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But her guardian was not listening. ‘You made up your mind to dislike the man before he ever set foot in the door and you have conducted yourself towards him most shabbily. I did not expect it from you.’
She felt a stab of guilt. ‘I am sorry to have upset you, Uncle. I may have behaved stupidly, but the truth is that Lord Frensham and I would never suit.’
‘How can you decide such a thing when you hardly know the man?’
‘I do not need to know him. I am sufficiently aware of the circles he moves in to recognise that I could never be happy with such a life. I do not accuse his lordship of personal involvement, but his peers are the very people who helped Rupert to his ruin and I cannot imagine, Uncle, why you should wish me to make a match with such a one.’
Sir Francis had risen from his chair and was stomping around the library, pacing to the window and back, shuffling papers on his desk and moving books from one shelf to another. Finally he stopped and faced her once more, his face mottled with vexation.
‘You will have to marry somewhere, Lucinda. Is it not better that you secure for yourself a life of ease than be doomed to penury by wedding a half-pay soldier?’
She knew his thoughts were with his dead sister, Lucinda’s mother, that once-beloved girl, who had abandoned everything to marry Eliot Lacey against her family’s wishes.
‘I understand your concern for me,’ she said as mildly as she could, ‘but I have no wish to marry, Uncle, no wish at all.’
His face grew even redder. ‘You must marry! You must forget this nonsense of setting up home with your brother. Rupert is a wastrel and always will be.’
His words stung, but they also stiffened her resolve. She would live with Rupert one day and try in whatever way she could to compensate him for the unkindness he’d suffered at the hands of his family. But right now she could not allow herself to be deflected: she must voice her plea even though she knew it to be futile. ‘I know you consider Rupert to be a lost cause, Uncle Francis, and I know that in the past he has given you reason to believe that, but—’
‘He has—in full—and there is no more to be said.’
‘I think there is. I must talk to you about him.’
‘I will say only this, Lucinda, and then we will never speak of it again. While Rupert was a minor, I did all in my power to save the honour of the family—and to save his honour. Unhappily I failed. Now I consider my task at an end and I refuse to be troubled further.’
‘You have been very good, Uncle, more than good,’ she soothed, well aware that for years he had treated her brother harshly and any benevolence sprang from inflated family pride rather than affection. ‘You have done all you possibly could to keep Rupert on the right path.’
‘And received scant gratitude! He has reached the age of majority and must now be responsible for his actions. It is quite simple.’
Lucinda’s eyes were wide and pleading. She took a step towards her guardian, her hands raised in supplication. ‘I am sorry that I disobeyed you in going to London against your wishes, but I had to see my brother. He is my twin and whatever he has done, I love him dearly. What I saw broke my heart. The prison is cold and dank and the treatment he receives severe. The stark loneliness of his life is more than any gently born soul can bear. If you would but see him, you would understand.’
‘He has a lesson to learn and that is that he must live within his means.’
‘I am sure he has learned it. Will you not reconsider your decision? If he needs further punishment, there must be other ways—but please, please, allow him to come home.’
‘If he suffers, it is right that he should do so. He will be released in due time.’
‘His release may come too late. Think how you will feel if that is so.’
‘You have an unfortunate tendency to dramatise, my dear. Rupert Lacey is where he should be. Decency has not worked to make him an honourable man. Incarceration might.’
‘But, Uncle …’
‘No more! I have no wish to continue this conversation and no wish to speak of your brother again. While you live under my roof, Lucinda, you will observe my prohibition.’
Her uncle was immovable. As so often in the past she marvelled at the strange mix that was Francis Devereux: on the one hand a man willing to spend his fortune on the pleasures of life, fastidious in his choice of dress and food, on the other, a stiff and unyielding moralist, a man steeped in tradition for whom family honour was paramount. Rupert had transgressed and was beyond forgiveness. Not that he would care. The Devereux family meant nothing to Rupert—he had said often enough that as Laceys they did not belong. Without a doubt he had been made to feel so from a very young age, punished for every small infraction of the rules, unjustly accused of every misdemeanour. She had tried very hard to protect him from their guardians’ punitive regime, but rarely succeeded. Realistically in a world of powerful adults how could one young child protect another? But the knowledge that she had failed him was always with her.
She must not fail him now in the greatest crisis of his life. He had escaped Verney Towers and its petty rules and inflexible laws as soon as he was able, but it was an escape to disaster. Their grandparents had suffered a pathological fear that Rupert would follow in his father’s footsteps and had tried to beat the Lacey out of him. By all accounts Eliot Lacey rarely had a feather to fly with and was more than happy to bleed anyone who came his way. The beatings had not worked. Rupert had become as big a gambler as ever Captain Lacey was, but, unlike his father, she knew that he took little real pleasure in the turn of the dice. He had gravitated to the tables because they represented rebellion, freedom, rather than easy money. Yet there was enough of his father in him to keep him playing even in the face of abject failure. Despite brutal punishment Rupert, it seemed, had remained stubbornly a Lacey.
Chapter Three
In low spirits, she made her way to the dining room as the last chimes of the gong echoed through the cavernous hall. Their guest was already enthroned at one end of a massive black oak table. The room’s velvet furnishings, once a majestic red, were now sad and faded and Jack Beaufort presented an enticing contrast. He had changed his riding dress to a coat of blue superfine, its cut expertly moulded across a pair of powerful shoulders, and when he rose to greet her, she saw that his shapely legs were encased in tight-fitting fawn pantaloons. There were few men who could look as good in such revealing dress. He smiled lazily at her and unexpectedly she found herself flushing.
She hoped her uncle had not noticed her embarrassment, but she need not have worried. Sir Francis had his attention firmly on the table as dish after laden dish arrived from the kitchens. For the baronet, luncheon was not the usual modest meal and for some minutes he was wholly engaged in satisfying his appetite. Only after he had made his way through a considerable amount of food did he feel ready to converse.
‘This is fine beef. It comes, you know, from a farm not ten miles away—George Rutland’s place. Do you have property in Sussex, Lord Frensham?’
Her uncle knew down to the last squire who held land in his home county, but he would be eager, Lucinda thought, for the earl to enumerate his vast possessions.
Their guest, though, was not playing the game. ‘I own nothing in the county. In fact, I have visited Sussex very little.’
‘Perhaps because it lies so close to London? That is most understandable. You have a splendid London house, I believe. In Grosvenor Square, is it not?’ Sir Francis sat back and waited to be told of its glories.
‘I do not live in Grosvenor Square. My home is in Half Moon Street’.
His host looked shocked. ‘But is it wise to leave such a beautiful house empty?’
‘It’s not empty,’ the earl answered cheerfully. ‘My sister, Lady Bessborough, fills the house with her four children. As a bachelor, I am happy with something a little less grand.’
Francis was temporarily silenced by the need to taste several of the new dishes that had found their way to the table. When he spoke again, it was to say smugly, ‘Of course, you will not have much of a garden in Grosvenor Square.’
The earl seemed disinclined to quarrel with this and her uncle went on, ‘We have some splendid grounds at the Towers, you know—parkland which stretches for miles, a fine terraced garden and any number of succession houses.’ He wiped his lips in satisfaction. ‘Why do you not take a walk? The weather remains fair and I know that Lucinda will be pleased to accompany you and explain all that we are doing here.’
The earl had long since finished eating and seemed glad to rise from the table. ‘That sounds a most delightful way to spend an afternoon.’ His smile was only slightly wry as he bowed graciously in Lucinda’s direction. ‘If you are ready, Miss Lacey, shall we go?’ Beneath her uncle’s implacable gaze, she had little choice but to surrender her seat and take the proffered arm.
They strode in silence towards the honey-coloured terrace at the rear of the mansion. Francis Devereux did not intend to waste an opportunity to throw them together, Jack thought, no matter how distasteful his niece might find it. The gardens no doubt were another step in his campaign. He felt sorry for the girl, sorry for himself. They had been put in an impossible situation.
‘Your uncle was right—you have a magnificent estate. I can see why he was so insistent that we take this walk.’
She did not rise to his irony, but said instead, ‘My uncle is very proud of Verney Towers. You may have noticed.’ There was only the slightest tinge of acid in her voice.
‘He has every right to be proud,’ he said dishonestly. ‘It is a beautiful old house and surrounded by splendid countryside.’
She wrinkled her nose and he found it oddly charming. ‘I might agree with you on the countryside, but the house could never be called beautiful. You flatter us, I think.’
‘I never flatter, Miss Lacey.’
‘I cannot imagine that is so, or else how could you have made so many conquests?’
He did not feel sorry for her at all, he decided. She was abominable.
‘Whatever you may have heard will be an exaggeration. And I thought we had agreed that gossip should be ignored.’
She let go of his arm and smoothed out her skirts of patterned muslin. She was looking as fetching as she had this morning, he noticed, a rich blue ribbon threaded through blonde curls and a blue velvet tippet around her shoulders. Yesterday’s hideous rags had seemingly been consigned to the bonfire.
‘You agreed. In any case I am not interested in gossip, but I do value the truth. I am wondering why it is now that you have decided to visit us, Lord Frensham, for your sisters must have told you that silly story about our families quite some while ago.’
‘I believe I mentioned that I was driving to Hampshire.’
‘On the way to a country-house party, yes, but I imagine you must attend many such gatherings not a million miles from Sussex. So why come to us now?’
He smothered a sigh; she was far too perceptive. ‘Strictly in the interests of truth, I admit that this journey was convenient. Life in London was proving a trifle difficult.’
‘Life—or was it a woman?’
The conversation was becoming more indecorous by the minute, he thought, but he still found himself answering, ‘Yes. A lady.’
‘A woman,’ she said firmly. ‘What happened?’
‘Her husband happened.’ If he were to speak honestly, she might as well know the worst. There was a strange sense of satisfaction in for once talking candidly to a female, but he waited in some trepidation for her next question.
‘Do you often have to deal with irate husbands?’
‘No, I do not! I may have allowed myself to be pulled in a little too far this time and … Why am I telling you this?’
‘You are telling me because we have decided on the truth.’ She pointed to the short scar on his left cheek. ‘Did you get that from a similar “happening”?’
‘I was foolish enough to walk down an unlit Venetian alley some years ago—I owe it to footpads, not a furious spouse!’
‘Then you escaped lightly. It must have been a most dangerous situation.’
‘It was—particularly for them. Though I believe the canal was not overly deep and preferable, I imagine, to my sword.’
‘And is it a duel that you have just fought—I mean, with the angry husband?’
‘You are far too inquisitive, not to mention brazen.’
‘It is only right that I should know the kind of suitor my uncle has been so eager to propose! He had been worrying over your moral suitability until your sisters put his mind at rest. Now if he had been privy to this conversation …’
‘I cannot pretend to be proud of the life I’ve led. But neither do I feel undue guilt. There are ladies,’ he said carefully, ‘certain ladies, who need little flattery or persuasion to extend their hand in friendship.’
‘I am not so innocent that I do not know something of the world. I believe they are what Rupert calls lady-birds.’
He supposed he should look shocked, but he wanted to laugh. ‘Rupert may call them so, but you should not.’
‘What should I call them, then?’
‘You should not know about them.’
‘That is ridiculous.’
He had to agree, but thought it wise to steer the conversation into safer channels. They had reached the small archway at one end of the terrace and strolled through into the rose garden. The central fountain had been shut down for the winter and there were gaps here and there where plants had died or bushes lost their leaves. The weather, though, was still mild for late October and a sprinkling of blooms added colour to the grey flint walls.
‘This must be a wonderful retreat in high summer—the sound of rushing water and the sweetness of so many flowers.’
She was looking surprised. Evidently gossip had not credited him with an appreciation of nature. She bent down to sniff at a last apricot bloom. ‘Do you grow roses on your estate? This is a Buff Beauty—it still smells divine.’
‘I have tried to create something similar at Beaufort Hall, but in comparison my rose garden lacks maturity even though the Somerset climate is temperate. And the manor house in Yorkshire will never match the exacting standards of the Towers, I fear. It is situated on a hill and exposed to every extreme element.’
‘Do you enjoy having so many properties?’
‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ he confessed.
‘I suppose that comes of being rich.’ It was clear that she set little store by this and the conversation limped to a close. He hoped they could talk more, for she was delightfully unusual. Though she had a face and a figure that seduced, she had a mind to match.
His hope was realised when they headed towards the cluster of hothouses which lay on the far side of the rose garden and she threw him a challenge. ‘I must pick flowers for the church today. Are you likely to be of any help?’
‘I doubt that flower picking is one of my better skills.’
‘What are, then?’
‘I can box.’
She could not prevent a giggle. ‘I cannot see flower arranging being the greatest use in the ring. But where do you box?’
‘At Jackson’s saloon in Bond Street.’
‘Rupert followed the gentleman’s career with great interest, although my uncle never allowed him to go to a prize fight. I know for a fact, though, that he sneaked away several times when the rumour of a likely meeting reached him.’
Her brother seemed a continuing presence, though as yet there had been no sign of him. ‘Was he permitted any sport?’ he asked curiously.
‘He wanted to learn to fence, but our grandparents thought it dangerous. Do you?’
‘Do I fence? Yes, frequently—at Angelo’s. One never knows when skill with the sword will come in useful,’ he added wickedly, and then, seeing her reproving expression, hurried on, ‘I compete in curricle races, too, and that is one of the roughest of sports!’
‘Then flowers will make an agreeable change.’
The succession houses were everything that the mansion was not—freshly painted, brightly lit and warm. Inside swathes of pelargoniums, fuchsias and heliotrope filled the space with such exotic colour that he blinked, but it was their overwhelming perfume that caught him in its grasp and played on his senses. He was filled with a mad desire to press Lucinda to him and dance with her around the flower-filled space.
His companion was not so easily distracted. ‘We must pick quickly before Latimer discovers us. He is the head gardener and considers everything he grows to be his and his alone.’
He tried to do as she asked, but her nimble fingers had filled two trugs to the brim before he’d managed to gather even a puny handful of chrysanthemums. ‘Do we drive them to the church or does the coachman also have a proprietorial attitude?’
She looked at him, astonished. ‘I would not call out the coachman to take a few handfuls of flowers little more than a mile. You are spoilt, my lord.’
‘EvidentIy,’ he murmured, picking up the heaviest basket. ‘Show me the way, Miss Lacey.’
He was not addicted to walking and his town attire was hardly suitable for a rural hike; he could only hope that his Hessians would survive. They were already beginning to lose their champagne sparkle and a tramp along a dusty lane was unlikely to improve them. But he was enjoying himself far more than he’d thought possible.
Verney turned out to be very neat and very small: a cluster of whitewashed cottages around the village green, a solitary shop which sold everything from shepherds’ smocks to a side of ham, and a church. It was Norman in design, its square tower looking proudly over the Sussex countryside, and its flint walls cradling several vividly stained-glass windows. Once through its huge oak door, the contrast in light was stark and for a moment he was blinded by the gloom. But as they walked towards the altar, pools of coloured light lit their way and the scent of flowers filled the air. He slid into a pew and watched as she arranged the blooms.
‘Do all the flowers come from the house?’
‘The cottagers provide them when they can, but it is more important for them to grow vegetables that they can eat.’
‘And you do this regularly? The church flowers, I mean.’
She straightened up, having put the last vase to rights. ‘When you live in a village, Lord Frensham, there are obligations.’ Her tone was crisp and he knew that she considered him incurably selfish.
