The Cinderella Debutante (13 page)

George mused on this. “Maybe I will post up north for a few days. In fact, might take Gil along too and do a spot of hunting while we’re there. Always excellent sport to be had near Harrogate and I rather think the old curmudgeon would be glad to see me after all, although he’d never admit to it.”

Lord Devlyn, meanwhile, always seemed to be nearby.

Lucy found his horse ranged alongside Thetis whenever she was alone. He was not the sort of man to wear his heart on his sleeve, but today he almost appeared to be avoiding Belinda. Lucy’s puzzlement at his behaviour must have become too obvious because he smiled and raised his brows, studying her frown.

“Are you finding the afternoon tiring? The weather is warm today.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Lucy assured him. The concern she detected in his gaze caused her heart to beat faster and she struggled to moderate her breathing. The rough velvet of his voice stroked her ears. Dear heaven, the sensations this man’s voice alone aroused in her… “I-I was wondering if this would be a suitable place for a gallop.”

“By all means. I am finding the pace too slow as well.”

He gave an unexpected sudden whoop of delight before touching his horse with his heels. Lucy did likewise until they were both racing their horses across the open land before them. Devlyn rode ahead, crouched low, and exhilaration coursed through Lucy as she urged her horse to full stretch. The wind tugged at her skirts and whipped against her face. The thunder of hooves roared in her ears. It felt wonderful, a brief but welcome release for her pent-up feelings.

When they reached the other side of the clearing, they reined in, wheeled about and began heading slowly back.

“How I have longed to do that! I doubt it’s considered suitable conduct in London, especially for a lady,” said Lucy, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

“Perhaps not but there is another reason why you should not gallop in Hyde Park.”

“Oh?”

“Anyone observing your delightful countenance after a gallop would stand and stare in admiration. Men would abandon the grand strut to fall at your feet.”

Lucy regarded him frankly. “An outrageous exaggeration!”

“I am merely telling the truth,” he protested, with a smile. “I’ve never been able to lie. Jack, my elder brother, found it highly amusing. Whenever we got involved in childhood scrapes and I was questioned by our father, I could never lie about whose fault it was - even though that brought his wrath down on my head more often than not.”

“You miss your brother very much,” said Lucy quietly.

“Yes.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought. “Jack’s death was partly my fault. As the eldest son, he was naturally being groomed to run the estate, but he had little inclination for it. His heart was always with the military and he longed to join, whereas I, who had the opportunity he craved, was ambivalent about military life. When I decided to join and went to the Peninsula with Wellington, it was the last straw for Jack. Without our father’s knowledge, he bought a commission and made his way to Portugal. When I met him just before the assault on Cuidad Rodrigo, I was never more shocked to see anyone in my life. I implored him to return to England, but Jack just laughed in my face and said father would come round in the end. After the war we’d go home together and live to ripe old age. He was killed during the attack, although I did not discover how until later.”

He paused again, the lines of grief etched deep in his face. “I was injured and unconscious for two days, so it was some time before I could be told the news about Jack. Because of his death and my injuries, Wellington thought it best I return to England at once. My father never recovered from Jack’s departure and death, and he too died not long afterwards, effectively from a broken heart. Perhaps you understand now why Jack’s death weighs heavily on me – I ought to have done more to prevent it.” He glanced up and gave a rueful smile. “But I should not be talking like this and spoiling your enjoyment of a fine day.”

“Don’t reproach yourself. You must not feel guilty for surviving. Your brother was determined; there was nothing more you could have done,” she murmured. “I’m glad you feel able to talk to me about painful memories. It is a good thing to share one’s grief and darkest fears.”

He pulled his horse to a halt and dragged in a breath. “I rarely discuss the past, but I am more than happy to confide in you, Lucy.”

Startled to hear her name on his lips, Lucy reined in too. She turned and stared full into his face, spellbound by the way he was looking at her. There was a light in his eyes she had never seen before and it took her breath away. She couldn’t move a muscle.

“Lucy,” he said huskily, reaching out to clasp her fingers. “There is something I must say to you—

“Dev!”

Lucy blinked. She turned her head to see Toby cantering towards them; it was he who had shouted out.

Devlyn released her hand.

“You need to return to the others,” Toby was saying. “Olivia’s had an accident. She stumbled while walking with Miss Sinclair’s sister, injuring her wrist. She’s as white as a ghost and Lady Barchester’s worried.”

A muscle twitched in Devlyn’s jaw. “Of course we’ll hurry back. It seems the afternoon has taken a different direction than the one I intended.”

Lucy’s mind was in a whirl, but there was no time to analyse her thoughts as they headed back towards the others.

Olivia, pale and shaken, was sitting in the landau with Sophie while their mother searched through her reticule for her vinaigrette. Lady Sinclair sat opposite, declaring a burnt feather to be the best remedy for faintness and that she always kept a supply in her bedroom. Lady Barchester ignored this useless piece of advice and addressed Lord Devlyn.

“I don’t think there are any broken bones, but I shall send for Dr Locking upon our return. Olivia is feeling very ill.”

Lucy’s saw Belinda standing little way distant with Gil and George. She dismounted and hurried over.

“What happened?”

“So you’ve returned at last, have you?” sneered Belinda. “Well, if you had not been galloping across the countryside with Lord Devlyn, it may not have happened. I was bored so I encouraged Olivia to come for a stroll. She stupidly tripped over a tree root. It is a trifling thing and I don’t know why she is making so much bother over it!”

Belinda’s frustration and annoyance was evident. Judging by their shocked expressions, Gil and George had already been treated to a display of supreme indifference to Olivia’s injury.

“That is not kind. Olivia is in pain and it is unfair of you to suggest otherwise,” said Lucy.

“That right,” agreed George. “Sure you don’t mean to be so unfeeling, Miss Belinda – just the natural reaction of a lady who is worried.”

“But I am not worried, Mr. Armytage. Lady Barchester can attend to Olivia while we continue. Lord Devlyn will want to enjoy a walk in that charming copse ahead and I intend to join him.” Belinda flashed a brilliant smile and threw him a look from under her lashes. George opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, unable to think of a suitable reply.

“There will be no more exploration this afternoon. I am out of patience with your selfish attitude, Belinda.” Lucy turned on her heel and stalked away.

Lord Devlyn had made arrangements to retire to The Star. Everyone agreed this was the best solution, except Belinda, but she was cut short by Devlyn instructing one of his grooms to advise the landlord of their arrival and request a surgeon be sent for.

It was not long before they were ushered into a private parlour where a luncheon of cold meats, bread and cheeses had been set out. The landlord’s wife announced that the best bedchamber had been prepared for the young lady, if she would care to rest there until the surgeon arrived.

“There is no need for that,” said Belinda brightly. “Olivia, you are looking better now and if you eat something, you will feel well enough to continue.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t—” whispered Olivia.

“She is obviously in pain,” interjected Lady Barchester, anger in her voice, “and I shall decide what is best to be done.” She turned to Lord Devlyn. “As soon as we have consulted the surgeon, I should prefer to return home if you please.”

“Whatever you wish. If necessary I will send for my barouche to make the journey more comfortable.”

“Thank you. Come, Olivia. You need to lie down for a while.”

There was silence after they went upstairs, unspoken disapproval towards Belinda hanging in the air. Even Lady Sinclair seemed to detect it and delivered a mild reproof.

“Now, Belinda, your disappointment is understandable but Olivia has suffered a shock. We must do what is Lady Barchester and the surgeon think is best.”

“Oh, indeed,” murmured Belinda, the realization she had gone too far beginning to dawn, “Olivia is my dearest friend after all, and I would not for the world cause her further distress. It would never have happened if I hadn’t asked her to take a stroll with me. This is all
my
fault.” She began to cry.

“There’s no need to get upset – pure accident, that’s what it was,” protested George, upon whom Belinda’s tears were having the desired effect.

“Not your fault at all,” agreed Gil. “Could have happened to any of us - I’m sure Miss Barchester will not blame you.”

“I hope not,” sniffed Belinda, “I couldn’t bear it if she did.”

“I am sure she will not, dearest,” assured her mother. “Come and have something to eat. There is no need to make yourself ill with worry.”

Lucy wondered what Lord Devlyn and Lord Ashe thought about her sister’s behaviour, but found she no longer cared much. Belinda’s conduct had been indefensible. An hour later, when the surgeon had examined Olivia’s wrist and declared no bones broken, a subdued party headed back to London.

Lucy was silent on the journey home, her thoughts consumed with what Lord Devlyn had been about to say before Toby interrupted.

Unsuitable visitors

For the second time that morning Lord Sneyd felt he was being followed. He glanced over his shoulder, but no one seemed interested in his movements. The only people in sight were a man with a stoop entering the bookshop next door and a sharp-faced youth looking in the tailor’s window down the street.

He felt a stab of panic as he wondered if Sylvester was having him watched, but the old crow had no need of obvious spies. While the moneylender’s methods of getting information were shrouded in secrecy, they were notoriously efficient. He gave himself a mental shake and opened the shop door, cursing himself for a nervous fool.

His business with the pawnbroker completed, he emerged into the daylight again. Although he regretted pawning his diamond pin for the money now in his pocketbook, he consoled himself with the thought he would redeem it as soon as he had his bride’s money or purchase a new pin to replace it. He smiled mirthlessly. No need for economies soon.

He hailed a hackney and gave the driver an address in Hans Town. He exited a house in that unfashionable quarter of London later, pleased with his morning’s work. His final errand found him in a quiet corner of a Holborn inn, discussing his requirements with two burly individuals.

He then returned to St. James’s and went to Brook’s. Just as he suspected, he found Sir Oswald in the card room. He drew him aside.

“Everything is arranged,” he murmured. “It is planned for Saturday. All that remains is for my note to be delivered and for you to do your part.”

Sir Oswald mopped the perspiration from his brow. “Damn you, Julius!” he exclaimed under his breath. “If this goes awry—”

“It will not. The hire of the post-chaise cost fifty pounds and I’m not prepared to risk money on this scheme to see no return for it. Devlyn’s interest in the girl is more apparent than ever, as you saw for yourself yesterday. I’ll not be outmaneuvered.”

***

Sleep had eluded Lucy for most of the night and she felt heavy-eyed and listless. After mulling over yesterday’s events, she was no nearer to finding answers. Had she imagined the look in Devlyn’s eyes during those moments at Richmond? Why had he taken her hand in his? What had he been about to say?

With the cold light of morning, common sense had returned and she stifled the spark of hope that had haunted her dreams. That strange interlude must not overcome the words branded in her memory from Lady Barchester’s ball or what she had witnessed on other occasions. Men were dazzled by Belinda. And even if Lucy was mistaken and Devlyn was not, there was no reason to think that she, Lucy Sinclair, a lady of average looks and no fortune, could be preferred over all the ladies of the
ton
hopeful of receiving an offer from him. Lucy had long ago learned the folly of indulging in dreams which belonged only in fairy-tales.

At breakfast, Belinda was in a brittle mood. Her confidence appeared shaken; Lord Devlyn had not been as attentive as expected and she was used to unstinting admiration. Lady Sinclair was more optimistic and of the opinion that matters would have turned out differently if Olivia had not been injured.

“Do not fret, Belinda. I am certain that he intends to offer for you but he is simply awaiting the best opportunity.”

“Perhaps you are right, but the Season is well advanced and I did expect to be engaged by now.”

“Even if it is to someone you do not care for?” asked Lucy.

“And what is that to anything when I am not marrying for love?” argued her sister. “I’ll grow fond of my husband as time goes by and if I don’t, I’ll find other ways of amusing myself. I don’t care as long as he is civil and lets me to do as I wish.”

“I hope you are no longer considering Lord Sneyd’s offer and will have the sense to inform him of that today.”

Lady Sinclair gave Lucy a disapproving look. “Of course she will not! Devlyn will declare himself shortly, but if he does not Belinda has my blessing to accept Lord Sneyd. He may not have the standing of a Viscount, but his lineage and manners are impeccable and he moves in the first circles.”

“He has no fortune and no prospects: I understand his properties in Kent are mortgaged to the hilt,” Lucy retorted.