A Lady in Name (8 page)

‘I scent a mystery.’

Lucy sighed. ‘Yes. Something of the sort. There is—there is some question about my parentage.’

Mrs Ankerville’s look became penetrating, much to Lucy’s discomfiture.

‘Do you mean you were born on the wrong side of the blanket? How very interesting. There is a great deal of nonsense talked about illegitimacy, you must know. Yet all the best families throughout history have laid claim to higher birth through just such a connection. Our medieval ancestors made far less fuss. Why, only think of William the Bastard, from whom every other family in the land would like to claim descent. Boys were taken care of. Girls were either married off with a dowry or sent to the nunnery.’

‘I think we can spare Lucy that fate,’ came Lord Pennington’s amused interruption.
His eye gleamed as he turned it on Lucy. ‘I would have rescued you, had I anticipated any other reaction.’

Lucy was chagrined.
‘You might have warned me, however.’

‘I wanted to see how you would deal with it.’

‘I am well aware of that.’

‘Stefanus, do be quiet,’ cut in his mother.
‘I have not finished my investigations.’

‘Oh, yes, you have, Mama.
Lucy has been embarrassed enough.’

‘Yes, quite enough,’ agreed Dion, throwing a warm look across the table.

Mrs Ankerville frowned. ‘But no one has told me in what relation Lucinda stands to our family.’

Lord Pennington gave her a meaning look, flicking a glance at the footman and the butler, waiting patiently to serve.
Lucy looked anxiously at her hostess. From the little she had seen of her, she was confident Mrs Ankerville was one of those persons with a sublime disregard for the ears of servants. The butler, however, apparently knowing his mistress better than her children, signed to his junior to leave the room, meanwhile distracting his mistress by refilling her glass.

‘Thank you, Hawkesbury.’

The butler bowed. ‘There was a package delivered for you earlier this evening, ma’am. It came by courier.’

Mrs Ankerville was instantly diverted.
‘It must be the Italian manuscript! Why did you not tell me at once?’

‘I did not care to disturb you, ma’am, knowing how concentrated you are at your labours.’

Lucy was surprised to see her hostess rising immediately.

‘Where is it?’

‘I will fetch it to you after dinner, ma’am.’

‘No, no, Hawkesbury.
Come and give it to me at once. I have been waiting for it for several weeks.’

With which, she hurried from the room, completely ignoring the rest of the company and leaving her half-eaten meal on the plate.

‘Masterly, Hawkesbury,’ said his lordship, his tone dry. ‘Don’t forget to send up a tray with a selection of fruits and sweet dishes.’

Bowing, the butler retired without comment, and Lucy was alone with his lordship and Dion.

‘Don’t look so shocked, Lucy,’ said the latter merrily. ‘Corisande often leaves her meal unfinished. Usually she remembers some little fact she had meant to write down and must do so instantly, regardless of who may be dining with us.’

‘Fortunately, the majority of our acquaintance are so used to it, they do not turn a hair,’ added Lord Pennington.

‘And now Corisande has accepted you without question,’ pursued Dion, ‘I can bring up the notion of inviting you to remain here for a visit.’

Lucy’s pulse began an uneven beat as she watched Dion turn innocently towards her brother.

‘Do you not think so, Stefan? Could we not have Lucy to stay for a time?’

Lord Pennington’s steely gaze came round to Lucy.
‘The very point we were discussing this afternoon, were we not, Miss Graydene?’

‘For good
ness’ sake, don’t call her that. It is bad enough having Lucy determinedly calling you Lord Pennington. I know very well you quarrelled, but if you can address her as Lucy in front of Corisande, it is ridiculous to be so formal the moment we are all alone together.’

‘I did not drop formality,’ Lucy burst out, incensed anew by the reminder of the earlier encounter.
‘And I do not propose to accede to
his lordship’s
demands.’

Dion’s eyes widened.
‘What demands?’

Lucy quelled her rising temper.
‘I am very grateful to you, Dion, for your kind invitation, but I am afraid it will not be possible for me to remain. I would leave tonight, if I could, but as that is clearly ineligible, I propose to go tomorrow.’

‘You propose to, do you?’

Lucy turned on Lord Pennington. ‘I am going, my lord, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.’

‘That we shall see.’

Lucy was prevented from retort by the re-entrance of the footman bearing a laden tray.

* * *

‘But why, Lucy? I do not understand.’

Lucy could not but feel sorry for Dion, who had gamely attempted to introduce several subjects of small talk for the remainder of dinner, while she and Lord Pennington had spoken less than two words to each other.
Lucy had never been more glad of the custom for ladies to leave the table first, and she followed Dion with alacrity, refusing to meet his lordship’s eyes as she passed.

‘I am sorry to have been so uncivil at dinner, Dion.
It must have been very uncomfortable for you.’

‘Never mind that,’ said the other, taking her favourite perch on the sofa in the Red Saloon.
‘Please tell me why you will not stay. What did Stefan say to you to make you so cross?’

Lucy ignored the question, opting to answer only the first part.
‘I cannot live upon your brother’s bounty, under the circumstances.’

‘But the circumstances are precisely why you can,’ Dion objected.
‘I know Stefan, and if he can make a duty out of protecting you, he will.’

‘I do not need his protection!’

Dion made a face at her. ‘He phrased it badly, I expect.’

‘Badly?
He did not phrase it at all,’ stated Lucy baldly. ‘He practically ordered me to remain.’

‘Oh, dear, how typical,’ said Dion, but her eyes danced.
‘Stefan has been dictatorial from a child. He drove his nurses to distraction.’

‘I can readily believe it.’

She was little mollified to see how the situation amused Dion, but she could not help softening a little when that young lady’s bright eyes dimmed suddenly.

‘But if you don’t stay here, Lucy, what in the world will you do?’

Lucy shrugged away a feeling of discomfort. ‘I shall find employment.’

Dion’s face fell.
‘As what? I suppose I may guess. A governess or companion. You cannot wish to be a drudge, Lucy.’

‘Of course I don’t wish for it.’
Lucy caught her tongue on the snap, and softened her tone. ‘But even less do I wish to be beholden to the family of Lord Pennington. I am talking of your deceased uncle, not your brother.’

‘You mean your father,’ said Dion, a note of deliberation in her voice.

Lucy shuddered uncontrollably. ‘I will not have him named so.’

‘I beg your pardon.
Only I learned from my own papa that it is futile to ignore the truth. One can only deal with it if one first accepts it.’

Yes, Papa had said the same.
But Lucy was not ready to allow the relationship. The moment she realised this, her way became clear. She spoke without thought.

‘I cannot remain in this house, Dion, to live in the vicinity of those who must, through no fault of their own, be a constant reminder of my condition.
Most of all, I cannot usurp a position for which I am wholly ineligible. I may be your cousin, but I am not worthy to be called so.’

To her shocked surprise, Dion’s eyes filled and tears chased one another down her cheeks.
She rose and in a moment was beside Lucy, who felt her hands seized in a convulsive grip.

‘I am so ve
ry sorry. Oh, Lucy, forgive me. I had not thought how dreadful it must be for you. Here I have been positively enjoying the situation, without paying the slightest attention to your feelings. It is too bad of me. And so typical, I am afraid. Can you forgive me?’

Thoroughly taken aback, and yet moved by the note of appeal and the falling tears, Lucy found herself returning the pressure of Dion’s fingers.

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she uttered. ‘Pray don’t cry, Dion. I had far rather have you giggling than weeping on my account.’

Dion smiled through her tears.
‘You had best take full advantage of my penitence, dear Lucy. Stefan will tell you it is a rare event.’

Lucy could not forbear an answering smile.
‘In that case, I will confess myself relieved.’

‘I won’t press you any more, I promise, but I do so wish you might change your mind.
You will never be made to feel your unenviable position in this house.’

Except, thought Lucy, she was made to feel it in every way, if only by default.
She longed suddenly for the vicarage, the old days when her evenings were spent in ever interesting talks with Papa, or in reading if he were out upon his duties. Unknowing, she spoke aloud, and from the heart.

‘I just want to go
home
.’

* * *

In the open doorway, Stefan lingered briefly, the echo of Lucy’s utterance haunting in his mind. He stepped quietly back into the hall, gently closing the door, sure that neither of the women had noticed him.

He had sat long over his port, for some unfathomable reason unwilling to resume battle.
Stefan knew he had badly mishandled the girl. Misjudged her character? He was not in the habit of examining his own methods. Over the years he had found ways of dealing with Corisande that invariably succeeded. As for Dion, she might be a minx but in general she accepted his dictum, even if she debated with him. His servants naturally did just as he instructed. Never before had he been obliged to quell outright rebellion. Lucy Graydene was a novel experience.

It struck Stefan he had spoken nothing but the truth when he compared her temperament to his uncle’s.
She had come back at him in fury, and the loss of control merely strengthened the similarity. His uncle Beves had been a man of intemperate passions, quickly roused, and as rapidly doused. Paulina shared something of his character, but in her it led to sulks rather than tantrums. A tendency she might have learned at her father’s knee.

Paulina’s mother had died young from the scarlet fever, and she had been brought up largely by servants and her governess.
His uncle had made but a poor fist of parenting. Her putative half-sister had been luckier perhaps, for the loss of Lucy’s mother had gained her an excellent father. There was no knowing what sort of a woman had given birth to Lucy, and Stefan could not but wonder what inherited traits might be lurking in Lucy’s armoury.

Meanwhile, he must find a better way to deal with her.
If she had professed herself determined on going, Stefan was equally so on her remaining. But he had no desire to engage in a pitched battle to ensure her obedience.

The port had sunk considerably in the decanter by the time he decided upon his best approach.
If Lucy were requested to name all her objections, she must, Stefan reasoned, argue herself out of them. What else could she do then but give in with a good grace. He had entered the Red Saloon with the intention of putting this admirable plan into action. But the note of despair in Lucy’s words went straight to an untouched nerve, causing him to make a precipitate retreat.

Without thinking what he did, he made his way to a side door and slipped out into the gardens.
The cold night air hit him on the instant, but he did not flinch. In his mind, the tragic note played and replayed, the simplicity of Lucy’s words lost in the turmoil of emotion.

There was something about the girl.
Had he not been struck by the self-same note in the air she had worn just this morning? Was it only this morning? It felt like a lifetime. It was hard to remember yesterday, when all he had known of Lucy Graydene was a letter to his uncle that he had taken as a harpy’s threat. Anything less like a harpy it would be hard to imagine. Lucy Graydene was…

His mind blanked.
Stefan had no words to describe her. She was an enigma. He did not understand her. At one moment, a passionate termagant; at another, a creature lost in the wilderness. Yet she could equally appear withdrawn, cool and hard-headed.

Stefan spent some time in contemplation of Lucy’s differing moods without deriving any
benefit from the exercise beyond a feeling of frustration. He was regretfully obliged to acknowledge that he had no notion how to deal with her. Were it not for the inconvenience of conscience and honour, he would abandon the whole scheme.

Driven back into the house by the frosty night air, he returned to the hall and ran lightly upstairs, traversing the corridors towards his own apartments.
At a bend in a narrow passage, he came plump upon Lucy, dressed in her greatcoat and bonnet, a bandbox in one gloved hand.