by Beth Bryan
“Miss Neville?” Devereux held still and stared at him.
“Yes, sir. I understand her to be desirous of discussing the young person who was injured.”
“Freddie Simms?” Dev repeated blankly. “But that matter is all settled.” He reached for his paisley silk dressing-gown. “I shall be down directly, Larrigan.”
Lucinda jumped up as soon as he entered the library. “Mr. Devereux! Thank heavens! I have been so worried.”
He took her hands and said, scanning her face, “Miss Neville, I cannot think you should be here. You need not agitate yourself over young Freddie. He and his family are to go to Beacon End, my house in Devon. I intended to discuss this all with you as soon as I next saw you.”
He was still holding her hands and she knew she should withdraw them, but it was so very comforting to feel his touch. “It’s Belle—Miss Ryland. I do not know what it is best to do.”
He drew her down to the sofa and took both her hands in one of his own, as he pulled the bell. “I know that you must have some refreshment before you go any further. You look wretchedly shocked.”
“No, please, I don’t—”
“But I think you do. Come now, Miss Neville.” He smiled hearteningly at her. “Nothing will be gained if you faint on me again.”
Lucinda laughed shakily, but the brandy, when it came, did calm her nerves, and as clearly as she could, she told her story.
Mr. Devereux drew his straight brows together. “Miles Stratton? I have seen her flirt with him, of course, but I had not thought...”
“I am sure she cares nothing for him. It is just that she does not consider. And she and Charles had that quarrel in the wood. Do you know where he may have taken her, sir?”
“I can make a good guess. Stratton is a here-and-therian, but he’s no stretchhalter. The only possible hell for such an escapade is Lucy Caldeane’s. It is much frequented by the ton.”
“But surely no lady goes there!”
“No lady,” he said and his emphasis made Lucinda flush.
“What can be done?” she cried. “I cannot stand idly by and let Belle ruin herself forever.”
Richard rose. “I think perhaps that matters may not be as serious as you imagine. It is quite common for guests at Lucy’s to be masked. It is, you might say, one of the trademarks of her house. I don’t doubt Stratton has insisted Miss Ryland follow the custom.”
“But anyone could recognize that hair.”
“Possibly,” said Mr. Devereux coolly. “But it is still very early in the evening. The company will be very thin and I doubt many members of the ton will arrive till very much later.”
“Pray God there is no one else there.”
“That, I’m afraid, is rather too unlikely, but those there at such an hour may not recognize your friend.” He came to stand before her. He held out his hand and shyly Lucinda put hers into it. “Miss Neville, you must return home now. Are you engaged for this evening?”
“Yes, at Almack’s, and Belle should be there, too.”
“Gently now. I shall come to you there, as soon as I may. Go now. Get dressed. Stand buff. I promise you we shall come round.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them.
When she had made her way home, Lucinda was surprised to find that her cousin was just waking and unaware that her charge had been out. It seemed an age to her since she had been in her own room and she was almost surprised to find everything unchanged.
But Emmie had been increasingly anxious and immediately rushed Lucinda into a bath and then into a wrapper for the coiffeur. As she was to wear the new gold lace dress, Emmie spread the gold star pins on the dressing table for Monsieur Amaud.
They seemed to inspire him, for he drew her hair into two cascading bunches over each ear, with only the wispiest tendrils resting on her white forehead. Artfully, he hid the stars in the long ringlets, so they were only half-visible and sparkled intriguingly when she turned her head.
When the highly satisfied Monsieur Amaud had left, Emmie began the final preparations. Lucinda slipped into the pale gold satin underdress. Then at last Emmie eased the gold lace gown over her head.
It had tiny puff sleeves, a square-necked bodice that clung tight to the bosom and then it fell gracefully to the ground. Her gloves and slippers were of matching gold satin. Around her neck and on one wrist she wore fine gold chains, interspersed with tiny amber beads.
“Most elegant, dearest,” approved cousin Ethelreda, who was looking particularly handsome in burgundy lutestring. “Celie was quite right to keep everything simple, so nothing distracts from the colour.”
Staring at herself in the looking-glass, Lucinda turned slowly about. It was hard to believe that sophisticated young woman was really she. She looked so much older and somehow more ... more knowing. And could that be a touch of sadness in the huge brown eyes?
I wonder what Will will think of this dress, she thought idly. Then, with much more intensity, I do hope it pleases Mr. Devereux.
Patience was waiting for them at Cavendish Square. She looked delightfully fresh in rose pink, with the Grantham pearls at her throat.
“And where is Belle?” demanded Mrs. Cleeson.
“She ... she is not well,” Patience said haltingly. She glanced quickly at Lucinda and then away.
“Not well?” repeated Ethelreda ominously. “Have you sent for the doctor?”
“Please, Mrs. Cleeson, do not ask me any more questions. Belle will join as at Almack’s in just a little while, I’m sure.”
Mrs. Cleeson studied her for a moment. “Belle is not here? I see.” There was a pause. “Well, Patience, I must bring you and Lucinda to Almack’s and I have no intention of being late. I collect Belle is in some scrape, but if she does not soon appear, I shall have to know far more about it. And I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to keep any of this from your mama.”
In silence the party continued on its way to the Assembly Rooms. Lucinda had been warned to expect genteel shabbiness, but tonight she took little notice of her surroundings. She tried to keep within sight of the entry, but the number of people in creased and Mrs. Cleeson propelled her relentlessly forward.
The night should have been a triumph for Lucinda. She attracted many admiring looks and she had no lack of partners. Even when she was introduced to Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, that most top-lofty of the patronesses remarked in supercilious tones that the gown was quite “ becoming.” She added that if Miss Neville wished, she might join in the waltz.
“Thank goodness for that,” declared Ethelreda with a sigh, when Patience had received the same permission. “For you know Mrs. Drummond! Burrell is so extremely nice in her notions that there is no knowing to what she may take exception.”
Lucinda noticed that Patience also stared anxiously towards the door. So she, too, had talked to Mabel. To Lucinda, time seemed to speed past. Now there was less than an hour and a half left. What was happening at that hell?
Beside her, Patience gave a gasp. “Here they are!”
Lucinda’s pulse raced and she looked up, but it was only Will and Sir Charles. Will saw them instantly and began to make his way towards them. Lucinda’s partner claimed her and Will swept Patience onto the dance floor.
Sir Charles had been detained by the Countess Lieven. His eyes scanned the crowd, but his scowl grew fiercer as he failed to see Belle. He escaped the countess and was waiting for Lucinda as the dance ended.
“Where is Belle?” he demanded unceremoniously.
“Miss Ryland,” said Lucinda with a calmness she did not feel, “has been delayed and will arrive shortly.”
“It’s another one of her starts, isn’t it? I demand that you tell me where she is.”
“Please moderate your voice, Sir Charles. People are beginning to stare.”
Charles reddened. “I am sorry, Miss Neville. Pray forgive me. But I knew Belle was up to something from the way she was behaving this afternoon. She cannot deceive me. I should never have gone to that mill.�
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Truth to tell, Lucinda rather wished he hadn’t also, but there was little point in bemoaning the past. “Never mind, Sir Charles, I’m sure Belle will be here in no time.” If only Mr. Devereux is able to find her; she added silently to herself.
Charles accepted her assurances with a good grace and asked her to dance. As they struggled across the floor in Charles’s usual style, Lucinda felt again some stirrings of sympathy for Belle’s interest in Miles Stratton.
Sir Charles was an abominable dancer; he plunged and swooped, accelerated rapidly, just as unaccountably slowed down and swung his hapless partner in unexpected turns. Lucinda hung on and hoped they would not careen into any of the more sedate couples. Suddenly, Charles drew in his breath and intoned, “Aah!” It was a sound Lucinda felt would have done justice to Mr. Keane himself in Drury Lane. But she followed his gaze. To her amazement and relief, she beheld Lady Grantham and there, behind her, demurely clad in peach sarsenet and smiling sweetly, was Belle.
The music ceased and Sir Charles, muttering excuses, left her and began shouldering his way towards his mother and her charge.
“The prodigal returns,” drawled a voice behind her and Mr. Devereux was beside her at last.
“Mr. Devereux! How glad I am to see you!” Lucinda’s velvet eyes glowed in the candlelight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Hush, Miss Neville.” His own glance was just as warm. “Have you permission to waltz?” At her nod, he whirled her into his arms. For the first time that evening, Lucinda was conscious of a man’s arm about her waist and of her body responding to the music—and to him. For the first time, too, she began to understand why some people still considered the waltz a scandalous dance.
“And Lady Grantham is here, too,” she said. “However did you manage that?”
“It was none of my doing, but I collect her relative has recovered more quickly than was expected.”
“But what has happened? I have been so worried.”
His grip tightened and he looked down into her upturned face for a long moment. “I was right about the gold lace,” he said softly. “You are very beautiful, Lucinda. Did you know that there are gold flecks in your eyes?”
Lucinda’s breathing quickened. He had used her name! “But, but, about Belle...” Her throat was dry and she had trouble keeping her voice steady.
“You are right, as usual. This is not the time. Miss Ryland? I found her in Lucy’s, all right.”
Hideous memories of past scenes when Belle had been thwarted rose before her. “Was she very difficult?” she asked apprehensively.
“Not at all,” said the Beau coolly. “In fact, I flatter myself that she may even have been rather glad to see me.”
“Was it so very dreadful a place?”
“It wasn’t the place.”
Lucinda clutched at his coat. “Good heavens! Was it Mr. Stratton? Did he...?”
Gently, he removed her grip. “Miss Neville, I will do anything for you, except permit you to spoil my coat.” Lucinda chuckled as he regained her hand. “No, no, in his own way, Stratton is a gentleman. More important for us, however, he is a gambler. A crony of his challenged him to a most elaborate card game. I confess the rules of it baffled me, but it was of consuming interest to Stratton.”
Lucinda glanced up through her long lashes. “Can you mean,” she asked, a laugh trembling in her voice, “that Stratton was ignoring Belle?”
“Ignoring her?” Dev repeated reflectively. “No, I couldn’t say he was able to ignore her exactly. Miss Ryland had embarked upon a comprehensive denunciation of his actions, his character, his probable antecedents and his undoubted end. I will say this for Stratton, though—he didn’t let it interfere with his game.”
This time Lucinda did laugh. “Poor Belle!”
“So, as you may imagine, Miss Ryland was grateful to be rescued from her neglectful escort. Stratton did look up from his hand to bid her goodbye, but she did not appear to appreciate this concession. Fortunately, Lady Grantham arrived just as I delivered Miss Ryland home. She seemed perfectly to grasp the situation, so I left your friend in her capable hands.”
The music ended, but Mr. Devereux did not let go her hand. He drew her aside into one of the alcoves. He himself stood with his back to the dancing guests, but, as she stood a little to one side, Lucinda could see straight into the room. She saw Lady Chloris joining the waltz, in the arms of a clearly overawed young man. She flinched and edged away from Mr. Devereux.
“What is it, Lucinda?” Richard’s voice was caressing. “You came to me, my dear. I was touched, deeply honoured by your trust, for you must know—”
“No! No!” Lucinda shrank farther away, staring at him out of huge, tear-dimmed eyes.
“What is it? What has happened?”
She groped blindly in her reticule. “You cannot. You mustn’t.” Her fingers closed on what she was searching for. She forced herself to say the words she must. “I am promised to another.” She choked as she pushed the brooch into his hands. “As are you.” And Lucinda turned her back and fled from him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Blinking back hot tears, Lucinda sought sanctuary in the chaperons’ corner. There Mrs. Cleeson was enjoying another comfortable cose with Ivor Devereux. Their tiny gilt chairs were pulled close together and their voices low. However, when Lucinda appeared, Ethelreda looked up with a start.
“Ah, Lucinda,” she said, hastily stowing away a pencil and yet another list. “Did you see that Belle has finally arrived? And Amelia? What a mercy that is. I have just been telling Ivor that Belle needs at least three chaperons to keep rein on her.”
Ivor laughed. “All pretty gels keep their duennas hopping, eh, Miss Neville?”
Lucinda laughed dutifully. She had hoped to persuade her cousin to leave right away, but it was clear Mrs. Cleeson was going to be fully occupied for some time to come. Nervously she looked about. But surely Mr. Devereux would not come after her? She jumped when she felt a touch on her arm.
“Here you are at last,” said Belle. “I’ve been looking for you. I’ve so much to tell you.” If Belle was the prodigal daughter, she didn’t look in the least repentant. Her eyes sparkled and she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. “What a perfectly gorgeous gown that is, Lucinda. Gold lace! And your hair! I must get Monsieur Amaud to try that style for me. You take the shine out of us all tonight.”
“Don’t be absurd, Belle,” Lucinda responded brusquely and Belle blinked at her. “I’m sorry,” she said, passing a hand over her forehead. “It’s just that I was so worried and it is so hot in here. I must be getting the headache.”
“It is terribly hot,” Belle agreed. “And I want to talk to you in quiet, anyway.” She leaned over to speak to Ethelreda. “Mrs. Cleeson, Lucinda and I are going to one of the withdrawing rooms. We are rather overheated.”
“Yes, my dears, do.” Mrs. Cleeson was engrossed in Ivor’s story. “Almack’s can be very stuffy.”
The girls skirted the ballroom and, passing the refreshment room, came out into a narrow corridor.
“It’s much cooler here already,” said Belle. “I believe there is a ladies’ room just down here.” She wrinkled her nose as she looked about. “I cannot think why Almack’s must be so shoddy. Look, the paint is positively peeling. One must hope there will be chairs in the withdrawing room.”
Lucinda fanned her flaming cheeks. “All I hope is that it may have a window we can open.”
“Oh, no!” Belle had stopped and was examining the bottom of her gown.
“What is it?”
“It’s my hem. It’s come down.” Belle giggled. “I’m not surprised, really. I was dancing with Charles and he trod on it twice. He is a wretched dancer.” She giggled again.
“I haven’t any pins with me, do you?”
“No, but Lady Grantham or Mrs. Cleeson will. I shall just run back and ask them. Do you go and sit down, Lucinda, for I vow you look quite flushed.”
Lucinda watc
hed as Belle hitched her skirts up in a manner that Lady Grantham would surely deplore and ran off. Feeling that she herself would be glad to sit down and gather her thoughts, she opened the nearest door.
It was not a ladies’ room. In fact, it looked as though it had been set aside for the use of the musicians. There were instrument cases strewn about, and trays of half-eaten food and wine.
But Lucinda saw none of these. In the middle of the room, with his back to her, stood a tall man with bright red hair. She had never seen him before. But he clasped in his arms and ardently kissed a lady whom Lucinda did recognize. There could be no mistaking that spun-gold hair or those diamonds. She would have known Chloris dePoer anywhere.
Transfixed, she stared at them. The lovers paid no attention to her. She doubted they had heard the door open. Lucinda swayed dizzily and the blood roared in her ears.
She pulled the door closed and stumbled along the hall. She almost fell through the first open door and sank into the nearest chair. “C and R” the brooch had said, but that man was not Richard Devereux. The Ice Queen, they called Chloris, but there had been nothing icy in the way she was responding to those caresses.
And Richard ... Lucinda’s heart ached for him. He had taken such care over that love-token. How he must have anticipated Chloris’s delight. And she—she had cared so little for it and for him that she had dropped it carelessly to the ground—and now she had slipped away from the dancing to meet the red-haired stranger in the other room.
Of course Lucinda knew what went on in Society. She had heard, even if she had not quite believed, all the scandals. But somehow it was different when one knew the people involved and could see who was going to be hurt.
What would I think, Lucinda asked herself, if I found Will kissing someone else? She tried to summon up the requisite sense of outrage and betrayal, but she was unmoved by the picture she conjured up. It was really Richard her sympathy went out to. It was his feelings she could most vividly feel, his hurt she most desperately wanted to assuage. She sat staring ahead, her hands working feverishly in her lap.