by Karen Abbott
Lucy backed away as the man advanced towards her. She wasn’t greatly alarmed for her safety as she now recognized the man’s features from the oil painting that adorned the dining room wall. It was the elder of the two sons of the house – Lord Theodore Rockhaven – but his unsteady progress towards her clearly demonstrated that he was in his cups. ‘As drunk as a lord!’ Lucy couldn’t help reflecting, with a slightly hysterical hiccup.
Even in the fading light, she could see that his eyelids drooped slightly over his deep-brown eyes, giving him an unnerving Machiavellian demeanour. Her heart palpitated and she held out her hand, palm forward, in the hope of fending the man away from her, but, instead, her hand was seized and used to draw her towards her captive against the young man’s chest.
‘Sir, I implore you!’ she gasped in dismay.
Lord Rockhaven laughed, his white teeth gleaming in the fading light. ‘Impl … plore me?’ he drawled with exaggerated carefulness, his brandy-laden breath assailing her nostrils as he pulled her against his hard body, his right hand in the small of her back, holding her close. ‘Hap … happy to oblige, m’dear!’
Lucy opened her mouth to protest against such unseemly handling of her but, before any words were spoken, she felt his warm lips cover hers and move upon them in a fashion that both repelled and excited her at the same time. The alcoholic fumes seemed to make her head dizzy, but there was a surprising gentleness about the action that sent a strange sensation spiralling around her body – a sensation that turned her insides to a flaming fire and her legs to jelly, causing her momentarily to lean against him. For a brief moment she felt perfectly safe in his embrace – then sanity returned and she tried to twist her head away but could not. As he firmly forced her lips apart and his tongue began to caress hers, she felt the strangest of sensations begin to stir in the pit of her stomach.
She recognized the sensations as similar to those she had only a few weeks earlier experienced in the arms of her dance-master – only more intense – and, for a moment, she allowed the sweet spiralling of desire to sweep around her body, lost in wonder at the dizzying experience. The man groaned softly, startling Lucy back to reality. What was she doing, responding in this way to a drunken man? A response she knew to be totally unbefitting that of a well-brought up young lady! He might be the son of her hostess but, to her, he was a stranger and, at this moment, a most unwelcome one!
Lord Rockhaven’s lips began to trace the line of her jaw and down her throat, generating a surge of alarm in Lucy’s heart. She suddenly felt repelled by the intimacy of what was happening and, from melting compliance, she transformed into fiery resistance. How dare he treat her so? Desperately, she began to struggle to free herself. At first, her struggles seemed to enflame the passion of her attacker – for that is how it now felt. An assault upon her body and virtue.
As she persisted in her struggles, Lord Rockhaven swayed sideways a little and Lucy immediately took advantage by pushing strongly against his chest. Although she was a much slighter figure, her head wasn’t befuddled by drink and, feeling his hold on her slacken, she quickly stepped backwards, swinging her right hand against his cheek as she did so.
In any other circumstances, Lord Rockhaven’s startled expression might have amused her, but she was now too incensed by his ungentlemanly behaviour to find any part of his assault upon her in the slightest degree amusing.
‘Vixen!’ Lord Rockhaven growled, instantly letting go of her. His left hand tenderly touched his cheek, but Lucy felt no inclination to apologize for her action. The man deserved all she had given him – and more. But not from her. Not now.
Realizing that she was now free of his hold, she gathered up the hem of her gown and darted away from him through the open French windows and through the music room.
Lord Rockhaven made no real attempt to follow her. Indeed, his swaying figure was incapable of doing so. He belatedly staggered a few steps in her wake and then thankfully took hold of the framework of the glass doors. He was unclear what had happened, or, indeed, if anything had happened at all. The delicately pirouetting beauty had surely been a figment of his imagination, except his left cheek still stung and he tenderly touched it once more.
He knew he was as drunk as a wheelbarrow. Since hearing three days ago of the death of his commanding officer and others in his regiment, he had been dipping far too deeply. It had seemed the only way to cope with those particular deaths and all the others announced daily in the London Gazette – men he knew personally, or rather had known, his befuddled mind corrected itself. He should have simply returned to the Peninsular without coming to call on his mama and grandmother incurring their disappointment in that way, rather than the distress they would feel to see him thus incapacitated.
The sound of hurrying footsteps penetrated his befuddled mind.
‘Crawford!’ he murmured, and slowly crumpled down the framework of the door until he lay sprawled at his manservant’s feet.
Lucy hurried upstairs, her breath ragged with the unaccustomed excitement and enforced exertion. She had the presence of mind to pause as she had reached the upper landing and peer over the balustrade. There was no sound of pursuit. She took a few deep breaths and slowly exhaled, sensing that her heartbeat was returning to normal. Deep within, her heart was at war with itself, partly exulting in the memory of the dizzying desire she had felt and partly ashamed of her fleeting compliance. She lightly touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, wondering if she would ever feel that surge of overwhelming desire with another man. She knew that anything less would never satisfy her now!
The following day, Lucy was awakened by the swish of her bedroom curtains being drawn back, flooding her room with light. As she screwed her eyes against the bright sunlight, her maid excitedly announced that the young master had returned home late the previous evening but, due to a number of wounds he had received in the course of his military action on the Peninsular, he needed a time of recuperation and was to be secluded in his rooms for this day at least.
‘Hmm!’ Lucy couldn’t help reflecting wryly. ‘The ideal remedy for a hangover!’
Not that she gave any indication of her private assessment of Lord Rockhaven’s state of health when she made her farewells to the countess and dowager countess later in the morning. The countess was clearly delighted by her elder son’s return.
‘All I need now is to see Conrad also,’ she said passionately.
The dowager was more outspoken. ‘Hmm! Pity you are leaving us today, Miss Templeton.’ Her pale eyes gleamed mischievously. ‘You could always delay your departure for a couple of days. I could claim that I needed your presence, eh? Give you an opportunity to meet my wayward grandson?’
Lucy smiled at her blatant attempt at matchmaking. ‘I think not, my lady. Besides, I am told that seventeen is too young to know my own mind with regard to matrimony.’
‘Not even to make an old lady happy?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘No, ma’am.’
‘Ah well. I won’t give up complete hope; after all, he must find himself a wife sometime soon … if he can! Maybe his mama will persuade him to leave the army and look over next Season’s marriage mart? The right person might curb his wildness. You will be there, will you not?’
Lucy remembered the disturbing feel of Lord Rockhaven’s lips upon her own, but he was obviously a man of loose morals and she had no wish to fall prey to his advances.
‘Yes, my lady, but I do not intend to set my cap at any young man, let alone one whose reputation is as colourful as your grandson’s.’
‘Unless you fall in love with him?’
Lucy smiled at the old lady’s persistence. ‘That is highly unlikely, ma’am.’
‘Maybe so. Off you go, then. It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Miss Templeton.’
‘And you, ma’am.’
She leaned over the old lady and kissed her papery-thin cheek. She sensed she might never see her again.
Four
LUCY WAS LO
OKING forward to spending some time with her young nephew and niece, but the children’s nurse allowed her very little access to the children under the excuse that they were convalescent and must be kept quiet, though Lucy couldn’t help suspecting that Nurse Harvey was more concerned about the effect their young aunt’s sullied reputation might have upon their character.
Consequently, life was tedious and dull. Since Marissa was now in the third trimester, her thoughts were becoming more focused on her approaching confinement. She had temporarily retired from society and received only married ladies from the local area into her drawing room and was content to recline on a chaise-longue for such times of the day when she had only Lucy for company.
Lucy threw herself wholeheartedly into being a companion to her sister, though there were times when her fingers gently touched her lips and she would find herself recalling the sensations that had swirled around her, melting her insides to liquid fire, as the earl’s lips had ravaged hers. Then she would impatiently snatch her fingers away and indignantly chastise herself for giving way to such wayward thoughts. His drunken behaviour ought to have repelled her – indeed it did – but something about him had also excited her.
It wasn’t the same as the excitement Mario’s clandestine love-making had created. In one sense, it was more physical than that and had stirred strange longings that Lucy didn’t fully understand and for which she instantly berated herself. Hadn’t she learned her lesson from her foolish adoration of her dancing master? Was she destined to flutter from one infatuation to another, making a mooncake out of herself, a source of amusement to those around her? Indeed, she hoped not!
In fact, she would wager that her tender thoughts were influenced by the dowager countess’s fondness for her grandson. But, there was something about his eyes that lingered in her memory. There seemed to be a sadness lurking behind the half-hooded expression. A sadness that seemed to reach out to her in appeal, but an appeal for what? What interest would a hardened rake have in an inexperienced girl like herself? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she had felt there was some sort of vulnerability about him – a vulnerability that would normally be hidden under a more dashing exterior.
Huh! Was she foolish enough to think that she could ‘save him from himself’? Did she hope to show him that the curse that had seemed to beleaguer the family had no control over him unless he let it?
Whatever it was, she felt confused by the strange power that those few moments in his embrace had over her. However, she wasn’t going to confide any of her confusion to her sister. Good heavens! Were she to do so, she would be banished to a convent, or some such outlandish place. Locked away and guarded day and night. And she would have to say goodbye to her Season in London before it even began. No, no, no! She mustn’t confide in Marissa. If her weeks of banishment had taught her anything, it was to enjoy her Season to its utmost, and she fully intended to follow the dowager’s advice with regard to any young dandy who fancied his chance with her … unless, of course, one managed to stir her heart!
However, Lucy’s frequent lapses into a dream-like state did not go unnoticed by her sister, though Marissa mistook the instigator of her sister’s preoccupation.
‘You must cast Signor Vitali out of your mind, Lucy dear,’ she admonished her. ‘He behaved despicably, and it is of no use to moon about looking so Friday-faced wishing you were at home. Mama sent you here for a time to reflect on your foolish behaviour – not to be enjoying a round of outings and parties with other young people. You should read some character improving books – I’m sure Mama will approve – and you should continue to embroider the layette you started. I’m surprised you didn’t finish it whilst you were at Montcliffe Hall. I’m sure there was ample opportunity.’
‘I did do some stitching,’ Lucy defended herself, ‘but I spent most of each afternoon reading to both Lady Montcliffe and the dowager countess and, some days, I accompanied Lady Montcliffe on a gentle ride within their estate.’
‘Hmm, well, all I can say is that I sent for you not a moment too soon, for I hear the Earl of Montcliffe is back home.’ She looked at Lucy’s face suspiciously, which Lucy knew had turned a little pink at Marissa’s mention of the Earl. ‘At least, I hope you removed from there in time. It wouldn’t do for you to have remained at Montcliffe Hall with such a man of wild character in residence, even if his mother was there to chaperon you. You didn’t meet him, did you?’
Lucy felt her heart skip a beat, knowing that it would be extreme foolishness to confess her unfortunate encounter with the Earl of Montcliffe to Marissa. Her sister had never looked at another man other than The Hon. Rupert Cunningham. She would be scandalized by such a revelation and would doubtless feel compelled to pass on such shocking news to their mama.
Lucy tried to marshal her thoughts. ‘The earl … er … arrived late on my last evening at Montcliffe Hall, quite some time after dinner. Both Lady Montcliffe and the dowager retire early, you know, and I was in the habit of taking a book up to my room,’ Lucy replied quite truthfully, whilst evading a direct answer to Marissa’s question. ‘When Susie awoke me in the morning, she had learned from the kitchen staff that the earl is still recovering from the wounds he received at Albuera and was to be confined to his own suite of rooms for the time being. Your carriage arrived for me long before any part of his retinue made any appearance downstairs.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Marissa breathed, fanning her face with her hand. ‘I dread to think what Mama would have said had circumstances turned out otherwise!’
And Lucy sighed with relief, knowing that her second slip from propriety would remain her secret forever. The encounter had changed her. She now recognized that there were different depths of feeling and that cupid’s darts could strike from unexpected sources, bringing torment as well as well as fulfilment of joy.
She welcomed the brief opportunity of near solitude to mull over her new understanding, and her remaining days at Glenbury Lodge were filled with the ladylike pursuits of reading, stitching, playing a few of Marissa’s favourite tunes on the pianoforte. Only when Bertie and Arabella were brought to spend a short time with their mother before going to bed was she able to forget that she was there under a cloud and play some quiet childhood games with her nephew and niece.
However, it was quite a relief when, in mid-October, her mama decided that her exile had been long enough to leave a lasting impression upon her and sent the carriage to take her home. Lady Templeton threw herself into the delightful delirium of organizing her younger daughter’s extensive wardrobe of clothes that would be essential for her to be adequately attired in order to stand out from all the other hopeful debutantes in the approaching London Season.
From the beginning of November until mid-January, with barely a break for the festivities of Christmas, Lady Templeton’s favourite modistes, accompanied by a train of footmen bearing rolls of fine cloth for a bevy of seamstresses to stitch, flooded in an endless stream through the upper rooms of the Templeton home. Milliners brought boxes and boxes of hats and bonnets, each to be fashioned and trimmed with net and sprigs of flowers and feathers, perfectly matched to the many gowns. Haberdashers brought their numerous wares: stockings of silk of various hues decorated with clocks of many designs; scarves, bags, fans and muffs … far more than Lucy could imagine one person could wear in two whole years, let alone the months from late January until July.
Within six weeks, Lucy found herself in possession of numerous day dresses for walking and promenading; more dresses for afternoon wear, for giving or receiving visits, for riding in a carriage or on horseback and a vast number of low-cut evening dresses and ball gowns.
The crowning glory of her entire new wardrobe was the magnificent gown for her presentation at court, the tradition that launched the young ladies of upper-class families into Society.
It was during this time that a black-edged letter was delivered to Glenbury Lodge. Marissa’s heart was all of a flutter until Rupert had opened th
e letter and declared that his dear wife need not worry. The communiqué did not contain dire news about either of her parents or sister, but contained the sad news of Dowager Countess Montcliffe’s demise. Condolences were sent to the family, who were now in full mourning.
When the letter was forwarded to Lord and Lady Templeton in London, Lucy was indeed heartily sorry at the sad tidings, for she had liked the old lady. At least, she reflected, she need not now fear that Lord Rockhaven’s presence might mar her first Season in London, but, if she were honest, she also felt a degree of disappointment. Would he have recognized her? She doubted it. He probably had no memory at all of his unchivalrous behaviour towards her!
The Season was a non-stop round of parties, assemblies, routs and balls with the many hostesses vying with each other to have hosted the best ‘crush’ of the Season. Along with many other dazzling but nervous debutantes, Lucy was presented at court and, thereafter, received vouchers for the weekly assemblies at Almacks. It wasn’t Lucy’s favourite venue for balls and she secretly thought its décor to be less grand and far more stuffy than she had expected.
That disappointment was more than made up for by visits to the theatres, museums and art galleries and other such delights of London, and carriage drives in Hyde Park, where the dandies strutted and the ladies sashayed and simpered, coyly casting down their eyes when the gentlemen flattered and complimented them.
Lucy was immensely popular and it was very gratifying to be paid exuberant compliments by the bucks and beaux, even if they did seem to be a little immature in their demeanour and behaviour. She was never short of admirers; invitations to events were delivered to the house every day; so many that she was obliged to refuse more than half of them and often attended as many as three events in one evening, so as not to offend the many influential hostesses. Her dance card was filled within half an hour of arriving at any ball and it could be as late as two or three in the morning when her maid helped divest her of her evening clothes and drew back the covers of her bed so that Lucy could collapse into instant sleep.