Love for Lucinda

by Gayle Buck

  Astonished, Lucinda looked quickly at her companion. Miss Blythe’s expression reflected only a mild curiosity, but her former pupil knew her far too well to believe that it had been an idle question.

  Lucinda shook her head, laughing. “Do not even think it, Tibby! Wilfred and I have become friends. Neither of us is the least attracted to the other, nor do either of us wish to become riveted. Indeed, I suspect that Wilfred would be horrified at the very notion of wedding anyone just yet. He is enjoying all the advantages of his new position. It would be too much to expect him to take up the responsibilities of a wife and the inevitable growing nursery!”

  “A pity, indeed,” said Miss Blythe. She sat down in the wing chair that she favored, which was situated in front of the warm fire. She drew her embroidery out of the basket that had been left close to hand. Serenely she began plying her needle. “I should so like to see you settled and happy, Lucinda. The regard of a worthy gentleman goes far in guaranteeing a female’s content.”

  “I do not necessarily need to enter wedlock to acquire contentment in my life, Tibby,” said Lucinda, amused.

  “No, my dear, I suppose not,” said Miss Blythe. Her voice held a faintly dubious note.

  “I can be very happy by myself. The Season is before me, and I shall dissipate myself until I am utterly worn away by diversions,” said Lucinda, mildly stung by her companion’s obvious lack of conviction.

  “What shall you do then?” asked Miss Blythe mildly.

  “What?” Lucinda was taken aback. “How do you mean?”

  “What shall you do when the Season’s amusements come to an end?” asked Miss Blythe.

  Lucinda stared at her companion, not at all certain how to respond. She had not thought beyond the Season. For several months she had thought of nothing but her plans for her own enjoyment. It had never once occurred to her that she would find herself at loose ends when the Season drew to a close. Of course, Carbarry waited for her, but it seemed somehow tame to simply leave London and return to her quiet life.

  Lucinda airily waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, there will be any number of things to do. Perhaps I shall travel. I should like that, I think. The war is over, and it will be possible now to see all the sights.”

  “The sights always appear at their best when they are shared with someone else,” suggested Miss Blythe. “And I do not refer to the company of a paid traveling companion, my dear!” She looked pointedly at her former pupil over the rims of her spectacles.

  “You are an incorrigible romantic,” accused Lucinda.

  Miss Blythe considered the matter for a moment, then nodded. “I do believe that I am,” she agreed. “It was through my offices, really, that your sister Letty was finally able to attract dear Reverend Birchfield’s attention. It was a very pretty wedding and vastly touching. I believe that I had to resort to my handkerchief up to a dozen different times.”

  Lucinda groaned. “Pray do not attempt to play the matchmaker for me this Season, Tibby, I beg of you! I do not wish to attract particular attentions from any gentleman.”

  “How odd of you, to be sure. I had quite made up my mind that that was what you truly hoped to gain from the Season,” said Miss Blythe.

  “I did not come up to London to find myself a second husband,” said Lucinda, throwing up her hands. “Why everyone must instantly leap to that conclusion, I fail to understand!”

  “Oh, has someone else besides Lady Sefton mentioned the possibility?” asked Miss Blythe interestedly.

  “My father,” admitted Lucinda. “He was so gothic as to warn me against competing with the misses who are making their debuts. I would not show to advantage because I am too long in the tooth, if you please!”

  “Quite sound advice,” observed Miss Blythe. “I have always known Sir Thomas to be a gentleman of considerable native intelligence. Most definitely you should not compete with the fresh-faced ingénues. You must exercise a unique style of your own. It is fortunate that you are so lovely and are now a young woman of substance. My advice would be to—”

  “Enough, ma’am!” exclaimed Lucinda. She wagged her finger at her companion. “I warn you, Tibby, if I catch you scheming on my behalf, I shall at once quit London and carry us both off to Carbarry!”

  “Very well, my dear, since you are so set against it,” said Miss Blythe. “I shall let you go your own obstinate way.”

  “I am not obstinate.”

  Miss Blythe sternly overrode the affronted rejoinder. “However, I do feel strongly that I must point out that the duty of any conscientious chaperone is to put her charge in the way of every eligible gentleman possible. It will be a struggle to reconcile the violation of my duty with my conscience.”

  Lucinda would have retorted with some spirit, but she checked herself as the door opened. She turned her head. “Yes, Church?”

  The butler bowed. “Mr. Stassart, my lady.”

  Lucinda made an exclamation of mingled dismay and resignation. “Oh, bother!”

  “Precisely,” remarked Miss Blythe. Her voice had turned markedly acid.

  Chapter Six

  Mr. Ferdie Stassart came into the drawing room with the confident air of one who knows himself to be welcome. He was a rather willowy gentleman who sported dandified tastes. Lucinda was taken aback at sight of him, for his attire was even more exaggerated than she recalled.

  His coat was padded through the shoulders and cut so tightly to his thin form that it was obvious that he had to be wrestled into it by his valet. The starched shirtpoints that brushed his pale cheekbones were so obstructive that it was impossible for him to turn his head without moving his entire body. His smallclothes were exquisitely worked, and his waistcoat, from which dangled various fobs and an ornate eyeglass, was of a sharp yellow shade that made the ladies stare. His pantaloons fit without a crease into shining tasseled top-boots.

  Mr. Stassart met Lucinda’s startled gaze and preened himself, taking her look to be one of admiration. A raffish smile lit his boyishly handsome countenance, and he greeted her in warm accents. “Cousin!”

  As he started toward her, he espied Miss Blythe, and he checked in midstride. His countenance altered ludicrously, for he had anticipated finding his fair cousin alone. He had inquired of the butler whether Lady Mays was entertaining any other callers, but he had not thought to ask about the possible existence of a chaperone.

  “Why, Miss Blythe! This is something of an astonishment, ma’am. I never expected to see you here. It has been quite some time, I believe, since we last met,” he said.

  “Mr. Stassart,” acknowledged Miss Blythe coolly. “I am pleased that you recall me. I, too, remember you. Quite well.”

  Mr. Stassart regarded the former governess for a thoughtful moment before he regained his smile. “I could never forget one who figured so closely with my uncle’s household.”

  He turned his attention back to Lucinda. “I see that you have retained the services of a formidable chaperone, cousin. However, I do not think that our Miss Blythe need put herself out over such a close member of the family!”

  Lucinda held out her hand to him, a polite smile upon her face. “Hello, Ferdie.”

  Mr. Stassart shook his head. There was a glint of amusement in his rather hard blue eyes. “Come, cousin! I shall not stand on ceremony with you. Why, we have known one another since our cradles!” He had taken hold of her hand and now, holding her captive, bent forward to place a kiss.

  Lucinda turned her head so that his salute fell upon her cheek rather than her lips. She freed her hand and retreated to sit down in a wing chair rather than returning to her former place on the settee, to which she gestured. “Won’t you sit down, Ferdie? I should have known that you would come to see me.”

  “So you should,” he agreed easily, taking his seat. “When I heard that my fair cousin Lady Mays had returned to London, I set out at once to wait upon you. I have always held you in the highest regard, Lucinda, as you well know.”

  “Do I, indeed,” sai
d Lucinda on a dry note. “I thought it was my father whom you held in high regard. At least, you have said so whenever you have required someone to bail you out of your latest indiscretions.”

  Mr. Stassart pressed a well-groomed hand to his coat front in the vague vicinity of his heart. “You cut me to the quick, Lucinda. Am I truly perceived with such coldness, such unfairness, such ignorance? Alas, I can see that I am. I make bold to tell you, fair cousin, that such sentiments do not do you credit. No, indeed! In fact, I find myself to be insulted. I am not some man-milliner that you may use with impunity. I am the Honorable Ferdie Stassart, your estimable father’s heir and your own adoring cousin!”

  “Oh, give over, Ferdie, do!” said Lucinda, smiling. “You have never cared one whit about me, nor I for you! Why, you were always shockingly rude to all of us. My sisters and I considered you to be the merest scrub of a boy.”

  Mr. Stassart preferred to let pass the last part of her observation. “On the contrary! I care for you a great deal, Lucinda, very possibly more than you could know at this juncture. When I heard that you had wed Lord Mays and then that you had been banished to the country to live in virtual penury—! Why, my heart positively bled for you.” Ferdie shook his head disapprovingly. “It was a disgraceful piece of work that you were forced to wed a man so unsuited to you. I was never more revolted when I heard what was in the wind.”

  “It is a pity, then, that you did not voice your feelings to Sir Thomas, Mr. Stassart. Perhaps he might have listened to his heir,” said Miss Blythe, embroidering for all she was worth.

  Mr. Stassart cast a glance of dislike in the companion’s direction. He chose to ignore the lady’s interpolation. “My dear Lucinda, you must believe me. Truly I have never held you in anything but the utmost regard.”

  “Why, Ferdie! I am overcome. But if these were your true feelings, whyever did you not visit me at Carbarry? Surely in my exile I must have welcomed such expressions of affection,” said Lucinda.

  He grimaced. “You must understand, Lucinda. It would not have done to cross Lord Mays. He was a rather intolerant son of fellow. No, no! My hands were tied. I could do nothing for you.” Ferdie spread his fingers in an expression of abject regret.

  “What you actually mean is that you feared to anger the one who had cancelled all of your debts and secured your inheritance for you,” said Lucinda with brutal frankness. She regarded her cousin’s stiffening countenance with a quizzical gaze. “I am rather curious, though. Tell me, Ferdie, did you try to put the touch to Lord Mays later? And were you successful? I would scarcely think so. His lordship was no pigeon for your clumsy plucking.”

  “My dear Lucinda!” Mr. Stassart drew himself up, the very picture of dignity and outrage. “I shall not deign to descend to such levels as you seem to want to haunt. I had no notion that your unfortunate experiences had created such a poisonous tongue. And let me tell you, my girl, that it is vastly unbecoming! If you do not take care, you will become known as an archwife, and I do not think you would like that!”

  “I really care little what society thinks of me, Ferdie. And despite your warning, I do not believe that I will be shunned. I am a widow of some substance and still of marriageable age, after all. I imagine that my credit will withstand a great deal of backbiting,” said Lucinda calmly.

  Ferdie took a fresh assessment of her and altered his tack. He smoothed his sleeve. “Yes, perhaps you are right. There are many hypocrites in society, dear cousin. You surely know the kind. Those who will pretend friendship when all they really wish is for your kind bounty to be bestowed upon them.”

  Miss Blythe yanked so hard on her thread that it snapped. She began searching for her scissors. All the while, her piercing eyes were fixed upon the foppish gentleman who was seated across from her. He was smiling at his fair cousin in a way that made her palm itch to connect with his bloodless cheek.

  “Oh, indeed,” said Lucinda, almost fascinated to hear next what her cousin might utter.

  Ferdie leaned forward with an earnest expression, his hands resting lightly upon his elegantly attired knees. “Dear, dear Lucinda, allow me to protect you from such beings. You can have no notion how others will attempt to take advantage of your largesse. Believe me, I have been long enough in society to know just how to steer you clear of such personages. I would be most happy to establish myself as your gallant.”

  “I am not some young untried miss that you may pull the wool so easily over my eyes, Ferdie,” said Lucinda dryly.

  “Why, I do not know what you mean,” said Mr. Stassart, straightening, and a slightly wary expression coming into his eyes.

  Lucinda smiled and shook her head. “Oh, Ferdie, how many years have I heard you pitch your gammon? Why, your own father refused long since to have anything to do with your excesses, while mine handed over huge sums into your hands only because you were his heir. You would have had to enter the army or flee to the colonies long since to escape your creditors if that had not been so.”

  “You were a child, Lucinda. You do not know of what you speak,” said Ferdie loftily.

  “Don’t I just?” retorted Lucinda. “My unfortunate marriage was made in part to fish you out of the deep waters that you had leaped into.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “While it is true that I benefited from your marriage, Lucinda, I utterly deny that you were made a sacrifice for any troubles of mine. Lord Mays was incredibly generous in the settlements. It quite moves me to recall how his lordship provided for us all. And you did not precisely go begging, Lucinda! Why, I’ve heard that Carbarry is a tidy little estate. Indeed, you may count yourself fortunate that you did so well for yourself.”

  “Ferdie, you may make all the denials you will, but you and I both know every word I’ve spoken is true. I am astonished that you come to me protesting an affection that you have never felt,” said Lucinda. “Why, if there were an ounce of truth in it, you would have made some push to see me at Carbarry.”

  “I could not very well stare down Lord Mays and make unsanctioned visits to his wife. Pray be reasonable, Lucinda,” said Ferdie, his mouth curling in tolerant amusement.

  “You did not visit me at Carbarry not out of respect for Lord Mays, but because you assumed that I was kept on a pittance and that you would gain nothing out of the connection,” said Lucinda roundly. She shook her head. “Cousin, you are precisely one of those people you have just been warning me against! Why, I would not trust you within an inch of my purse.”

  “These are hard words, indeed, Lucinda!” said Mr. Stassart. He showed a wounded countenance to her. “I have come today out of the purest motives of affection and this is how I am repaid. You have wounded me deeply, cousin, very deeply.” He flung out a hand as though to stop her from speaking. “However, I am a resilient fellow. I hope that I am also a forgiving sort, so I shall not hold any of it against you.”

  “Thank heaven for that,” murmured Miss Blythe sotto voce.

  Ferdie pretended not to hear the sarcastic aside. He rose to his feet and struck a dramatic pose, pressing his manicured hand to his breast. “I shall take my leave of you now, dear cousin. I hope that you will reflect how basely you have used me and when next I see you, I trust that your manner will have softened toward me.”

  Lucinda laughed. She rose, too, and held out her hand. “For all that you are a worthless fellow, Ferdie, you are strangely amusing as well. I suppose that peculiar brand of charm is essential when one is such a desperate cardplayer. One must have something to fall back upon when one loses so consistently as you have always seemed to do.”

  Stung at last, Ferdie was on the point of a hasty retort. He was a gamester through and through, and he prided himself upon his expertise. But when he met his cousin’s quizzical, knowing gaze, he swallowed whatever he had been about to say. It was not his object to set up her back. Instead, he took her hand and made a flourishing bow. “I shall count the days until we meet again, cousin.”

  “And I, too, cousin,” said Lucind
a with a touch of irony.

  He retained her hand when she would have withdrawn it and, with a soulful glance, said ingenuously, “By the by, I met Wilfred Mays coming out of your house when I arrived. He mentioned a dinner party or something of the sort that you are planning. I do hope that I am invited?”

  “To be sure, Ferdie! You see, I mean to invite all of London,” said Lucinda gently.

  Mr. Stassart smiled with difficulty through his anger. She had so neatly pricked all of his attempts to cozen her. He let go of her hand. “You are gracious,” he said, his teeth still bared in an insincere smile.

  He did not delay any longer in taking his leave. With a stiff parting nod in Miss Blythe’s direction, he left the ladies to the amusement of what he felt could only be their own dull company.

  When the door shut behind him, Miss Blythe jabbed her needle into her piecework and rolled it up. “Well! I must say that was as good as a play.”

  Lucinda laughed. “Wasn’t it? Poor Ferdie! He tried so hard to play off his tricks.” She glanced speculatively at the closed door. “I wonder how much he wanted. I almost asked him.”

  “You will never open your pockets to that one!” exclaimed Miss Blythe sharply.

  “Never fear, Tibby. I have my cousin Ferdie’s measure. He will make up to me as long as he believes that I will someday allow him to dip into my purse,” said Lucinda. She wandered over to the mantle and idly fingered a priceless figurine. “And for the moment, it amuses me to see how long his hope will carry him.”

  Miss Blythe eyed her askance. “That does not sound very nice, my dear.”

  “It doesn’t, does it? I am constantly amazed at my own cynicism these days.”

  Lucinda turned to smile at her companion, somewhat wistfully. “But perhaps if Ferdie tries to hang from my sleeve, he will not apply to my father. You have not seen my parents this last twelvemonth, Tibby. I doubt not that you would be shocked. My father is not so vigorous as he once was, nor is my mother. I would like them not to be made anxious for anything. Is it so wrong of me to wish that, Tibby?”