing about no wedding, ma’am,” he said, holding on to the dogs’ collars with both fists.
The duchess beamed at him. “Excellent! In that case, I’d like to see Miss Andrews.”
The footman followed her inside, dragging the dogs. As he closed the door, the dogs flashed off in the direction of the morning room. “Whom shall I say is calling, ma’am?”
The duchess glared at him, but he merely looked back at her. “You know perfectly well who I am,” she snapped. “I was here two days ago. Lady Viola will hear of this impudence. You are Jem, are you not?”
He grinned at her. “Jem’s my twin brother. I’ve just come down from Yorkshire with his grace. I’m also called Jem, for ease of use, ma’a
m. You might have been here two days ago, but I weren’t.”
“Oh, I see,” said the duchess, slightly mollified. “The duke’s back, is he? Good! You may announce the Duchess of Berkshire.”
Dickon was delighted to receive her. He even remembered to stand up for the duchess, although he couldn’t be bothered to bow. Instead, he pounced on her, seizing her by the hand. “I love duchesses,” he said effusively. “My mother was a duchess, you know.”
“I know,” she answered dryly, her attention caught by a small, pretty, genteel sort of girl. She was not precisely seated on a sofa; rather, she was pinned down to it by a pair of Dalmatians. A third dog, the Dane, was standing with his front paws on the young lady’s knees. The girl stared at the duchess with big, innocent brown eyes. When she realized that the duchess was looking back at her, she blushed hotly and hastily turned her attention to the duke’s dogs.
The duchess picked up a pug from a chair and sat down with it in her lap.
As every other seat in the room was occupied by some type of canine, the duke contented himself with leaning his portly frame over the back of the sofa occupied by the girl. The duchess waited in vain for an introduction. Finally, she said, “How do you do, my dear? I am the Duchess of Berkshire. Who might you be?”
Looking rather terrified, the young lady tried to get to her feet, but it was impossible.
“Tell her who you are, Mary,” the duke encouraged her.
“Please, ma’am! My name is Mary Andrews.”
“Little Mary,” the duke said fondly, patting her on the head. “When I got to Fanshawe, Viola was gone, but there was little Mary, all alone. I thought I might as well bring her with me to London.”
“And here she is!” the duchess said with shamelessly false gaiety. “You must find London very different from Gambolthwaite, Miss Andrews.”
Mary’s eyes widened in surprise. “Does your ladyship know Gambolthwaite?”
“I’m a duchess, dear, not a ladyship,” the duchess corrected her gently.
“Yes, Duchess,” Mary said meekly.
“Of course I know all about you, Miss Andrews. Lady Viola told me. She took a great risk coming to London to meet your dreadful aunt. You must be very grateful to her.”
The Heiress In His Bed Page 27