What Lucinda Learned (10 page)

He would not hurt her feelings by refusing as he pulled the chair to the table. Carefully, Mrs. Simms poured from a bottle into a cup.

“That’s good Dorset cider, sir. Us brought it with us, us did.” She took half a loaf from the shelf and cut it into thin slices. These she arranged on a blue-and-white plate and placed beside him.

He ate two pieces of the coarse bread, reflecting bitterly that it was probably the only food in the house. However, at least he’d made sure she had money to buy more.

He discussed the moving with Mrs. Simms as he ate. It was arranged that he would send a carriage to take her to the hospice tomorrow. There she and Mr. Bunthorpe would discuss when it would be permissible for Freddie to make the long journey south.

“But you need not wonder about that,” he said as he rose, “for whenever the warden says he may travel, I shall send a travelling coach for you and you yourselves shall set the pace of your journey.”

With Mrs. Simms’s thanks ringing in his ears, Devereux stepped out again into the stifling air. His face settled into a grim expression as he strode unseeing through the crowded, filthy streets.

That’s three saved,
he thought to himself as he marched. But it was too few, always too few. And he could not take everyone to work for him in Devon.

He recalled Mr. Bunthorpe’s words. Yes, he must speak to those parliamentarians he knew. He could even manage a chat with the Prime Minister. And a word in Prinny’s ear wouldn’t go amiss, either.

Then there was Jasper Neville’s idea: to get more of the ton involved. He could approach some of his friends; even Charles might be interested. He’d have to pick the right moment there, though. Preferably one when Miss Belle Ryland was far, far away.

He remembered Ivor’s comment about a wife not countenancing such an interest. But surely that need not be true? There must be some females who would care for more than clothes and dances. For instance, someone like, well, Lucinda Neville. Now, with a woman like that, one who shared truly in his interests, marriage could be a real partnership.

Absorbed in his own thoughts, Mr. Devereux found himself already in the Strand; a hackney driver’s shouted curse brought him to himself in the middle of the thoroughfare. Making placating gestures, he hurried to the other side.

What on earth had he been thinking? Daydreaming, in truth! At his age! Rather guiltily Dev adjusted his hat and hailed another coach. He settled himself inside and this time he kept his mind firmly on the task of marshalling his influence—and no nonsense about females was allowed to intrude.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When she reached
the Grantham house, Lucinda was informed that Miss Ryland had already left. The butler made his regrets, but he could not say where Miss Ryland had gone. He looked mournfully at Lucinda as he spoke.

“Very well, then.” Lucinda was shaken, but she spoke calmly. “Send her maid to me, please.”

The butler nodded and withdrew. He must know something was amiss, Lucinda realized, otherwise he would not have acceded so readily to such an irregular request.

Mabel came slowly into the room. She was uneasy, and Lucinda could see that she was also worried.

“Now, Mabel,” Lucinda said firmly. “You know this is a serious matter. Where is your mistress?”

“Oh, miss, I promised I wouldn’t tell...”

“You know it is your duty to protect Miss Ryland. She has not considered the consequences of her actions. But we must. Where is she?”

“Oh, miss! She’s gone to dinner with Mr. Stratton and afterwards he’s taking her to one of them gambling places—hells, they call them.”

“A
hell
?” Lucinda gripped the back of a chair. “Belle has gone to a gambling den?”

“I did tell her that she oughtn’t...”

“I should certainly think you might!” Lucinda took a few agitated steps. “What can Belle be thinking of? Suppose she were to be seen? And tonight, when she is supposed to be at Almack’s. Oh, she puts me quite out of curl!”

Mabel broke into noisy sobs. “She’ll be ruined, miss. Whatever can we do?” she wailed.

Lucinda stopped pacing. “Where is Sir Charles?”

“He’s at St. Albans, miss. He and Mr. Ryland left after luncheon.”

“That wretched mill! And Will with him!” Lucinda pressed her hands to her forehead. “I must think.”

Someone must get Belle back before she sank herself utterly beyond recall. But that someone could not be Lucinda, even if she had any idea where such an establishment could be found. If only Papa were here!

But he wasn’t. She would have to cope on her own. Unless ... Suddenly Lucinda felt quite giddy with relief. Of course, the very person!

“Pray stop that noise, Mabel,” she said as she began to pull on her gloves. “I want you to listen to me. Go upstairs and lay out the clothes your mistress is to wear at Almack’s tonight. She will have to dress very quickly when she returns. And make sure that no one else hears of this adventure.”

She went swiftly back to her own carriage. “Twenty-five Agincourt Crescent,” she told the coachman.

With a sigh she settled against the squabs. Mr. Devereux would help; he would undoubtedly know the hell and what to do. Lucinda did not question her confidence in his ability. Her thoughts were entirely concerned with calculations of time. Would there enough of it? Could Belle be saved in spite of herself?

However, when at last Larrigan opened the door to her, she realized how odd her actions must appear. It was highly unusual for an unaccompanied young lady to visit a gentleman at such an hour.

“I should like to speak with Mr. Devereux, please,” Lucinda said with as much authority as she could muster. She remembered Mr. Bunthorpe’s letter and lifted her chin. “I wish to consult him on ... on the boy who was injured,” she finished in a rush. She knew she did not need to offer an explanation to the butler, but nervousness prompted her to justify her actions.

Larrigan was an excellent butler, and if he considered this visit highly unconventional, he did not permit this to show in his manner. “This way, miss,” he said expressionlessly.

Her face flaming, Lucinda followed him to the library.

“I shall inform Mr. Devereux that you are here,” he said, then bowed and left her there, perched on the edge of an enormous wing-chair and prey to the most lowering fears and misgivings.

Upstairs, Mr. Devereux was preparing for Almack’s. For many years he had not frequented that establishment, but tonight he had promised to see Lady dePoer and Chloris there. Charles had told him that the Grantham party would also be in attendance, so he supposed that perhaps Miss Neville would be with them. He wondered if she had had that gold lace made up yet. With that hair and those eyes the effect should be...

He wrenched his thoughts back to a proper direction. He had paid constant attentions to Chloris and neither she nor her mother could be ignorant of the rumours circulating among the ton. Lord dePoer was away on a diplomatic mission, but his wife must be in daily expectation of a declaration from Mr. Devereux.

It was this declaration which he was discussing with Dowsett. “After all, as my Aunt Melpond has pointed out, a man in my station cannot be so foolish as to hold out for a love-match.”

The valet occupied himself with the sleeves of his master’s shirt. When these were to his satisfaction, he picked up the white satin waistcoat.

Richard held out his arms. “The whole idea of falling in love must, of course, be dismissed as a piece of romantical nonsense and I am long past the age for such folly. Do you not agree, Dowsett?” Directly appealed to, Dowsett produced a sound halfway between a snort and a grunt. Whether it signified agreement or otherwise, it satisfied Mr. Devereux.

“Exactly so. Such notions belong to the melodramas so favoured by Sir Charles. And I cannot envy the Cheltenham tragedies he and Miss Ryland have been enacting. No, the matter must be regarded in a sensible and down-to-earth way.” He sat down to put on the buckle shoes to go with the knee breeches demanded by Almack’s. “After all, Dowsett, you must recall my parents’ marriage. That was supposed to be the love-match of their generation and you do not need me to remind you to what bitterness and recrimination that very soon sank.”

“Your pardon, sir.” Larrigan stood at the door. “But Miss Neville had called.”

“Miss Neville?” Devereux held still and stared at him.

“Yes, sir. I understand her to be desirous of discussing the young person who was injured.”

“Freddie Simms?” Dev repeated blankly. “But that matter is all settled.” He reached for his paisley silk dressing-gown. “I shall be down directly, Larrigan.”

Lucinda jumped up as soon as he entered the library. “Mr. Devereux! Thank heavens! I have been so worried.”

He took her hands and said, scanning her face, “Miss Neville, I cannot think you should be here. You need not agitate yourself over young Freddie. He and his family are to go to Beacon End, my house in Devon. I intended to discuss this all with you as soon as I next saw you.”

He was still holding her hands and she knew she should withdraw them, but it was so very comforting to feel his touch. “It’s Belle—Miss Ryland. I do not know what it is best to do.”

He drew her down to the sofa and took both her hands in one of his own, as he pulled the bell. “I know that you must have some refreshment before you go any further. You look wretchedly shocked.”

“No, please, I don’t—”

“But I think you do. Come now, Miss Neville.” He smiled hearteningly at her. “Nothing will be gained if you faint on me again.”

Lucinda laughed shakily, but the brandy, when it came, did calm her nerves, and as clearly as she could, she told her story.

Mr. Devereux drew his straight brows together. “Miles Stratton? I have seen her flirt with him, of course, but I had not thought...”

“I am sure she cares nothing for him. It is just that she does not consider. And she and Charles had that quarrel in the wood. Do you know where he may have taken her, sir?”

“I can make a good guess. Stratton is a here-and-therian, but he’s no stretchhalter. The only possible hell for such an escapade is Lucy Caldeane’s. It is much frequented by the ton.”

“But surely no lady goes there!”

“No lady,” he said and his emphasis made Lucinda flush.

“What can be done?” she cried. “I cannot stand idly by and let Belle ruin herself forever.”

Richard rose. “I think perhaps that matters may not be as serious as you imagine. It is quite common for guests at Lucy’s to be masked. It is, you might say, one of the trademarks of her house. I don’t doubt Stratton has insisted Miss Ryland follow the custom.”

“But anyone could recognize that hair.”

“Possibly,” said Mr. Devereux coolly. “But it is still very early in the evening. The company will be very thin and I doubt many members of the ton will arrive till very much later.”

“Pray God there is no one else there.”

“That, I’m afraid, is rather too unlikely, but those there at such an hour may not recognize your friend.” He came to stand before her. He held out his hand and shyly Lucinda put hers into it. “Miss Neville, you must return home now. Are you engaged for this evening?”

“Yes, at Almack’s, and Belle should be there, too.”

“Gently now. I shall come to you there, as soon as I may. Go now. Get dressed. Stand buff. I promise you we shall come round.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them.

When she had
made her way home, Lucinda was surprised to find that her cousin was just waking and unaware that her charge had been out. It seemed an age to her since she had been in her own room and she was almost surprised to find everything unchanged.

But Emmie had been increasingly anxious and immediately rushed Lucinda into a bath and then into a wrapper for the coiffeur. As she was to wear the new gold lace dress, Emmie spread the gold star pins on the dressing table for Monsieur Amaud.

They seemed to inspire him, for he drew her hair into two cascading bunches over each ear, with only the wispiest tendrils resting on her white forehead. Artfully, he hid the stars in the long ringlets, so they were only half-visible and sparkled intriguingly when she turned her head.

When the highly satisfied Monsieur Amaud had left, Emmie began the final preparations. Lucinda slipped into the pale gold satin underdress. Then at last Emmie eased the gold lace gown over her head.

It had tiny puff sleeves, a square-necked bodice that clung tight to the bosom and then it fell gracefully to the ground. Her gloves and slippers were of matching gold satin. Around her neck and on one wrist she wore fine gold chains, interspersed with tiny amber beads.

“Most elegant, dearest,” approved cousin Ethelreda, who was looking particularly handsome in burgundy lutestring. “Celie was quite right to keep everything simple, so nothing distracts from the colour.”

Staring at herself in the looking-glass, Lucinda turned slowly about. It was hard to believe that sophisticated young woman was really she. She looked so much older and somehow more ... more knowing. And could that be a touch of sadness in the huge brown eyes?

I wonder what Will will think of this dress,
she thought idly. Then, with much more intensity,
I do hope it pleases Mr. Devereux.

Patience was waiting for them at Cavendish Square. She looked delightfully fresh in rose pink, with the Grantham pearls at her throat.

“And where is Belle?” demanded Mrs. Cleeson.

“She ... she is not well,” Patience said haltingly. She glanced quickly at Lucinda and then away.

“Not well?” repeated Ethelreda ominously. “Have you sent for the doctor?”

“Please, Mrs. Cleeson, do not ask me any more questions. Belle will join as at Almack’s in just a little while, I’m sure.”

Mrs. Cleeson studied her for a moment. “Belle is not here? I see.” There was a pause. “Well, Patience, I must bring you and Lucinda to Almack’s and I have no intention of being late. I collect Belle is in some scrape, but if she does not soon appear, I shall have to know far more about it. And I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to keep any of this from your mama.”

In silence the party continued on its way to the Assembly Rooms. Lucinda had been warned to expect genteel shabbiness, but tonight she took little notice of her surroundings. She tried to keep within sight of the entry, but the number of people in creased and Mrs. Cleeson propelled her relentlessly forward.

The night should have been a triumph for Lucinda. She attracted many admiring looks and she had no lack of partners. Even when she was introduced to Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, that most top-lofty of the patronesses remarked in supercilious tones that the gown was quite “ becoming.” She added that if Miss Neville wished, she might join in the waltz.

“Thank goodness for that,” declared Ethelreda with a sigh, when Patience had received the same permission. “For you know Mrs. Drummond! Burrell is so extremely nice in her notions that there is no knowing to what she may take exception.”

Lucinda noticed that Patience also stared anxiously towards the door. So she, too, had talked to Mabel. To Lucinda, time seemed to speed past. Now there was less than an hour and a half left. What was happening at that hell?

Beside her, Patience gave a gasp. “Here they are!”

Lucinda’s pulse raced and she looked up, but it was only Will and Sir Charles. Will saw them instantly and began to make his way towards them. Lucinda’s partner claimed her and Will swept Patience onto the dance floor.

Sir Charles had been detained by the Countess Lieven. His eyes scanned the crowd, but his scowl grew fiercer as he failed to see Belle. He escaped the countess and was waiting for Lucinda as the dance ended.

“Where is Belle?” he demanded unceremoniously.

“Miss Ryland,” said Lucinda with a calmness she did not feel, “has been delayed and will arrive shortly.”

“It’s another one of her starts, isn’t it? I demand that you tell me where she is.”

“Please moderate your voice, Sir Charles. People are beginning to stare.”