by Joan Smith
The drive continued with good humor and flirtation on both sides. Lucy asked Avedon about his summer house, and he entered eagerly into a list of its merits. “We are close to Dover—I know you ladies like to be near the shops—but not perched on an impossible promontory. We have easy access to the sea for swimming and boating. I keep my yacht anchored there when I visit. Do you like sailing?”
“I’ve never sailed. We are not right on the sea in Dorset. Closer to Wiltshire actually.”
“You will like it. The wind in your hair, the waves rolling under you, with the sun gleaming on the water. I hope you will agree to spend some time at Seaview.”
“It sounds charming. When do you plan to go?”
“I wish we didn’t have to go back home at all,” was his oblique answer.
“I am promised to Milhaven this evening,” she reminded him.
With Avedon’s swift grays, the trip took only an hour and a half. They passed through the low-lying marshlands, with the terrain gently rising as they approached the coast. The scent of the sea, that salty mixture of iodine and seaweed, presaged the sea’s appearance. Soon it came into view, a flat sheet of rumpled metallic motion, dotted with sails.
He drew up in front of a rustic two-story building of flint and Caen stone. It was formed in the Norman fashion with rounded doorways, but the height and generous windows indicated it was of more modern construction. A puff of smoke rising from the chimney told her the place was not vacant. In front there was a patch of lawn, and wild roses climbed up the stone facade. Behind, a meadow of grass and wildflowers stretched in the distance.
“It’s beautiful!” Lucy exclaimed.
“I thought you might like it,” he said with quiet satisfaction. “Would you like to go and admire the sea before we go inside?”
She ran to the bluff, where a tumble of large rocks led to the sea. The wind whipped her hair and skirts. It also caused the water to swell, with whitecaps bouncing on the waves. “Nice and private for bathing,” Avedon mentioned. “On a clear day you can see halfway to France.”
“How lovely! You can take your yacht across the Channel,” she said. A faraway look was in her eyes. She had an image of a halcyon future, with herself on Avedon’s yacht, flitting across the water with the wind in her hair.
“We could gather up a group and have a race to Brighton,” he tempted. “I think you would like Brighton, Mrs. Percy. I’m surprised you didn’t choose to summer there. It is much livelier than our rustic little corner of the kingdom.”
“I wanted peace and quiet,” she said simply.
He put a hand on her arm and turned her back toward the house. “And I gave you noise and dust. What a shabby fellow. Let me offer you a quiet tea at least. I see by the chimney that my housekeeper is at home.”
Avedon tapped at the door before entering. A local matron in a white apron and cap made them welcome.
‘This is Mrs. Landry,” he told Lucy. “I hope you can give us a cup of tea, Mrs. Landry, and perhaps some of your excellent bread or muffins.”
“I have some buns in the oven this minute,” she assured him. “The fire is laid in the grate if you’re feeling chilly. I have only to set a light to it. There’s always a nip in the air hereabouts.”
“I’ll light the fire,” Avedon said, and led Lucy into the parlor.
While Avedon busied himself with the tinderbox, Lucy looked around the room. There was no real elegance here, but a cozy atmosphere, with the big stone fireplace occupying a whole wall. Around the grate ranged a fat stuffed sofa and two chairs. It was not a room for formal entertaining but a room for comfortable family living. Shelves of books and games ranged below the windows that gave a view of the sea. Sunlight slanting through the panes lightened the somberness of paneled walls. He lit the fire, and flames leapt up the chimney.
“This must certainly be a change from Chenely,” Lucy said, looking all around.
“You don’t care for so much rusticity?”
“It is charming, Avedon, for a little summer place.”
Was she saying she had no intention of being satisfied with so little? Avedon felt a stirring of anger. “One would hardly expect to spend the whole year here, of course,” he agreed.
“I expect it would be very cold in winter, and rather isolated, too.”
“But wouldn’t you prefer it to Rose Cottage—for the summer?” he asked.
Lucy looked at him in surprise. Was he inviting her to visit him for the entire summer? A flush colored her cheeks as she gazed into his brightly curious eyes. “I have just rented Rose Cottage,” she reminded him.
“I would be happy to rent it back from you. There would be no expense in it for you.”
“It’s not the money.... It would seem odd to abandon it. Do—do you and Lady Sara intend to move here for the whole summer, Avedon?”
“Lady Sara?” he asked. “No, she will soon be returning to Hampshire.”
Mrs. Landers brought tea, and Lucy poured for them. “Then it will be just yourself here?”
“You and myself, I hope,” he said.
Lucy looked at him, with a smile trembling on her lips. She had always been aware of a tension between herself and Avedon. She knew that feeling was not all antipathy, but that it should turn to love in the twinkling of a bedpost was difficult to comprehend. “That sounds—rather—unusual,” she said.
“There is nothing unusual in a gentleman falling head over ears in love with a beautiful lady,” he said, and set her teacup aside to grab her two hands.
Lucy looked at him, blinking in astonishment. “This is so sudden, Avedon.”
“Adrian,” he said, gazing into her eyes and squeezing her hands till they ached. “And may I not call you Lucy?”
“I—I suppose that would be all right,” she said primly.
He touched her nose and laughed. “Such a prim and proper little hoyden. This is not sudden at all. I have wanted to kiss you from the first moment I met you in the village, flashing your dark eyes at me and rattling me off for being a yahoo.”
His head inclined to hers. Lucy was aware of a fierce thudding in her breast as the dazzle of his eyes came closer, blurring to a haze as she stared, hypnotized. His hand came to her shoulder. The other stole around her waist and he pulled her into his arms. She felt the solid, warm wall of his chest pressing against her as his arms tightened.
Her hands fluttered uncertainly a moment, then went around his neck. Lucy knew the treachery of allowing a man to embrace her. Even with the now-despised Ronald Pewter, she had felt these strange stirrings of passion. But Avedon was different. There was no reason to doubt his motives. He was a wealthy lord, and if he loved her, it had nothing to do with self-interest. She gave herself up to his embrace. His lips firmed as they clung together.
Strangely it was Avedon who brought the embrace to an end. He wasn’t surprised at the warmth of her response. He knew she was experienced; it was the depth of his own feelings that startled him. There had been more in the embrace than just desire. There was a strange new tender feeling. Perhaps it was the onset of love. It didn’t do for a man to go falling in love with his mistress. That could lead to disastrous consequences. For the time being, however, he meant to forge ahead with his scheme.
Lucy looked at him, her eyes full of wonder, and smiled. “Well, that was a surprise,” she said in confusion.
“Why, you were a married lady, Lucy. This cannot be new to you.”
It was obviously the moment to inform him of the truth. Lucy girded herself for the telling and said, “I’m not exactly what you think.”
He patted her hand in an avuncular manner. “There is no need to apologize, Lucy. I know more or less who and what you are.”
“I was not going to apologize, exactly. Though perhaps I do owe you an explanation. Really I don’t think you can know what I am, Adrian.”
She was ready to admit all, but he was not in a mood to badger her for details. His smile was devastating as his eyes lingered on her face
. “I know you are criminally beautiful, and I want to be with you. Now, let us set the date. When can you come to stay at Seaview? We must become better acquainted, Lucy.”
Lucy took up her tea again. The “set the date” had confused her. She thought he was planning the wedding already, but it was a good idea to become better known to each other first. “I would have to consult with Miss Percy before I made any decision, of course.”
“Yes, certainly I would prefer that she make other plans,” he agreed.
“Other plans? Oh, she will stay with me till I am married at least,” she exclaimed. Avedon gave a leap of surprise.
“That may be a long time. We wouldn’t want her around,” he said bluntly. “Naturally you would not want to be alone when I am at Chenely, but Mrs. Landers resides here. She would understand.”
She frowned in confusion. There was obviously some misunderstanding afoot here. He could not be suggesting—“Understand what?” she asked.
“The nature of our liaison. I am offering you Seaview free of cost, as my guest for the summer months, with all a mistress’s usual perquisites. Money, a clothing allowance. I would come to see you as often as my duties permit.”
“Do you mean—are you saying—are you offering me a mistress-ship!” Fire blazed in her eyes, yet her voice was like ice.
Avedon allowed a tolerant smile of surprise to settle on his lips before speaking. “Certainly that was my meaning, madam. What else could I possibly want with a woman like you?”
Lucy had the strange feeling she was sinking into that cold, wind-tossed sea beyond the window. Avedon was calling her a lightskirt. He had never cared for her in the least. He had brought her for the specific purpose of insulting her. “A woman like you” he had said, as if she were a leper.
It was shock that saved her. She wanted to dump her tea over his head, to revile and chastise him, and inform him her male relative would be calling on him to protect her honor. Except that one could hardly involve a bishop in a duel. So she sat silent a moment, thinking, listening to the thudding beats of her heart, while he stared at her with a contemptuous curl on his hateful lips.
And while she sat, it occurred to her that it would be extremely awkward to get home from this place alone. After this insult, she didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d abandon her if she spurned his offer. Some cunning corner of her mind wanted to repay him in kind as well. What form this retribution would take was unclear, but he must be made to pay.
“You know me uncommonly well, sir,” she said in a tightly controlled voice.
“I can see a pretty woman by daylight.”
“I must give this my deepest consideration,” she said, scanning possible revenges. One came to her in a flash. Why should she be the one stranded, unable to get home without great inconvenience? “And I really must tell Miss Percy. She oversees all my patrons,” she added grimly. How to get rid of him for the necessary length of time? “Do you have to see anyone else while you’re here, Adrian?”
“No, I just wanted to show you the house. Perhaps I should stop by Huddleston’s place and tell him to prepare my yacht for the weekend.”
“Oh, yes. We shall want to use the yacht,” she said enthusiastically. “You must go to see him at once.”
“You’ve hardly touched your tea.”
“I can wait for you here. Is Huddleston’s place very far?”
“It’s just a few hundred yards farther along. He’s a fisherman. He keeps my yacht for me. I’ll walk over and be back in ten minutes.”
“Don’t be long,” she said, batting her lashes flirtatiously.
Lucy steeled herself for the quick but ardent kiss he placed on her lips. It took all her fortitude not to attack him. He left, and the moment he was out the door, she ran out to the stable. She was relieved to see the team hadn’t been unhitched. She hopped up in the driver’s seat and wheeled the curricle out onto the road.
The horses were already tired from their morning’s drive, or she would never have been able to control them. It took all her strength to do it, but she was a good driver, and there was no need to spring them. There had been no other horseflesh in the stables. It would take Avedon a while to find she was gone and borrow or hire some other rig.
The task of controlling the high steppers occupied so much of her attention that for the first half of the trip Lucy was unable to think of anything else. The occupants of other vehicles on the road turned and stared to see an unaccompanied lady wheeling along in a dashing yellow curricle. Her obvious gentility was all that saved her from jeers. By the time she was halfway home, the horses were becoming more fatigued and were easier to handle. She was very glad for it, as her fingers had raised blisters. Lucy was able to turn her mind to Avedon’s insult.
What had possessed him to do it? It was a calculated insult, and to pretend he wanted to marry her was only done to humiliate her. Her heart burned like a red coal. She would never forgive him for this. Never.
The trip home took over two hours. Lucy was exhausted, dusty, and furious when she reached the door of Rose Cottage. She called the groom and told him to deliver Avedon’s team to his stable with her compliments. She was not in a mood to give Mrs. Percy the necessary explanations, but her chaperon knew at a glance that something was amiss.
“What on earth happened, Lucy?” she asked.
“Avedon behaved abominably. I doubt we shall be hearing from him again.”
“What did he do?”
Lucy burst into tears of frustration and ran upstairs, leaving the poor dame completely in the dark. A lover’s quarrel, she decided, and didn’t go after Lucy. She’d hear it all in good time. But in the near term all she heard was a message from the servant requesting that Miss Percy make their excuses for dinner at Milhaven.
Chapter Eleven
It was not till late afternoon that Lord Avedon arrived at Chenely astride a winded jade hired at the inn at Dover. His means of travel from Seaview to Dover had been even more degrading; it was a donkey cart borrowed from Huddleston.
The opinion of such low people as Mrs. Landry and Huddleston mattered little to him, but still, he was livid to remember his embarrassment. He was in a temper that put Lucy’s fit of sulks in the shade. His groom, familiar with this mood, did not ask any questions when he saw the black scowl his master wore.
“See that this moribund nag is returned to Fitchley’s in Dover,” Avedon said grimly, and tossed the reins of his mount to a groom. He saw from the corner of his eye that his curricle and grays were returned, and went to examine his team. They had been driven into the ground, but their mouths and legs appeared unharmed.
“When did these get back?” he demanded.
“Two hours ago. They was sent up from Rose Cottage,” the groom replied. “Mrs. Percy sent her compliments with ‘em, I believe.”
“Thoughtful of her!” Avedon snarled. While he had plodded along in a donkey cart, Mrs. Percy had driven his rig. Someone would pay for this outrage. His fingers itched to connect violently with human flesh.
It chanced to be his sister who first encountered him inside the house.
“Adrian, what on earth happened to you?” she demanded, regarding his disheveled appearance.
“What does it look like?” he replied through thin lips.
“Are you digging up the meadow again?” she asked in confusion.
“What an excellent idea!”
He disappeared into his study. A bottle of brandy soon followed him in. He did not appear at dinner and sent word to the table that he was too busy to be disturbed. His body was sprawled on a chair, becoming slowly intoxicated, but his mind was active. Mrs. Percy had to be put in her place, and he was coming to realize that it would require a perfect plan to accomplish it. No maneuvering room must be permitted, or she’d weasel it to her advantage.
He thought of burning her house down and forbidding anyone in the neighborhood to take her in. But, of course, Isabel would be there with open arms to receive her and hand Tony ove
r to the woman. He thought of calling the constable and having her arrested for stealing his grays—except that she had returned them unharmed.
After a few more glasses of brandy, he suddenly found himself picturing her as his wife, under his cruel thumb till the day she died. He would lead her a sinner’s existence in sackcloth and ashes. And even in sackcloth she would look irresistible enough to tempt the devil himself.
An immoral woman preying on youngsters should show some signs of dissipation on her face. She shouldn’t have skin like rose petals, and unclouded eyes. He poured another glass of brandy and sipped slowly while bizarre scenes of love and hate reeled around in his brain.
Much later, but while he was still able to walk, Avedon went up to his bed. Evening had given way to night. Lady Sara had retired, and the house was in darkness. A glance at his watch told him it was midnight. He slept in his jacket and trousers. In the morning he awoke with a thundering headache and called for cold bathwater and a basin of hot water for shaving. After making a fresh toilette, he felt somewhat better but still unsettled as to how to handle Mrs. Percy.
His sister was at the table, awaiting her mail. “You look wretched today, Adrian,” she said, scanning the smudges under his eyes. “I hope these bouts with the bottle are not a common occurrence, dear. Brandy is slow death. You have your duties to think of. Rattling off to Seaview with the widow may be your idea of handling her, but I must own, we all found it extremely odd.”
“And how did we learn I took Mrs. Percy to Seaview?”
“Tony called on her. The chaperon told him. Lady Beatrice and I popped down to Milhaven in the afternoon to tell them what we had learned of the widow.” As she spoke, she lavished butter and jam on a bun. “Isabel is such a peagoose, she lets Tony lead her by the nose. She did not censure him as strongly as one could wish, I fear. Tony planned to visit the widow the moment she returned. That wicked creature will get her talons into him yet if we do not get rid of her. What explanation did she give for feeding us such a parcel of lies?” She took a bit of her bun and chewed with relish.
