Lucinda could very well envision it, but said nothing.
"At any rate," the duke continued, "I have been very pleased with the stream of eligible young bucks paying their calls on Margaret this past week."
"Which brings us to the subject I wanted to discuss," Lucinda jumped in. "I do not think it would be wise to allow Lord Arndale to call on Meg any more."
"Oh?" The duke raised his brows. "And would you care to enlighten me as to your reasons, Mrs. Devering?"
"I've known the viscount for a long time," she said, despite his clear displeasure. "I feel they would not suit."
"Why not?" the duke asked. "He's from an old and respected family, and when his father passes on, he will bear an old and respected title. Not to mention that he's rich as Midas, and he's handsome to boot. What else could a young girl want?"
"Not everything is as it seems, Your Grace," she said. "Just because he is handsome physically does not mean he is the same inside."
"Nonsense!" The duke dismissed the idea with an aristocratic wave of his hand. "Unless you can provide me with some specific reason why the viscount would not suit, I am afraid I cannot accommodate your request."
Lucinda opened her mouth, then closed it again. If she told the duke of her own close brush with scandal at the man's hands, he might consider her an inappropriate person to associate with Meg. The reason he had originally chosen her was because of her spotless reputation. If he were to find out the truth, it would destroy any chance she had of having a future.
But if she didn't tell him something, then he might allow a match between Malcolm and Meg, which would destroy Meg in the end.
"I am waiting, Mrs. Devering."
Torn, she said, "Your Grace, please trust me when I tell you that Malcolm has not always dealt honorably with young ladies."
"Details, Mrs. Devering." The duke pinned her with his dark-eyed gaze. "I have promised my granddaughter that she may wed whom she wishes, as long as that man has either a title or fortune—preferably both—that is worthy of her."
And Malcolm had both.
She took a breath to fortify herself and began. "I've known the viscount for a long time," she said. "Since before I married his brother."
"Yes, yes." The duke grimaced, then took a deep, shaky breath.
Lucinda frowned at his odd behavior, but continued, "Your Grace, Lord Arndale has made improper advances toward me over the past several years."
The duke's face reddened, but when she stopped, he indicated with an impatient wave of his hand that she should continue.
"I have always refused him, but still he persists. I do not think such a man would make Meg a good husband, so—"
The duke gasped, turned completely pale, then clutched his chest with one hand and grasped at the drawer of his desk with the other.
"Your Grace!" Lucinda jumped to her feet and rushed over to the elderly man. He continued to gasp for air as he clawed at the drawer to his desk. She yanked open the drawer. "What is it? What do you need?"
He shoved her away and reached for a small bottle. She attempted to help him with the stopper, but again, he pushed her hand away and managed to uncork the thing himself. Then he sipped at the vial, breathing heavily the whole time.
Gradually, over a span of minutes that felt like hours, he began to breathe easier. His complexion slowly returned to normal, though ruddy color remained high in his cheeks. With hands that trembled, he put the stopper back in the bottle and returned it to the desk drawer. Then he looked up and shot her a sharp look of warning.
"You will not speak of this," he commanded. "Do you understand?"
She stared. "But, Your Grace, you are ill! That was laudanum, wasn't it?"
"I said you will not speak of this!" he thundered, then spoiled the image by falling into a coughing fit.
Lucinda waited until he recovered, then said, "Perhaps we can discuss the matter."
"There is nothing to discuss." The duke glared up at her. "Must you hover over me?"
Lucinda took a step back. "Very well, I will say nothing of this."
The duke grunted in satisfied agreement.
"If," she continued, "you do not allow Meg to marry Lord Arndale."
"Blackmail!" he spat, outrage flashing in his dark eyes. "Mrs. Devering, you astonish me."
"And you astonish me," she retorted. "Why haven't you told anyone how ill you are?"
"It's no one's business but my own."
"You are the most stubborn man alive," she said. "Now I see where your grandson gets it!"
"Enough, madam!" he roared. "For your information, that young whelp gets his contrariness from his father."
"Then it must run in the family," she snapped.
The duke pulled forth a handkerchief and dabbed at his upper lip. "Mrs. Devering, considering you wish me to grant your request, you seem amazingly unconcerned that you are very close to angering me."
"Wrong, Your Grace. I am very concerned, especially about Meg." She took a deep breath to calm herself and folded her hands in front of her. "I am ready to discuss the matter."
"There is no discussion," the duke replied. "I shall decide which of her suitors are appropriate matches for my granddaughter, not you. And you shall speak to no one about my condition, else you shall find yourself alone in society without the Raynewood influence to sustain you."
Or the Raynewood money.
The words remained unsaid, but the knowledge echoed between them for a long, silent moment. She gave him a stare of disapproval that made even the duke shift uncomfortably in his chair.
"The matter may not even arise," he said finally. "Do not concern yourself, Mrs. Devering. I will guard my granddaughter well."
He turned his attention to some papers on his desk, and heart heavy, Lucinda quietly left the study.
She stood in the hall for a moment, staring blindly at the pattern of the wallpaper. She was not satisfied that the duke understood the urgency of the matter, and she was reluctant to push the issue when he was clearly so unwell. Nonetheless, she could not stand idly by while Malcolm continued to court Meg. She cared too much for the girl.
Somehow, she would have to stop Malcolm.
Chapter 17
The duke proved he had not given up when Lady Penelope and her grandmother arrived for dinner that evening. However, Lady Agatha had also invited Knightsbridge.
Knightsbridge and Lady Penelope glared at each other from across the drawing room and never exchanged one word, and the duke spent the entire time watching the doorway for Garrett, who did not appear. By the time dinner was announced, the duke had grown furious. Lucinda watched him carefully in case he had another attack.
"Where is the boy?" he muttered, offering his arm to escort Lady Farvendale into dinner.
"He's on his ship, Grandfather," Meg answered, bitterness underscoring her tone. "We may not see him for days."
Lucinda placed a hand on Meg's shoulder to comfort her, but the girl shrugged it away.
Lucinda sighed. After her confrontation with the duke earlier that evening, she had attempted to warn Meg away from Malcolm, but Meg had not taken the advice very well. Apparently she was becoming enamored of the viscount, for she had even accused Lucinda of wanting the man for herself. Lucinda had not bothered to explain further. She would simply have to find another way to make sure a match between Meg and Malcolm did not happen.
Knightsbridge and Lady Penelope continued to glare daggers at each other over dinner, and Lady Agatha fell asleep over her beef. Lady Farvendale was mortally offended that Garrett had not come to dinner and was haranguing the duke, who had apparently assured her that Garrett had come to his senses about Lady Penelope. The duke smoldered like an active volcano and cast black glares at Garrett's empty chair.
By the last course, Lucinda had a throbbing headache.
She managed to slip away while the ladies were waiting for the gentlemen to join them. She knew she would be missed shortly, so she merely ducked into the library for a few
moments of peace.
As soon as she entered the room, she regretted it. Why hadn't she gone up to her room or into the parlor? Instead she had wandered instinctively into the room where she and Garrett had first made love. Everywhere she glanced brought forth some memory from that night. Their time together had been magical, and she longed even now to feel his touch once more.
But it wasn't to be. Garrett Lynch would turn his back on his heritage and return to America, and she would probably marry Sir James and live a life of quiet gentility. Such a life was what she had worked for, and she should be glad it was going to come to pass.
She just wished, with all the longing of the passionate woman she had discovered herself to be, that she could have more.
She heard the door open behind her and whirled, heart pounding as hope soared in her breast. A tall figure entered the room, but her expectation crashed into disappointment when she saw it was Knightsbridge.
"Mrs. Devering," he said with surprise. "So sorry. I didn't realize anyone was in here."
She smiled weakly. "I am developing a headache and thought a few moments of quiet would help."
"I can't say I blame you. Lady Farvendale is the worst sort of harpy." A look of shared understanding passed between them. "I don't mean to disturb you."
"You're not," she assured him. "As a matter of fact, there is something I wanted to ask you, and since circumstances have brought us together, hopefully you will not find me too bold."
"I'm certain that will not be the case," he said with a careless wave of his hand. "Ask what you will."
"Why do you dislike Lady Penelope so?"
He stared at her in surprise. "That is bold."
She blushed. "I will understand if you do not wish to answer, my lord."
"Actually," he said, sitting down rather heavily in a chair, "I find that I do wish to talk about it."
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Lucinda sank down on the sofa across from him.
"I am listening, my lord," she said.
"Lady Penelope is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," Knightsbridge blurted. "She is perfect in every way."
"I would think this would be a good thing," Lucinda said, puzzled.
"She's too perfect!" Knightsbridge exclaimed. "She always looks perfect and acts perfect and dances perfectly. Her conversation is perfect, and her manners are perfect. Even her name is perfect! Albright—she is the brightest thing in my universe."
"Oh dear," Lucinda whispered, as she realized what he meant.
He nodded. "Yes, I am hopelessly in love with
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her. But how can someone so perfect want me? I am notoriously late, and my valet despairs of my fashion sense. It is only due to his that I can be seen in public at all! And I am losing my hair!" He bent forward to show her the top of his head, where she could indeed see that the hair had started to thin.
She cleared her throat. "Nonsense, my lord."
He laughed humorlessly. "You are very polite, Mrs. Devering, but I know the truth. How could I possibly ask Perfect Penelope to be the wife of Knightsbridge the Buffoon?"
"I don't think you are a buffoon, my lord," she replied. "And I think you are doing Lady Penelope a disservice."
He snorted. "She has no interest in me. She wanted Garrett until he told her to her face that he had no intention of marrying her."
"So I heard. But what makes you think she wanted Garrett at all? It seems to me that her grandmother and the duke are pushing for the match, not Lady Penelope."
"But she went along with it."
Lucinda sighed. "My lord, what else could she do? Every time you see her, you are the picture of rudeness."
He had the grace to look ashamed. "I know it. But I see her standing there, looking so perfect and untouchable, and I want to ruffle her feathers a bit. Make her seem human."
"Maybe you should try exercising some of your famous charm on her," Lucinda suggested. "Perhaps you will surprise yourself."
He shook his head. "No, she hates me now. I've seen to that."
For some reason, his defeatist attitude made her angry. "So you would rather say nothing and watch as she marries some other peer? You know that is bound to happen, my lord."
"I know, I know." He swiped a hand over his face. "It's just that I would be completely mortified if she rejected me. I don't want to take the chance."
"So you're not even going to try?"
"I don't know," he whispered.
"What is the matter with you?" she demanded, rising to her feet. "The woman you love is within your grasp, and yet you are doing nothing to win her! Don't you realize how lucky you are?"
He stared at her in shock. "I guess I don't."
She threw her hands up. "Good Lord, Algie, most people have to marry out of duty, or they fall in love with someone outside their class and spend the rest of their lives forever mourning their lost love. The woman you love is in your class. You have the chance to marry for love and satisfy duty as well, yet you sit here and mope because things are too perfect for you! You should
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thank God on your knees that you have been given such an opportunity!"
"I never thought of it like that," he said, standing. "Good heavens, Mrs. Devering, but you are quite the general's daughter when you choose to be, aren't you?"
Lucinda flushed. "I apologize for my impertinence, my lord, but not for what I said. I mean every word of it."
"It needed to be said, and I was acting like a cork-brained idiot. Why else would I let love slip through my fingers?"
"Yes, why else?" she repeated, thinking of Garrett.
"I'm going to go back there and charm Lady Penelope," Knightsbridge said with determination. "Thank you, Mrs. Devering, for opening my eyes."
"You're quite welcome, my lord."
"Algie," he corrected with a grin. "You had no problem using my name before."
She blushed.
He started to leave, then looked back. "Are you coming?"
She shook her head. "I don't think so. Meg is a bit put out with me at the moment, and I still have a headache. I think I'll go up to bed."
"Very well; I'll let them know. Thank you again, Mrs. Devering."
He left the room, and Lucinda wearily rubbed her temples. Her attempts to save Meg from Malcolm's clutches had worn down her very soul. There was no one else she could turn to for help, no one else who would believe her.
Except Garrett.
She hadn't wanted to go to him, hadn't wanted to hear him talk of how he would be leaving soon, but she had no choice now. She would have to face him.
She looked back at the sofa, remembering how gentle he had been with her that wonderful night. He had also been discreet. Did she dare tell him the truth about her past with Malcolm?
Anyone else would be shocked at her near brush with scandal so many years ago. And someone else might not believe her current allegations against Malcolm. The duke certainly hadn't batted an eye. But Garrett was an American, not an Englishman, and he loved his sister. He would see to it that Malcolm did not succeed in marrying Meg, even if that meant taking Meg back to America.
She looked around the library, haunted by memories of the most beautiful experience of her life, and wondered if Garrett would still respect her once she confessed her past sins to him.
She squared her shoulders in resolution. Whether he respected her was not the issue. Meg's future happiness was at stake. Lucinda
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would do anything necessary to ensure that, and Garrett would, too. There was no other choice.
Lucinda left the library and swiftly mounted the stairs. She would write a note to Garrett and have it delivered to his ship. She was certain he would drop everything and come if it involved Meg.
On the way to her bedchamber she nearly collided with Stobbins, who was lugging Garrett's battered sea chest through the hallway.
"Stobbins, where are you going with that?" she asked. "You should get a footman to help you."
"His Lordship has asked me to send his chest around to his ship," Stobbins panted, taking a moment to rest by sitting on the chest. "I believe he may be leaving England soon."
Lucinda froze. "Did he say when?"
Stobbins shrugged. "Soon. The coach is waiting for this, so if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Devering..."
The valet rose and continued to lug the chest down the hall as Lucinda stared after him in shock. Was Garrett just going to leave without saying good-bye?
Good riddance to him, then! Smoldering with anger, she stormed down the hall. No doubt her life would be much easier without the handsome lout chasing her all over London, attempting to seduce her. She wouldn't miss him at all!
Of course she would.
Lucinda paused with her hand on the door to her room as sadness seeped into her bones, bringing a slump to her shoulders.
She had at least hoped he would say good-bye.
What if she accompanied the sea chest to Gar-rett's ship and talked to him in person? Everyone thought she had gone to bed, so she would not be missed. And she would probably have a better chance pleading her case with him face to face than through a note.
It was a daring plan, and if she got caught, her reputation would suffer. No lady ever visited a man at his residence, especially if that residence was at the London docks. It was too risky, too bold for a proper English lady.
She went to fetch her cloak.
* * *
Garrett sat back in his desk chair in the cabin of his ship, the remnants of his dinner on a tray before him. The stew and biscuits had brought back memories of home, and he had thoroughly enjoyed every bite. Now that he sat alone with his bottle and a goblet of brandy, however, restlessness once more nipped at him.
He had spent the day handling business, attempting to recapture the contentment he had once felt aboard ship.
Instead, he simply felt lonely.
In the past, he had just gone out to the nearest tavern in search of an available woman to warm his bed, and had been content. But now Lucinda was the only one who could soothe his soul. Never before had he met a woman who had made him question the way he lived his life or his beliefs or his dreams of the future. No casual romp with a tavern maid would ease this ache in his heart. He needed Lucinda and her starchy ways and her good sense and her courage. But soon Sir James would propose, and she would say yes, and then she would be lost to him forever.
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