The Heiress In His Bed

by Tamara Lejeune

Lucy looked around and discovered, to her astonishment, that the girl was making inquiries about her. “Good evening, Miss Figgis,” she said. “It is I, Miss Rampling.”

  Eleanor Figgis stared. “It is!” she whispered vehemently to the girl next to her. “It’s Lucy Rampling!”

  “Why is Lucy dancing with him?” Henry howled in the gallery.

  “Because he asked her,” Elizabeth explained.

  “Why doesn’t she dance with Uncle Alex?”

  “Uncle Alex is dancing with Miss Chisholm.”

  “Why?” Henry demanded. “Look at Papa, dancing with that wrinkled old lady, instead of Mama. None of this makes any sense! Grown-ups are stupid,” he decided.

  As Lucy was still waiting to dance, Alex Devize came down the set with his partner, Miss Chisholm, the acknowledged beauty of the neighborhood. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Lucy, and, for a moment, she was afraid he did not approve of her transformation. Then a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, and Lucy was relieved.

  Miranda Chisholm dug her nails into Alex’s arm. “Was that Lucy Rampling? Poor thing. She’s quite thirty, you know. Doesn’t she look desperate?”

  “I think she looks charming,” Alex replied. “Who’s her partner?”

  “Poor Arthur Bourne! He cannot know how old she is. Someone should tell him.”

  “I have often noticed,” Alex replied, “that some women are handsomer at thirty than they are at twenty. Miss Rampling would seem to be one of those.”

  Feeling quite ill-used by her partner, Miss Chisholm began to sulk.

  As the evening progressed, the ladies became increasingly vexed by Lucy Rampling’s popularity. Lady Cheviot, perhaps, was the most vexed of all. It was very selfish of Lucy to monopolize the attention of all the eligible bachelors, she decided. There simply were not enough men to go around. Two mamas pleaded headaches before the supper dance and left with their daughters. Perdita’s party was in danger of imminent collapse, and it was all Lucy’s fault. She must have known what would happen when she put on that sleeveless purply blue dress sprinkled all over with crystals. (It never occurred to Lady Cheviot they might be diamonds.)

  Perdita frowned as she fanned herself rapidly. She could think of nothing constructive to do to save her ball, and her resentment flared. Where had Lucy gotten a dress like that anyway? she wondered. Perdita knew the work of all the local seamstresses, and Lucy’s gown far exceeded their provincial skills.

  “Hello, Perdita,” said a voice directly behind her.

  Perdita nearly jumped out of her skin. “Julian!” she cried in shock as her youngest brother kissed her cheek. He was in correct evening dress, she was astounded to see, including gloves. “What are you doing here? No, never mind!” she cried in the same breath, grasping his arm firmly. “You must help me. No one is dancing. Tony has disappeared! Alex has disappeared! I am demented!”

  “There’s your problem,” Julian said helpfully. “All the men are fawning over that flat-chested little blond girl in the corner. They’re completely ignoring the other girls.”

  “I know that, Julian,” Perdita said impatiently. “But what am I supposed to do about it?”

  Julian chuckled. “Leave it to me, of course. What’s the girl’s name?”

  “Rampling,” Perdita said eagerly. “Lucy Rampling. What are you going to do?”

  “Did you say Rampling?” Julian asked sharply. “Any relation to Lady Caroline?”

  “Her daughter. Are you going to make a scene?” Perdita asked anxiously.

  “She has a brother, I think. Cornelius Rampling, a member of Parliament?”

  “Yes. That is he, dancing with the girl in yellow.” She caught her brother’s arm. “If you do make a scene, Julian, make it a good one, please. Then my ball will be remembered for all the right reasons.”

  Julian glared at the young man dancing with the girl in yellow. “Do you think he’s better looking than I am?” he asked irritably.

  “What?” Perdita asked, confused. “Who?”

  “Where is his new wife?” Julian asked coldly. “I wish to congratulate the happy couple.”

  “Whose wife?” she cried.

  “Mr Rampling’s, of course.”

  “Mr Rampling! He has no wife.”

  “How strange. I heard he eloped.”

  Perdita snorted. “He wouldn’t dare marry without Lady Viola Gambol’s permission. She’s his patroness, you know. He doesn’t sneeze without her permission.”

  “Are you sure he’s not married?” Julian persisted. “His wife would be a tall young woman with masses of black hair, big, dark eyes, and a very good figure?”

  Perdita looked at him in surprise. “You mean Miss Andrews?”

  Julian’s eyes glinted. “You’ve met her?”

  “Yes, but they are not married.” Sensing a scandal close at hand, she pulled at his arm. “Are they? Lady Viola will not approve of such a wife for one of her M.P.s, I promise you. The girl gives herself such airs!”

  “Is she here?” he demanded.

  “At my ball? Certainly not. She is nurse-companion to Lady Caroline, and she could not leave her charge alone. Now that I think of it, I’m quite sure she had a hand in Miss Rampling’s shocking attire this evening.”

  “Well, I’m damned,” Julian muttered. “She’s taken a job!”

  “Look here, Julian, whatever you’re going to do, do it quick,” Perdita begged. “Mrs Chisholm is looking at me with a gimlet eye. If she takes Miranda home now, I’m finished!”

  Julian made his way to Lucy without delay. “There you are, Miss Rampling,” he said smartly, shoving a few men aside. “You promised me this dance, I believe.”

  Never having been the center of attention before, Lucy was having a difficult time managing her bevy of admirers. In her confusion, she had overcommitted, agreeing to dance with more men than there were dances. It had seemed to her that the only fair thing to do was not to dance at all, but this had led to a bewildering flurry of alternative offers. Everyone wanted to fetch her lemonade and cookies. Everyone wanted to take her for a stroll in the garden. Everyone wanted to fetch her shawl. Lucy was drowning in compliments and propositions.

  She stared at Julian, her heart sinking. She did not remember promising to dance with this young man, which was surprising because he was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. His eyes were a piercing, irresistible blue. He looked like a young god.

  “Did I do so, sir?” she asked, embarrassed. “I beg your pardon! My head is whirling…”

  “You need air, Miss Rampling!” cried one of her admirers.

  “I’m afraid I’ve been very stupid,” Lucy said to Julian. “I’ve promised to dance with too many gentlemen. I’m so sorry, sir, but there are many other ladies—”

  “This dance you promised to me,” Julian insisted, holding out his hand. “And, as you can have only one husband, Miss Rampling, so you can have only one partner. Come! Give these gentlemen time to find their own partners.”

  His air of command would allow for no further resistance. His brilliant blue eyes caused her to shiver. As if in a trance, Lucy placed her hand in his and allowed herself to be conducted to the floor. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said nervously. “I seem to have forgotten your name.”

  “Julian Devize,” he said as they took their places in line.

  Lucy drew back instinctively. “You did not ask me to dance,” she gasped. “I would have remembered that name.”

  “I lied,” he explained. “My sister sent me over to rescue you from your admirers,” he added dryly, as, two by two, a dozen or more couples took to the floor.

  “I did not know what to do with them,” Lucy confessed.

  Julian did not reply. He seemed to be staring at Miss Figgis.

  “When…when did you arrive in Hampshire, Mr Julian?” she asked timidly.

  “Just now. Guess my surprise when I discovered my sister was giving a ball. She didn’t even invite me. I had to borrow evening dress from
my brother-in-law. Who is that girl dancing with your brother?”

  Lucy’s eyelids fluttered. “Miss Figgis? What do you want with Miss Figgis?”

  “Is Miss Figgis engaged to be married?” Julian inquired.

  “I don’t believe so,” said Lucy, startled by the question. “Why do you ask?”

  “Good,” said Julian. “Mr Rampling should confine his attention to young ladies who are not engaged. Meddling with young ladies who are engaged can be a very dangerous activity.”

  “I d-don’t know what you mean,” Lucy stammered, turning quite pale.

  “I think you know whom I mean,” he countered. “Yes, you know very well whom I mean. Miss Rampling, if your brother has any designs on Miss Andrews, he would do well to abandon them now. I understand she has taken a position in your mother’s house. If he tries to take advantage of her, he will have to deal with me.”

  “Take advantage!” Color flooded into Lucy’s face. “Isn’t that a trifle rich, coming from you, Mr Julian?” she hissed, mindful of not being overhead by the other couples. “If anyone has taken advantage of my friend, I believe it is you. You and this Lord Simon person!” she added, shuddering. “How dare you accuse my poor brother! You judge everyone by yourself.”

  “I see Mary has told you everything,” Julian said grimly. “But she has not told me everything! Why did she run away from me? I thought she had eloped with your brother, but now I don’t know what to think. She left me to become your mother’s nurse! Why?”

  Lucy stared at him, aghast. “How can you ask me that, after what you did to her?”

  “What I did to her?” Julian repeated angrily. “You believe her to be my victim? You have been deceived, Miss Rampling, as I was deceived.”

  “How were you deceived?” she scoffed. “You led her to believe you were to be married.”

  “I can hardly marry someone who ain’t there,” he pointed out dryly.

  “You must excuse me, Mr Julian,” Lucy said coldly, sinking into a curtsey. “I have the headache. I am no longer inclined to dance.”

  With her head high, she swept off the floor.

  Abandoned by his partner, Julian left the ballroom.

  As Lucy’s admirers now all had partners of their own, whom they could not abandon, she was free to step outside for a breath of air. She meant only to go to the edge of the terrace, but somehow she found herself wandering in the garden. She walked until she could no longer hear the orchestra playing. The air was cool and clean. The night was still. The moonlight was soothing. She felt more like herself than she had all evening. Unlike her newfound admirers, the moon and the stars could be relied upon not to pay her compliments so ridiculously extravagant that she felt mocked rather than flattered.

  “Good evening, Lucy,” said Elizabeth Cheviot, popping out of the bushes.

  “Good evening, Lucy,” said Henry Cheviot, popping out of the bushes on the other side.

  Between them, the twins gave Lucy the two biggest frights of her life, and nothing delighted them more than making a grown up jump.

  “Henry! Lizzie!” Lucy said severely, when she had recovered. “You should be in bed.”

  “I’m never going to bed,” Henry informed her.

  “Where is your governess?” Lucy demanded.

  “We don’t like Miss Shipley,” Elizabeth replied.

  “That is a wicked thing to say, Eliza,” Lucy chided her.

  “No, it isn’t,” the child replied. “It would be wicked to tell lies.”

  “Oh dear,” said Lucy. “Henry, have you locked Miss Shipley in a cupboard again?”

  The boy swelled with pride. “I have.”

  “I helped,” Elizabeth said indignantly.

  Lucy grasped each child by one hand. “Come along,” she said briskly.

  There was no sign of Miss Shipley in the nursery. The baby, Hannah, was asleep in her nurse’s arms, and the nurse was asleep, too. As the twins watched, amused, Lucy made a thorough search of the schoolroom.

  “Elizabeth, do you know where Miss Shipley is?”

  “Yes, but I gave my word of honor I wouldn’t tell,” Elizabeth apologized.

  “Henry, I shall find your mama and tell her what a naughty boy you’ve been,” Lucy threatened. “You little devil!” she screamed in pain as the boy bit her on the hand.

  “Now you’re going to get it!” Elizabeth chirped gleefully.

  The chase encompassed much of the attics. Henry had the decided advantage of both familiarity with his surroundings and native cunning, in addition to which Lucy was hampered by her skirts and high-heeled slippers. Henry led them up two short flights of stairs. Lucy could see the stars through the open doorway at the top. Suddenly, a head appeared silhouetted against the stars, so suddenly that they all screamed in fright. Henry fell backward into Lucy, Lucy fell backward into Elizabeth, and they all landed together in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Who goes there?” Alex Devize inquired, tossing aside his cheroot.

  “Uncle Alex!” Elizabeth darted up the steps, panting. “Oh, Uncle Alex! We went down to the garden, and gave Lucy a fright—no, two frights—and then Lucy took us upstairs, and then we looked for Miss Shipley but Miss Shipley wasn’t there, and then Lucy said she would tell Mama, and then Henry bit her, and then Lucy said ‘You little devil!’ and chased him all over the attics, and then you jumped out, and then Henry fell down, and then Lucy fell down, and then I fell down, and do you know what? You’re the only one of us who didn’t fall down!”

  “Please continue,” said Alex pleasantly. “What happened next?”

  “I can’t! I’m out of breath.”

  “I will wait,” Alex said magnanimously.

  “Then I got up and ran up the stairs to you!” Elizabeth finished presently.

  Frowning, Alex took Lucy’s hand. “Miss Rampling, you are bleeding!”

  “It will hardly incarnadine the sea,” Lucy protested, but Alex was black with fury.

  “You little devil!” he barked at Henry.

  “That is what Lucy said!” Elizabeth volunteered.

  Alex took Lucy’s hand in his own and proceeded to wrap her microscopic wound in his handkerchief, ignoring her protests.

  “I didn’t mean to bite her, Uncle Alex!” cried Henry. “It was an accident.”

  Alex ignored the boy. “Where the devil is Shipley? I suppose the poor woman has come to her senses and found herself a new situation. I’d run away, too, if I could.”

  “Henry tells me he’s locked her in a cupboard, but he won’t tell me which cupboard,” said Lucy. “I’ve already searched the nursery and the schoolroom.”

  “That’s peaching!” Henry accused. “You peached on me, Lucy!”

  Alex hunkered down and gazed steely eyed into his nephew’s face. “Is there no end to your depravity, miserable Henry? Tell me this instant where you’ve put Miss Shipley!”

  Henry’s bottom lip quivered. “It’s a little hard to explain….”

  “Right!” Alex grasped the boy’s hand firmly. “Show me. Elizabeth, go to bed! Miss Rampling…” Lucy jumped at the authority in his voice. “Will you please accompany me? When found, Miss Shipley may require the good offices of a sensible young lady.”

  The hallway Henry led them to was excessively dark, and Alex paused on the landing to light a taper, taking a match from his cheroot case. He tried the door handle, but it was firmly locked. “The key, if you please, Master Henry.”

  Henry obligingly produced a large, black key.

  Lucy, meanwhile, had knocked upon the locked door, calling softly, “Miss Shipley? She doesn’t answer! Henry, darling, you didn’t put anything over Miss Shipley’s head, did you? You didn’t tie her up? Oh, Mr Devize, do please give me the key!” Alex held the candle close as she fitted the key into the lock.

  “It is a very large cupboard,” Lucy observed as they advanced into the room.

  “It looks like a sort of”—Alex paused as the door slammed shut behind them, followed by H
enry’s gleeful, retreating laughter—“trap, actually. I ought to have suspected as much. Henry!” he roared, stretching out the name in chagrin.

  Lucy spun around. “Oh no!” She rushed to the door, crying, “Henry! Henry, darling!” as she tried the handle. She knelt down and looked through the keyhole. “Darling Henry?” she called, without much hope.

  “Darling Henry, if he has an ounce of intelligence,” Alex said furiously, “is halfway to France, the little traitor. You do have the key, Miss Rampling?”

  “Oh, Mr Devize! I’m afraid…”

  “In your haste to rescue Miss Shipley, you left the key in the lock. Of course!” He held up the candle to survey the room. “There are worst places to die, I suppose,” he said cheerfully.

  The disused bedchamber in which they found themselves was furnished with indescribably ugly antiquities and musty Jacobean crewelwork. “The children have been playing here,” Lucy observed as she stumbled over a toy horse on wheels.

  The candle had just revealed to Alex several jars containing frogs and insects, variously decomposed. “Poor Miss Shipley! How she has withered in captivity.”

  Despite the seriousness of her predicament, Lucy giggled. “I believe that is a bullfrog, sir, and quite a handsome specimen, I might add!”

  “Are a you a zoologist, Miss Rampling?” Alex said lightly as he continued to scan the room. “Is there no end to your accomplishments?”

  “I have no accomplishments, sir,” she replied, “but it is my very great pleasure to study the accomplishments of others.”

  “That seems to me the most admirable accomplishment of all,” he returned. “Personally, I envy and despise the accomplishments of others. In fact, I quite loathe accomplished people. I prefer the company of those creatures who, like ourselves, have no accomplishments at all.”

  “Oh no!” Lucy cried softly.

  “Then you admit you have a few accomplishments, after all?”

  “No, sir. I just realized Miss Shipley is not here.”

  Alex smiled. “You would wish her to be imprisoned with us?”

  “Of course not. But if Miss Shipley is not with us, then we are…”

  “Alone. Yes.” Alex’s smile widened. “I hope you are not frightened, Miss Rampling?”