Jane looked horrified. “You can rest assured he won’t hear such shocking news from me.” Her frown deepened. It occurred to Lucinda she looked like a frightened little bird. “The trouble is, Edgerton will find out. He always finds out. It’s as if he has spies everywhere.”
Lucinda’s heart filled with sympathy for Cousin Jane. Obviously Edgerton had bullied and badgered this poor woman, doubtless from the day they were married, if not before. Now Jane was naught but a quaking bundle of nerves, so afraid of her husband there was little joy in her life.
Lucinda smiled and tried to sound reassuring. “I doubt he’ll find out. Don’t worry. Even if he does, what can he do?”
Much later, toward the end of the evening, Lucinda was standing, looking out the terrace doors toward the garden beyond. It was one of the rare moments of the evening when she was between dance partners, alone.
She felt a hand on her arm. A man’s voice said, “Let’s take a stroll through the garden, shall we?”
Belington again. Why was she not surprised? Without hesitation, she said yes, and soon they were strolling through Lady Perry’s vast gardens, well lit in the moonlight. Neither spoke. To Lucinda’s disgust, her heart was hammering again. Why, she wondered, was she taken with this gruff, so very virile man? Why couldn’t her heart hammer over the likes of Lucius Whittlesby, or even one of the perfectly pleasant, highly eligible men she’d met here tonight?
When they came to a fountain which featured water gushing forth from a statue of Neptune, he stopped, looked down at her, and said abruptly, “I cannot for the life of me understand why you’re not married.”
The outrageousness of his comment made her burst into laughter. “Don’t you think that’s a bit rude?” She waited for his answer, but he gave none, and instead stood staring down at her, seeming strangely tense. She went on, “Well, if you really want to know, I have never fallen in love, much to my parents’ dismay, I must admit. But that’s the way I am and I don’t intend to marry until I do fall in love.”
“What if you never do?”
“Then I shall be a contented spinster,” she answered agreeably. “I shan’t in the least lament my fate. Instead, I’ll have my watercolors, my birds, and since I tend to spoil my sisters’ children abominably, I shall have nieces and nephews who will adore their dear old auntie, even when she’s old and gray.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you wish.”
“What sort of man do you want?”
Without hesitation, she replied, “I want a man like my father—intelligent, patient, loving, and kind. He will be essentially a peaceful man, not liking guns of any type. Most definitely he won’t want to go hunting and shoot”—she put special emphasis on her next words—”poor, innocent birds. In fact, he will have a keen interest in bird watching. Also”—she was enjoying herself, warming up to her subject—”he will never raise his voice, never curse, and, in fact, will be pleasant and even-tempered at all times.”
“God’s blood!” Douglas burst. “With all due respect, you’ve described some namby-pamby–” He stopped himself, apparently aware he was about, in a round-about way, to insult her father. With an ironic grin, he declared, “I don’t qualify.”
“You most certainly do not,” she quickly answered. You’re much too...too...”
“Boorish and uncouth?”
“What an astute observation!”
“Well put.” He gave her a mock bow. “How fortunate that I’m not seeking your hand. I would be dashed against the rocks of despair if I were, since I could not possibly aspire to your lofty requirements.”
She smiled sweetly. “How can I argue with the truth?”
“Obviously I would not get very far.” He frowned in concentration. “So tell me, does passion play a part in your search for this paragon of virtue?”
“What do you mean?”
“Passion,” he repeated. “As I understand it, this saint you’re going marry—”
“If I should I find him—”
“Yes, yes,” he broke in impatiently, “this saint, should you ever find him, must be—how did you say?—-intelligent, patient, loving, and kind.”
“Exactly.”
“So is passion a requirement? By that I mean, when he touches you, will you want to kiss him? And if he does, will his kiss drive you mad? Will you fall into his arms? Willingly allow him to carry you off to his bed and—”
“I see your point,” she hastily interrupted. Men were not supposed to talk that way. She should be shocked. She should be hurrying back inside at this very moment to notify a chaperone. Yet the trouble was, she wasn’t the least shocked, but instead was battling to maintain her pose of indifference while inside she fought to throttle the dizzying current of excitement racing through her. The man who stood before her was far too blunt and boorish. And yet, why was her blood singing through her veins because of his very nearness? Why did she have this almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and run her fingers through his curly dark hair? Why did she yearn for him to put his arms around her? Why did she want to take his ruggedly handsome face between her palms, raise on tiptoe, press her whole self against him and kiss those lips that, even at this moment, were curved into a smile that mocked her?
She would do none of those things, of course. Instead, she would come to her senses. If he perceived she was attracted to him, she would die of embarrassment and shame. Besides, all she had to do was think of Edgerton in order to realize how impossible such an alliance would be.
She backed a step away, murmuring, “I think we’d best go inside.”
He took a step forward so that he was closer than ever. He looked down at her and took her hand. Though there was bright moonlight, she could not see the desire in his eyes, but of a certainty she knew it was there. She could tell, just hearing the irregularity of his breathing, and feeling in the air the almost palpable sensation of his attraction.
“Meet me tomorrow,” he said, his voice intense.
“Where?”
“The woods—the log—where you were before.”
Her knees went weak. She was about to cry, “Oh, yes!” when she caught herself. “Not a good idea,” she managed.
“It’s a terrible idea. Let’s do it anyway.”
“But why? If you think—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We need to talk, that’s all.”
“But Cousin Edgerton would be furious.”
“Ah, yes, Edgerton.” He dropped her hand. “You’re right. What was I thinking of? How could you risk it? I am truly sorry. I wanted to see you again, but I could hardly appear at Edgerton’s front door with my calling card, now could I?”
She felt such a pang of loss, she knew it couldn’t end like this. She must see him one more time—just once, and then not see him again, ever. Her next words slipped out before she could stop them. “I’ll come.”
He answered, “Tomorrow morning, early, the woods by the log.” He sounded nonchalant but she’d heard him let out his breath, as if he’d been holding it, waiting for her answer.
When they stepped inside the ballroom, Lucinda wondered how she could have done such a foolish thing as stroll through the garden with a Belington. Fervently she hoped Edgerton would not find out. She fervently hoped, too, that her cousin would not find out about tomorrow because she most definitely was going to meet Lord Belington by that log, dire consequence or not.
* * *
On a road lit by bright moonlight, the Belingtons were riding home on horseback from Lady Perry’s ball. In a sanguine mood, Alex remarked, “You should have seen Alethea’s eyes light when she saw me. It’s almost as if she knew I’d be there.” He laughed with delight. “We had a blissful time. I think she likes me.”
“I’m in no mood for such exuberance,” Douglas replied with a sour grunt.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Alex, his voice still full of elation. “I should think you’d be blissfully happy, thanking your lu
cky stars right about now. Did you not notice how well-received you were? Where were the cuts, the slights that you expected? Just as I predicted, so much time has passed that people have forgotten.”
“I haven’t.”
“God’s blood!” In disgust, Alex cast his eyes upwards to the stars and inquired, “When will he stop this foolishness?”
Douglas turned his head and stared at his brother. “You’re blinded by love, Alex. You’re happy, so you think all the world is happy, too. Not so. True, I was well-received tonight, much to my surprise. But don’t think our luck will continue. Edgerton has spies everywhere. He’s bound to hear the news. Do you honestly think he’ll suddenly forgive and forget? Can you even imagine the Linleys and Belingtons in an orgy of blissful forgiveness and good will?”
Sobered, Alex asked, “Then why did you go to the ball in the first place?”
Douglas allowed a long silence before he answered, “I should not have gone to the ball. I wasn’t thinking. I may have gotten Lucinda Linley into a great deal of trouble by doing so.”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking,” Alex replied in that acutely perceptive way he had. “You knew what you were doing. Admit it, you couldn’t stay away from her.”
For a time only the sound of clopping hooves along the road broke the silence. When Douglas finally spoke, his voice was filled with weariness and discontent. “Right as usual, Alex. I do like her, more than I care to admit. She’s the most charming woman I’ve met for a long time—if ever, actually. I must put her out of my mind, though. Only a fool would continue a relationship as doomed and dangerous as this one would be.”
“That’s wise.”
“I’m meeting her tomorrow in the woods.”
“What!” Alex swung around in his saddle to stare at his brother in the moonlight. “But you just said how dangerous such a relationship would be.”
“I know. I’ll see her one more time, then that will be the end of it. No more. It’s too dangerous.” After a moment he asked softly, “And what of you, Alex?”
“We’re both fools,” Alex said, heaving a heavy sigh as they turned their horses up the long driveway to Ravensbrook. “You’ve chosen the right course. As for me, I shall be seeing Alethea at Lady Atherton’s soiree in York this very next Tuesday. Edgerton be damned, we shall dance every dance.”
“Reckless.”
“I know and I don’t care.”
“Foolish.”
“I’m not as wise as you, Douglas, nor as practical.”
Practicality be damned, Douglas thought to himself as a vision of a girl in a white lace gown danced before his eyes, and he knew he would have a great deal of trouble getting to sleep tonight.
Chapter 7
Later that night, Alethea slipped into Lucinda’s bed chamber. One look told Lucinda her cousin was bursting to talk.
“I couldn’t say a word in front of Mama,” gushed Althea, her eyes bright with excitement. “She says she won’t tell Papa and I believe her, but she might let something slip.”
Lucinda, who was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair, turned and remarked, “You know how foolish you’re being, but we’ve already discussed that, haven’t we?” She smiled at her exuberant cousin. “Let’s just hope we—you—don’t get caught.”
“You?” asked Alethea, catching the slip. “I do recall seeing you dance with”—a look of realization crossed her face—“Lord Belington! I saw you dancing with him and then in the garden with him later on. Oh, don’t tell me—”
“I am not telling you anything because there’s nothing to tell. Although...” Lucinda could not keep her news to herself. She lowered her voice. “He’s a most intriguing man. We plan to meet just once more, tomorrow, in the woods.”
Alethea gasped in surprise. “Oh, Lucinda, you, too? But it’s too risky—much more so than my meetings with Alex. You must not.”
“I fail to see your reasoning. How can my meeting Lord Belington be any worse than your meeting with Alex?”
“Alex is but a third son. Douglas holds the title, so he’s the one who represents all that Papa loathes and detests about the Belingtons.” Alethea’s face filled with worry. “For me, it’ll be bad enough if Papa finds out about Alex, but if he discovers you’re seeing Douglas Wyndham, Earl of Belington, he will...” Alethea shut her eyes and shook her head, as if trying to blot out the frightful image that had formed in her head. “I cannot bear to think of it!”
A wave of impatience flooded over Lucinda. “It’s time I knew about the tragedy—all of it.”
“I hardly know about it myself. Papa is the one to tell you. He was there when it happened. He can tell you everything.”
* * *
The next morning Lucinda awoke in an ebullient mood. Despite her fears she might be found out, she was going to meet with Douglas today. Sheer folly, of course, but despite the danger of it, she could hardly wait.
Her buoyant mood was short-lived. As she descended the main staircase, she found Edgerton waiting for her at the bottom. The granite look on his face told her he knew.
“Good morning, Cousin Edgerton.” She had tried to sound as if she hadn’t a care in the world, but Edgerton’s gaze impaled her, and despite herself, her voice had a shaky edge to it.
“Good morning, Lucinda,” he said in a deceptively silky voice. “Do come into the library. There’s a certain matter I would like to discuss with you.”
Lucinda felt her knees going weak as Edgerton took a seat behind his desk and motioned her to sit across. He did not speak immediately but simply sat looking at her for a while, touching his fingers together as if in deep thought. “It’s time for me to tell you of the tragedy,” he finally said, regarding her with eyes like ice.
“I think it is.” She was pleased her curiosity would at last be satisfied but leery he had chosen this early morning hour. In silent fear she waited. Whatever her cousin’s reasons for telling her, they could not be good.
Edgerton, seemingly relaxed, sat back in his chair. “I was twelve at the time, my sister, Sarah, five. My sister, Marianne, was six. She was a lively little girl, and quite pretty with her blonde curls and dimples in her cheeks. My favorite, actually. Sarah never—” Edgerton seemed to catch himself and reconsider his words. “Ah well, even back then, Sarah was of a more solemn disposition, whereas Marianne captured all our hearts with her high spirits and sunny smile.”
Edgerton stopped talking a few moments, sighed as if reflecting on the tragic past, and finally continued, “It was Christmastime. As was the custom, Lord and Lady Belington gave their annual Christmas party at Ravensbrook Manor, to which practically the whole countryside was invited. This was an all-day affair, where we played games—ate an enormous banquet—exchanged gifts. Late in the afternoon, I was playing outside near the stables when I saw Gregory, the oldest son and thus the heir, lead a pony from the stable. Riding atop was Marianne. Gregory had been giving other children pony rides that day, so I thought nothing of it. In fact, I barely noticed when he led her along a path into the woods.
“Not long after, my mother started searching for Marianne, but she could not be found, nor could Gregory. When I told what I’d seen, a search party scoured the woods, but to no avail. My sister had simply disappeared. We searched all that day and into the next. Then we heard that Gregory had secretly returned to Ravensbrook, collected his belongings, and fled to France, where he later committed suicide, no doubt in repentance for his dastardly deed.”
Lucinda had been listening to the dismal tale with growing distress. “How horrible. So Marianne was never found?”
“She was never seen again.”
“Was there not even a trace of her? A piece of clothing perhaps?”
“Nothing,” Edgerton replied, his voice grim. “It’s obvious what happened. Gregory took the little girl into the woods where he—suffice to say, God only knows what heinous acts he committed. Then he buried her somewhere. Considering there are thousands of square acres of f
orest and uninhabited land around, it’s not surprising we never found her.”
“Poor Aunt Pernelia,” Lucinda said, shaking her head.
“To this day, Mama looks for Marianne, though not as much as she used to, considering her infirmities. For years she practically lived in those woods, scouring nearly every inch of ground, calling out her name, over and over, as if...” Edgerton paused and cleared his throat. “Ah, well. I’ve told you enough that you can imagine how difficult this entire affair has been for the rest of us. Sarah was never the same after that. She was shy enough to begin with, but as the years have gone by, she’s become even more withdrawn. As for me, perhaps you now understand my feelings toward the Belingtons.”
“All the Belingtons?” Lucinda asked, “when it was only Gregory? Surely Lord and Lady Belington must have been devastated.”
“They were not.” It was easy to discern the hatred that caused Edgerton’s jaw to clench, his eyes to narrow. “Oh, they were sorry enough that Marianne disappeared, but until the day each died, they held to the notion that Gregory was innocent.”
“Could he have been innocent?” Lucinda immediately regretted her question when she saw Edgerton’s dark brows meet over eyes that flared with anger.
“Gregory was a blackguard and a devil. He spent most of his time in London, drinking, gambling...following other selfish, decadent pursuits which I prefer not to name. More than one lady of high rank was ruined because of Gregory Belington. His scurrilous reputation was well-known, of course, but little did we know that when he returned home for Christmas that year he would turn into a cold-hearted, murderous brute.”
Lucinda felt like cringing in the face of Edgerton’s pent-up anger. She held her ground, though, and guessing what was coming next, also held her tongue, deciding it would be wise not to speak.
Edgerton brought his anger back under control and continued speaking in a deceptively calm voice, as if he were speaking to a child. “And that is why we do not associate with the Belingtons.” He arose from his desk. Hands clenched behind his back, he walked a full circle around Lucinda, peering at her intently, never taking his eyes away from her face. “Do you understand? If you continue to live under this roof, you must not talk to a Belington, or dance with a Belington, or go strolling through the garden with a”—he suddenly bent over her, his face only inches away, and exploded, ”Belington!” in a voice so loud it made her ears ring. She could see that vein protruding in his forehead again. Plain to see he was furious, although after the one outburst he calmed himself and started pacing. “It is beyond me how you and Alethea could have spoken one word to those two scoundrels.”
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