by M C Beaton
Lucy struggled up. “Where are we going?”
“Why, to call on Wardshire, of course.”
“But I thought we were going to London with that in mind. Everyone in the county knows he doesn’t receive callers, not even the Lord Lieutenant, not even the bishop. We shall be most dreadfully snubbed.”
“Fiddle! Faint heart never won fair gentleman. Bustle about. Feathers! The pink sprig for Miss Lucy and the rose sprig for Miss Belinda, and those new bonnets with the flowers.”
Lucy shivered as she climbed down from the high bed and went to the window and looked out. Gray, ragged clouds were hurtling across the sky, and rods of sleet were stabbing into the lawn below. “Muslin, Mama, in such weather. We shall die of the ague.”
“You must suffer to be beautiful, or rather Belinda must. My hopes are pinned on Belinda, but there is no need for you to look like a guy. Heat the curling tongs, Feathers, and see what you can do with Miss Lucy’s hair.”
Lucy knew from experience that it was useless to argue with her mother. She would just need to shiver in muslin on the drive to the duke’s home, Sarsey, wait to be rebuffed, and shiver on the road back.
How ridiculous they looked, thought Lucy as they set out that afternoon. Mrs. Bliss was attired in a gold silk gown and silk pelisse trimmed with fur. On her head was a tall-crowned felt hat embellished with pheasants’ feathers. Lucy and Belinda were wearing their thin muslins, each barely protected from the cold with a cashmere shawl. On their heads were straw bonnets bedecked with flowers, and their feet were encased in the thinnest of kid slippers.
Lucy found her heart was beginning to beat a little faster as their carriage turned in at the lodge gates of Sarsey. The sleet was changing to snow. The day was dark and sinister. Above their heads the trees lining the long drive bowed and bent down over them, the bare branches stretched out toward the carriage like skeletal fingers. Belinda shivered and pressed close to Lucy, and Lucy squeezed her hand and gave her a reassuring smile. Soon it would be over, thought Lucy. Their footman would knock at the door and present Mrs. Bliss’s card. He would return to say that the duke was “not at home,” a polite fiction meaning the duke did not want to see them, and then they could go back. She realized with surprise that her mother was still talking, had not stopped talking since they left home. Mrs. Bliss was speculating how the duke would look when he saw Belinda, and from there she went on easily to plans for a big society wedding and how many noses she would put out of joint with her success.
A large house loomed up, a palace, dark and forbidding and immensely grand. Mrs. Bliss suddenly fell silent, and Lucy wondered whether her mother had at last realized the enormity of what she was doing. But it had suddenly occurred to Mrs. Bliss how easy it would be for the duke not to see them, not even to be aware of their call. He had no doubt told his servants to refuse all callers.
So when the footman let down the carriage steps and then turned to approach the great door to present her card, Mrs. Bliss called him back. “We will go ourselves, John,” she said. “I am sure His Grace is expecting us.” And ignoring Lucy’s startled exclamation of protest, she shooed them from the carriage and herded them before her to the door.
Mrs. Bliss seized the knocker, which was in the shape of a grinning devil’s head, and rapped smartly. The door was opened by a reassuringly ordinary butler. He was just inclining his head to murmur politely that the duke was not at home when the duke himself crossed the hall. Mrs. Bliss simply elbowed the butler aside. “Your Grace,” she cooed, tripping up to him, silk-covered bosoms bobbing under her open pelisse, “are we not fortunate to find you at home. Come, girls.”
The butler looked desperately to his master for help. “I was about to say you were not at home, Your Grace.”
“And to all intents and purposes, I am not,” said the duke icily. He wrapped his banyan of gold cloth more tightly about his tall figure and stared down from his great height at Mrs. Bliss.
“But you are,” exclaimed Mrs. Bliss. “And here we are, being very neighborly. I said to my Belinda, His Grace will be delighted with a little female company.” She half turned and grabbed Belinda’s arm and dragged her forward. The duke raised his quizzing glass and looked down, not at Belinda, but at Mrs. Bliss. “I do not want a little female company, nor indeed any… er… large female company. Now, if you would be so good—”
He was interrupted by Lucy, who had marched forward and now stood glaring up at him, her fists clenched. Lucy despised her mother but could not bear to see her humiliated by anyone. “Come, Mama,” she said, “this whole idea of yours, although well intentioned, was a great mistake. I am cold and miserable and so is Belinda, and you will come home with us before you are more badly snubbed than you already have been.”
The duke looked at her in surprise. Her little nose was red with cold, and under her unseasonal straw bonnet, her hair had begun to come out of curl and was lying in wispy tendrils on her cold cheeks. Her large eyes shone with anger.
A sudden spark of amusement lit up his own eyes. “But you did not let me finish. I was about to say, if you will be so good as to step into the library and warm yourselves by the fire, I shall order some refreshment to be sent to you.”
“You did not think any such thing,” raged Lucy. “You just said that to make me look foolish.”
“Thankee,” said Mrs. Bliss, ignoring Lucy and urging Belinda toward where a footman was holding open the library door. “So very kind, I’m sure. The weather is so inclement.”
The duke stood aside and smiled down at Lucy. “You look very cold,” he said in a mocking voice.
In exasperation, Lucy spoke her thoughts aloud. “I don’t know which one of you is the worst, Mama with her vulgar pushiness or you with your mockery.” Then she blushed to the roots of her hair in mortification as she immediately realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud. “I b-beg your pardon,” she said miserably, but he had already turned away and was saying to his hovering butler, “Fetch Mr. Graham. Tell him I have company. And bring negus and cakes to the library.”
Lucy walked quickly into the library and sat down by Belinda. “No, not there!” hissed her mother. “He must see Belinda on her own.” Lucy was miserably aware that the duke had entered the room just in time to hear this remark.
What a terrifying man he seemed, and how scared poor Belinda looked. Lucy had been inclined to think that a great deal of nonsense had been talked about the wicked duke, but one look at that satanically handsome face was enough to make anyone shiver. Mrs. Bliss launched into speech. “What a fine palace you do have, Duke, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it could do with a leetle of the feminine touch.”
“I have a housekeeper,” remarked the duke.
Mrs. Bliss wagged an arch finger at him. “Naughty! I am persuaded you know just what I mean. We are in such a flurry because Belinda here is to make her come-out and we are going to London. I believe you plan to go yourself. Of course, I doubt if you will even see my Belinda, for at her first ball she will be surrounded by so many courtiers. Oh, I declare. I am that overcome I have not made the introductions. I am Mrs. Bliss of Dove House, and this is my Belinda. Make your curtsy, Belinda. There. Don’t she curtsy a treat.”
The duke’s eyes slid to Lucy. “And is this your daughter’s companion?”
“No, no, this is my elder daughter, Lucy… Lucinda.”
“Ah, therefore Miss Lucy has already made her come-out.”
“No, for there was not any reason. But with such beauty as Belinda’s, it would be a shame to let her pine unseen in the country.”
“Indeed it would,” said the duke, his eyes ranging insolently over Belinda’s plump and demure figure. He turned as Mr. Graham entered the room and introduced him. The butler and two footmen followed bearing trays carrying a bowl of negus, glasses, and an array of cakes and biscuits.
Mrs. Bliss curtsied low before Mr. Graham, determined to flatter this friend of the duke. As she rose, her eyes slid from Mr. Graham to Lucy,
and then one could almost see her thinking that Lucy did not present any hope whatsoever.
“Do you attend many balls and parties in the country?” the duke asked Belinda.
Before Belinda could reply, Mrs. Bliss weighed in. “Wasn’t we at the assembly t’other night and wasn’t pet here mobbed, but simply mobbed, by the gentlemen? Why, says I, you could marry a duke!” She gave a genteel simper. “What am I saying? My tongue does run on with me.”
The duke watched fascinated as negus and cakes were served all round. Mrs. Bliss, he noticed, had mastered the art of eating cream cakes while still talking. “So,” went on Mrs. Bliss archly, “I am sure you will be desirous to call on us in London, Your Grace, to get ahead of the game, as it were, if you take my meaning.”
“I am afraid I do not understand you,” said the duke.
“Mama!” breathed Lucy in an anguished undertone.
“You know,” said Mrs. Bliss.
“I do not, madam.”
“Well, you’ve seen our Belinda first. So many men will be wanting her hand in marriage.”
The duke surveyed Mrs. Bliss in admiration. He had met some pushy parents in his time, but Mrs. Bliss beat them all to flinders.
“I am sorry to disappoint you,” he said, “but I will be much engaged in matters of business. But, as you rightly say, your pretty daughters will have no difficulty in finding husbands.”
Mrs. Bliss looked disappointed at this momentary setback but then plunged deeper into the mire of social gaffes. “Oh, I am not one of your vulgar ambitious women, Your Grace. Have I hopes for Lucy? No, I have not.”
“I cannot understand why,” remarked the duke insolently. He put up his glass and studied Lucy.
“She’s a sweet girl, but she ain’t got what it takes, and that’s a fact. But my Belinda—”
The duke wearied of the game. He looked out the window. “I am loath to cut short your visit, madam, but the snow is beginning to lie…”
“Think nothing of it,” said Mrs. Bliss, settling back in her chair. “We are intrepid travelers.”
“I insist,” said the duke. He rang the bell, and when a footman answered it, he asked for Mrs. Bliss’s carriage to be brought round immediately.
Mrs. Bliss rose, slightly huffed. “My Belinda is a strong girl for all her looks,” she remarked. “Good stock.”
“But as I pointed out, the snow is still falling,” said the duke, “and I do not have time to examine her teeth.”
Mr. Graham let out an unmanly snigger, and Lucy glared.
Mrs. Bliss chattered her way into the hall, her voice beating remorselessly on the air while Lucy felt ready to sink with shame.
Lucy and Belinda sat huddled in the carriage on the road home as their mother crowed over the “success” of the visit. But at last Lucy was able to shut off her mother’s voice and reflect that Belinda was well and truly safe now from the sinister Duke of Wardshire. She remembered the look on his face as they had left. Her mother and Belinda were already in the carriage, but Lucy, one foot on the carriage steps, had turned and looked back. The duke’s face had been the very picture of mockery mixed with disgust.
“What on earth were you about,” Mr. Graham was demanding, “to let such a creature in your home after years of keeping even the nicest at bay? Faugh! She smelled of the shop.”
“As far as I know, she comes from an impeccable background,” said the duke. “You must have noticed before that the much-maligned shopkeeper often has excellent manners compared to certain ladies of the ton.”
“I was sorry for the daughters,” commented Mr. Graham. “That Belinda is vastly pretty, but how will she take at the Season with a mother like that?”
“Yes,” said the duke thoughtfully. “But I was particularly sorry for the elder girl.”
Mr. Graham shrugged. “Waiflike creature, but of no particular style or looks. Let us talk about something else. We are not likely to meet the Bliss family again.”
Chapter Two
For the first time she could remember, Lucy found peace, and it was amongst the rattle and noise of London. Mrs. Bliss was too occupied with “nursing the ground,” which meant she sought invitations to the best houses for her daughters. Some who would have liked to snub her did not, because she seemed to have a hide impenetrable to insult, and so it was easier to give in to her; others, because this vulgar Mrs. Bliss was a friend of the Duke of Wardshire, and all wanted an introduction to him.
Lucy’s wardrobe was quickly finished. It had been explained that she could not expect to have as many dresses as her pretty sister. So one bright spring day when Mrs. Bliss was occupied with the dressmaker, busy choosing designs for more gowns for Belinda, and Belinda was kept close to “give her opinion,” which meant agreeing to everything her mother said, Lucy asked if she might go out for a drive with Feathers. Absentmindedly Mrs. Bliss murmured “Mmm,” which Lucy cheerfully interpreted to mean permission.
Feathers was a tall, angular woman whose austere appearance hid a girlish desire to “visit the lions,” current cant for seeing the sights, and so she clapped her hands when Lucy said they should go to the Tower of London to look at the wild beasts.
Almost dizzy with elation at this rare day of freedom, Lucy ordered the open carriage to take them, for the weather was warm and fine. It was hard to remember on such a glorious day that the fickle English spring could change back into winter at any moment. The footman on the backstrap, a tall, gangling country youth called John, had never before seen the sights of London either, and added to the air of excitement as he looked around him, exclaiming at the fine shops and buildings.
The Tower, that great medieval fortress on the banks of the Thames, sobered them. “What a grim place,” said Lucy in awe. “A fit setting for the Duke of Wardshire. You should have seen him, Feathers, looking like the devil himself. I can only be happy that Mama gave him such a disgust of us that he would never in a hundred years think of proposing to Belinda.”
“I have heard of the duke,” said Feathers with a shiver. “’Tis said he holds the black mass in the family chapel.”
Lucy looked at the maid doubtfully. “Although he struck me as a bad man, he did not strike me as being silly. And surely only very silly people get up to such theatricals.”
“There is no imagining the dreadful things that evil people will get up to,” said Feathers grimly. “Oh, here are the beasts.”
The stopped and stared into a cage where a mangy lion paced up and down. “I really do not think I am enjoying this,” said Lucy as they began to move along the cages. “Such a fine day, and to see these poor creatures in captivity. I declare it is quite depressing. We should have gone to the waxworks instead.”
A brightly colored ball rolled along in front of the cages and came to a stop at Lucy’s feet. She picked it up and looked around. A small, sturdy boy came running up. Lucy judged him to be about six years old. He was wearing a gown and petticoats and a straw top hat, the usual dress for small boys, who were attired as girls until they reached the age of eight. He had rosy cheeks and periwinkle blue eyes.
“May I have my ball?” he asked. Lucy held it out to him. “Where is your mama?” she asked.
“At home,” he replied moodily, starting to bounce the ball up and down.
“Then who is here with you?”
“Old Grizzly Face,” he replied. He bounced the ball against a tiger’s cage, and the animal inside snarled a moody warning.
“Oh, do be careful,” pleaded Lucy. “Let us go and find… er… Old Grizzly Face. Did you run away from him?”
“Yes, he was giving me a jaw-me-dead about the beasts, and I don’t want to look at them.”
“Why?”
“’Cos they look unhappy, that’s why.”
“I quite agree,” said Lucy firmly. “Perhaps the sensible thing would be to find your protector and ask him to take you to see the crown jewels. Would you like that?”
“Better ’n this,” said the boy laconically.
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br /> A beefeater came marching along and then stopped at the sight of them. “Here, young shaver,” he exclaimed, “His Grace has nearly turned the whole guard out to look for you.”
And then behind the beefeater came none other than the Duke of Wardshire. Lucy involuntarily stepped back a pace, a hand flying to her mouth. His handsome face was as satanic-looking as she remembered, framed by the glossy black wings of his hair. He gave her a brief nod, not appearing to recognize her. He loomed over the small boy. “Where have you been, Peregrine?” he demanded wrathfully.
Lucy found her voice. “So you are Old Grizzly Face!”
The pale silver eyes surveyed her. “I beg your pardon, miss. Come, Peregrine.”
“She don’t like the beasts either,” whined Peregrine. “She says we ought to see the crown jewels.”
“And I say you deserve a whipping,” said the duke wrathfully.
All the horrible tales she had heard about him rushed into Lucy’s mind and she cried, “He is only a little boy, Your Grace, and the animals are not pleasant to watch, all dusty and dirty as they are.”
He stood very still, his thin black eyebrows rising in surprise. “Well, well,” he said softly. “Miss Lucy Bliss.”
Lucy dropped a curtsy. “Your servant, Your Grace.”
She felt awkward and ill at ease. Perhaps this child was one of the wicked duke’s by-blows, for she could not imagine him taking the time to visit unfashionable sights with any child other than one of his own.
“Come along, Peregrine,” snapped the duke.
But Peregrine felt he had found a more interesting protector. One small, chubby hand reached out and caught Lucy’s. “Wanna stay with her,” he said. He screwed up his eyes and opened his mouth. The duke wearily recognized the preparations. Peregrine was about to make a scene.
“But if you blubber,” he said quickly, “you will be taken straight home and you will not see the crown jewels.”
