The Emperor (54 page)

Weston gave her an amused look. 'My dear ma'am, there are still a few houses where I am not automatically invited when you are.' She blushed at this, and looked upset, so he went on, 'The Honourable Helena McNeill — a rather handsome young woman, as I remember. Who is she to marry?’

Lucy made a face. 'That awful Greyshott! I can't think
why she accepted him. He's so pale and spindle-shanked, and he looks as though he doesn't know one end of a horse from the other.'

‘Hard though it is to believe, Lady Aylesbury, there are
those who don't measure a man by his horsemanship, or the
shape of his calves,' Weston laughed. Lucy glanced automatically at his calves, which filled his top-boots admirably, and at the bulge of his thigh-muscles under his close-cut breeches, and felt herself growing pink again.

‘I know that, and I would not have thought Helena was one of them,' she said faintly. 'What can she see in him?’

‘
Greyshott is as rich as a nabob,' Weston said succinctly.
‘Well, the Ballincreas are not exactly under the hatches,’

Lucy retorted.

‘
The war hasn't helped people like them, whose income
is all from rents. Taxes are high, and they can't raise their
rents enough to make up for it, for their tenants just can't
afford them. No, I think Ballincrea will be extremely glad of
the match. Greyshott isn't a bad sort, and will likely come down handsome, if he gets the lovely Helena.'

‘
Well I think it's all fustian,' Lucy said. ‘I'm sure she
doesn't like him. She shouldn't be made to marry him.'

‘
How very romantic of you,' Weston smiled. 'I never
thought to hear you advocating the love-match. What has happened to change your mind?’

Lucy met his eyes for a moment, which was a mistake.
She looked away and bit her lip. 'I haven't — it isn't — ' she
said in confusion. 'I don't think anyone ought to marry a man they dislike, that's all. I know nothing about love. I
believe it's all — '

‘Yes?' he asked sweetly.

‘
All gammon,' she said firmly, and sought about for a
new topic. 'Did you hear that Harry has his ship at last?'

‘
Yes,' said Weston obligingly. 'Captain Collingwood has
taken him into the
Excellent.
That will be a good thing for
him. Collingwood is certain to rise high, and your brother
will benefit.'

‘It was too bad of William to refuse to have him.'

‘
Well, he had already sailed for the West Indies,' Weston
pointed out fairly.

‘
But Harry could have gone out on a despatch ship, and
joined the
Venus
there. That's what William arranged for
his extraordinary Mrs Smith. She had a son, did you know?
She called him Frederick. I suppose that makes him
Frederick Smith. Poor Mother,' she added obscurely, with a
sigh. Something rustled in the bracken just ahead, making
Mimosa breenge and shake her head, and Lucy was
occupied for a moment in soothing her.

‘
How are things at Morland Place?' Weston asked, when
the crisis was over.

‘
Uncomfortable, I should think,' Lucy said, and then
grinned. 'Not a decent meal for weeks, reading between the
lines, with Monsieur Barnard walking out, and cooks not so
easy to come by as some people thought.'

‘Where do you suppose he went?'

‘
If my guess is right, that he left because he doesn't like James's wife, I shouldn't be surprised if he had not gone to
Héloïse,' Lucy said shrewdly. She sighed. 'I always felt
rather sorry for Mrs James, but there's no denying she has
the knack of upsetting people. Poor old Oxhey, of all
people, turned off after all these years! I know he's being
paid a pension, but that won't make it up to him. Morland
Place was his whole life. And I wouldn't mind betting
there'll be others. She'll go slowly, until they're out of
mourning, but after that, there'll be so many changes, it'll be
like a gale blowing through the old house.'

‘
Well, changes aren't necessarily bad,' Weston said, to
comfort her.

‘
You only say that because you've never had a home.
When it's your
home,
where you spent your childhood, you want it to stay the same.'

‘
My poor Lucy, does it make you feel afraid?' Weston
said, half laughing, half caressing, and the use of her name,
and the tone of his voice, made her feel breathless.

‘
Let's trot on,' she said abruptly. 'Mimosa's getting rest
less.’

They were deep into the park when one of the gentlemen
called out, 'I say, it's getting very dark, ain't it? Where did
all those clouds come from?’

Everyone looked around, and exclaimed. The bank of
clouds had drawn up fast and silently, and the outlook was
now very threatening. One of the ladies suggested a little
shamefacedly that they should turn for home.

‘
Oh, fustian!' Lucy said at once. 'How can you be such a
ninny, Minerva? Well, I'm not turning back. A little rain
never hurt anyone.'

‘
No, damn it, your ladyship,' cried a languid young
Guards officer, whose duelling scars seemed at odds with his
feline elegance, 'this won't be just a little rain. It looks
damned bad to me — a downpour, nothing less. We should
turn back.'

‘
But we are too far from the gate to get back before it
begins,' said another. 'We ought to try for those woods.'

‘
Not if there's going to be lightning,' said the officer.
‘What do you say, Weston? You're the man for the
weather.'

‘
I wonder you didn't notice it when we set out, Weston,'
said Danby Wiske a little reproachfully. 'Lord Aylesbury
will be put out if we let her ladyship take a soakin'.'

‘
Oh, don't be so cow-hearted,' Lucy said, and rode on,
and the others, glancing doubtfully at each other, followed.

‘
Here it comes!' someone cried a while later. 'Too late
for talking now.’

There was a fine, cold spattering by way of warning, and
then the skies opened. The party milled in confusion as the
horses laid back their ears and protested at the cold rain.
There was no shelter in sight but the distant trees, and after
a moment Danby Wiske shouted.

No lightnin' that I can see. Better get under the trees,
before we drown.’

He turned his horse and led the way, and the others
followed him, but Weston laid his hand on Lucy's rein and
leaned towards her to say, 'I've a better plan. We're not so
far from Ham Gate — over that way. We'll find shelter
there.'

‘We'd better tell the others,' she said, but he closed his
hand over hers and shook his head. She met his eyes, and a
cold fear gripped her stomach. The rain was running down
her face and dripping off her nose and chin, and already her
clothes felt clammy. Weston had his head turned a little to
try to keep the rain out of his eyes. There were drops
clinging to his eyelashes, and his hair was plastered in
strands to his forehead, but he did not look cold. His eyes were bright, and he bared his teeth in a fiercely excited grin.

‘
There's an inn just beyond the gates. We can shelter
there, and get dry,' he said, and though the cold hand still
gripped her stomach, she felt the blood begin to run hot
under her skin. Some instinct told her that here was grave danger, yet she had never been so excited, and excitement
was what she craved to fill the emptiness in her life, to
crowd out the sense of loss that she had never understood.
She gave a faint nod, and Weston laughed aloud in triumph,
turned his horse, and drove it into the rain, away from the
rest of the party. Mimosa sprang after him, eager to be out
of the rain, and Lucy let her go, closing her eyes against the teeming rain.

*

The inn was small, but evidently used to catering for people
of quality, who might stop for refreshment on their way to
or from a ride in the park. Servants came out with umbrellas
and helped Lucy dismount, but she waited to see the horses
were led away, with strict injunctions to rub them down
well, before she would go in.

‘Oh dear me, come in, ma'am, do. What a terrible downpour,' the hostess cried as Lucy dripped her way into the passage. 'I declare, you're soaked to the skin! You must get out of them wet clothes, ma'am.'

‘Yes, a good idea,' Weston said, coming in behind her. ‘Have you a bedchamber above with a fire lit?'

‘
Why, no sir, but I can get a fire lit in two twos, if your
good lady would condescend to step into the coffee room
for the minute. There's no-one in there now, and there the
fire is lit, for I saw them clouds coming up this morning, and
thought it would be wanted, one way or another. However did you come not to notice them, sir? That's right, ma'am,
just you set down in here, and put your poor feet on the
fender! Jem! Go up and light the fire in number one, and
the parlour, and tell Betty to take up some towels, and some
hot water as soon as the fire's bright. There now, sir, can I
get you and your lady a little something to warm you? A
nice cup of wine, with a lump of sugar, and a hot poker put
in it?’

When they were alone, Lucy, having taken off her
sodden hat and wrung out her gloves, looked at Weston and
said, 'She thinks I'm your wife.'

‘A natural assumption. No reason to disabuse her, that I can see,' he said lightly.

‘
And how did you come not to see the clouds?' she
asked.

‘Of course I saw them.'

‘And ignored them.'

‘As you did.’

Lucy sat down and put her feet up to the blaze. ‘Chetwyn warned me about the rain before I set off. I'm afraid it only
made me more determined to go. I have a bad character,
you see, Weston.’

He leaned against the chimneypiece on the other side of
the fire so that he could look at her. 'Hadn't you better call
me James, since we're supposed to be married? The landlady might think it strange.’

She looked up at him, faintly apprehensive. 'What's
going to happen?' she asked abruptly. He thought it better
to take the question literally.

‘Our good hostess is going to prepare a room where we
can take off our wet clothes and dry ourselves. Then I
imagine she will take our clothes away and dry them, by
which time it will have got to dinner time, and we will be extremely hungry.'

‘If we told her — she might have two rooms up above —
with fires,' Lucy said with difficulty. For some reason she
was finding it hard to breathe.

‘
Oh, I think it's too late to tell her now,' Weston said
smilingly. 'It takes time for a fire to burn up, you know, and
I might catch my death of cold waiting for it.’

The door opened, and the landlady bustled in with a tray
bearing two goblets, from which steam and an aromatic smell were rising. 'There now, ma'am, just you get this
inside you, and 't'will keep out the cold. I put a bit of
cinnamon to it, to warm it up. And there, sir, yours. Lord,
the rain's coming down in stair-rods! Your room'll be ready
very soon, ma'am, and if you'll forgive the liberty, I've
looked out a couple of dressing gowns for you and your
husband, to put on while your clothes dry, for if you've a
dry stitch between you, it's more than I'll compound for.’

She went away again, and Lucy sipped the hot, spiced
wine, and stared into the fire, and thought of nothing. She
didn't want to think: it was too much of a struggle. A differ
ent instinct was working here, and if it was dangerous, it was also new and exciting, and her life was very dull. By the time
the landlady came to say the fire was bright in the chamber and the hot water waiting, she was down to the dregs of her
cup, and the eyes she lifted to Weston's were no longer
apprehensive, but calm and curious.

‘
There we are, ma'am, our best bedchamber, and there's
hot water, and the dressing gown, like I said. And if you put
your wet clothes outside the door, the girl'll take them
downstairs, and dry and press them for you. And through
here, sir, there's a parlour, and a fire likewise, if you'd like
to do the same. I'll leave you to it then, ma'am, sir. Just ring
if you want anything.’