A Lady in Name (6 page)

Stefan was obliged to concede this point.
‘Is there no record of the letter your father wrote to my uncle?’

‘Surely you must have it rather than I?
Papa made no copy. Was it not amongst his correspondence?’

Stefan shook his head.
‘I shouldn’t think he kept it.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘What else do you know of your mother?’

A slight shudder shook her frame.
‘Nothing at all.’ She clasped her hands tightly together and Stefan noted a pinched look appear in her cheeks. ‘I cannot think of her in that light. I had always supposed my mother to be the late Mrs Graydene. I have thought and thought since I heard all this, and I cannot find Papa ever said so. I merely assumed it, and he did not correct me. It never even occurred to me to discover the date of her death. When I did—when I knew…’

A pang of compassion smote Stefan.
At a stroke, the girl had lost both father and mother, regaining a most unpalatable truth instead.

‘She had died before you were born, I take it?’

Lucy nodded, beset again by the misery of discovery. ‘Until that moment, I had no quarrel with Papa’s wisdom. But when I knew, I could have wished he had not permitted me to weave a fantasy to suit my purposes. But he said never a word. Of course he could not have done, without revealing the whole.’

‘It must have been painful for him to be obliged to tell you.’

Yes, she had known as much. ‘Yet he must have told me in the end, even had he not perished so precipitately.’

‘Why so?’

She let out a sigh. ‘How else was he to explain his reluctance to have me wed? At the time, I supposed he needed me to be with him, to keep house, perhaps to care for him as he grew older. But I see now it wasn’t so. I was not fit for marriage, and he knew it.’

Stefan discovered in himself a lessening of respect for the deceased Reverend Graydene.
No doubt his reasons were sound in his own mind, but Stefan could only condemn a weakness which must permit Lucy to continue in an unknown lie. The harshness of knowledge, coming as it had on the back of a natural grief, must have hit much harder than if the girl had grown up with it. Stefan wondered if her anger had been misdirected upon the author of her wrongs because she could not in conscience visit it upon her dead adoptive father.

‘Had he no knowledge of your real mother’s family?
Might he not rather have tried to settle you with them, when my uncle would not assist?’

‘He did assist,’ Lucy said coldly.
‘He sent a draft on his bank for a paltry sum, and recommended Papa to use it to put the child into the care of some suitable country woman who might bring her up to a useful trade.’

‘But the Reverend Graydene chose instead to take you into his own care,’ Stefan said flatly.
‘But he might have located your maternal relatives, might he not?’

Lucy shook her head.
‘She gave no information of that kind. Papa said she was weakened and dying and he could make out little from her mutterings. There might have been a name. When she died, he put me to a wet nurse and searched for where the woman might have come from.’

‘He drew blank, I must suppose.’

‘No trace was found,’ Lucy averred. ‘Papa supposed he had misunderstood her words. At that point he felt obliged to make contact with Lord Pennington, however he found him out.’

‘Easy enough to consult a Peerage, I imagine.
Was there anything more?’ The look she gave him was compound of defiance and entreaty.

‘You must understand Papa had little time or breath to tell me it all.
He was very weak, and he knew it must distress me. Beyond the most urgent of questions, I did not care to disturb him.’

Stefan nodded sympathetically.
‘I can appreciate that. It must have been a difficult time.’

She closed her eyes briefly, hiding their anguish.
‘Papa told me I must accept God’s will. But I was out of charity with the Almighty and took His machinations in a most unchristian spirit.’

With difficulty, Stefan refrained from laughter.
‘I can appreciate that also.’

‘Yes, well, it was highly inappropriate in the vicar’s daughter.’

‘But you are not the vicar’s daughter, and I’m afraid it is all too reminiscent of my uncle.’

Her eyes flashed.
‘If you dare to say I am like him, my lord, I may be provoked into doing you a mischief!’

Stefan threw up a hand.
‘Sheathe your dagger. I was referring to your temperament. I am casting no slur upon your character. My uncle, for your information, was a profligate wastrel who left a shambles for my inheritance, which I am still unravelling.’

The dark gaze deepened.
‘Has he ruined your life too?’

‘Hardly.’
A bark of scornful laughter escaped Stefan. ‘Not from want of trying. Fortunately, there was a limit to what he was able to do. I must thank my grandfather for tying up the bulk of the estate so that he could not touch it.’

Anger flared in Lucy’s face.
‘And this is the wretch you would couple with me!’

‘I am scarcely qualified to couple you with him,’ said Stefan, deliberately dry.
‘I hardly know you.’

She relaxed a little, sitting back in her chair.
‘No, you don’t know me at all, my lord. If you did, you might have been less ready to abduct me in your high-handed fashion.’

Stefan sighed.
‘Pray do not go about saying I abducted you. We have enough potential scandal on our hands as it is.’

Chagrined again, Lucy glared at him.
‘You will hardly blame me for that. I didn’t want to come here. Indeed, I have every intention of leaving as soon as may be.’

Stefan sat forward, letting the flat of his hands lie on the desk.
‘You will do no such thing.’

She gasped.
‘I beg your pardon? By what right do you make so bold, may I ask? I shall leave here just when I choose, and so I warn you!’

Stefan met her angry stare with a bland look.
‘I am the head of the family and you are a member of it. That gives me all the rights I choose to claim.’

‘How can you say so?’ uttered Lucy furiously.
‘I never heard anything so autocratic in my life! Until this morning you did not know of my existence.’

‘True.
But you having obligingly informed me of it, I have no alternative but to take charge of you from here on out.’

Stunned, Lucy could only stare at him.
He waited, apparently impervious. At last she found her tongue.

‘You must have taken leave of your senses.
Why in the world should you wish to be saddled with an impecunious and illegitimate relative?’

‘Oh, I don’t wish it,’ he said, infuriately calm.
‘I am perfectly certain you will prove to be a curst nuisance, but I was never one to shirk responsibility. Unlike your father.’

Lucy was on her feet.
‘How dare you? Papa was the soul of duty. He would never—’

‘I was referring to your biological father,’ interrupted Stefan, also rising.

‘Don’t call him so to my face,’ ordered Lucy, too angry to be mollified. ‘I will never think of him in that light. Papa was my true father, even if he did not participate in my advent.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Stefan, taking the wind out of her sails.
‘There is a great deal more to being a father than the mere donation of seed. But that does not negate your heredity, or the fact that my uncle’s duties devolve upon me. And you, Miss Lucy Graydene, whether you like it or not, have today become one of those duties.’

* * *

Dinner at Pennington Manor proved to be a protracted affair. The first delay, initially a boon to Lucy, was occasioned by the non-appearance of the lady of the house. It afforded Lucy the perfect opportunity to tell Lord Pennington just what she thought of his overbearing behaviour, except for the fact that Dion was alone when she came into the Red Saloon, which meant she must keep her tongue when his lordship arrived.

She had retired seething from his study, intent upon finding a way to remove from the wretched man’s home as swiftly as she could.
Lucy had common sense enough remaining to realise a precipitate and instant flight, dictated by instinct rather than reason, was ineligible. Instead of rushing down the wide staircase and out of the front door as she would dearly have liked to do, she went into the nearest large room, found a bell-pull and set it pealing.

The servant who came in answer looked startled, but readily led her back through the rabbit warren of corridors to her allotted chamber.
Lucy took due note of landmarks and counted corners, intent upon finding her own way back. With a brief enquiry about the expected time of dinner, she dismissed the footman and shut herself into the room.

For an uncountable time, she paced up and down in front of the four-poster, making shadows on the windows as she passed.
Her cogitations veered from fury with the current Lord Pennington to the despairing memories evoked by her conversation with him, and back again. At length she realised the better part of the tumult of her mind was concentrated upon the wretched man’s iniquitous assumption of guardianship.

It was perfectly absurd.
How in the world had she come to this? And so quickly. From a vague and unformed desire to confront her real father to find herself thus bound to a stranger? It would not do. She would not tolerate it. She was of age and no one could dictate to her, least of all a man who had no claim upon her whatsoever.

What was he about to be trying to draw into his family a female whom he could not, with honour, introduce to his acquaintance?
Lucy tried to think of a valid motive, and failed. Most gentlemen in his position would, like her putative father, have turned her out with a paltry settlement. His lordship had claimed it for an inescapable duty, which was nonsensical. Setting aside royalty, one did not recognise a bastard. Or if one did, one set them apart in an establishment that did not impinge upon one’s public life.

Was that what he meant to do?
Had Lord Pennington some notion of setting her up in a cottage somewhere upon his estates, provided with a servant to attend to her wants and a small pension? Lucy contemplated such a life for a moment, and found it wanting. What in the world would she find to do? She would be bored beyond endurance. Used to keeping house and helping the vicar in his parish duties, she would stifle in such a lifeless existence. Better to adhere to her original plan and hire herself out as a governess or companion.

That settled, she had nothing to do but inform Lord Pennington of her unalterable determination to remove from his house at the earliest possible moment.
A perfectly simple task, the thought of which had an uncomfortable effect upon her stomach, like the squirming maggots she had been aware of much earlier in this extraordinary day.

Lucy put it down to hunger and her thoughts turned to dinner.
At which point, it was borne in upon her she had nothing suitable to wear. Her black gown was respectable, but it could hardly pass muster at Pennington Manor.

Seizing her bandbox, Lucy scrabbled within it for her comb, wondering if she’d had the forethought to provide herself with the black lace shawl she used at home in the evenings.
She had inherited it from the late Mrs Graydene, who had been an indefatigable lace-maker and seamstress. At the least, Lucy might put it about her shoulders and pin it at the bosom. She was obliged to turn out the contents of the bandbox before she was induced to recognise that forethought had been lacking. There was nothing to be done but to wash her face and hands, comb and dress her hair again, and put a clean lace cap upon her head. She would have to apologise to Mrs Ankerville and Dion. Nothing would induce her to address any apology to his lordship. It was his fault, after all, that she was so ill prepared.

In the event, she felt her lack less since the Ankerville family were still in half-mourning and she found Dion had changed into grey silk.
But Lucy’s nerves were in shreds, and the last thing she needed was the ensuing bombardment from her new cousin.

‘Good gracious, there you are at last!
Where have you been, Lucy? I declare, you are as bad as Stefan. No, I don’t mean that, of course, for he is the horridest of men at times.’

With which statement Lucy was in the fullest agreement.
She was obliged to bite her tongue on the hot words which rose to her lips.

‘Where is Lord Pennington?’

Dion, who had been busily drawing Lucy to the sofas, halted to cast a mischievous look upon her.

‘Oh, dear, has he sunk back to that?
I thought we had agreed to leave off formality.’

Lucy curbed the diatribe she longed to embark upon, instead confining herself to a clipped response.
‘I don’t feel inclined to drop formality with your brother.’

To her consternation, Dion burst into giggles.
‘You have quarrelled with him, I suppose. Well, I cannot blame you for that. I did myself.’

Pressed into the sofa, Lucy sat down, staring up at the younger girl.
‘What happened? When did you quarrel?’