by Beth Bryan
Cousin Ethelreda stared at her, but Mr. Devereux made a perfect bow. “Not at all, Miss Neville. I am gratified to have been of assistance.” His voice held only polite interest, but was there the faintest lift to the corners of his mouth?
How dared he laugh at her? Lucinda inclined her head. “My aunt and I are most grateful for your help, sir, but I must not trespass on your indulgence any further. If you will excuse me, I must speak with Mr. Ryland.”
She went quickly to where Will and Patience were sitting. Neither seemed to notice anything amiss in her manner, and she was glad to sit silently while Will recounted the virtues of Charles’s new team.
Richard Devereux, she noted resentfully, did not appear snubbed. He was conversing with Belle, and to Lucinda’s disapproval, that young lady was flirting shamelessly both with him and Sir Charles. She tried to concentrate on the conversation beside her, but her attention kept sliding back to the trio by the fireplace.
Fortunately the butler soon appeared to announce supper.
“As this is just an informal gathering,” said Lady Grantham, “I am afraid that our numbers are not even.”
“Then,” said Richard, “I claim the honour of escorting you and Mrs. Cleeson.”
“And I shall escort Miss Ryland.” Sir Charles had eyes only for Belle and ignored his mother’s minatory glance.
‘Tm afraid that you ladies will have to be satisfied with me.” Will offered an arm to Patience and Lucinda.
Once in the dining room, Lady Grantham took firm charge of the seating arrangements. Despite her son’s obvious manoeuvres, Lucinda was seated on his right, beside Will and across from Patience. Sir Charles apparently easily recovered his temper and the four of them laughed and joked together very agreeably, though Sir Charles did display a tendency to glare up the table where Belle was endeavouring to monopolize Mr. Devereux’s attention.
The Beau, however, was not so rag-mannered as to concentrate only on one lady. He divided his attention equally amongst Belle, Lady Grantham and Mrs. Cleeson. It was, Lucinda assured herself, only her own concern for Belle that made her, too, glance so frequently in that direction.
Still dubious as to Lucinda’s state of health, Mrs. I Cleeson insisted they depart soon after supper. As they left, Belle was gracefully posed on a gilt-legged sofa. Mr. Devereux sat beside her, his head bent towards her. On her other side, Sir Charles hovered frowningly.
“Your sister is marvellously changed,” Ethelreda said in the carriage on the way home. Will had decided to escort them.
“Belle?” He spoke with brotherly unconcern. “She looks well enough, I suppose.”
“Well enough!” Mrs. Cleeson was shocked. “I am sure Mr. Devereux thought her more than well enough!”
“Mr. Devereux?” Lucinda repeated sharply. “Surely you did not imagine that he was interested in Belle?”
“Shouldn’t think he could be,” Will answered. “The betting in the clubs is that he will offer for Lady Chloris dePoer before the Season’s out.”
“Chloris dePoer?” Mrs. Cleeson was intrigued. “That will be Melisande’s girl. Yes, she would be the very thing—an excellent match for a Devereux. I remember the last time I saw Melisande and her...”
Her voice ran on in tangled reminiscences. Suddenly, Lucinda found she had a headache. What an insipid evening it had been altogether. And now, why was Will boring them with this trivial gossip from the men’s clubs? It couldn’t matter less to her whom Richard Devereux married. She was, after all, an engaged woman.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lucinda slept uneasily and awoke late. She had barely finished dressing when she was informed that Miss Ryland had called.
“Lucinda,” Belle declared as soon as she saw her, “Lucinda, isn’t he wonderful?”
Something seemed to have gone wrong with Lucinda’s voice, for she opened and shut her mouth several times before she managed to mutter, “Wonderful?”
“I wish you could have stayed last night. Mama played for us and we were allowed to dance, even to waltz.”
Lucinda had a sudden vision of Belle twirling in Mr. Devereux’s arms. Hurriedly she sat down. “H-how delightful for you.”
“Of course,” Belle went on, holding out her yellow morning dress and waltzing dreamingly about the room, “he doesn’t dance very well, but that doesn’t really signi—”
“Beau Devereux can’t dance?”
Belle stopped. “Of course Mr. Devereux can dance, and beautifully, too. But do pay attention, Lucinda, I am speaking of Sir Charles.”
“Sir Charles?”
“Whatever is the matter with your voice this morning, Lucinda? It goes up and down astonishingly.”
Lucinda laughed shakily. “I didn’t sleep very well, Belle. Pray forgive me for being rather slow today.”
“No, you must forgive me.” Belle was contrite. “Patience said we must enquire whether you were fully recovered before we all descended upon you. But I quite forgot to ask.”
“Belle!” Lucinda regarded her in exasperated affection. “Do you mean you have left Patience all alone in the carriage all this while?”
“Oh, Will’s with her.”
“What a wretched girl you are. I shall send someone out for her.”
“No, don’t do that. Send for your wrap instead. We’ve come to take you to Gunther’s Pastry Shop, for, you know, it is the place to see all the ton.”
“I must ask cousin Ethelreda first.”
But Mrs. Cleeson had no objection. Planning a massive shopping expedition that afternoon, she was happy to have more time to refine her lists.
So Lucinda donned her bonnet, a fetching straw decorated with silk roses and primroses to match the embroidered bouquets scattered over her muslin round dress, and set off.
Will and Patience did not appear upset by their long wait, and they had a merry journey to Piccadilly. Lucinda actually recognized part of the route and was able to remark with tolerable casualness that she had picked up some interesting things at Hatchard’s yesterday.
Will saw them into Gunther’s and installed at a coveted window seat. Then he took his leave, declaring that he would not “maudle his insides” with sweet stuff at that hour of the day.
The ladies suffered no such compunction. Soon they were enjoying dishes of Gunther’s famous pastel-coloured ices.
Belle had just put down her spoon when an imposing dowager in a formidable orange turban approached them. She was, she announced, a dear friend of Lady Ryland’s and she bore Belle off to another table to interrogate her on family matters.
“You have known Belle and Mr. Ryland for a long time, I collect?” Patience asked in her soft voice.
“Forever,” Lucinda replied as she regretfully finished off the last of her raspberry ice. “We are near neighbours in Nether Wilden, you know, and we have visited back and forth since we were children.”
Patience looked wistful. “I should dearly have liked a little girl neighbour when I was growing up.”
“Actually, I was more often with Will because, you know, Lady Ryland was away often and she took Belle with her when she went to Harrowgate or London or the like. I didn’t mind that so much, but I was desperately lonely when Will went up to Cambridge.”
“But he has been down for some time now?”
“It’s been just like old times. In fact...” Lucinda paused for a moment. She did not want to bore Patience, but the other girl seemed more than just politely interested. “My papa at one time asked if I had removed myself entirely to Ryland Old Hall. He does like to tease sometimes.”
Patience pushed her dish away. She hadn’t finished her ice, Lucinda noticed. Perhaps the red-currant ice wasn’t as successful as the raspberry.
“You and Mr. Ryland are close friends, then?” Patience asked in a rather colourless voice.
“Oh, yes,” Lucinda agreed fervently. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by a sense of her great affection for Will; simple, reliable, steadfast Will whom she’d known for as long as she
could remember. “Oh, yes. I think Will must be my dearest friend.”
“At last!” Belle returned and flopped into her chair. “After all that, I shall order another ice.”
“That was Lady Hoxborough, I think?” Patience asked.
“A bosom-bow of my mother’s, but I feel just as I felt at school when the headmistress quizzed me about the music master.”
“The Hoxboroughs’ ball is always the first of the Season. Shall we see you there tonight, Lucinda?”
“No, I think not. Cousin Ethelreda has not mentioned any ball.”
“She will.” Belle was tucking into her second ice. “When I told her who you were, she promised to send you cards right away.”
“A ball!” Lucinda said excitedly. “But I don’t think I have anything to wear to a London ball.”
“Well,” Belle pointed out reasonably, “you’ve got the whole afternoon to shop.”
They had; but, as Lucinda soon discovered, they had need of every minute.
Once back in Agincourt Circle, Lucinda partook of a quick lunch with her cousin.
“Belle said Lady Hoxborough is to send us cards to her ball tonight, cousin Ethelreda.”
“The Hoxborough Ball! Good heavens, Lucinda, if we receive cards, then of course we must go. I know she is a friend of Lady Ryland’s, but because we have just arrived, I did not expect— When did you say it was?”
“Tonight.”
Mrs. Cleeson gave a little shriek and made a dive for her lists. “Then we must hurry. We cannot see about the house today. We must go at once to Celie’s. Thank heavens you are not likely to be difficult to fit. At least I sent out yesterday to Paternoster Row, so you have new silk stockings. But the dress—Let us hope that Celie has something suitable already made up.” She pushed back her chair. “Come along now, Lucinda, don’t dawdle. I really do not know how we are going to find time for everything. Come along, come along, do!”
Lucinda did not know what to expect from a London modiste. But she was rather surprised when the carriage drew up before an unmarked house in a fashionable part of Town. An impassive manservant ushered them into a spacious first-floor reception room.
Lucinda looked round at the tasteful furnishings and the huge bowls of roses and pink lilies.
“Ah, Madame Cleeson!” A little lady with beautifully dressed white hair and a gown of dove grey arrived and grasped Ethelreda’s hand. “So many years, I cannot believe it!”
“Nor I,” declared Mrs. Cleeson with a laugh, “but those years have dealt kindly with you, Celie. And see, I have brought you my niece, Lucinda Neville, Jasper’s daughter, you know. She is to make her come-out this year, and naturally you are to make her dresses. But now we are to go to the Hoxboroughs’ ball tonight, and,” she concluded dramatically, “she has not a thing to wear.”
“La!” Madame Celie threw up her hands, then came to stand before Lucinda. “Leve-toi, s’il vous plait, ma petite.” As Lucinda rose, Madame Celie circled her, nodding. “Bon, bon. You have the jolie forme, ma belle, but very slight, so I think we shall find something. It will need peut-etre a stitch here and there but we shall contrive, we shall contrive.”
Lucinda was whisked off into a smaller room which seemed largely furnished with huge mirrors and small gilt chairs. She stood in her shift while Madame Celie and a succession of assistants popped an endless variety of gowns over her head. To her, they all seemed fairylike, but Madame Celie was less easy to please. “Oh, non! Pas qua! Too many frills. Bring the other, the pale blue.” Then, as that one was eased over Lucinda’s curls, “Non! Not that one either—the colour is too insipid for such hair.”
Lucinda’s legs ached and she longed to sit down. But beyond asking her to raise her arms or turn about, no one paid any attention to her.
She was beginning to feel quite tired and rather irritated when Madame Celie at last said, “So, Madame Cleeson, you will take the blanche et or for tonight. A few tucks here and there and it will fit a la merveille. The other two we shall also adjust. I shall send them to you later this afternoon. Now do you and la petite take some tea and we shall then look at fabrics for the other ensembles.”
Thankfully Lucinda resumed her own clothes and they returned to the first room where they drank pale China tea from exquisite paper-thin cups.
Madame Celie bustled in again, this time with pattern books and swatches of materials. For a while, Lucinda’s attention was caught, but there were so many pictures, so many fabric samples and Madame talked so quickly and flipped the pages so rapidly, suggesting these sleeves here and that neckline there, adding lace here, a row of ruffles there, that at length she simply sat back and nibbled on a sweetmeat, leaving everything to her cousin and the modiste. On the rare occasions when they appealed to her, Lucinda merely nodded.
“Gracious, look at the time!” Mrs. Cleeson cried, suddenly coming back to reality. “We must go immediately, so you may have time to rest. Celie, I depend upon you for that white and gold gown for tonight. Now, Lucinda, let us go at once. Come along now.”
It was all anyone seemed to say in London, Lucinda thought as she climbed back into the carriage: come along, come along, come along! And all she had done today was look at dresses. But she had never realized that shopping could be so exhausting. She was actually looking forward to the rest Ethelreda had decreed.
But later that evening, Lucinda had to admit that it had all been worth it. She turned slowly in front of the huge pier-glass.
Was it really her: the slender, perfectly gowned figure she saw reflected there? She studied the dress again—her first London model. It clung tightly to her bosom, then fell into a divided skirt of thin white silk over a pale gold underdress.
Tiny gold stars with diamonds in their centres sparkled in her hair and in her ears. A gauzy shawl, woven with gold and silver threads, was draped over her white shoulders.
“Excellent, dearest,” cousin Ethelreda declared as she twitched one last shining curl into place. “Collie is always right. That gold colour brings out the glints in your hair and eyes. Come along now or we shall be late. Remember we promised to meet the Granthams.”
Lucinda was grateful for this arrangement later. They met their friends in the hall of the Hoxboroughs’ house in Eaton Square. The impassive liveried servants smoothly took charge of wraps and gloves and hats, then shepherded the guests into the receiving line on the first landing.
As she followed Mrs. Cleeson and the footman up the curving staircase, Lucinda felt quite lost. She had been to assemblies and young people’s parties in Nether Wilden and the surrounding countryside. But nothing had even been as grand as this.
“Mrs. Cleeson and Miss Lucinda Neville,” the footman intoned sonorously.
Lucinda felt so overwhelmed that she could scarcely raise her eyes to Lady Hoxborough as that formidable lady greeted Ethelreda.
“Jasper Neville’s gel, eh?” her ladyship boomed and Lucinda caught a glimpse of figured green satin and a massive, if particularly ugly, collar of emeralds. “Looks just like her mother, and—” Lady Hoxborough bent towards Mrs. Cleeson and proclaimed in what was meant to be a whisper “—and a fortune to boot! You’ll have your work cut out for you, fending off the bucks.” She nodded as the scarlet-faced Lucinda bobbed a curtsy and passed her on to Lord Hoxborough.
Their host was a thin, self-effacing man, with a vague, unfocussed glance. He shook hands and murmured endlessly. “Welcome, delighted to see you, welcome.”
Another footman threw open the doors to the great gilt-and-marble ballroom. Lucinda shrank back as she stared into the room where the floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected the immaculately dressed members of the haut ton.
“Oh!” whispered Patience behind her. “It’s all rather frightening, isn’t it?” Miss Grantham wore a flattering shade of daffodil; nonetheless, Lucinda thought her pale.
“Frightening?” Miss Ryland scornfully repeated. Belle herself looked anything but frightened. An aura of elation surrounded her. She was in her best
looks in a rather daring gown of blue-and-white stripes, with a coronal of white camellias surrounding her upswept curls. “Just wait till the dancing starts. Then we shall be too busy to be frightened.”
Belle proved a true prophet and Lady Grantham and Mrs. Cleeson had ample opportunity to show their mettle as chaperons, for all their charges enjoyed a steady stream of partners.
The prospect of dancing before such a crowd had thoroughly unnerved Lucinda. But in such a squeeze, she soon realized, she was not likely to be the cynosure of all eyes. Once on the dance floor, amongst the other participants, she relaxed a little and began to take note of her sumptuous surroundings and to answer her partners in more than monosyllables. She was pleased she was able to identify some faces in the shifting press of people.
At the edge of the dance floor she caught sight of Will. He was gesturing animatedly, his face excited. A turn of the dance revealed his companion: Beau Devereux.
Lucinda’s heart jumped and she lost the rhythm of the dance. Her gangly young partner blushed scarlet as she trod on his toe and began to stutter incoherent apologies. Guiltily, Lucinda devoted herself to him for the rest of the set.
But when she returned to the chaperons’ corner, she looked eagerly about. With another stab of expectation she saw them coming towards her.
“Lucinda,” Will called out to her. “You cannot guess!”
His enthusiasm was infectious, and Lucinda laughed a little as she clasped his hand, before turning to greet Mr. Devereux with a more correct, cooler smile.
The contrast rather piqued that gentleman, but before he could speak, Will rushed on. “Cinda, Mr. Devereux has Castor and Pollux!”
“You have, sir? I cannot tell you what a relief that is. We have been so worried since Lord Mountmellor died.” And Lucinda beamed on him.
“Mountmellor was my godfather, Miss Neville. He left me his stables, including the horses you mention.”
“We knew he had no family and we were so anxious...”
“Forgive me, Miss Neville, but why?” Lucinda and Will stared at him. Mr. Devereux smiled slightly. “I only received the horses last week. Any of their papers will have been sent to my place in Devon.”
