Midsummer Eve at Rookery End (17 page)

Years ago, in London, Lucy had glimpsed Lord Devlyn when she had been out walking alone early one morning. A handsome man, he had looked imposing riding his black thoroughbred through Hyde Park, but he had not noticed Lucy and she had not known then who he was. She discovered his identity by careful questioning of her grandmother, who informed her that it was an unfashionable hour to be in the park. The idea of staying in bed on a beautiful spring day was incomprehensible to Lucy and she could not agree to forgo her morning excursions.

But when her grandmother had taken her to the park in her carriage the following afternoon, Lucy had been amazed by the crowds of people promenading. Her gaze had searched for Devlyn’s tall figure, only to feel disappointment at his absence. She had not analyzed why too closely but had continued to look for him at the various events she had attended.

The shock of her father’s sudden death and her subsequent hasty return home were still vivid in her memory. The anticipation with which she had left for London had been replaced by a deep sense of loss and loneliness. Her father had spent the last years of his life escaping into his study, and although he never admitted to regretting his second marriage, his frustration at his wife and stepdaughter’s selfishness and their interest only in the ephemera of life had been apparent to everyone except those it was directed towards.

At first he had attempted to instil some appreciation of wider interests into his new wife. Gradually, as time passed, he had discovered it was easier to allow Lady Sinclair and Belinda to spend their time and pin money on whatever they wished. On one matter, however, he had remained resolute; despite numerous requests from Lady Sinclair to visit London, he had steadfastly refused.

Lucy’s relationship with her father had been close. She had enjoyed wide-ranging discussions with him and in turn he valued her opinions. She understood every nuance of his expressions and moods. His sense of humour was so similar to hers that neither needed to explain a particular joke to the other: it had already been noted and appreciated. He was not just her father; he was also her confidante and her intellectual sparring partner. After his death, she had missed him terribly and looked forward with little pleasure to a future with her stepmother and stepsister.

As Belinda grew more beautiful, Lady Sinclair grew consumed by how to achieve the most advantageous marriage for her daughter. None of the local young men were suitable - Belinda’s beauty and fortune must attract more than the mere baronet she had snared.

Now, as they discussed how to dress Belinda’s hair to impress their visitor, Lucy mused on what she knew of Lord Devlyn.

Lady Gainsford had talked fondly of her godson and Lucy had gleaned that although he was the younger son, he was still considered an eligible catch. Then, in the year following her return from London, Lucy heard Devlyn had been seriously wounded at Cuidad Rodrigo and his older brother had been killed there.

He returned to England carrying the mental and physical scars of war. According to her grandmother’s letters, his character had grown more serious, although his popularity in the marriage stakes was greater than ever because of his accession to the title and a large fortune—

Lady Sinclair’s shrill tones intervened on her thoughts.

“Are you attending, Lucy? I asked you a question. Really, you are becoming quite a bluestocking! Always reading, just like your father,” she chided.

With practice borne of many occasions, Lucy gritted her teeth and closed her book. “I’m sorry Mama, did you require an answer?”

The gently ironic tone brought a sharp look from her stepmother. “We were discussing Lord Devlyn. You saw him when you were in London, did you not? I understand his sister, Lady Fanthom, is extremely well-connected and that he is handsome as well as being wealthy?”

Belinda tittered. “I hope so - a handsome man is more entertaining than an ugly one, and a handsome and rich man superior to any other.”

Unwilling to enlighten them further, Lucy said simply, “Handsome enough, although I only observed him from a distance.”

“He would not have noticed you.”

Lucy answered Belinda’s barb pragmatically. “He did not notice me at all. I saw him one morning while he was riding in the park; we were not introduced.”

“Well, I shall make sure he notices me!” declared her stepsister.

***

At his lodgings, Lord Sneyd winced as his valet helped him none too gently into his coat. “Careful, you dolt! My head aches like the devil this morning.”

Watton sniffed and mumbled a half-hearted apology. He had little sympathy for his lordship who was suffering from the excesses of the previous night and was a severe and unfeeling employer.

The valet offered his next comment with caution, unsure of the reaction it would provoke. “A gentleman is waiting for you in the study. I told him you were not at home to visitors, but he refused to leave - he said he would wait until he could see you, whatever time of the day you chose to be at home.”

Lord Sneyd’s long, thin fingers stilled in their task of arranging his cravat. He swung around from the mirror.

“His name, Watton?” he asked curtly.

“Mr Sylvester, my lord,” said Watton, observing with a fascinated eye the way his master paled at the name he delivered.

“Very well. Tell him I will be down shortly.”

As his valet left, Sneyd considered grimly that the morning had not thrown a more favourable light on his losses. The news must have already reached his visitor downstairs.

“Damn you, Devlyn!” he muttered.

He recalled how the Viscount had slowly and inexorably relieved him of a pile of guineas plus several pledges. Even more humiliating was the way his ruin had been witnessed by almost every other club member as they had gathered to watch.

Perhaps he had been reckless in challenging Devlyn, but he had been drunk and desperate enough to believe his fortunes would change. They had not, and now, with the bitter taste of defeat still tangible, his fury was directed towards the impassive and self-possessed opponent who had, in one evening, brought his finances to crisis point.

That his opponent was wealthy only increased his resentment. Society demanded that debts of honour be settled as quickly as possible, but Lord Sneyd pushed this consideration aside - he had a more pressing problem to deal with. Resolving to avenge his humiliation at Devlyn’s hands soon, he went downstairs, schooled his features into an expression of indifference and opened the study door.

His visitor, a reed-thin man with a pair of piercing, hawk-like eyes, lounged at ease in the chair behind the desk. Greying hair brushed against a grubby shirt collar and his coat and neck cloth were worn and old-fashioned, but the confidence he exuded was strangely at odds with his shabby appearance.

Lord Sneyd wasted no time on pleasantries. “What are you doing here? I trust you were not foolish enough to let anyone see you enter.”

Mr Sylvester shook his head. “Most discreet I was, of course, but some alarming news has reached my ears and I am obliged to speak with you.”

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Also by Elizabeth Hanbury

The Paradise Will

Ice Angel (Cavanagh Family #1)

A Bright Particular Star (Cavanagh Family #2)

The Cinderella Debutante

Brief Encounters (short story collection with Nell Dixon & Phillipa Ashley)

Christmas at Rakehell Manor (novella) – coming soon

Table of Contents

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Author’s note and foreword

The Virtuous Courtesan

Siren’s Daughter

Blue Figured Silk

A Scandal at Midnight

Love’s Thorne

Thank you

The Cinderella Debutante – Excerpt