Where she was standing, right on the corner of Clarendon Avenue, gave her an unparalleled view of The Parade. The coaches that moved incessantly, like a restless tide, rattled over the cobbles and the air was filled with the neighing of the horses and the strident calls of the coachmen, as they tried to control their charges.
Suddenly she heard the clatter of hooves and looked behind her as a ducal carriage raced along Clarendon Avenue, the family crest displayed ostentatiously on the side. It was almost as brightly coloured as the surrounding vista.
‘Is this your first visit to Leamington Priors, Miss Hastings?’ the nasally voice of her most recent suitor invaded her thoughts and she turned her face towards the bustling fop that was standing beside her and extending his arm. She almost raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. He was dressed in the most outrageously puce pink silk jacket and hat, his lace cravat rippling down his shirt front like a waterfall to match a brilliant white brocade waistcoat buttoned over his bulging midriff, this was accompanied by white silk britches, stockings and black shiny dancing slippers with diamond encrusted buckles. I wonder whether it’s some kind of new uniform for fops. She thought as she continued with her appraisal. His hair, what she could see of it, was in a roman style, with tight golden curls ringing a face that was puffy with wine and debauchery. His eyes looked particularly bloodshot around the bright blue irises and the dark circles gave him a rather ailing appearance. She tried not to shudder and wondered why all the men’s fashions were so outrageous, as she eyed the quizzing glass hanging from his jacket front on a golden chain and the fob on his britches that was festooned with minutia.
‘Yes, Sir.’ She said politely and laid her kid-gloved hand carefully on his forearm, making sure she gave no indication of preference for his company. He led the way down The Parade; her maid Betsy dogged their footsteps. Lucy was wearing a simple muslin gown sprigged with golden flowers, a matching Spencer in gold satin and a deep straw bonnet decorated with golden ribbons. Once they were moving she removed her hand from his arm and opened up her parasol, making sure it shaded her from the bright sun.
‘Of course, most of the buildings are new. I, myself am fortunate enough to have a house in Regent Street.’ Sir Roger Colbourne said proudly, as if that was enough proof of his worth as a suitor.
‘Mmm.’ Lucy made non-committal noises just to let Sir Roger know that she was hearing him, even though she wasn’t particularly listening.
Sir Roger carried on as if she hadn’t interrupted and kept up a running commentary of the architecture as they progressed down The Parade until they reached the Pump Rooms ornate frontage. To Lucy it was reminiscent of the Parthenon, with its Corinthian columns. He graciously allowed her to precede him through the ornate doors, managing to avoid a collision between his eyeball and a spoke of her parasol as she deflated it, and into the flow of bodies ascending the stairs to the Upper Assembly Rooms. Lucy handed the parasol over to her maid, who vanished into the waiting population of servants.
‘Do you partake of the waters, Miss Hastings?’ Sir Roger asked solicitously as he held her elbow, trying valiantly not to look at her ankles as she lifted her skirts to ascend the stairs.
‘No, Sir Roger. I’m afraid I am not ailing, but rather it is my mother who needs the waters, for her health is failing and my brother shall escort her here a little bit later.’
‘Is she to bathe?’ Sir Roger asked in surprise.
‘I’m afraid so. Her physical strength has been waning ever since she fell off her horse in the spring hunt. She damaged her spine and finds the heated salt waters beneficial.’
‘Ah! Look, here is my mother with my cousin and sisters.’ Sir Roger said blithely. He led them to a table, complete with tea already laid out. ‘This is my mother, Lady Colbourne,’ he indicated an over blown woman in her mid-fifties, with a ruddy complexion and a face that showed almost as much dissipation as his own. Perhaps it’s a family trait? Lucy pondered as she offered her a curtsey. ‘And this reprobate is my cousin, Wilfred De Lacey, the Earl of Buxton.’ Lucy turned to greet the indicated person and almost fainted dead away as her heart tripped over itself.
The Earl of Buxton had been sent to Leamington Priors to oversee his cousin’s estate. Sir Roger was so far in debt that the Duke had insisted that he take control of the Baronetcy. Sir Roger had to adhere to certain stipulations and Wilfred was here to make sure he did. He was also suffering penance for insulting his sister. He’d been rude to Caroline within the Duke’s hearing and this was his punishment. The Duke had only the one sibling, Elizabeth Colbourne was the silliest woman he’d ever met and the duke sent Wilfred to oversee her brood before they brought more scandal upon the family. She had married a penniless Baronet and produced some fifteen children, most of whom were girls and half of which died in infancy. Wilfred wondered if her constant work in the child bed had addled her brain, as she seemed as empty headed as her son Sir Roger Colbourne, the current Baronet, who was a profligate gambler and wastrel. He could see Sir Roger approaching with a young lady and was almost overcome with a headache at the bright colours of his costume. He was as bright as a tropical bird. Wilfred swiftly looked over the young woman. Heiress! He thought rather coldly. He knew that Sir Roger had pockets for let, as the Duke had insisted that Wilfred watch his gambling. Her face was turned away and hidden by a bonnet reminiscent of a coal scuttle, but she was obviously well bred and her clothes were sedate compared to Sir Roger’s, but well made all the same. He even liked the colour. As Sir Roger introduced them, she turned her face to his and he almost had a heart seizure, before his heart lurched against his ribs and his blood roared in his ears as her face paled.
‘Miss Hastings!’ he blurted and bowed promptly to hide his expression which was a mixture of chagrin and astonishment.
‘Lord Buxton.’ Lucy intoned icily as she gave a slight curtsey. ‘I did not expect to see you here?’
‘I say, do you two know each other?’ Sir Roger asked indignantly, bristling like a peacock displaying his feathers.
‘We had the misfortune to meet in London last season.’ Lucy said, a rueful smile lifting the corners of her heart shaped mouth. ‘I’m afraid your cousin was abominably rude and upset my sensibilities.’
Wilfred well remembered their acerbic exchange; somehow he could still feel the sting of her hand as it swiped across his cheek.
‘I was under the weather.’ He mumbled in way of explanation to his cousin, making Lucy snort in derision.
‘That’s a new name for it.’ She muttered and she gave Wilfred de Lacey a thorough inspection as Sir Roger seated her. Unlike his cousin he was dressed sedately. His broad shoulders were crammed into a tightly tailored dark blue jacket of superfine wool, his waistcoat was of the finest ivory brocade and his unfussy silk cravat was knotted simply at his throat. His britches were the finest chamois and clung to his lower body leaving nothing to the imagination. His Hessians were burnished to a glossy shine. All told, he was a fine figure of a man. She looked up at his profile as he focused on something on the other side of the Assembly Rooms. His jaw was square, giving him a strength in his expression that was certainly lacking in Sir Roger’s countenance, and his cheek bones were angular, giving him a slightly rugged look. His nose was long and straight separating his eyes like a slash. But the eyes were what had held her attention during their last unfortunate meeting. He had the most impressive eyes. They were blue. But not just blue, they bordered on lavender in the brightness of the sun streaming through the windows. She could almost imagine them turning violet when he was angry. She finished her appraisal with his hair that was so dark it could have been ebony. It was wavy and swept back from his forehead, it was shorter than fashionable and well-coiffed, but without the fussy curls so favoured by the fops. Lucy looked quickly away as he turned his face back to the party at the table, but not before she saw the speculation in his eyes.
Roger finished introducing his sisters; there were five of them and all as silly as his mothe
r. They were dressed in varying degrees of flounces, lace and ribbons. In fact the youngest looked like a veritable advertisement for a dress shop. Never had Lucy seen so many ribbons on one dress. She decided they were trying to flaunt their wealth in such an ostentatious way, that they had left taste and breeding behind. Empty headed dolls, she thought.
Lucille Hastings was the granddaughter of an earl. His eldest son, Rupert, had already taken the title and his only heir was her brother Robert. Her uncle had told her a little about Lord Wilfred De Lacey and none of it was very good. Uncle Rupert castigated him as a profligate wastrel and a rake. ‘Buxton?’ he’d bellowed. ‘Got more women than a Turkish harem!’ he spluttered as Lucy sat beside his bed and arranged her skirts. ‘I believe Harriet Saunders is one of his present mistresses. Terrible business that!’
Lucy didn’t have a clue what her Uncle was prattling on about. ‘But what about his lands and titles, Uncle?’
‘Lands? I suppose he still has the Manor at Chelmorton.’ He mused softly. ‘If I recall correctly there was at least twenty thousand acres of prime farmland with the title.’ He smiled brightly. ‘And of course he will inherit the Dukedom of Dovedale from his father when the old codger croaks!’ he cackled out his witches laugh. ‘He’s not likely to do that anytime soon.’
‘How disappointing.’ Lucy murmured, ‘it would have been much more satisfying if he’d been a Duke.’
‘What would have been?’ her Uncle demanded.
‘Why the reverberating slap I delivered to his face when he asked if I would….do something unmentionable!’ she finished as her cheeks flushed scarlet.
‘He blatantly propositioned you?’ the Earl almost screeched in horror.
‘He did, Uncle.’ she sighed. ‘At the same time as he tore my gown.’
‘Why that whippersnapper! I’ll call him onto the field of honour if it’s the last thing I do!’ he spluttered.
‘It probably would be the last thing, if you could manage it.’ Lucy said as the Earl looked at her askance. Lucy not remembering that he wasn’t deaf at all, but only asked you to repeat phrases when he was startled or shocked. ‘It doesn’t matter, Uncle. I took care of it at the time.’
‘I’m surprised Robert didn’t offer him out!’ the Earl muttered and raised an eyebrow at Lucy.
‘He would have done, but I impressed upon Robert that I considered the matter closed and if he looked closely, he could see my palm print on his Lordship’s cheek!’ she sniggered. ‘It helped that his friend was assisting the Earl to the door.’
‘He was inebriated?’ Bassett asked in surprise.
‘He was. Very drunk.’ Lucy said emphatically.
‘Good Girl!’ the Earl had sniggered. ‘I knew you’d not stand for any nonsense.’
‘I’d have taken the field myself, if Robert hadn’t confiscated my pistols.’ Lucy said heartily. Although she had consistently seen Buxton with his sister and mother for the rest of the season, it didn’t take long for her to push the incident to the back of her mind, especially when she was at the Earl’s country estate and could ride and shoot with her brothers.
Lucille Hastings was almost twenty two and was the only girl of five siblings. Robert was twenty eight, the eldest and due to inherit the earldom from their uncle upon his demise, next was Richard at twenty seven and he was a barrister. There was a four year gap, caused by her father’s absence during his tenure as an Ambassador in America. After Rufus Hastings returned from Washington Lucy was born nine months later, followed by Benjamin at nineteen and in his first year at Cambridge and Timothy who was fifteen and still at Eton. The five had spent a great deal of time together as children and Lucy learned alongside her brothers to ride, hunt and shoot. The last time they’d had a shooting competition; Robert had complimented her on her aim and told her she should apply to the army as a sharpshooter. Lucy had laughed, but secretly she wished she could. The freedoms that men enjoyed chafed at Lucy, because she would never get the chance to serve her country, except as a breeder of the next conscripts for the army and she felt the restriction of her birth every day. Men like Lord Wilfred De Lacey were a prime example of the inequalities of gender. It was perfectly acceptable for him to approach an innocent debutante in a ballroom and ask her if she would “suck his cock”, whatever that meant, but if she, as the same innocent debutante was caught in a closed room with the same man, she would be vilified as a harlot and unless he offered marriage, her reputation would be ruined forever! The unfairness of it all could make her scream with anguish.
She had honestly thought she would never have the misfortune to meet the Earl again and was very uncomfortable to be in his company. She tried valiantly to keep her eyes away from his exceptionally attractive form and concentrate on the drivel falling from Lady Colbourne’s lips.
‘So your Uncle is the Earl of Basset?’ she asked pointedly, as if examining her suitability for Sir Roger. Lucy tried not to bristle with indignation.
‘He is, Lady Colbourne.’ She said firmly and picked up her cup to sip the tepid tea still residing in it.
‘And who inherits after your Uncle dies?’ she asked impertinently.
‘My brother Robert, Lady Colbourne.’ Lucy muttered, which was greeted with squeals of delight from the other six female occupants at the table, making Lucy close her eyes as she weathered the storm of exuberance.
Sir Roger tried not to squirm and the Earl looked down on his aunt in disgust. ‘Is not your brother to be here this afternoon?’ Sir Roger ventured.
Lucy opened her eyes and took a breath, but before she could speak Lady Colbourne interjected. ‘I dare say Miss Colbourne,’ Lady Colbourne indicated her eldest daughter, ‘will be pleased to be introduced to your brother.’ Lucy didn’t like Lady Colbourne’s insinuation. She would bear watching, before she could ensnare Robert in a parson’s mousetrap.
‘Robert is not in Leamington Priors.’ Lucy said coldly. ‘He is at present in the country with my Uncle.’ She smiled brightly at Lady Colbourne. ‘My youngest brother is here, on holiday from Eton.’
‘What of your father?’ the Earl asked, his voice was quiet, but penetrating all the same.
‘My father passed away two years ago, My Lord.’ Lucy replied evenly, without meeting his eyes and managing not to show her lingering grief at losing an important part of her life.
‘I’m sorry for your loss. He was an Ambassador, was he not?’ the Earl asked softly, making Lucy glance up into that lavender gaze.
‘He was. His last posting was to India, where he contracted Cholera and died. My mother has never recovered from the shock really,’ Lucy told Lady Colbourne, ‘and after her riding accident in the spring, her health is seriously reduced.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’ Lady Colbourne said, without any sincerity. ‘More tea?’ she asked holding aloft the almost empty pot.
Lucy lifted the ornate pendant watch pinned above her left breast and looked at the time. It had a dainty oval face in silver, with cobalt Roman numerals on it and tiny sapphires around the edge of the face as well as larger ones on the broach pin holding it to her Spencer. ‘Forgive me, Lady Colbourne. But I have just enough time for a sojourn around the Pump Room and then I must meet my mother for her treatment.’ Lucy climbed gracefully to her feet, shaking the creases out of her skirts and smoothing her hand over them. Sir Roger jumped forward and extended his arm. Lucy smiled softly as she pulled her gloves on. ‘Thank you for the tea, Lady Colbourne. Good afternoon.’ Lucy said graciously, curtsied and allowed Sir Roger to lead her away, pointedly ignoring the Earl.
‘I had no idea you were acquainted with my cousin?’ Sir Roger asked as they sauntered with the flow around the Assembly room.
‘Acquainted sounds such an intimate relationship.’ Lucy murmured. ‘I met him once and we were never formally introduced until today.’ She gave Sir Roger a gentle smile.
‘Intimate?’ Sir Roger frowned. ‘Why ever would you not wish to be intimately acquainted with Buxton? He’s the son of a Duke,
after all.’
‘The only intimacy I ever shared with your cousin was my hand across his face as he propositioned me like a Cyprian!’ she said harshly ‘and I’ll thank you to drop the subject.’
‘Colbourne?’ a masculine voice stilled their progress. ‘Damn me if it isn’t you!’
‘Your Grace!’ Sir Roger practically fawned, bowing and scraping in the most obsequious manner.
The man that was approaching was everything a man should be, Lucy thought as she admired his golden hair, handsome face, lithe body and his impeccable dress sense. He was dressed much like the Earl of Buxton, but a little more refined, not as showy as Sir Roger. He flashed her a brilliant smile as he perused her from head to foot. ‘Well, who is this?’ he asked silkily. ‘Will you not introduce us, Colbourne?’ he continued as he reached for her hand and she felt a blush heat her cheeks as he looked at her appreciatively.
‘Your Grace, may I present Miss Lucille Hastings.’ Sir Roger smiled wanly at her and said ‘this is the Duke of Markham, Miss Hastings.’ Lucy dropped a small curtsey.
‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.’ She replied politely.
‘You must be the only girl who is.’ The Duke muttered as he brushed his lips over the backs of her fingers in too familiar a fashion, making Lucy frown slightly. ‘You must join my party, Miss Hastings. I have some champagne and strawberries to tempt you, as Sir Roger and I have some business to discuss.’ He turned a firm eye on Sir Roger and raised a questioning eyebrow, even though he was still holding Lucy’s hand firmly.
Pride and Retribution Page 3
