“Miss Merritt and I have formed a search party,” Alfred said genially. “Mrs. Patton was afraid that you two had become lost in the thicket.”
“You are very close to the truth,” Lucinda said, her arm still across her chest, holding his handkerchief to her opposite shoulder. “But more accurately, I fell into the thicket, and your poor cousin was forced to help me out of it again at the expense of his handkerchief and a scratch on my shoulder.”
Miss Merritt released her hold on Alfred and stepped around Lucinda. “Poor dear! We had best get you to the house right away and tend to it. Mr. Randall, do you think it will need to be stitched? Lord Adlington, shall we fetch a doctor?”
Lucinda laughed. “It’s only a scratch, Persephone.”
Miss Merritt returned Lucinda’s smile, and Alfred grinned at the pair.
“We don’t want it to get infected, Lucinda,” Miss Merritt said. “I am sure the housekeeper will have everything I need to tend it. Lord Adlington and Mr. Randall, would you please inform the rest of the party where we have gone to? I should hate it if poor Miss Hardin were to be forced to come searching for us.”
“Not as much as I would,” Lucinda muttered, and bid adieu to David and Alfred before following her friend on the path that led back to the house.
David dared one glance after them, giving him ample opportunity to glimpse her lovely uncovered shoulder. He gulped and looked back at his cousin.
Alfred raised his eyebrows. “I should have thought you knew your way around these gardens as well I do. We certainly played in here often enough as children.”
“I—she—we—” David tried to explain, but nothing he said could wipe the smirk off Alfred’s face.
Ten
PERSEPHONE HELPED LUCINDA TAKE OFF her blue dress of iridescent striped silk. Lucinda gasped in pain as she lifted her arm above her shoulder. Persephone put her hand through the tear in the back of Lucinda’s dress. “I am not sure your seamstress will be able to repair this rip. It’s nearly eight inches long.”
“It does not matter,” Lucinda said.
Persephone placed the torn dress on a chair, then picked up a cloth and dipped it into the basin of water. She told Lucinda to turn and gently dabbed the cloth against Lucinda’s scratch. Each touch stung and Lucinda bit her lip.
A knock sounded at the door, and Persephone called for them to come in. The housekeeper and the maid who had assisted Lucinda with dressing earlier stood in the doorway. Persephone directed them to place the talcum powder and the bandages on the washbasin stand.
“What a nasty scratch,” the housekeeper said.
“But it is not as bad as it looks,” Persephone said, and Lucinda stiffened when she felt her wipe the wound.
“Without all the blood, it is only a small cut,” Persephone said.
She then instructed the housekeeper to hand her the talcum powder and the bandages. Persephone wrapped the bandage around Lucinda’s shoulder and tied the ends into a tight knot. She dismissed the housekeeper and the maid, who took the soiled dress and the bloodstained cloth out to wash.
“I will wash and change that bandage for you tomorrow,” Persephone said. “It’s important that it stays clean. Now, shall I help you into another dress, or would you like to lie down?”
“Another dress,” Lucinda said. “I do not sleep during the day.”
Persephone opened the wardrobe containing Lucinda’s belongings and selected a yellow gingham day dress with a row of circular yellow buttons down the front. She eased the dress over her sore shoulder, and Lucinda buttoned it up.
“There, you look as pretty as a picture,” Persephone said. “Shall we return to the party?”
“I’d rather not,” Lucinda admitted.
“I don’t wonder! That Miss Hardin sure puts on airs, and her father is only a little baron,” Persephone said.
“A what?”
“Baronet—little baron.”
“I’m not sure that’s what ‘baronet’ means.”
“You English and your silly titles,” Persephone said, shaking her head. “I’m glad at least baronets’ daughters don’t have titles. That Miss Hardin is insufferable enough as she is.”
“This is Miss Hardin attempting to be civil,” Lucinda said. “At school she never bothered with appearances. She was meaner than an old cat with its tail cut off.”
Persephone giggled. “You know what I should like to do?”
“What?”
“See the view from the roof. I daresay we could see for miles in every direction. Besides, there is something so romantic about roofs in all the stories I’ve ever read. Do you like to read novels?”
“I adore novels,” Lucinda said. “Have you read She Knew She Was Right?”
“Yes!” Persephone said loudly in her very American accent. “I read it in Harper’s Weekly, and I was ever so disappointed the author died without finishing the novel. Although I am sure Eurydice would have picked Mr. Thisbe in the end. He was such a kind and steady man. And so devoutly religious, unlike the worldly Lord Dunstan.”
“I mean to discover the identity of the deceased author and see if any of her family members knew how she would have ended the story.”
“I knew I liked you!” Persephone exclaimed, embracing her. “Golly, what a capital idea!”
Lucinda stiffened, but returned the embrace. “Let us find the roof.”
Persephone linked arms with Lucinda as they left her room. They made several wrong turns and passed through a long hall with a picture gallery. The gentleman in the second to last portrait bore a marked resemblance to David. Lucinda unconsciously stopped before it.
“He could be Mr. Randall’s twin, couldn’t he?” Persephone said. “Except the eyes are different.”
“Yes,” Lucinda agreed. “Mr. Randall’s eyes are larger and not so close set.”
“Mr. Randall is sure handsome,” Persephone remarked meaningfully.
Lucinda only nodded and led her newest—and only—female friend past the portrait gallery and up several flights of stairs that appeared to be neglected. The bottom of their skirts were covered in dust before they found the door that led to the roof. Lucinda gave the door a push, and they felt a rush of fresh air with a slight breeze in the otherwise oppressive summer heat when it opened.
Lucinda stepped gingerly out onto the roof tiles, but Persephone walked without any hesitation. She pointed out a small village in the distance and another smaller estate not far from it.
They walked to the other side of the roof, which afforded a view of the lake. Lucinda could not see any of the ladies of the party; they had probably all retired to the house to rest before dinner. But David’s tall, straight form was easily distinguishable, as well as his cousin’s slightly smaller one. She watched as David tossed a stone into the lake, where it skipped a couple times on the water’s surface before sinking. Lord Adlington threw his stone and it skipped three times.
Persephone’s eyes must have followed Lucinda’s, for she said, “They are nice young men, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” was all Lucinda managed to say.
“I suppose neither would be interested in me without my father’s fortune,” Persephone said bluntly.
“Or my father’s fortune,” Lucinda admitted. “My mother was a nursery maid before she married my father, and he started life as a street sweeper in London.”
Lucinda watched her new friend closely to see how she reacted to this information, but Persephone’s face did not evince any surprise or dismay. Quite the reverse; she smiled broadly and said, “Then we are both adventuresses, seeking to raise our fortunes!”
“Except we are the ones with the fortunes and the men have the titles,” Lucinda said.
Persephone laughed. “Which young man do you prefer?”
Lucinda flushed and turned away from the Randall cousins to look at the sun setting on the opposite side of the house. “I have no claim on either. And I am not entirely sure if I want to marry.”
&nbs
p; “Why ever not?”
“I’m not overfond of running a household,” Lucinda said. “I much prefer the pace and the pressure of business. If it were possible, I should like to take a place in my father’s countinghouse. I am rather good with numbers.”
“Perhaps I should be more direct,” Persephone pressed. “Do you have any designs on Lord Adlington?”
“No,” Lucinda said quickly. “None at all.”
“I like him very much,” Persephone said with her American bluntness. “And I have a shrewd suspicion that my father’s fortune is just what this old house needs.”
“I wish you every success,” Lucinda said, unsure of how to respond to such openness.
Persephone gave a loud laugh and tucked her arm back into Lucinda’s. Lucinda steeled herself not to flinch at being touched. She liked it—she just wasn’t used to it.
“We had best find our way back to your bedchamber and get dressed for dinner. And even though you did not tell me, I have another shrewd suspicion,” Persephone said.
“What is that?”
“That you and your Mr. Randall did not tell the entire story of the thornbush.”
* * *
It was a good thing that Lucinda was leaving in the morning. She had already ruined two dresses on this house visit, and she had only packed one other day dress. The maid assisted Lucinda into the dark green silk dress with small sleeves and trimmed with a golden fringe. It had three large flounces in the skirt and a large bow in the back. She pulled the collar higher to cover the white bandage on her shoulder. The maid combed and arranged Lucinda’s dark locks, then handed her a lace shawl to go over her shoulders. The shawl covered the bandage better than the collar of the dress. Lucinda thanked the maid and walked from the south wing to the main wing where the formal rooms were located.
The underbutler opened the door to the main parlor. Lucinda walked in to discover the room had only two occupants—Lord Adlington and Persephone, in close conversation. They both stepped back from the other and greeted her warmly. Lucinda raised her eyebrows suggestively at Persephone, who only smiled in return.
The door opened again, and several more members of the party entered the spacious gathering room, including Miss Hardin. She lifted her chin higher when she saw Lucinda. She stepped lightly toward the three of them and said in a poisonous tone, “My dear Miss Leavitt, I would have thought your wound from this afternoon would have kept you in your bed.”
“I am much recovered, Miss Hardin,” Lucinda said.
“No doubt owing to your common constitution,” she sneered.
Lucinda felt the barb about her birth, but said lightly, “I am sure the credit of my recovery belongs to Miss Persephone Merritt. She kindly tended my scratch.”
“Miss Merritt, you aspire to be a nurse for Miss Leavitt? Very fitting for your circumstances and background.”
David entered the room then and began to walk toward Lucinda, as if coming to claim her for his dinner partner, when Miss Hardin stood directly in his path. “Mr. Randall, I have not had an opportunity to speak with you all day,” Miss Hardin said in a pouty voice. “Would you be so kind as to escort me to dinner?”
David glanced over Miss Hardin’s head at Lucinda. “It would be my privilege, Miss Hardin,” he said formally.
Miss Hardin did not wait for David to offer it before she slid her hand through his arm and held it tightly. She skillfully turned him away from Lucinda and the Merritts and directed him to the other side of the room, where her parents stood, ensuring that David’s back was to the rest of the party. Lucinda could not hear what they spoke of, but Miss Hardin gave several high, girlish laughs.
When dinner was announced, Mr. Tuttle offered his escort to Lucinda. She accepted it. He assisted her to her seat on the opposite end of the table from David, Mr. Silverman on her other side. Mr. Silverman rivaled Mrs. Patton with his attention to eating, and Mr. Tuttle’s banal conversation consisted entirely of recounting his sporting experiences in the game of cricket with excruciating detail. For once, Lucinda did not mind being dismissed with the ladies so the gentlemen could drink and smoke in masculine solitude.
* * *
“Shall we have dancing tonight, Miss Merritt? I confess myself eager to learn your steps,” Alfred said later, after the gentlemen had rejoined them. “Mother, will you play for us?”
Lady Mary sniffed. “I am afraid, Alfred, that I am much too fatigued.”
“Dear Alfred, I shall be happy to take her place,” Mrs. Randall said, and immediately stood and went to the piano.
David opened it for his mother, and Mrs. Randall began to play a lively Scottish tune. Lord Adlington led Persephone to the center of the room and they began to dance. David caught Lucinda’s eye just as Mr. Tuttle asked her to be his dance partner. Lucinda accepted graciously, but indulged in a sigh worthy of Mrs. Patton. It did not surprise her to see David escorting Miss Hardin to join the set.
Mrs. Randall played very well and the dancers all knew their parts. Lucinda thought she might have enjoyed it if David were her partner, and if every time she lifted her arm it did not ache. Lucinda bowed to Mr. Tuttle and thanked him for the dance. Mrs. Randall began to play another tune and Mr. Tuttle asked Lucinda if she would dance the next with him.
“I am sorry, but I shall have to excuse myself,” Lucinda said. “My shoulder is still rather sore, but I believe Miss Antigone would be a most excellent partner.”
Mr. Tuttle bowed and did indeed solicit Antigone’s hand. Lucinda sat on a sofa, which afforded an excellent view of the room. She hoped that David would sit beside her, but Miss Hardin firmly led him to join yet another dancing set. Lucinda was forced to watch David dance with Miss Hardin once more, before she told Mrs. Patton she felt unwell. Mrs. Patton solicitously led Lucinda to her bedchamber and rang for a maid.
Once Lucinda was dressed for bed, she turned off her gas lamp and closed her eyes. But sleep eluded her. Her mind buzzed with thoughts, like a bee circling a flower. The easiest thought to digest was one of gratitude. After a lifetime of isolation by circumstance and uncertain social class, she had found a true friend in Persephone Merritt. One who did not care about her background, one who was loyal. Perhaps to a fault, Lucinda thought as she remembered Persephone’s sharp defense of her to Miss Hardin. Her sister, Antigone, was equally kind.
Lucinda wondered if she could ever be truly comfortable or happy in high society. How long would she have to endure the barbs from the likes of Miss Hardin or the cold indifference of Lady Mary before she would be accepted as one of them? Or, like at finishing school, would she never be accepted at all?
But her most pressing fear was that this entire disaster of a house visit would be for naught. What if Mrs. Smith’s relatives in Shaftesbury didn’t know what her intentions were for her fictional characters? What if Mrs. Smith hadn’t kept notes? Lucinda would have suffered the snubs and humiliations of Miss Hardin and Lady Mary without being any closer to discovering Eurydice’s final choice. Her ultimate decision between her two suitors: Lord Dunstan and Mr. Thisbe.
And the last thought was like a bee sting on her heart: the image of David dancing with Miss Hardin. She swatted it away from her mind. But the thought kept buzzing back, and each time it left a stinger. Lucinda turned to lie on her stomach and pulled the pillow over her head.
Why did she care if David danced with Miss Hardin? She hated Clara, of course; she was cruel for no reason other than the fact that she could be. But a niggling thought in the back of her head told Lucinda that she would have resented David dancing with any woman. Which was ridiculous! He was free to dance with whomever he liked—it wasn’t as if Lucinda had nor even wanted any claim over him.
Lucinda threw the pillow off the bed and flopped onto her back, kicking at the coverlet. Why couldn’t she stop thinking and go to sleep?
She brought her hand to her face and traced her bottom lip with her pointer finger. For a moment, in the thornbushes, she’d thought David was going to kiss her. S
he couldn’t help but wonder what it would have felt like if he had.
Eleven
LUCINDA WAS THE STUBBORNEST, MOST headstrong, most infuriating young lady David had ever met. And yet he could not stop thinking about her or their almost-kiss when he’d helped her out of the thornbushes. The thrill of her body pressed against his. Seeing her beautiful bare shoulder. He couldn’t breathe just thinking about it.
“I don’t want you to look after me. I’m very well able to look after myself!” she had said.
He believed she was. If anyone was capable of looking after their own interests, it was Lucinda Leavitt. Then why did he have the overwhelming urge to try to assist her, to be near her? She was not like other young ladies. She did not want him to shoulder her burdens. She did not appreciate him offering his advice. Nor did she care much for flowers or fripperies. No, the blasted young woman only liked two things: numbers and novels.
Novels.
David couldn’t help but grin when he thought of her determination to discover the ending of She Knew She Was Right. That title certainly described Lucinda.
“That’s it,” he said aloud. He would give her a new book.
“What’s it?” his mother inquired pleasantly.
David flushed. “Nothing. Shall you accompany me, Mother?”
“No, dearest,” she said. “I believe I should stay here a little longer and help your aunt. The house party has greatly wearied her, and all of their financial difficulties prey heavily upon her mind.”
“I hope you’ll be able to help her.”
“I’m sure I shall,” his mother said. “Now give me a kiss, and I shall see you in a fortnight.”
David directed a servant to bring down his portmanteau and took leave of his aunt. He then sent for a carriage, and just when it pulled up in front of the house, Lucinda came outside to the sultry heat of the morning. She was dressed in a black skirt with a white blouse and a black jacket with puffed sleeves, the ensemble emphasizing her narrow waist. She looked as cool as a cucumber and perfectly delectable.
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