A Lady in Name (23 page)

Nonetheless, she was relieved, after she had washed and dressed, moving gingerly for the pounding at her temples, to discover only Dion sitting at the oval table in the breakfast parlour.

‘Stefan has gone out riding,’ said his sister by way of greeting, but Dion’s intelligent gaze widened as she looked Lucy over. ‘Gracious, you look perfectly wan! What in the world is the matter?’

‘I have the headache,’ Lucy told her, looking with disfavour upon the dish of ham from which she had removed the cover.
‘I can’t eat that.’

‘Not if you have the headache.’
Dion reached for the coffee pot. ‘Sit down and I will find you something light.’

She poured coffee into a cup and handed it to Lucy as she sank into a chair with her back to the windows, even the weak winter sun proving painful to her eyes.
Presently a small plate appeared in Lucy’s place, with two rolls neatly arranged together with a pat of butter.

‘There is honey, if you wish for it.’

Lucy accepted the honey pot, but refreshed herself first from the welcome coffee. She felt altogether conscious, as if the imprint of her harlot dreamings could be showing on her forehead. She was permitted to eat and drink in silence for a few moments. But it was not long before she became aware of Dion’s curious gaze. Lucy looked round.

‘What is it?’

Dion twinkled. ‘I am not entirely surprised you have the headache after last night.’

Lucy’s pulse skipped a beat.
‘What do you mean?’

‘Stefan sent for me to his study.
He said you had been taken ill suddenly. I must say, it took the two of us to persuade you to get up and walk to your bed. You leaned on Stefan all the way.’

Appalled, Lucy could only gaze at her.

Dion giggled. ‘It is of no use to look like that.’

‘I don’t know how I look,’ returned Lucy snappily.

‘No, and you don’t want to know how you looked last night.’

Worse and worse.
‘I have no recollection of being ill.’

Dion’s eyes danced.
‘I dare say you don’t. One does not, I understand, after carousals of that nature.’

Appalled, Lucy grabbed her hand.
‘Carousals? What in the world are you talking of?’

Dion burst into laughter, tugging her hand free.
‘You should see your face! I beg your pardon for teasing you, dear Lucy, but I could not resist.’

A half-sigh escaped Lucy.
But she was not yet satisfied. ‘Pray tell me just what happened.’

‘Well, I can’t because I don’t know,’ said Dion candidly, her mirth subsiding.
‘Stefan would have it you had fallen ill. But I saw two glasses alongside a decanter on his desk, and—do not mind me saying this, for you did ask—I could smell the alcohol on your breath.’

Lucy looked quickly away, putting a hand to her head.
Dear Lord, was it not then a dream? Or had she merely drunk more than she was used to? Which might give rise to the sort of tangled amorous dreamings she recalled. Papa had warned often of the dangers of drinking to excess, so many of his parishioners being guilty of that fault.

‘Don’t look so downcast,’ begged Dion.
‘I am sure you are not the first female to have fallen victim in such a way. But what I wish you will explain to me is why you and Stefan were drinking at all. Had you something to celebrate?’

Highly unlikely.
Lucy tried to think back to the events of last night and found her memories too foggy to recover more than snatches. Another of the consequences Papa had outlined—loss of memory.

‘I have little recollection of any of it,’ Lucy uttered fretfully.
‘I think I was upset.’

‘You were,’ Dion told her flatly.
‘By our discussions at dinner. Stefan went after you when you excused yourself. But he won’t tell me what happened after that.’

‘And I cannot,’ Lucy said hastily, ‘so it is of no use to plague me.’

Dion eyed her for a moment in silence, a mulish look in her face. Thankfully, she opted to let it lie, instead reminding Lucy to eat her rolls, now sliced and larded with butter and honey, and took trouble to refill her cup from the silver coffee pot.

Lucy would have liked to enquire more closely into the discussion at dinner that had evidently sent her out of the room in a state of distress, but she dared not bring it up for fear of Dion’s demanding tit for tat and enquiring more particularly into her dealings with Stefan.
Lucy’s headache had receded a little, but she felt so little her usual self she could not trust herself not to blurt out her fears about those torturous dreams—if dreams they were.

A heavy tread in the room beyond drew Dion’s attention.
‘Ah, this may be Stefan himself, come in from riding. Now we shall see.’

But the person who entered after the opening of the door proved far other.

‘Paulina!’

Lucy jumped and looked up.
The woman she had seen on her first day here was standing halfway to the breakfast table, her dark eyes glued to Lucy’s features. She was heavily pregnant, the protrusion emphasised by the currently fashionable high waistline, and looked even grosser than when Lucy had seen her on the stairs. Her hair was largely concealed beneath a turban style cap that did nothing for the shape of her face, just now swollen with the added weight of her condition. But what was visible matched Lucy’s own colouring.

All at once, a memory crashed into
Lucy’s mind: Mrs Ankerville, commenting on the similarities of feature so obvious that she took Lucy and this stranger for sisters.

The shock took her breath away, and she was unable to utter a word
, which most unfortunately allowed Lady Sarclet to get in first.

‘So she is still with you.’

Predictably, Dion rose to the bait. ‘Of course she is. Surely Corisande told you we went only to fetch Lucy’s trunks?’

Lady Sarclet came to the table, still fixing Lucy with an unloving eye.
‘I will take a cup of coffee with you, Dion, if there is some in the pot.’

Dion cast a frantic look at Lucy, rolling her eyes in the way she had.
She reached for the coffee, nearly knocking over the pot in her agitation. ‘I’m not sure there is any left.’

Lady Sarclet pulled out a chair opposite Lucy and sat down.
‘Then send for some more. Why do you suppose you have servants in the place?’

R
ising, Dion crossed to the bell pull, throwing grimaces of warning and exasperation at Lucy behind the woman’s back. Far from comfortable herself, Lucy summoned her best deferential manner.

‘How do you do, Lady Sarclet?’

‘You know who I am?’

The tone was cold, and a shiver of apprehension went through Lucy.
There could be no doubt there was suspicion here. She wished Stefan had been within call. She had never felt more in need of rescue.

‘Of course she knows who you are,’ Dion cut in, saving Lucy from having to answer.
‘Though I should have presented you formally.’

Returning to the table, she made an elaborate gesture towards the intruder.
‘This is our cousin Paulina. Or rather, Lady Sarclet.’

‘Superfluous, Dion.’

‘And this,’ pursued Dion, ignoring the interpolation, ‘is Lucy Graydene.’

‘Which tells me nothing at all.’

Dion sat down. ‘Well, I can’t see that it is of any importance.’

‘Why not?’
Lady Sarclet’s eyes at last left Lucy’s face, turning to her cousin. ‘Is there some secret about this Miss Graydene you do not wish me to know about?’

This was so near the bone
that Dion gasped, throwing a frantic glance at Lucy. Urgency fed Lucy’s imagination.

‘I am here to help Mrs Ankerville.’

Dion threw her a grateful look, but Lucy was instantly disconcerted by the intent glance which came her way from Lady Sarclet.

‘Indeed?
She said nothing of it to me the other day.’

‘Well, you know how forgetful Corisande is.
I dare say she had her mind full of troubadours. It was all she could think of when we returned.’

Lady Sarclet’s smile was thin.
‘You underestimate your mama, Dion.’

This
was perfectly true, as Lucy had had occasion to observe. She began to feel her half-sister was a force to be reckoned with.

Dion was inclined to bristle.
‘I think I know Corisande better than you, Paulina.’

The dubious smile was replaced with a sour look.
‘Do we ever know our own parents? Of course I never knew my mother, for she died before I was of an age to remember her.’

‘Yes, you poor thing,’ uttered Dion, in a tone of sympathy Lucy at least recognised as spurious.
‘Such a pity your papa never married again.’

Lucy watched her half-sister’s mobile mouth turn to a sneer.
‘Not in my book. I never felt the lack of a mother. I liked being the mistress of this house, as I was from an early age.’

‘Yes, and you never let us forget it, do you?’ said Dion sweetly.

The dagger look she received was met with a limpid smile. Lucy almost laughed out, but for the churn of maggots in her stomach which kept her on tenterhooks. Where in the world was Stefan? Why must he go riding just when he was most needed?

The door opened precisely at that moment, but it was only the butler in answer to the bell.

‘Oh, Hawkesbury,’ uttered Dion, obviously glad of the interruption. ‘Would you be so kind as to bring more coffee for Lady Sarclet?’ She looked at her cousin. ‘Is there anything else you would like, Paulina? We must not forget you are eating for two.’

With difficulty Lucy stifled a giggle, but Lady Sarclet waved a dismissive hand.

‘Coffee is all I require, I thank you. You may go, Hawkesbury.’

Dion’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she turned to the butler, but her tone was utterly charming.
‘Thank you, Hawkesbury.’

It did not appear to Lucy that her half-sister appreciated the irony of Dion’s action.
It was plain she was unable to shake off the habit of being mistress of Pennington.

The departure of the butler seemed a signal for Lady Sarclet to resume her catechism on Lucy’s presence in the house.

‘When I saw you, Miss Graydene, I assumed you were here to take up a post.’

Lucy met her gaze steadily.
‘I was, in a sense, as I have said. Mrs Ankerville heard of my bereavement and very kindly invited me to stay here.’

‘For a visit, or to make your home here?’

Dion jumped in. ‘That is yet in question.’

But Lucy would not let this pass.
‘No question, Dion. It is quite decided. I am here for a short while only.’

The woman eyed her openly, and Lucy willed herself to remain calm under the creature’s critical gaze.

‘For how long precisely?’

Lucy’s temper began to fray.
Was it her fault she was thrust into this predicament? ‘As short a time as possible, if I have any say in the matter.’

The woman’s dark brows rose, and Lucy regretted her curt tone.
‘You are decidedly outspoken for a female in your situation.’

Dion’s gasp of outrage was heard by Lucy only dimly, for her own was gall in her breast.

‘My situation? I had not supposed you knew anything of my situation, Lady Sarclet.’

The woman was unmoved.
If anything, her mouth curved into the sneer Lucy had earlier seen. ‘You are indigent, so much is plain. Else you would have no need of my cousin Corisande’s charity.’

‘Who said it was charity?’ returned Lucy, forgetful of the dangers of this conversation.

‘If it was not, why should not your own people succour you?’ Before Lucy could counter this, she added, ‘Because you have no people, is that not so?’

‘Of course she has people,’ cried Dion, jumping in.
‘She has us. We are her people.’

‘Dion!’

Too late Dion realised what she had said. Her hand went to her mouth. Lady Sarclet’s cheeks were flying two spots of colour and her eyes blazed.

‘I knew it!
I knew it! You have come back to haunt me!’

Dismayed, Lucy could only stare at the woman.
How much did she know? How could she know?

Paulina’s voice came low and hard, shaking now as she pushed her bulk up from the chair.
‘I thought I had rid myself of you once and for all when I destroyed that letter. How dare you come here? How dare you rise up like a spectre from his past? The brute! The lascivious brute! My own father!’

Dion was on her feet.
‘Paulina, for goodness’ sake!’

With a snarl, the woman turned on her.
‘Don’t talk to me! You should have turned her out on the instant. Letting her into my life, how could you?’ She stabbed a quivering finger towards Lucy, her features a contortion of hatred. ‘You are not my sister. I will not own you. I will not have you for my sister. He was
my
father. Mine alone! Go away! Get out of my house! I hate you, I hate you!’