A Shocking Delight

by Beverley, Jo

  “Is he dangerous?” she asked.

  He soothed her clasped hands. “There’s no profit to him in exposing me and he has no need to serve me ill.”

  “As long as you leave his daughter alone.”

  “Exactly.”

  “The Rogues—”

  “No! I’ll not have the Rogues poking into my affairs, and Potter’s right. Lucy shouldn’t be married to a smuggler. She’ll find someone better.”

  “We discussed this earlier.”

  “And almost came to blows. Don’t fight the winds, Susan. I’m going home.”

  “What of marrying for money?”

  “I’ll have to do without for a while. I’ll return to harness in due course.”

  She touched his cheek. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

  “No. Lay the blame on mad, obsessive love. And may we all be free of it.”

  Chapter 21

  Happy anticipation hadn’t led to a restful night and Lucy had again woken too late to go to the park. That shouldn’t matter, because he would come here to propose to her properly. Unless he’d gone to the City to speak to her father.

  Oh, no. She should have warned him that her father had concerns. He might need some persuasion.

  She wrote a note. She found she couldn’t address the matter of their betrothal directly when he hadn’t quite proposed, so she simply asked him to call. When she received no response, she was tempted to rush round to speak to him, but if he hadn’t received her note yet, he must be out.

  In any case, it would be hard to escape the fuss and flutter in Lanchester Street. She didn’t remember her own debut ball causing a tenth of this bother. Lucy did her best to help, but when she made another silly mistake because of daydreams she apologized with the excuse of a headache.

  “Then go and lie down,” her aunt said testily.

  Lucy escaped to her room, telling herself to calm down. If David had gone to her father, it wouldn’t be disastrous. Her father couldn’t forbid the marriage, and he’d come around. She opened her journal, but was stuck on hearts and flowers again.

  In the end tiredness did overcome her, so she had a nap, and was reasonably coherent when it was time to prepare for the ball. Where he would be.

  She wanted to dazzle him, and she had two evening gowns that she’d not yet worn, but this was Clara’s night, so she chose the sprigged gauze again. For jewels, she wore a delicate parure of colored stones and seed pearls.

  She thought Clara’s lace gown a little too fussy, but otherwise, her cousin looked charming. The cream color suited her more than pure white would have. Her curls were tamed and the pearls looked perfect there. She wore a neat string of real ones around her neck.

  At this point Clara seemed more composed than Lucy, or perhaps it was only that she bubbled all the time. Lucy was suddenly overwhelmed by a fondness for her cousin, who was delightfully uncomplicated and said what she meant.

  She found a silver and ivory brooch in her box and offered it. “A gift for your ball.”

  “Lucinda, how kind! It will go well on my bodice.”

  “I think so.” Lucy pinned it there. “And perhaps you could call me Lucy. It’s what my father calls me, and I’d like that.”

  “Of course. Lucinda is more elegant, but Lucy suits you.”

  “Are you saying I’m not elegant?” Lucy teased.

  Clara giggled. “Of course not. Though you’re not quite. But you’re beautiful. Have you chosen Wyvern, then?”

  Lucy started, but then realized it was simply Clara’s mind fluttering about.

  “Perhaps,” Lucy said, feeling herself blush. She wanted to babble all about him, but she retained enough sanity not to do so to one of the greatest chatterers in Town.

  “So you’ll be a countess! How exciting. Of course it will mean having to live in Devon.”

  “Not a fate worse than death.”

  Clara giggled. “And he shows no sign of madness yet.”

  “For heaven’s sake, why should he?”

  “His father was mad.”

  Lucy had completely forgotten that.

  She remembered him saying something about it. That the earls of Wyvern had always been mad. Or had he said odd?

  “Odd,” she said out loud. “Or eccentric.” Clara looked dubious, so Lucy added, “He shows no sign of insanity.”

  “True.” Clara was surveying herself one last time in the mirror. “But then, neither did the king when he was Wyvern’s age. Grandmother Greshingham remembered him as a young man with some admiration. Come, we should go down.”

  Lucy grabbed her fan and reticule and followed, glad to escape Clara’s babble.

  Madness, indeed.

  * * *

  For once Lord Caldross accompanied them, and he seemed truly fond and proud of Clara. The hired rooms were well decorated with flowers and lit with an abundance of candles. The small orchestra was already playing, waiting for the guests to arrive.

  The refreshments were abundant and the arrangements for supper seemed excellent. The ladies’ and gentlemen’s rooms were suitable and servants already waited there. Other servants staffed a cloakroom where people could leave outer clothing and, if necessary, change their shoes. It was a fine, dry night, however, so most would come here in their dancing slippers unless they chose to walk.

  Guests began to arrive, friends and family coming early to give the rooms a populated look, then others in numbers that should satisfy Aunt Mary.

  Lucy had no place in the reception line so she chatted to any number of people, aware again of having made acquaintances in the ton. She felt accepted. If there were looks, she suspected they were because she was firmly linked to the notorious catch of the season, not because she was a scandal and a Cit.

  Where was he?

  Maria arrived, with her husband and niece. Lucy saw Lord and Lady Charrington and the Balls. The Duke of St. Raven and his wife were announced. Aunt Mary had been thrilled by their acceptance, and that of the Ardens.

  Lucy had wondered if it was something to do with the Company of Rogues, but that would mean that they were here for David, the friend of the Rogues. So where was he?

  The Amleighs were announced. David’s sister and her husband—but where was her brother? Lucy looked around, wondering if she’d missed his entrance, and then Lady Amleigh was coming toward her.

  “I’m pleased to see you in good spirits, Miss Potter.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be, Lady Amleigh?”

  Lady Amleigh blinked. “I did think . . . but no matter. This event promises to be a success.”

  With foreboding, Lucy asked, “What’s happened? Where’s Lord Wyvern?”

  “Oh, dear. I sent a note. In response to yours.”

  “Mine? He didn’t read it?” Lady Amleigh’s message had probably been mislaid in all the fuss. “What’s happened to him?”

  “Calm, please, my dear. I’m sorry. Nothing bad. My brother had already left. He was called urgently back to Devon.”

  “Back to Devon?” Lucy knew she sounded as if she’d been told he’d gone to the moon, but she felt that way.

  “Sadly, yes. Some estate matter requiring his attention.”

  Something in Lady Amleigh’s eyes put Lucy on the defensive. She would not show how devastated she felt. “How tiresome for him. Will he return soon?”

  “It’s hard to tell. It is a very serious matter.”

  “The season will be much diminished,” Lucy said, and escaped.

  She kept a smile on her face, but it was painfully hard when David wasn’t here and wouldn’t be here. When he’d gone far, far away.

  Why?

  To escape her? She hated the thought, but there it was anyway. From the first he’d said he didn’t intend to marry her. Last night he’d been carried away, but had those promising words been spoken from a sense of obligation?

  She was alone again, even bereft of her suitors. Her plan had worked too well, and here she was, isolated.

  “Lucy, is
something the matter?”

  Lucy turned to Maria. “Nothing of importance. I’ve been suffering from a headache all day, but I didn’t want to miss my cousin’s ball.”

  Could Maria believe words, tone, or expression?

  “It will get worse as the heat and noise grows, so go home if you need to. Vandeimen will escort you.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Alice would want me to take care of you. If you have need, Lucy, I’d be honored to be your confidante.”

  She’d hoped to be less transparent, but this was Maria, not some stranger.

  “My substitute mother? I was outraged by the idea that my father’s bride would be that, but I can see you in that way. I know you’re too young, but you were my mother’s friend.”

  “And she mine. My situation wasn’t always easy and she alone could understand. She would have been pleased to see you here.”

  “Restored to her world?” Lucy asked, unable to hold back a bitter edge.

  “Enjoying balls and parties as young people should. She worried that your father was shaping you too much in his mold. Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve upset you with this talk. I don’t know how I could be so maladroit.”

  “No, no. It’s the headache. Oh, blast it, I don’t have a headache. It’s all so complicated. . . .”

  “And this isn’t the place. Here comes Stevenhope with his Iphigenia, intent on showing you what a treasure you’ve let slip. Come round to talk whenever you wish.”

  Lucy thanked her, and then set to congratulating the happy couple with a sincerity designed to deflate Stevenhope’s puffed-up pride.

  Lord Vandeimen asked her for the first dance, doubtless at Maria’s instigation, but Lucy was grateful. The only thing to do was soldier on through the night until she could collapse into misery. But damnation, even at home she’d have Clara bubbling with an excited review of her ball.

  She danced the next with Lord Charrington. When Outram asked for the next she could hardly refuse him, but it soon became clear he’d taken Wyvern’s departure as new hope. She had to reject him again.

  When that dance ended she couldn’t endure any more. She pleaded a headache and gained her aunt’s uncertain agreement to Lord Vandeimen as escort.

  “Perhaps your uncle, dear . . .”

  “You all have obligations here, Aunt. Lord Vandeimen will see me safe home. It’s going very well, isn’t it?”

  Aunt Mary smiled her relief. “Very well. I didn’t really hope for such as the Ardens and St. Ravens. Clara is enjoying every moment.”

  Impulsively, Lucy kissed her aunt’s cheek, startling both of them, then hurried off with tears in her eyes. Truly, she didn’t know herself anymore.

  Lord Vandeimen was a perfect escort, seeing to her comfort and not asking any questions.

  As they approached the house Lucy couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Do you know Lord Wyvern well, my lord?”

  “Only as a friend of a friend, Miss Potter.”

  “I see. Mr. Delaney, I assume.”

  “No. He, too, is a friend of a friend. I meant Amleigh. We are neighbors and friends since the cradle. Our estates are nearby.”

  “How pleasant,” she said.

  He probably thought it banal, but she meant it. Friends, again. Childhood friends, still close as adults.

  She let Hannah fuss her out of her finery and into bed and then lay there, abandoned.

  David had gone to Devon. She couldn’t believe anything could have arisen that required such urgency, but if it had, he should have written to her.

  His silent departure violated everything he’d said, everything she’d felt, everything she’d believed. She could make no sense of it, and could only feel truly, deeply brokenhearted.

  Now she understood how people could die of a broken heart.

  Chapter 22

  David traveled by mail coach with too much time to think, to regret, to devise reasons to leave at the next stage and speed back to London. All he wanted to do in life was make Lucy happy, and he knew how miserable she must be now, because her emotions would be the same as his.

  They were made for each other. Mind, hearts, and bodies, they were perfectly matched, except for his involvement in smuggling, and that he was bound to a place she’d hate.

  He snatched fitful sleep as the crowded coach rattled through the night. Susan had tried to get him to hire a chaise, but he didn’t have money to waste, especially not now he’d thrown thirty thousand pounds away.

  He’d take her penniless if he could be sure she’d be happy.

  He left the coach at Honiton and hired a horse for the last part of the journey, enjoying the open air, trying to persuade himself that Lucy could come to love this countryside.

  She might well like its best aspects, but she’d dislike the poorly maintained road, the nettles lurking in the hedgerow ready to sting, and the brambles curling out to snag an unwary rider’s clothing or flesh.

  Brambles would bear fruit, and even nettles could be brewed into a powerful tonic, but she was accustomed to buying such things from a shop and to traveling there over well-maintained streets or walking along firm and cleanly swept pavements.

  If she was thinking herself brokenhearted, she’d recover. In time she’d find a perfect man to love.

  He rode into Church Wyvern, tired from lack of sleep and heartsore. He left the horse at the Kerslake Arms to be returned tomorrow, and turned toward the looming Crag. For once it suited his mood.

  Reluctantly he changed direction. Within minutes word would reach the manor that he was home, and if he didn’t go there immediately, one or all of his family would rush up to the Crag to see what was amiss.

  He changed his mind again, however, and took the path that led down between the manor and Crag to Dragon’s Cove. He was back here because he was Captain Drake, and everyone would understand his checking there first.

  He wasn’t entirely sure whether his uncle and aunt knew he was Captain Drake. Kerslake Manor stayed calm and contented by turning a blind eye to disruption and celebrating life’s joys. He’d embraced that willingly for most of his life and wished he still had the choice. He was fairly sure they assumed that once he’d become earl he’d passed any smuggling responsibilities on to someone else. Again, he wished it were possible. There was no one else capable of managing the Horde in these difficult times.

  He entered the George and Dragon by the back door and found Cousin Rachel sweeping the floor. “You’re back at a good time, lad. There’s word of a cargo adrift. They’re keen to help.”

  He knew what that meant. A ship loaded with contraband had been prevented from delivering its cargo to the appointed landing and gone back out into the Channel, hoping for another try. It would have to be quick. A smuggling vessel couldn’t hover for long without a revenue cutter or naval ship spotting it.

  David wanted to veto any involvement, but the Horde had obeyed him and remained inactive for weeks. Fred’s regular reports had assured him of that. If he didn’t give them this opportunity, there’d be rebellion again, especially since he’d failed to bring back the money that could bring a new kind of prosperity here.

  He’d planned employment for all, and a school to give the bright boys better ambitions than being one of Captain Drake’s lieutenants. Instead he was returning further in debt than when he left.

  “I’ll hold a meeting here later,” he said. “Pass the word.”

  Then he listened as she shared some general gossip—births, marriages, and even a death, along with a brawl that had cost a man an eye and a rumor of a love rivalry that could turn vicious. Captain Drake couldn’t restore sight, but he was supposed to provide a Solomon-like judgment between Gabe Bridgelow and Caleb Mutter.

  “Lisbet Oke’s not worthy of either of them,” he said. “She’ll cause any husband heartbreak.”

  “She can’t help being pretty.”

  “She can help the way she flirts. She’s been teasing men since before she had breasts.”
<
br />   “Had a try for you, has she?”

  “More than once.”

  Rachel pulled a face. “That’s Lady Belle’s fault, see. Married the earl and snared Captain Drake. Bound to stir ambitions.”

  “Heaven help me. If I had the powers ascribed to me, I’d send her to a nunnery.”

  “Didn’t think we had any anymore.”

  “I’d found one.”

  She chuckled and David shared a smile. His situation was no better, but these mundane problems soothed him.

  He left the tavern and stood for a moment, watching the fishing boats out on the water and people ashore, dealing with an earlier catch, mending nets. Honest labor.

  But he could read behind the smiles they sent him, and the greetings. The captain’s back. There’s a cargo out there. Now we’ll see action and real work.

  He climbed the path out of Dragon’s Cove, aware of how much Lucy would hate the shingly surface that slipped beneath his boots. She’d probably hate the hill itself. Were there any significant hills in the City of London? He couldn’t remember one in Mayfair.

  He walked through a cloud of midges, wafting them away from his face, and then brushed past stinging nettle and spiky thistles.

  It still galled him that Potter might think he’d bent to his will, but to stay in London to spite him would have been complete stupidity. The man might well be able to harm him and his people here, and he couldn’t ignore that. But above all, as a loving father, he’d been right. Lucy deserved better than a gothic horror of a home, a remote area, and a husband committed to criminal activity.

  His mind eased a bit as he returned to Church Wyvern, the village that sat snug in its hollow behind the cliffs. It was a gentler, warmer place. The people here took part in smuggling, but they were different from the salt-roughened fishing families of Dragon’s Cove.

  He took the path that circled the village toward Kerslake Manor, his home for most of his life. The path ran between well-tended gardens that were already producing food, but also past where Tom Oke was cleaning out his pigpen, putting the dung aside to rot down so it would be ready to enrich the garden later.