On A Cold Christmas Eve (5 page)

Still, the idea of the duke with another woman didn't sit right with her, though she passed it off as being nothing more than a lingering sentiment after his kindness to her the day before.  That was all it could be.  She would be foolish to think otherwise.

Now, clothed in the lush, emerald green garment, one that, she had to admit complimented her coloring rather well, she felt ready to face whatever fate was about to befall her, though she doubted that it would be as cruel as what her uncle and Archibald had planned.  Lucy was under no illusion that she would be allowed to remain at Overlook Hill, no matter how generous Adam St. Vincent was.  He would do his duty by her, however, which was more than her uncle had, but, in the end, she would be on her own.  He would not wish to keep someone like her around, someone who did not completely fit in with society and who would forever be a source of question and embarrassment for him.  Nor would it even be proper.  It would be best, she thought, to have that conversation now rather than later when the entire family was involved in Christmastide activities.  That would only cause more embarrassment, something she did not wish on the man who had rescued her.

As she walked down the hallway, Fenster padded beside her, rather quietly she thought, for such a large beast.  Ever since the duke had given him the "guard" command the previous day, the dog hadn't left her side, something that she found she was inordinately grateful for.  She had no idea why, but the presence of the beast brought her a measure of comfort she was not used to but did enjoy.  Now, Fenster trotted down the grand staircase beside her, giving loud, joyful woofs every now and then as they passed beneath grand arches of pine boughs bedecked with ribbons that lined the staircase.

The staircase itself was a magnificent creation, a mix of what she suspected was local fieldstone and hand-carved wood.  Gold ribbons were wrapped around the handrails and went upwards to entwine in the greenery while velvety red ribbons trimmed in gold adorned the newel posts.  It was truly magnificent, and, she remarked, a little odd, since traditionally greenery in the house before Christmas Eve was considered bad luck.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Fenster trotted off to his right and she, not knowing where else to go, followed behind him.  On their journey, they passed through several rooms, each more lush and glorious than the last.  Here, she thought, was a home where Christmas was celebrated in a very different way than she was accustomed to, but also in a way that seemed far more joyous.  This family loved and loved deeply, that much was obvious, and there was a part of her that longed to know that kind of love and security.  She had once, but those days had long since passed.

As she ran a finger along another red bow, this one on a doorknob that led to a closed off room, she heard someone clear his throat behind her.  Given the presence she now felt in the room, it could only be one person.  There was no way to mistake the Duke of Enwright for anyone other than who he was.

"My lord," she said as she curtseyed, watching Fenster bound over to his master for a good ear scratching.  "I hope I am not intruding.  I merely needed some air."

Shaking his head, he smiled at her and she was struck once more by how handsome he was.  The other silly women of the 
ton
 might not think so, but she knew them to be wrong.  All it would take was one gesture, one touch, and she knew that she could fall for this man all too easily.  She had always had a soft spot for men like Adam, ones who didn't quite fit in with the rest of society.  She had best keep her head if she hoped to emerge from whatever this was unscathed.

"Not at all, Miss Cavendish.  Actually, I was coming to seek you out, and hoped that you would be willing to speak with me about a few issues.  If you'll come into my study, I believe that would be the best place for just such a discussion."  He gestured to the closed door, the one with the red ribbon, and she opened it with unsteady hands, her heart sinking to her knees, the earlier joy in seeing the lavish decorations quickly evaporating.

She'd expected this, really.  She'd even left her room seeking this very conversation.  Now that she was faced with the reality of it, however, she wasn't quite as certain that she was as prepared as she'd thought she was.  Then again, she reasoned, she wasn't sure she ever would be.

Once inside, she took the seat he indicated, and while he busied himself behind his desk, she took the opportunity to study the room.  It was very male, with a great deal of dark wood and furnishings.  However, it was also homey, with a few soft pillows here and there, as well as a thick, rich carpet, and a wall full of books.  She also noted that the door, while still open, was closed enough to ensure privacy.  Not that she had much to worry about regarding her reputation any longer, if she ever had to begin with.  Fenster, she also noted, had taken up guard by the door, so she did have a chaperone, in a way, even if it was four-footed and furry one.

When he caught her looking at the books, he smiled and she blushed, still uncertain how to act around this man that could make her pulse race with just a glance.  Yesterday when she'd been able to plead a bit of infirmity, it had been much easier to be bold and honest.  She was thankful she'd been unconscious when he'd carried her to his coach.  Otherwise, she might have made a proper cake of herself.

"Library overflow," he said cheerfully as she averted her eyes to the rows of leather bound books once more, clearly unaware of the direction her thoughts had been taking.

"Pardon me, my lord?"  She shook her head.  So far, this was nothing like what she had expected.  This man was downright, well, cheerful was the best word she could think of to describe him.  Something told her that he was rarely ever cheerful, at least not like this.  She had never seen him thus and she had spent a good deal of time watching him from behind her fan.

Rising, Adam walked over to the books and ran a finger almost lovingly down the spine of one, making Lucy shiver.  She knew she would die if he ever touched her that way - not that he ever would.  "I have a great love of books, I'm afraid, and until we can hire someone to expand the library, the excess books have been moved into my study."  He grinned again and turned to her, an almost boyish air of amusement about him.  "I am a man of unusual tastes, Miss Cavendish, as you will quickly come to learn."

"I have made no such assumptions of what I might or might not learn, my lord," she said, licking her lips and trying to steady her nerves.  This entire conversation was leaving her off balance.  She did not like it one bit.  She needed to be more careful lest she fall into some kind of proverbial rabbit hole from which she could not escape.

He briefly gave her a considering look and crossed to a side table she hadn't noticed before.  He plucked a crystal decanter from the tray along with two glasses.  When he raised an eyebrow in her direction, she nodded and was gratified when he poured two large drinks, handing one to her.  Even though she hadn't eaten much at breakfast, Lucy downed the liquid, brandy from the taste of it, and looked up to find Adam watching her closely.

"I would not have taken you for a brandy drinker, Miss Cavendish."  Adam found himself seeing Lucy, for that was how he thought of her, in a slightly new light.  That morning, he'd read the reports his men of business, as well as Harry Greer, had brought him.  They spoke of a very quiet young miss who had grown up largely in India, not returning to England until she was nearly out of the schoolroom and ready for her debut.

Unfortunately, her parents had passed shortly after the family's return, first her mother and then her father, both within the space of a month.  Since she was unable to inherit, the earldom had passed to James Strathmore, a distant relative that she referred to as an uncle.  Lucy had become his ward, making her official come-out when the period of mourning was complete.  After that, however, she attended only a few scant events, at least when compared to the other debutantes that had made their presentation to society at the same time.

When she was seen, Lucy was always meek and quiet, almost wraith-like in appearance and very thin, almost painfully so.  She was also thought to be somewhat of a dull-wit with not even beauty to recommend her.  Ugly, actually, was how she'd been described in several of the reports that Harry had provided, as well as fearful and flighty.  The dragons of the 
ton
 had noticed all of this, of course, and gossip about Lucy, as well as her highly unusual bloodlines, was all the rage.

Once the had thought about it, Adam did remember seeing her at a few events he had attended, though he suspected that she had attended far more, and he simply hadn't noticed.  In general, he didn't like the simpering misses who decorated the ballrooms of London.  He liked wallflowers even less.  Still, the mere fact that he remembered her at all was remarkable.  It told him that even then, there was something about her that he could not help but notice, even if she was so retiring as to almost be invisible.

 The woman sitting in front him now with large, aquamarine eyes, casually sipping brandy and seeming for all the world that she was calm and collected, did not seem at all like the women in his reports, and had she appeared thus, he knew he would have approached her for an introduction.  Someone had been lying to him, and he doubted that it was the young woman in front of him.

When she noticed the duke starting at her, Lucy carefully placed the glass on a nearby table and titled her head slightly as if in acquiescence.  "I grew up on The Continent, my lord, as I'm sure you are aware.  India, to be precise, where my father was stationed before he became the earl, temporary as that was.  There are a great many things permissible there that would give the patronesses of Almack's heart palpitations should they be privy to them."

Adam laughed, something that would have given Amelia heart palpitations had she heard because he did it so infrequently.  He couldn't help himself.  Lucy was just so unpredictable, like a breath of fresh air.  She was too good for a wastrel like his brother, that was for certain, not that he had any inclination to hand her over to that rake.  She was too good for any man of the 
ton
, really.  It also reaffirmed that the decision he'd come to overnight had been the correct one.  Until now, he'd been a bit worried, afraid that her earlier bravery had been nothing more than an act.  He was delighted to find that his reports had been wrong, and that his intuition had proven correct.

"You are truly unique, Miss Cavendish," he grinned, still chuckling a bit, liking the way the smile sat on his face.  "I cannot imagine why you have not been snapped up on the marriage mart."  That was one bit of information that he wished to know before he made his offer, and the kind of thing that would have to come from her and not any sort of report.

Lucy studied the man in front of her again and wondered, if not for the first time, if he was somehow addle-brained or if he truly didn't know about her reputation.  The duke honestly didn't seem to understand how much of a misfit she was.  She supposed that he needed know the truth of the matter so that he could factor that in when helping her to plot out her future.  Assuming that he would even make such an offer.  He had offered to help her plan, after all, though she knew he could change his mind if he were so inclined.

Clasping her hands in front of her, she made certain she had his complete attention before she began.  "There are many reasons for that, I assure you, my lord.  Though perhaps I should mention the primary one first, just to get it out of the way, and then we shall proceed from there."

"Go on," he said, a little disturbed now that she had become so serious.  Was he wrong about her?  "Whatever it is, Miss Cavendish, it cannot be that bad."

Shrugging in a way that reminded him of his sister, Lucy sighed heavily.  "My mother was Indian," she stated flatly, her voice completely devoid of emotion.  "According to society, my blood is tainted.  To make matters worse, my mother was a servant in my father's household before he married her.  She was not even a member of one of the higher classes.  So while my fortune may be great, I have been told that only a truly desperate man would wish to offer for me."  

She plucked at the fabric of her dress, uncomfortable admitting her greatest shame.  "To a proper English lord, my blood is tainted.  You must be aware of this.  
I
 am tainted, and my looks are merely passable at best.  Some would even consider me a beast, or so I've been informed."  She looked away for a moment, desperate not to cry.  "I will never be the cool, blonde beauty that most men seek.  In fact, some have been so bold as to suggest that I find my way to Covent Garden sooner rather than later, and it seems as though your brother agreed with that sentiment."  

Lucy met his eyes and Adam could see the tears shimmering there, amazed that she had the strength of will not to allow them to fall.  "Those men may wish to bed me, my lord, seeing me as exotic and strange, but they will never wish to marry me."

Crossing the room, Adam knelt in front of her, clearly shocking her given the look on her face.  "But you have not murdered anyone and are not a fallen woman?"  She shook her head no, thinking that he knew all of this already.  "And you do not indulge in opiates or gambling or excessive drink?"

Lucy looked at her glass, swirling the last little bit of liquid that remained.  "I drink brandy rather than claret or anything else.  India's climate did not always agree with me and often times, that was the only thing to soothe my stomach.  But no, I would not say that I drink excessively."