‘Gad, if it isn’t the Cyprian! How damnably awkward! Who would have thought to meet such a barque of frailty in Woodbridge, of all places! Come away, Thalia, my dear! Were the two of you to meet, Mama would never let me hear the end of it!’
His high-pitched tones carried to Lucille and a number of other curious passers-by. The young lady stared, tittered, and reluctantly allowed herself to be steered in the opposite direction by the Earl, who seemed in a great hurry to depart, and had not acknowledged Lucille by either look or word. Lucille dropped her book. A mixture of fury and anguish rose in her. So he thought nothing of offering her carte blanche, but she was not good enough to be introduced to his friends! Although Lucille knew that this was the way of the world, the blatant hypocrisy made her fume. She realised suddenly that she was standing stock-still in the middle of the thoroughfare and that a carter was shouting at her to make way.
‘Can I be of assistance, madam?’ A gentleman was beside her, handing her parcel back to her and taking her arm to guide her onto the pavement. He removed his curly-brimmed beaver hat and bowed slightly. ‘Charles Farrant, at your service, ma’am. Can I escort you anywhere?’
‘I…yes, I thank you, sir.’ Lucille pulled herself together. ‘The carriage is waiting down by the harbour. If you would be so good…’
‘Of course.’ He put her hand reassuringly through his arm and turned down Quay Street. ‘A fine day, is it not, ma’am, although I believe there will be a strong breeze down on the river.’
Lucille realised that he was talking to give her time to recover herself, and felt a rush of gratitude. She looked at him properly for the first time. He was tall and fair, with a pleasant, open face and kind blue eyes that smiled down at hers. His dress was sober rather than elegant—a country gentleman of modest estate, perhaps, or a professional man…She gave him a tremulous smile. The gentleman blinked.
‘Indeed, I do thank you, sir, for rescuing me! For a moment I…’ Her voice trailed away.
‘I saw what happened,’ Mr Farrant said, a little abruptly. ‘Mr Ditton is unpardonable.’
‘Mr Ditton?’ Lucille suddenly realised that he must be referring to the fop. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I did not know the gentleman…’
A slight frown touched Mr Farrant’s brow. ‘Oh, but I thought—’ He broke off, a little self-consciously. ‘As you say, madam.’
Clarification burst upon Lucille with a blinding flash. At the time she had been so overcome by the Earl of Seagrave cutting her dead that she had hardly given the other man a thought, but now she understood Mr Farrant’s embarrassment. So Mr Ditton was another of them! Well, she had had enough of Susanna and her lovers! Surely there could be no danger in revealing her true identity now that she was on the verge of leaving Suffolk! She stopped dead and turned to her companion.
‘Mr Farrant, I believe there must have been some misunderstanding, and largely of my own making. I have not introduced myself.’ She stressed the name. ‘I am Lucille Kellaway.’
Mr Farrant’s open features cleared. He was very easy to read, Lucille thought, amused, for all that he must be at least seven and thirty years old!
‘Oh! Miss Kellaway! I thought—’ He broke off again, clearly mortified.
‘That I was my sister,’ Lucille finished for him, without embarrassment. ‘An understandable mistake, sir. We are twins and very like in appearance.’
‘Yes, although now I come to look at you I can easily see the difference,’ Farrant said, loquacious in his attempts to gloss over the difficult moment. ‘You are much fairer, Miss Kellaway, and…a most modest style of dress…and the book…I do apologise!’ He flushed bright red.
‘Not at all,’ Lucille said, smiling in spite of herself. ‘I collect that you have met my sister, Mr Farrant?’ Which gentleman has not? she wondered.
‘I’ve seen her, of course,’ Farrant said, as though referring to an exotic circus animal, ‘and I had heard that she was staying in the neighbourhood, though now I see that it must be you instead!’ He frowned. ‘But I had heard rumours that your sister was under the protection of the Earl of Seagrave, and I am sure that that cannot be true of you, Miss Kellaway! One has only to look at you to see that you are a woman of unimpeachable virtue! Oh, your pardon, ma’am—’ Once again, he broke off in complete confusion.
‘Pray do stop apologising, sir,’ Lucille said, a little wearily. ‘This is all my fault. I should have known that to appear in public would give rise to this inevitable confusion. I have been staying in the neighbourhood, though the rest of your tale is mere gossip!’
Farrant started trying to apologise once again and Lucille could only be grateful that the river was in sight, and beside the harbour wall Lady Bellingham’s imposing carriage was waiting. The tide was in on the river and a profusion of craft bobbed at anchor. Seabirds wheeled and soared and the air had a fresh, cutting salty edge. Lucille wished she could have paused to appreciate the scene, but she was anxious to be away. She turned to thank her companion for his escort. Mr Farrant seemed a pleasant enough gentleman, she supposed, though he had nothing of the compulsive attraction of the Earl of Seagrave—
‘Your servant, Farrant. Miss Kellaway.’
The last person Lucille wanted to speak to at that moment was Seagrave himself, for her feelings were still very raw. He had evidently parted from the odious Mr Ditton and his sister, and was strolling along the path towards them quite alone.
Farrant bowed awkwardly, clearly at a social disadvantage. Lucille’s greeting was cool to the point of frigidity.
‘Good day, my lord.’ She turned back to Mr Farrant with a warm smile. ‘Thank you for your kindness this day, sir. Had you not been so good as to befriend me when others were less amiable, I have no notion how I might have managed!’
Seagrave’s eyes narrowed as this point went home and Farrant, acutely uncomfortable, began to stammer that it was a pleasure and that he was always at her disposal. Seagrave watched in sardonic amusement as this flow of words finally dried up and Farrant swallowed convulsively before excusing himself and hurrying off.
‘To what do I owe that pretty piece of play-acting?’ Seagrave demanded, turning back to Lucille, who was caught between gratitude that Mr Farrant had not inadvertently revealed her identity and annoyance at his inopportune departure. She had no wish for a tête-à-tête with the Earl—or for any conversation with him at all, she told herself fiercely.
‘I do not understand you, sir,’ Lucille said. There was no need to try to imitate Susanna—she knew she sounded sulky and irritable, and for once it was entirely genuine. She turned towards the carriage, but Seagrave prevented her from moving away by the simple expedient of catching hold of her arm.
‘You are being devilishly awkward this afternoon, Susanna!’ he said pleasantly. ‘All I wanted to know was whether you had considered my offer!’
‘The Chelsea house?’ Lucille freed herself from his grip and turned to look out over the river so that she did not have to look at him. ‘I will let you know as soon as I may, sir.’
‘I meant my other offer,’ Seagrave said gently.
Lucille turned to stare at him. The sea breeze was ruffling his thick dark hair and she felt a sudden, frighteningly strong urge to reach up and touch it. So he had been serious. He was asking her—Susanna—to become his mistress. For a moment she considered it. Did he really want her, or Susanna? Perhaps the trophy of Susanna hanging on his arm was all that mattered?
If so, how would he react when he discovered it was Lucille he had seduced rather than her sister…She gave herself an appalled shake. Whatever was she doing, seriously considering this? Fifteen minutes previously, this man had cut her dead, refused to even acknowledge that he knew her. He had no respect for her.
As she hesitated, he took a small blue box out of his pocket. Horrified, Lucille realised that it was a jewellery case. So that was part of the bargain, was it? Some necklace, or bracelet, perhaps, to buy her favours? Perhaps he had just bought it in the town,
and now the whole of Woodbridge would know what he intended…She began to feel quite ill with disgust.
‘You may keep your bribery, sir!’ she snapped, restraining herself from knocking it out of his hand. ‘I do not care to be distinguished by your attentions only when it suits you!’ Suddenly she did not give a damn about the way Susanna would have treated him. Soon she would be leaving forever, and it made her reckless. Let her sister pick up the threads of the masquerade if she chose! Let Susanna blame her for whistling an Earl down the wind if she dared! Lucille was not about to compromise her own principles just to emulate her sister.
‘You are angry that I did not speak to you just now,’ Seagrave observed calmly, ‘but I thought it best to take the Dittons away as quickly as possible! After all, I understood that your…’ he hesitated ‘…intimate relationship with Mr Ditton ended on less than amicable terms. And as for his sister, even you must surely see that you are not a suitable person to be introduced to Miss Ditton?’
Seagrave sounded so infuriatingly reasonable that Lucille could have slapped him. He had put the box away and was watching her with a degree of cynical humour which suggested that he had assumed she wished to play a scene, but would come around in the end.
‘I have no wish to meet that Friday-faced female,’ Lucille said scathingly. The cold air and her own anger had brought the pink colour into her face. Her blue eyes were very bright. ‘Nor do I wish for a liaison with a man who has no respect for me. Good day, sir!’
She would have walked past him, but he barred her way with one arm on the harbour wall. Lucille was delighted to see that he had stopped smiling.
‘Respect? A singular notion, Miss Kellaway! When did you become so fastidious? I dare swear it was not when you allowed Ditton into your bed!’ His eyes were almost black with fury but he kept his voice discreetly low. ‘Yet you see with what respect he treats you now!’
Lucille knew she was well out of her depth but she was now as angry as he. ‘Perhaps I liked Mr Ditton more!’ she said, with unforgivable provocation.
Seagrave caught both her arms above the elbow and gave her a shake. ‘I see! Perhaps he pandered to your particular tastes? And Farrant?’ he added, through his teeth. ‘Do you have him lined up as a diversion? A little game to help you pass your time in the country? The poor man is enslaved already! One glance from those limpid blue eyes, one smile, and he is yours! He will be easy meat for you, poor fool!’
At last, too late and with total incredulity, Lucille realised that it was jealousy she could read in his face. Sexual jealousy, certainly, for surely he could have no deep feelings for her. Yet he seemed to resent that Tristan Ditton—and no doubt many others—had apparently taken what she was now refusing him. Lucille suddenly realised how ill-equipped she was to deal with this. She could hardly explain that Charles Farrant knew her to be Lucille Kellaway and not Susanna, and that she had no designs on him of any nature.
‘I have the claim to you, Miss Kellaway,’ Seagrave said with a soft insistence under which the anger ran hot, ‘not Farrant, or any other! Remember that!’
‘I think not, sir!’ Lucille responded furiously. ‘Upon my word, you have a strange concept of possession! What gives you that right?’
‘Those who put themselves up for sale, Miss Kellaway—’ Seagrave began, only to break off as she interrupted him with no thought for courtesy.
‘I am not to be bought, sir, nor have I ever been! You may take your insulting suggestions elsewhere!’
Lucille’s bright blue gaze clashed with his own angry one. She found to her amazement that she could not break the contact. The tension between them was almost tangible. The anger drained from Seagrave’s eyes as they travelled over her face almost caressingly, as if memorising every detail. His breath stirred a tendril of her hair. Lucille felt as though she were drowning, melting in a sensation completely new to her and dangerously seductive.
She wanted to put her hand up to trace the unyielding line of his jaw, to run her fingers into his hair and bring his head down so that she could touch that firm mouth with her own. Seagrave must have read something of her feelings in her face, for the expression in his eyes changed again to a potent demand, darkening in response to her own need, and he bent his head…
There was a cough, very loud and very deliberate, just behind them. Seagrave released Lucille and stood aside.
‘I beg your pardon, Miss Kellaway, for keeping you waiting,’ Lady Bellingham said calmly. She held out a hand to the Earl. ‘Good day, Lord Seagrave.’
Seagrave wrenched his gaze and his attention away from Lucille. He took Lady Bellingham’s hand and gave her a reluctant smile, appreciative of her tactics. ‘How do you do, Lady Bellingham? It is a pleasure to see you forsaking your coastal retreat to be amongst us again!’
Lady Bellingham had her head on one side, considering him with an openly appraising look. She smiled a little regretfully. Then her gaze fell on Lucille, who was so mortified that she had not been able to look at Seagrave for several minutes. Lady Bellingham took her arm gently.
‘You look done up, my poor child,’ she said gently. ‘Come along—we shall go home to Cookes for tea!’
She nodded to Seagrave and steered Lucille like a sleepwalker towards the jetty where the carriage was drawn up. Seagrave, watching their departure, found that he was still breathing hard, as though he had run a mile. He leant on the harbour wall and stared out across the river, where a barge was attempting to navigate the corner called Troublesome Reach.
He knew all that he needed now, had known even before Lady Bellingham had hurried her protégée away with a concern quite misplaced had her charge truly been Susanna Kellaway. And no doubt Josselyn would have the answers to the questions he had posed earlier in the week, but it was unnecessary. He knew that this could not be Susanna. Amidst all the deception and artifice, the one thing that had rung true was her assertion that she was not for sale. He remembered again the blazing honesty of those blue eyes and shifted slightly.
No, Miss Kellaway—if that was her name—had been telling the truth at that moment. And it made sense of all the other matters that had puzzled him: the wit and intelligence that had added spice to their encounters, her shock at De Vigny’s behaviour, the way that she had trembled in his arms as he had kissed her, with an innocence that could not have been affectation…
And there was the rub…Seagrave let his breath out on a rueful sigh. He wanted her, whoever she was. He had previously been accustomed to conducting his affairs of the heart as business transactions where emotion never intruded; so, at first, when he had found himself so strongly attracted to the woman he thought was Susanna Kellaway, he had come to the obvious conclusion that his need for her would slake itself if only he could set her up as his mistress.
Now matters were not so simple. His own code of conduct did not permit him to try to seduce an innocent, no matter how much she richly deserved it. Unfortunately that meant that his desire for her was doomed to be unfulfilled and the very idea put him back in a very bad mood indeed.
Seagrave picked up a handful of pebbles and moodily tossed them down into the swirling waters below. Because he was no green youth, he was forced to admit that there was another, more serious aspect to the case. He could no longer dismiss his own feelings as simple physical desire. In a strange way he found he actually liked her, enjoyed her company, wanted to be with her, which was far more insidiously dangerous than a mere attraction. Even the fact that she had deceived him, which made a part of him furious with her, could not, it seemed, destroy the feelings he was beginning to have for her.
If he could only sort out this infuriating matter of her masquerade. He groaned aloud, startling a nearby seagull. He could see precisely where his train of thought was leading and it could not be. But one way and another, the arrival of Miss Kellaway in Dillingham was proving far more costly and complicated than he had ever imagined.
Lucille and Lady Bellingham had travelled for a couple of miles in silen
ce before her ladyship ventured a comment.
‘Forgive my intrusion, Miss Kellaway,’ she said carefully, making a play of adjusting her new embroidered gloves, ‘but I thought that you were perhaps in some danger…’
Lucille sighed. ‘You were right, ma’am! I was in danger of just about everything! I was in danger of betraying my impersonation of Susanna by stepping completely out of character, I was in danger of either slapping Lord Seagrave’s face or kissing him—I am not sure which is worse—and most of all I am in the most serious danger of losing my heart! Now if that is not a sad testament to my folly, I know not what is!’
‘Do not reproach yourself, Miss Kellaway,’ Lady Bellingham said, so authoritatively that Lucille almost jumped. ‘Seagrave is a man of considerable experience, yet judging by your recent encounter, he finds it as difficult as you do to resist the attraction that draws the two of you together. It will do him no harm,’ she added, with satisfaction.
Lucille shook her head a little sadly. ‘It is of no consequence, Lady Bellingham! I still intend to return to Oakham next week. Mrs Appleton will keep the house open against my sister’s return.’ She gazed out of the window at the lush Suffolk farmland. ‘It will be far better for me to go away,’ she finished sadly. ‘I can contend with a broken heart only if the cause of it is a long way away from me!’
‘Do not be too hard on yourself, Miss Kellaway,’ Lady Bellingham said again, with a rueful smile. ‘Seagrave is a remarkably attractive man! You are not the first—’
‘Nor indeed the last!’ Lucille said, bitterly, and Lady Bellingham wisely left it at that as they completed the journey home in silence.
But as her coach pulled out of the drive of Cookes a couple of hours later, she addressed the sleeping cat thoughtfully. ‘You know, Horace, unless I miss my guess, Miss Lucille Kellaway will be Countess of Seagrave within six months!’
Horace stretched and yawned widely, showing a very pink mouth and sharp incisors. ‘Three months, then!’ Lady Bellingham corrected herself, reaching for the bonbon dish.
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