by Beverley, Jo
“Seeking to taunt me into compromising myself? Perhaps you do want to marry my money after all.”
“Perhaps I enjoy the spice of danger.”
Alas, so do I.
She raised her gloved hand and drew his head down, going on tiptoe so she could press her lips to his. More than a peck this time, but not much more.
So tempting to linger, but she was not so foolish as that.
She settled back to earth and fussed with her gown, hoping to conceal how devastating that meager kiss had been. Not only on her. When she looked up there was fire behind his eyes.
She unfurled her fan and waved it, but turned so as to cool him. “Spicy enough?”
“Not within a mile, but if we were to do more, we might have to become betrothed. That would deter your suitors completely, but . . .”
“. . . be far too high a price to pay.” They were dancing around danger.
He took the fan and turned it to cool her. “You could always jilt me when it suited you.”
“But a gentleman cannot do that. You would be trapped,” she said.
“Are you saying you’d hold me to it?”
“I might hesitate to add more notoriety to my name. I’d think you would feel the same.”
He closed the fan and gave it back. “I was born the bastard son of a wanton and a tavern keeper, and my claim to the earldom is dubious in many people’s eyes. How much more notorious could I be?”
She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him.
Before she could give in to temptation, he said, “But I do still have my honor. Given that, we should return to company.”
He extended his arm, and she curled her hand around it possessively. Day by day, moment by moment, he was more and more hers, but he wasn’t a man to be captured by trickery or force.
As they left the room she asked, “Where are you living?”
“You plan to sneak into my bedroom?”
“I thought to send you a letter.”
“Five Millicent Row. It may not be wise to put your desires on paper.”
“That rather depends on the desires,” she said. “I want to visit an exhibition of household inventions.”
“You plan to trade in them?”
She couldn’t tell if there was a sting in that. “Perhaps. Machinery and technology are the way of the future, in industry and agriculture.”
“Perhaps I’m a Luddite.”
“Then know your enemy. You could send a note to Lanchester Street inviting me to visit the exhibition with you.”
“You want a lot for your pay, don’t you?”
“It was merely a suggestion. I do, however, expect to dance at least one more set with you tonight.”
“Don’t worry, you mercenary wench, you’ll get what you kissed for.”
Lucy decided not to challenge the taunt. She had one example of what could happen when she challenged the Earl of Wyvern, and though it had been delicious, it wouldn’t be wise to push him too far.
Not yet, at least.
And certainly not here.
Thirteen days still remained, and tomorrow should include more time with him during the day.
Thirteen days and thirteen kisses, with her determining what sort of kisses they would be.
All in all, a perfect contract, as long as he did his part.
* * *
“Where do we go tonight?” Lucy asked the next day as she sat in the drawing room with her needlework, waiting for Wyvern’s invitation to arrive.
“Lady Galloway’s ball,” Aunt Mary said. “For her daughter, Lady Iphigenia.”
Lucy bit her lips on laughter, but when she caught Clara’s eye they both gave way.
“What on earth is the matter?” Aunt Mary demanded.
Clara managed, “Only the name, Mama.”
“It’s a very pretty name.”
“Yes, but in The Peasant Earl, don’t you remember? He married Iphigenia!”
“What has that to do with anything? Oh, you refer to Lord Wyvern. It won’t come to that. She doesn’t bring enough money, and her father would never allow it. Such a tawdry background.”
Lucy wanted to protest, particularly as her aunt had recommended him as a suitable husband for herself. But then, she, too, had a tawdry background, in that sense.
The general attitude raised a worrying concern.
Miss Ponting had claimed she’d never marry Wyvern.
Aunt Mary hadn’t wanted him for Clara.
Lady Galloway would never consider him for her daughter.
For the first time Lucy wondered if her father might try to forbid the match. He wanted her to marry a lord, but that might not include a disreputable one. He didn’t have the legal right to prevent the marriage, but what would she do if he opposed it?
Immediately, thoughts of Gretna Green danced in her mind. No need to emulate her mother that far. She was legally free to marry whom she wished, but she couldn’t lightly dismiss her father’s opposition. She’d hate to be estranged from him as her mother had been from her father.
No fear of that. She’d be returning to her “rightful world,” and why should her father object to a muddled parentage when he didn’t know the name of his father or mother? All the same, he might not be rational. . . .
The footman came in with a letter for Miss Potter.
Lucy took it eagerly, but she instantly recognized Betty’s handwriting. It had been sent by messenger, not posted.
Some emergency?
My dearest Lucy,
Such wonderful news! Father is home! He arrived last night without warning, having outsped the letter he dispatched upon landing in Portsmouth. As all the plans are made, we have set the wedding for Saturday, but I will change the date if you cannot come, my dearest friend. If you can come, can you possibly come immediately? I hesitate to call you away from your dizzy delights, but I would dearly love to have you with me in these last few days. Reply posthaste! The messenger will wait.
Your excited and blissfully happy friend,
Betty.
“Bad news, dear?” Aunt Mary asked.
Tragic! Lucy was delighted for Betty, but this wrenched her away from Wyvern. Could she take him with her? Impossible.
“Just startling,” she said and explained.
“Of course you must go, dear. I’m pleased to see a little romance in your heart. You are not at all like your mother.”
“Forgive me, Aunt, but I thought you disapproved of mother’s actions.”
“Of her marriage, certainly, but not of her warm heart. There is something not quite womanly about a cool heart, my dear, especially in one so young.”
Lucy went off to write the reply, fuming. First her father, now her aunt, both implying she was a cold fish. She was tempted to be caught in mad passion with Wyvern simply to show them!
She sent off the message and summoned Hannah to pack, but tears threatened. It hardly seemed bearable to be away for days, and she couldn’t even write to tell him she was leaving, not when nothing was settled between them.
If his invitation arrived before she left, she could reply. If not, he’d hear soon enough, but that didn’t seem adequate. It didn’t take long to pack what was needed, and by then Aunt Mary’s carriage was ready to carry her home.
There’d been no letter from Wyvern.
As the carriage rolled through Mayfair Lucy looked out, hoping to see him in the street. The beau monde was beginning to emerge for their day, and if she saw him, she could stop the carriage and give him the news.
As the carriage passed through Temple Bar into the City, she gave up hope of that.
He would hear the news, but now she wished she’d taken the bold step and written to him.
Chapter 15
She soon recognized the different rhythm. The sounds were different, and the bustle had a more purposeful nature. She’d left the fairy circle, and perhaps escaped some bedazzlement, for she began to have doubts.
This was her world, completely
lost to her if she married a nobleman, especially one whose principal home was so far away. It was one hundred and seventy miles to Wyvern’s seat on the Devon coast—she’d sneaked into the library to look it up. At very best speed and with hardly any breaks, the coach journey would take more than a day. Once there, she’d probably rarely return here.
She’d found Crag Wyvern on a map, situated in a thinly populated part of the coast, near two very small villages, one called Church Wyvern, the other Dragon’s Cove. The very names seemed ominous.
Both lay far from cities of even moderate size. Axminster, of carpet fame, was only about ten miles, but the roads between looked uncertain. Remote didn’t apply only to distance, but to the ease of getting there. It was three hundred miles from London to Scotland, but a coach could travel all the way on the Great North Road, which tolls kept in good repair.
“Is something the matter, miss?” Hannah asked.
“Just the sight of familiar places,” Lucy said, blinking to clear her eyes.
If she’d come to her senses, she should be thankful, not grieving.
“Lovely to be home, isn’t it?” Hannah said.
“Yes,” Lucy said, but they were rolling past Winsom’s and she sighed for might-have-beens. If he had been a simple country gentleman, perhaps he might have been willing to move here. She was sure her father would give him a place in the business.
Perhaps she wouldn’t return to Aunt Mary’s. There was no point to it anymore, and certainly no pleasure. Better to endure the preparations for her father’s wedding and return to her plans. Surely if she put it to her father the right way, he would arrange for her to have a place in the business, if even in the background.
Yes, that was it. Not as his heir, but as a kind of partner.
Even so, it was a strain to put on a smile when the carriage stopped in front of her home. She went toward the door, realizing only at the last moment that she hadn’t taken a key. She used the knocker for the first time she could remember.
The door was opened by Charlotte Johnson.
“Lucy? Is something the matter?”
Was it Lucy’s imagination, or did Mrs. Johnson take a moment to step back and allow admittance?
“Did you not hear?” Lucy asked as she entered, taking off her gloves. “Betty Hanway’s father is home and she’s to wed in two days.”
“Yes, of course. I simply didn’t expect you back so soon.” Charlotte looked at the luggage the footman was carrying in. “Put it there. Our own man will take it up.”
Our own man.
Lucy thanked the footman with a coin and sent him and the carriage back to Aunt Mary’s, temper already fraying.
“You’re very welcome, of course,” Charlotte said. “Your father will be delighted.”
Lucy managed some sort of smile. “I’ll go straight over to see how I can help.”
“I’m sure her family . . .”
Lucy ignored that and left the house.
There probably hadn’t been anything amiss about Mrs. Johnson’s words or manner, but to welcome her! The woman was already ruling the roost.
She had a true smile in place by the time she entered Betty’s house. Her friend raced down the stairs for a wild hug. “Lucy! Now everything’s perfect!”
“My goodness, you’re in danger of bursting into flame!”
Betty laughed. “I feel like that. So sudden. So exciting. So wonderful!”
Betty’s portly father came into the hall. “No sooner am I home than my only daughter hastens to flee it.” But he was beaming at them both. “Will I wish you a similar happiness soon, Lucy?”
Lucy smiled, for she was truly delighted to see him home safe. “It’s possible, sir, but I’ve committed myself to no lord as yet.”
“And I selfishly hope you don’t. I’d wish to see you remain in our orbit, my dear. I’m away to my counting house to see what chaos my absence has achieved. I’ve a wedding to pay for.”
Betty kissed his cheek, then linked arms to take Lucy up to her bedroom, where they’d always talked. “I’m so pleased to see you. I was afraid you’d be able to come only for the wedding day. I’ve missed you so.”
Even so, Betty’s mind was full of wedding preparations and the delights to come. Lucy happily relaxed into that, putting all troublesome thoughts aside.
She accompanied her friend to the shops for some last-minute items, then in the afternoon dined with the Hanways, finding the old-fashioned mealtime odd after dining in the evening. The talk was all of the wedding and Lucy couldn’t help noting the changes it would bring. Betty’s bedroom was to become a boudoir for her mother. Did Charlotte Johnson already have plans for her own bedroom?
As evening settled she had to return home. She used the knocker again, but this time the footman opened it.
Her father came out of the library, smiling. “Welcome home, Lucy. I’ve missed you.”
Lucy went into his open arms, loving to be back, but heartsore as well. At this moment, everything about her home seemed the same, but it wasn’t. She even felt it would be an intrusion to go into the library behind him. He drew her in there, however, and they sat in their usual chairs, one on either side of the empty hearth.
Did Charlotte sit in this chair at times?
Her mother’s portrait was unshrouded. She’d wanted that, but had it been at Charlotte’s prompting?
“Now, pet, tell me all your tonnish adventures.”
He’d called her “pet” from the cradle.
Only now did it grate.
She cheerfully related balls, the theater, and Almack’s, then couldn’t resist a mention of Wyvern.
“A few people did murmur about mother and scandal, but then the infamous Earl of Wyvern arrived and quite turned everyone’s heads.”
“Wyvern? Ah, the one with the very dubious claim to the title.”
“I’m surprised you’ve followed ton gossip, Papa.”
“I keep an eye on all significant events, pet, and it’s often hard to know what’s significant until too late. Such a furor caught my attention. What sort of man is he? Young, I gather.”
Lucy hadn’t expected to have to discuss Wyvern at length.
“Young, but not callow.” She took a moment to consider and then told him about the duel.
“That was well done of him,” her father declared. “What wretches to risk your reputation so.”
“They were both apologetic in their own way, Papa.”
“If anything else like that happens, I’ll have something to say.”
“Please don’t interfere.”
“Not watch over my daughter’s reputation?”
“I mean, I’m sure nothing like that will happen again.”
“So he ripped a stripe off two noblemen, did he? I wonder how he came by a commanding air?”
“Couldn’t it simply be his nature?” Lucy asked, wishing she hadn’t exposed Wyvern to her father’s keen scrutiny. “You came from lowly beginnings, but command your life.”
“Fair enough, fair enough, but I’d have thought he’d be a fish out of water among the ton.”
“So did I, but he seems to have a wide acquaintance, some of the highest rank.”
“Born a bastard and thought to be son of a tavern keeper?” Her father had come alert.
“His mother was a lady, and his sister’s a viscountess. Doubtless she provides the entrée.”
“Odd, though, very odd.”
“How?” she said with a laugh, trying to tease him out of his hawkish mood. Like this, her father could be dangerous to whatever prey was in his eye. “Do you think he’s bribed lords and dukes to be amiable?”
“I don’t like pieces that don’t fit, pet. You’d do well to keep away from him.”
Lucy crushed down the urge to argue. He was right, though not for the reasons he had in mind.
“It won’t be hard, Papa. He’s paying court to a Miss Florence.” As soon as it was out she was shocked to be telling her father a lie. That didn’t sto
p her adding, “She’s the niece of Maria Celestin’s first husband. You remember her? She’s Lady Vandeimen now.”
“Aye, I remember. Celestin was a sleazy specimen, despite his gloss, and now she’s married a young rake. The woman’s a fool.”
“He’s a very tasty rake.”
Her father laughed. “Then perhaps not so foolish, as long as he doesn’t ruin her. Celestin’s niece, eh? Dowered by him?”
“I assume so.”
“Could be a sensible match. She’ll have a handsome dowry, but she’s as dubious as Wyvern. Rumor says she’s Celestin’s daughter by a married Belgian cousin. But even if she’s all she should be, she’s from foreign merchant stock. Yes, a good match.”
Lucy couldn’t bear any more of that.
“And your match, Father? How go the wedding preparations?”
“Well enough,” he said, relaxing into a smile. “Charlotte’s fixing up the nursery and schoolroom areas to be just as they should be for Ann and Jane, and making some other small alterations.”
Lucy reminded herself that it would be unreasonable to object.
“Will you go on a honeymoon?”
“For a short while only. To Canterbury. I suggested Brighton, but Charlotte thinks it too hurly-burly and would like to visit the cathedral. Charlotte’s sister will come to care for the girls, but Charlotte doesn’t want to be away from them for long.”
Once they’d conversed so easily, sometimes late into the night, covering a world of subjects. Now silence threatened.
“How’s trade?” Lucy tried. “Does the economy improve? I’ve lost track of such matters at Aunt Mary’s.”
“Which is as it should be. Slow improvement, pet, slow, but there’s money to be made, especially now there’s a proper crackdown on smuggling.”
That reminded her of Wyvern’s challenge about the price she paid for tea, brandy, and silk.
“Have we ever used Freetrade goods, Papa?”
He shrugged. “Your mother bought her tea cheaply, thinking she got a good price because she bought from friends of mine. I didn’t like to disabuse her.”
“Is it the same with the silks and lace?”
“If they’re foreign made, more than likely, pet. I don’t dig too deep into other men’s business. Don’t make that face. You enjoy the prices and sharing them with your friends.”
