Lady Lucy's Lover (10 page)

So instead, he told a footman to have his carriage brought around and to tell Lady Standish's servants to return home without her.

He led her outside onto the step so as to escape the staring faces.

She stood shivering, clutching tightly onto his hand, until he helped her into his carriage and took his place beside her.

It was a closed carriage and she was unchaperoned, Lucy realized wildly, and then almost laughed that she should worry about conventions at this late date.

The Duke gently released her hand and leaned his head back against the upholstery. “Where shall I tell my coachman to take us?” he asked in a colorless voice.

“Anywhere,” said Lucy harshly. “Preferably to your bed.”

“You shock me,” he said lightly.

“You… you
agreed
to be my lover.”

“If you will remember, I agreed to
appear
as your lover.”

“You do not w-want me?”

The voice in the darkness of the carriage was trembling and childish.

“You are overset,” he said. “I was not surprised when I no longer saw you about. You are not the sort of lady to look for an extramarital liaison. Something has now happened to distress you.”

“I should not discuss my husband.”

“No. But sometimes disloyalty is necessary, especially if one wants to preserve the marriage. Forget about me as a lover and think of me as a friend. You must tell me, Lucy.”

There was a long silence. And then she began, hesitantly, to tell him of Guy's strange behavior and of how he had sworn his absence at night had nothing to do with Harriet Comfort and how she had seen him, wild and distraught, on the steps of that lady's house.

He gave a little sigh. “There are three sides to every marriage, Lady Lucy,” he said, “his, hers and the truth. Was he really as exercised as you say, or was he simply a trifle elated?”

“If you mean, was he drunk, the answer is no. He was wild, desperate, anguished. A man desperately in need of comfort.” Lucy gave a brittle laugh. “I did not mean to pun.”

He took her hand in a warm, firm clasp but she drew it away. “I feel… odd… and breathless when you touch me,” she said.

She could feel his gaze on her. “Perhaps you are a trifle faint,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her. “Would you like the glasses down?”

“Yes, please, My Lord Duke.”

“Simon,” he corrected, lowering the window of the carriage.

Lucy gratefully took a deep breath of damp night air, smelling the wet scent of the flowers in the Kensington nurseries.

“Where do you wish me to take you?” asked the Duke again.

“Home with you.”

“Ah, that I could. I have such a reputation and yet I am plagued with respectability. I have a trifle of vanity too which makes me balk at being… er… used. Your husband is young and wild and not yet used to the responsibilities of marriage.
Ask
him the reason for his behavior.”

“I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of the final rejection. Of his telling me that he loves Harriet Comfort to distraction. Many women in society ignore such liaisons… are
expected
to ignore them. I would like to see… to see if I could make him a little jealous. It is not a worthy ambition, but a very human one. I should not burden you with my troubles. Your friend Lord Brothers believed you to be on the point of becoming affianced to Miss Mortland.”

“Alas, no.”

Lucy began to feel quite lighthearted but could not understand why. “But you will no doubt wish to become married?” she said.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why not? You are not precisely a good advertisement for wedded bliss.”

“Cruel.”

“But true.”

“Then you do not wish to be my lover?”

“My dear Lady Lucy, any man with all his faculties and his wits would be delighted to be your lover. I am sorely tempted to tell you to find someone else but I fear all are not as scrupulous as myself. There are, however, certain young gentlemen of a certain effeminacy who would be glad to play the role of sighing lover.”

“They would not make Guy jealous.”

“And I would? Dear me, how stubborn you are. What if my passions should overcome me?”

Lucy looked at him, at the calm profile revealed by the bobbing light of the carriage lamps, and said with a trace of humor in her voice, “I cannot imagine you being carried away by passion.”

“Do not be too sure of that. But before we decide to do anything, I entreat you to return home and, if your husband is there, I beg you to question him.”

“Very well,” sighed Lucy.

“I think you will find him very contrite. These young bloods are lions at night and meek little lambs in the morning. I remember the follies of my own youth.”

“You talk as if you are old.”

“I am… compared to you.”

They jogged on in silence until Clarence Square was reached. He helped her from the carriage and stood looking down at her.

“Do you know, Lucy,” he said softly, “I think this is the very last I shall hear of this idea.” He glanced up at the house. “There is a light still burning abovestairs. No doubt it is your husband. Go to his arms where you belong and cease to tantalize hardened
roués
such as myself.”

“You find me very young and silly.”

He looked at her seriously for a long moment and then raised her hand to his lips.

“On the contrary, I find you
adorable
,” he said.

Lucy felt an overwhelming urge to throw herself into his arms, to bury her head in his chest, to beg him to take her away.

But her conscience, clear and strong, told her where her duty lay. She caught up her long skirts and ran lightly up the stairs.

As she put her hand on the knob, something impelled her to turn and look at him.

He was standing beside the carriage, regarding her gravely. A light breeze ruffled his black hair. Although dawn was streaking the sky, he looked as elegant and glittering as if he had just left the hands of his valet. He did not look like the handsome rake he was reputed to be. He looked tall and dependable and overwhelmingly attractive.

She had a sudden vision of what it would be like to come home to
him
, to be folded in his arms, a still rock in a stream of shifting, chattering, glittering society.

Her hand rose to her lips to stifle a sob and she turned and went into the house.

The Marquess of Standish was pacing up and down his bedroom, still fully clothed, still disheveled.

He was no longer in the depths of despair. Harriet Comfort had told him that the Chinese were protégées of Barrington and that she would take him to Barrington on the morrow. Mad hope of seeing Li again, hope of returning to that magic world, had kept him from sleep.

But he felt an acute stab of guilt as his grave-faced wife asked him quietly to explain his conduct, to explain what he had been doing at Harriet Comfort's after he had sworn he had not seen her.

“It was the truth, my sweeting,” said the Marquess earnestly. “But I have been… gambling… and am again indebted to Barrington. I was in despair because I could not find him at his offices. I felt wretched and could not tell you the fool I had made of myself. Harriet knows the whereabouts of Barrington. Once she had told me, I was able to become calm and think rationally. I was ashamed to tell you because you had already bailed me out.…”

“My parents bailed you out,” sighed Lucy. “I lied to them. I told them I needed a vast amount of money for a court dress. Oh, Guy, I
cannot
ask them again. But I am so happy that it was only gambling that kept you away at nights. We have become so estranged.” She held out her arms. “But of course I forgive you. All we need to do is retrench. We can move to Standish.…”

“Don't talk fustian,” said the Marquess, turning his back on her. Lucy's arms fell to her side. “I would die of boredom in the country. Look, ask your papa to sport some more blunt.
He
won't miss it.” He turned back and his voice became coaxing. “I know we have made a false start in this arranged marriage of ours.…”

“Arranged!” Lucy's hand felt for a chair back to steady herself.

“Oh, you know your parents' ambitions. Mr. Hyde-Benton paid quite a lot for my title as well you know so…”

His voice faltered and died at the look of blind shock on Lucy's face.

“Well, you
did
know,” he said with false joviality.

Lucy dumbly shook her head.

“Well, I mean, by George, you must have
guessed
. I mean, that a man of my standing would… Oh, don't look
so
, Lucy. Arranged marriages happen all the time.” He was all of a sudden desperate to placate her. Nothing must prevent his returning to Li. “We rub along very well, don't we? I don't interfere with your pleasures. What you need is a brat to take your mind off things.”

“And how is that to be achieved, sirrah?” said his wife icily. “Another immaculate conception?”

“You funny little thing.” He laughed. “You're jealous and I have not had you in my bed for a long time. Come to me!”

He held out his arms.

Lucy looked at his flushed, swollen face, at his hair damp with sweat which fell about his collar, at the wine stains on his cravat, and took two steps back and stood with her hand on the handle of the door.

“Don't
touch
me!” she spat. “Don't
ever
touch me again, Guy. If you had told me at the beginning that it was to be an arranged marriage, I would never have married you. Now I know I need no longer be faithful to you. I shall take a lover.”

“You!” laughed her husband. “Miss Prunes and Prisms. That's rich, that is!”

Lucy turned and slammed the door on his jeering face.

The savage ringing of the bell from my lady's rooms sounded only minutes later. Wilson, the butler, wearily climbed back into his livery. He would need to change his bet in the betting books at the Three Feathers tavern, where the odds on the Standishes' divorce were running fifty to one before word of this night's happenings got abroad. The odds would drop to five to one in no time at all.

My lady, attired in a walking gown of severe gray wool merino, called out the carriage again and demanded to be taken to the home of the Duke of Habard. The well-trained servants murmured, “Very good, my lady,” as if it was all the most ordinary thing in the world, and then returned to the kitchens to mull over the latest gossip and administer sal volatile to the cook who had gone into strong hysterics, being of a Delicate Constitution and not so hardened to the vices of high society as some she could mention.

The Duke of Habard received the intelligence that Lady Standish was awaiting him belowstairs with his usual imperturbable calm, although it was five in the morning and he had only just fallen asleep.

He did not immediately leap from bed but lay with his hands clasped behind his head, staring at the canopy and debating whether to call an end to the farce.

He had been sure when he had left her that that would be the end of the matter. It was, he realized wryly, because he could not imagine any man turning his back on Lucy Standish.

After some time, he rang for his Swiss and gave orders to be barbered and his clothes laid out. Word was to be sent to the stables to have his traveling carriage made in readiness. Word was to be sent to Lady Standish's residence with instructions to her lady's maid to present herself at the Duke's with her mistress's trunks.

Now I have done it, he thought, noticing the shocked look on his valet's face.

He made a leisurely toilet and descended to the morning room an hour later to find the Marchioness of Standish fast asleep by the fire. He had passed Lady Standish's grim-faced and weary lady's maid who was sitting sentinel in the hall beside several corded trunks. He had ordered his butler to supply the maid with tea and to see that the baggage was strapped onto his carriage along with his own trunks.

He stood looking down at Lucy as she sat asleep in a winged chair. She had taken her hat off and her small face was tilted back against one of the wings. She looked little more than a child.

As if aware of his gaze, her eyes flew open and she stared up at him, first in bewilderment and then in dawning comprehension.

“I had to come,” she said faintly. “He does not love me. He said… he said my parents had
paid
him to marry me.”

“It is not unusual,” he said calmly. “You will breakfast. I have sent for your maid and your clothes.”

“You mean… I will live here with you?”

“No. Nothing so blatant. You are coming to the country with me… to my home.”

“Oh,” said Lucy weakly.

“We do not want to give your husband outright grounds for divorce and so it will all be very respectable. My mother, the Dowager Duchess of Habard, is in residence.”

“What will she think…?”

“What she wishes. It need not concern us.”

Lucy was still too tired and hurt and emotionally buffeted to protest.

When they left, a thin brown rain was falling from a low brown sky.

“Where do you live?” asked Lucy sleepily.

“Mullford Hall in Essex. It is not a very long journey so we will not have to spend the night anywhere.”

Lucy's lady's maid, Harper, sat grimly opposite, holding my lady's jewel box on her lap and trying to keep the disapproval she felt at these strange goings-on from showing on her face.

The matter of Lucy's marriage could not be discussed in the presence of the maid, and after a little while, Lucy fell fast asleep, only awakening when they stopped for luncheon.

Dusk came early on that dismal day and the carriage lamps had been lit as they finally turned in at the great gates of Mullford Hall.

“Is your mama expecting me?” asked Lucy, becoming nervous despite her fatigue.