Pride and Retribution (3 page)

The shock and horror on her face made him wonder if he’d done the right thing and he was convinced he hadn’t when her whole hand landed on his cheek. ‘How dare you!’ she blurted with her colour high as she stood up and walked away from him. There was
a ripping sound as the lace that was trapped under his foot, tore away from the bottom of her gown. She looked down with tears trembling on her eyelids, but indomitably she continued to walk away until the lace was left crumpled up around his feet.

‘What on earth did you say to Lucille Hastings?’ His
lifelong friend Howard Cuthbertson, Baron Nairn asked indignantly. Wilfred picked up the lace and wrapped it around his fist.

‘I asked her to suck my cock.’ He said innocently and Cuthbertson looked at him in horror.
Wilfred looked owlishly up at his friend and put the lace to his lips. ‘I don’t think she wanted to.’

‘I think I should take you home
, before you get into any more trouble.’ The Baron helped the Earl to his feet and together they started the stumbling dance to the door.

*****

A month later, Wilfred De Lacey stepped out of his carriage, sauntered up the steps and knocked on the front door of number 13 Green Street. He did not see Lucille Hastings and she did not recognise him as she walked with her maid
along the opposite side of the road.

‘My Lord.’ Bennett said deferentially as he opened the door to the Earl.

‘Good afternoon, Bennett. Is your mistress receiving?’ Wilfred asked as he stripped off his gloves.

‘She is always happy to see you, My Lord.’ Bennett replied, closing the door quietly as Wilfred whipped off his hat, dropped his gloves in it and handed it to the butler. ‘She is in the parlour.’ Bennett handed the hat to a footman, a rather large footman with a belligerent expression and showed Wilfred into the parlour. He tapped lightly on the door, opened it and announced him efficiently.

‘Thank you, Bennett. Would you have Mrs. Baker join us and send up some tea, please?’ Harriet said softly as Wilfred stepped into the room, ‘unless you would like something stronger, Wilfred?’

‘Tea will be fine, thank you.’ Wilfred said with a smile as he approached the woman on the chaise long. He took her hand gently in his and delicately brushed his lips over her knuckles. ‘How do you feel today?’ Mrs.
Baker sidled into the room, took a chair in the corner and picked up her embroidery.

‘I’m starting to feel much better, the pain in my leg has now reduced to a nagging ache, which I think has more to do with the wet weather.’ She smiled brightly and indicated he should sit. ‘So you can tell me how Caroline’s presentation went.’

‘It went like clockwork, just as every presentation goes.’ He said cheerfully as he sat on the settee. ‘The King tottered out, supported by the Queen and cast his feverish eye over the debutantes. He sat in the chair and nodded as each girl was presented and we held our breath as the Prince Regent slavered all over them.’ He snorted, contemptuously. ‘I thought that Caroline was going to swoon when the Prince asked if she wanted to be a lady in waiting!’ Harriet tittered behind her fingers. He found it an endearing habit. He’d seen her do that regularly, since her face had recovered. He was surprised just what a happy soul Harriet Saunders had, she was always finding something amusing.

‘Did he ask Caroline to dance?’ Wilfred shook his head slowly. ‘That’s probably just as well. I’ve heard he has two left feet!’

They became quiet as Bennett brought in the tea and Wilfred’s mind ambled away to think about Lucille Hastings. She had been at that same ball and looked so beautiful in her white debutante’s gown. He’d managed, at some point, to get close enough to see that it had fine silver netting over a brilliant white sarsenet gown. Her décolletage had revealed a goodly portion of her creamy breasts and he had seen the Prince Regent almost try to touch one fleetingly. He had been astonished to feel his blood boil, but he had managed to keep out of her line of sight and he stood over Caroline all evening because Markham was in attendance. Lucy had been with her brothers Robert and Richard. He knew both of them from Cambridge. He only took his attention off Caroline when Baron Nairn had escorted Caroline onto the dance floor.

‘You seem very deep in thought, Wilfred. Is there anything wrong?’ Harriet asked softly.

He sighed very deeply. ‘I think I’m in love.’ He said softly too.

‘In love!’ Harriet burst out laughing, making the Earl frown. ‘I’m sorry, My Lord, but that takes the cake!’ She laughed as if her sides would split. Wilfred sat almost stony faced, waiting for her to stop. Harriet regained control of herself when she saw that Wilfred wasn’t laughing. ‘It was a joke, Wilfred.’

‘I don’t feel like laughing. To feel like I do is no laughing matter and I don’t know what to do about it yet.’

‘You don’t know what to do?’ Harriet asked almost shrilly, her voice rising by the octave, she was so surprised. ‘My Lord, you have the reputation of a rakehell. I’m sure
you know exactly what to do!’ She spluttered with more laughter.

‘I shall have to explain everything for you to understand.’ Wilfred said calmly, trying not to let
Harriet’s raucous laughter upset his pride as he poured tea for them both. ‘Now stop laughing or you will spill your tea.’ He admonished softly, making Harriet quieten down.

‘So who is it that you have fallen in love with?’ Harriet asked, amusement still making her lips twitch.

‘Miss Lucille Hastings.’

‘Hastings?’ Harriet frowned. ‘I know Evelyn Hastings. We are second cousins on our mother’s sides.’ She looked at him with a frown. ‘Is that who you m
ean, little Lucy?’ she demanded, all humour gone now.

‘Yes, little Lucy, who is not so very little anymore.’ Wilfred said calmly still. ‘She was in attendance at Fotheringay’s and I know I shouldn’t have gone, but I did.’ He shook his head as a slight flush crept into his cheeks
as he sipped his tea.

‘What did you do to poor Lucy?’ Harriet whispered in horror.

Wilfred sighed deeply again. ‘I got thoroughly drunk and propositioned her.’ Harriet raised her eyebrow quizzically as he drank more tea to stall for time. ‘I asked her to suck my cock!’ Wilfred gabbled out, trying to get it over with quickly. Harriet sucked in a huge breath in shock, slapping her fingers over her mouth.

‘What did she do?’ Harriet asked and he could see the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

‘She shrieked at me and slapped my face, before she stomped away.’ He sighed again. ‘Unfortunately, my foot had captured the lace at the bottom of her gown and when she stormed off, it unravelled.’ He shrugged his shoulders eloquently. ‘I still have the lace.’ He finished in a whisper as he stared into his empty cup.

‘You have indeed got a problem. Lucy will not forgive easily.’ She sniggered. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t call you out! She’s an exceptional shot for a woman. Pistols or muskets. It wouldn’t make any difference to her and what about Robert? Didn’t he call you out?’

‘If he did, I don’t remember it. I only remember Howard hustling me out of the ballroom. I understand from Connors that he found me on the floor of my study in the morning with an almost empty decanter of “Blood and thunder”, so I was well in my cups.’

‘Did you see Ernest, that night?’ Harriet asked quietly. She knew it was the night of the attack.

‘I did. The bastard was laughing and flirting with the debutantes and I just got excessively drunk!’

‘Then you need to explain that to Lucy. Otherwise she will think you are just a drunken rake!’

‘I shall be lucky to see her now that the season is winding down.’ He sighed deeply, ‘and anyway, she is hardly of a high enough status for an Earl who will become a Duke!’

‘I shall amend my opinion of you.’ Harriet said with a frown. ‘You’re not just a rake, but an arrogant fool too!’ She smiled softly to take the offence out of her indignation. ‘Do you not realise just who she is?’ He shook his head. ‘She is the daughter of
Rufus Hastings, our recently deceased Ambassador to India and her uncle is Rupert Hastings, the Earl of Bassett. Her brother Robert will inherit the title when Rupert dies, so I would say she has probably been in demand during her first season.’ She beamed a smile at him. ‘They are intimately connected with the King’s family. The Hastings’ have been connected with the House of Hanover for a couple of centuries and at least one of them always marries into the royal blood line.’ She smiled brightly. ‘You have royal blood do you not?’

‘We do.’ Wilfred sighed again. ‘Are you advocating that I ask her to marry me?’ he asked in shock.

‘Well, it’s something to think about. Doesn’t love usually lead to marriage?’ Harriet asked with her tongue firmly in her cheek.

‘Not for a rake of my stature.’ He sighed and poured more tea.

Chapter One  

Early autumn 1812

It was a very balmy day with a gentle breeze and the sunshine was warm, making it feel like spring. Miss Lucille Hastings stood at the top of The Parade and watched the bustle of people making their way down the hill towards the Pump Rooms. There was a veritable kaleidoscope of colours from the fashions on display and not all of them were women. She saw two very colourful gentlemen, one in a lavender silk jacket with white silk britches and the other in a bright blue silk jacket with white silk britches. Both had tall hats to match their jackets, black shiny shoes with diamond encrusted buckles and swung silver tipped canes in unison, as if they were on a military parade. Lucy thought they looked like a couple of strutting peacocks!

Where she was standing, right on the corner of Clarendon Avenue, gave her an unparalleled view of The Parade. The coaches that moved incessantly, like a restless tide, rattled over the cobbles and the air was filled with the neighing of the horses and the strident calls of the coachmen, as they tried to control their charges.

Suddenly she heard the clatter of hooves and looked behind her as a ducal carriage raced along Clarendon Avenue, the family crest displayed ostentatiously on the side. It was almost as brightly coloured as the surrounding vista.

‘Is this your first visit to Leamington Priors, Miss Hastings?’ the nasally voice of her most recent suitor invaded her thoughts and she turned her face towards the bustling fop that was standing beside her and extending his arm.
She almost raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. He was dressed in the most outrageously puce pink silk jacket and hat, his lace cravat rippling down his shirt front like a waterfall to match a brilliant white brocade waistcoat buttoned over his bulging midriff, this was accompanied by white silk britches, stockings and black shiny dancing slippers with diamond encrusted buckles.
I wonder whether it’s some kind of new uniform for fops.
She thought as she continued with her appraisal. His hair, what she could see of it, was in a roman style, with tight golden curls ringing a face that was puffy with wine and debauchery. His eyes looked particularly bloodshot around the bright blue irises and the dark circles gave him a rather ailing appearance. She tried not to shudder and wondered why all the men’s fashions were so outrageous, as she eyed the quizzing glass hanging from his jacket front on a golden chain and the fob on his britches that was festooned with minutia.

‘Yes, Sir
.’ She said politely and laid her kid-gloved hand carefully on his forearm, making sure she gave no indication of preference for his company. He led the way down The Parade; her maid Betsy dogged their footsteps. Lucy was wearing a simple muslin gown sprigged with golden flowers, a matching Spencer in gold satin and a deep straw bonnet decorated with golden ribbons. Once they were moving she removed her hand from his arm and opened up her parasol, making sure it shaded her from the bright sun.

‘Of course, most of the buildings are new. I, myself am fortunate enough to have a house in Regent Street.’ Sir Roger Colbourne said proudly, as if that was enough proof of his worth as a suitor.

‘Mmm.’ Lucy made non-committal noises just to let Sir Roger know that she was hearing him, even though she wasn’t particularly listening.

Sir Roger ca
rried on as if she hadn’t interrupted and kept up a running commentary of the architecture as they progressed down The Parade until they reached the Pump Rooms ornate frontage. To Lucy it was reminiscent of the Parthenon, with its Corinthian columns. He graciously allowed her to precede him through the ornate doors, managing to avoid a collision between his eyeball and a spoke of her parasol as she deflated it, and into the flow of bodies ascending the stairs to the Upper Assembly Rooms. Lucy handed the parasol over to her maid, who vanished into the waiting population of servants.

‘Do you partake of the waters, Miss Hastings?’ Sir Roger asked solicitously as he held her elbow, trying valiantly not to look at her ankles as she lifted her skirts to ascend the stairs.

‘No, Sir Roger. I’m afraid I am not ailing, but rather it is my mother who needs the waters, for her health is failing and my brother shall escort her here a little bit later.’

‘Is she to bathe?’ Sir Roger asked in surprise.

‘I’m afraid so. Her physical strength has been waning ever since she fell off her horse in the spring hunt. She damaged her spine and finds the heated salt waters beneficial.’

‘Ah! Look, here is my mother with my cousin and sisters.’ Sir Roger said blithely. He led them to a table, complete with tea already laid out. ‘This is my mother, Lady Colbourne,’ he indicated an over blown woman in her
mid-fifties, with a ruddy complexion and a face that showed almost as much dissipation as his own.
Perhaps it’s a family trait?
Lucy pondered as she offered her a curtsey. ‘And this reprobate is my cousin, Wilfred De Lacey, the Earl of Buxton.’ Lucy turned to greet the indicated person and almost fainted dead away as her heart tripped over itself.

The Earl of Buxton
had been sent to Leamington Priors to oversee his cousin’s estate. Sir Roger was so far in debt that the Duke had insisted that he take control of the Baronetcy. Sir Roger had to adhere to certain stipulations and Wilfred was here to make sure he did. He was also suffering penance for insulting his sister. He’d been rude to Caroline within the Duke’s hearing and this was his punishment. The Duke had only the one sibling, Elizabeth Colbourne was the silliest woman he’d ever met and the duke sent Wilfred to oversee her brood before they brought more scandal upon the family. She had married a penniless Baronet and produced some fifteen children, most of whom were girls and half of which died in infancy. Wilfred wondered if her constant work in the child bed had addled her brain, as she seemed as empty headed as her son Sir Roger Colbourne, the current Baronet, who was a profligate gambler and wastrel. He could see Sir Roger approaching with a young lady and was almost overcome with a headache at the bright colours of his costume. He was as bright as a tropical bird. Wilfred swiftly looked over the young woman.
Heiress!
He thought rather coldly. He knew that Sir Roger had pockets for let, as the Duke had insisted that Wilfred watch his gambling. Her face was turned away and hidden by a bonnet reminiscent of a coal scuttle, but she was obviously well bred and her clothes were sedate compared to Sir Roger’s, but well made all the same. He even liked the colour. As Sir Roger introduced them, she turned her face to his and he almost had a heart seizure, before his heart lurched against his ribs and his blood roared in his ears as her face paled.

‘Miss Hastings!’ he blurted and bowed promptly to hide his expression
which was a mixture of chagrin and astonishment.

‘Lord Buxton
.’ Lucy intoned icily as she gave a slight curtsey. ‘I did not expect to see you here?’

‘I say, do you two know each
other?’ Sir Roger asked indignantly, bristling like a peacock displaying his feathers.

‘We had the misfortune to meet in
London last season.’ Lucy said, a rueful smile lifting the corners of her heart shaped mouth. ‘I’m afraid your cousin was abominably rude and upset my sensibilities.’

Wilfred well rememb
ered their acerbic exchange; somehow he could still feel the sting of her hand as it swiped across his cheek.

‘I was under the weather
.’ He mumbled in way of explanation to his cousin, making Lucy snort in derision.

‘That’s a n
ew name for it.’ She muttered and she gave Wilfred de Lacey a thorough inspection as Sir Roger seated her. Unlike his cousin he was dressed sedately. His broad shoulders were crammed into a tightly tailored dark blue jacket of superfine wool, his waistcoat was of the finest ivory brocade and his unfussy silk cravat was knotted simply at his throat. His britches were the finest chamois and clung to his lower body leaving nothing to the imagination. His Hessians were burnished to a glossy shine. All told, he was a fine figure of a man. She looked up at his profile as he focused on something on the other side of the Assembly Rooms. His jaw was square, giving him a strength in his expression that was certainly lacking in Sir Roger’s countenance, and his cheek bones were angular, giving him a slightly rugged look. His nose was long and straight separating his eyes like a slash. But the eyes were what had held her attention during their last unfortunate meeting. He had the most impressive eyes. They were blue. But not just blue, they bordered on lavender in the brightness of the sun streaming through the windows. She could almost imagine them turning violet when he was angry. She finished her appraisal with his hair that was so dark it could have been ebony. It was wavy and swept back from his forehead, it was shorter than fashionable and well-coiffed, but without the fussy curls so favoured by the fops. Lucy looked quickly away as he turned his face back to the party at the table, but not before she saw the speculation in his eyes.

Roger finished introducing his sisters; there were five of them and all as silly as his mother. They were dressed in varying degrees of flounces, lace and ribbons. In fact the youngest looked like a veritable advertisement for a dress shop. Never had Lucy seen so many ribbons on one dress. She decided they were trying to flaunt their wealth in such an ostentatious
way, that they had left taste and breeding behind.
Empty headed dolls
, she thought.

Lucille Hastings was the granddaughter of an earl. His
eldest son, Rupert, had already taken the title and his only heir was her brother Robert. Her uncle had told her a little about Lord Wilfred De Lacey and none of it was very good. Uncle Rupert castigated him as a profligate wastrel and a rake. ‘Buxton?’ he’d bellowed. ‘Got more women than a Turkish harem!’ he spluttered as Lucy sat beside his bed and arranged her skirts. ‘I believe Harriet Saunders is one of his present mistresses. Terrible business that!’

Lucy didn’t have a clue what her Uncle was prattling on about. ‘But what about his lands and titles, Uncle?’

‘Lands? I suppose he still has the Manor at Chelmorton.’ He mused softly. ‘If I recall correctly there was at least twenty thousand acres of prime farmland with the title.’ He smiled brightly. ‘And of course he will inherit the Dukedom of Dovedale from his father when the old codger croaks!’ he cackled out his witches laugh. ‘He’s not likely to do that anytime soon.’

‘How disappointing.’ Lucy murmured
, ‘it would have been much more satisfying if he’d been a Duke.’

‘What would have been?’ her Uncle demanded.

‘Why the reverberating slap I delivered to his face when he asked if I would....do something unmentionable!’ she finished as her cheeks flushed scarlet.

‘He blatantly propositioned you?’ the Earl almost screeched in horror.

‘He did, Uncle.’ she sighed. ‘At the same time as he tore my gown.’

‘Why that whippersnapper! I’ll call him onto the field of honour if it’s the last thing I do!’ he spluttered.

‘It probably would be the last thing, if you could manage it.’ Lucy said as the Earl looked at her askance. Lucy not remembering that he wasn’t deaf at all, but only asked you to repeat phrases when he was startled or shocked. ‘It doesn’t matter, Uncle. I took care of it at the time.’

‘I’m surprised Robert didn’t offer him out!’ the Earl muttered and raised an eyebrow at Lucy.

‘He would have done, but I impressed upon Robert that I considered the matter closed and if he looked closely, he could see my palm print on his Lordship’s cheek!’ she sniggered. ‘It helped that his friend was assisting the Earl to the door.’

‘He was inebriated?’ Bassett asked in surprise.

‘He was. Very drunk.’ Lucy said emphatically.

‘Good Girl!’ the Earl had sniggered. ‘I knew you’d not stand for any nonsense.’

‘I’d have taken the field myself, if Robert hadn’t confiscated my pistols.’ Lucy said heartily. Although she had consistently seen Buxton with his sister and mother for the rest of the season, it didn’t take long for her to push the incident to the back of her mind, especially when she was at the Earl’s country estate and could ride and shoot with her brothers.

Lucille Ha
stings was almost twenty two and was the only girl of five siblings. Robert was twenty eight, the eldest and due to inherit the earldom from their uncle upon his demise, next was Richard at twenty seven and he was a barrister. There was a four year gap, caused by her father’s absence during his tenure as an Ambassador in America. After Rufus Hastings returned from Washington Lucy was born nine months later, followed by Benjamin at nineteen and in his first year at Cambridge and Timothy who was fifteen and still at Eton. The five had spent a great deal of time together as children and Lucy learned alongside her brothers to ride, hunt and shoot. The last time they’d had a shooting competition; Robert had complimented her on her aim and told her she should apply to the army as a sharpshooter. Lucy had laughed, but secretly she wished she could. The freedoms that men enjoyed chafed at Lucy, because she would never get the chance to serve her country, except as a breeder of the next conscripts for the army and she felt the restriction of her birth every day. Men like Lord Wilfred De Lacey were a prime example of the inequalities of gender. It was perfectly acceptable for him to approach an innocent debutante in a ballroom and ask her if she would “suck his cock”, whatever that meant, but if she, as the same innocent debutante was caught in a closed room with the same man, she would be vilified as a harlot and unless he offered marriage, her reputation would be ruined forever! The unfairness of it all could make her scream with anguish.