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‘It would offend my sense of decency where a young lady of respectable birth is concerned,’ Jack replied harshly. ‘Even if we had an understanding, which we do not, I should not expect such liberties until after the wedding. As I have no plans to marry just yet, I think we should bring this conversation to an end, Miss Tremaine.’
He had been too blunt, for she had turned bright red and rushed from the conservatory, leaving him wishing that he had chosen his words more carefully. Jack had not meant to offend her, and though she had pushed herself on him determinedly since his arrival, he had done nothing to discourage her. Indeed, she was very much the kind of lady he had been toying with the idea of marrying, because he believed she was unlikely to be easily hurt. She had come out four seasons ago, and had not yet married. He had no idea why, because she was beautiful and in possession of a small fortune, which should have been enough to secure her many offers. Either she had refused them all or for some reason her suitors had held back.
Dismissing Miss Tremaine from his thoughts, Jack went out into the garden to smoke a last cigar. He was thoughtful as he stared at the moon, remembering his dance with Miss Horne, a faint smile on his lips. There was no doubt about it, she was an enchanting child—much too young for him, of course. Besides, her mama had clearly heard those damned rumours, for why else had she intervened when he had been about to invite Lucy to take supper with him? It annoyed him that the tales should be circulating, but there was nothing he could do to refute them.
She was a careful mother, and he did not fault her for that, because he knew what perils could lie in the path of an innocent whose mother—or rather stepmother—did not care enough to protect her. Mrs Horne would take some convincing that he was a fit person to court her daughter. He could, if he chose, set her mind at rest, but for the moment he did not care to—it was not his secret and he would keep it close to his chest, as he had promised. In any case, he had no intention of paying court to Lucy Horne—even if she was the most enchanting little thing he had seen in a long time.
He had stayed on for the ball, as he had promised Drew and Marianne he would, but there was nothing to keep him here now. He would bid his hosts farewell this evening, and leave first thing in the morning. There was something he needed to do in town…
Lucy did not rise as early as usual the next morning. Her mama had given instructions that she should be allowed to sleep on, and so it was past nine when she woke. She rose, went over to the window and drew the curtains, looking out at the gardens. The sun was already quite warm, and as she opened her window the scent of blossom came to her.
She knew that her mama, Aunt Bertha and Jo would all still be in their rooms. Marianne might be stirring, for she had always liked to walk early in the morning. Lucy decided to dress and go down, though she knew that her maid was waiting for her to ring. However, there was enough cold water in her jug, left over from the previous evening, to wash her hands and face, even though it made her shiver.
Once dressed in a simple muslin gown, she went downstairs, letting herself out into the garden. She had stopped to smell a dark red rose when she saw Marianne coming towards her, a basket of cut blooms over her arm.
‘Are you up already, dearest?’ Marianne asked. ‘Mama said that you should be allowed to sleep in. I think she thought you would not rise before noon.’
‘Oh, I like to be up early,’ Lucy said. ‘As you always have, Marianne.’
‘Yes, we are alike in that,’ her sister said with an affectionate look. ‘Did you enjoy yourself last night, my love? I do not think you sat out one dance, did you?’
‘No…’ Lucy gave a gurgle of pleasure. ‘Everyone was so kind to me, Marianne. I do not know if it was because I am your sister.’
‘No, I am very sure it was not,’ Marianne replied. ‘You are lovely, dearest Lucy, both in form and nature.’
‘Mr Tristram said something of the kind,’ Lucy said with a blush. ‘I danced the supper waltz with Lord Harcourt.’ A little smile played about her soft mouth, for it had been the highlight of her evening.
‘Yes, I know,’ Marianne replied, a little frown creasing her brow. ‘He left first thing this morning. I think he had offended Miss Tremaine. I saw her looking very angry after she left him last evening.’
‘Oh…’ Lucy hesitated, then, ‘I thought perhaps he meant to ask her…I mean, that they might have an understanding…’
‘I believe she may have thought that they did,’ Marianne replied thoughtfully. ‘Jack is sometimes unwise in his manner, and she did rather push herself on him, though he did nothing to discourage her. He is a flirt, of course. I have heard people say he is a rake, though I am not sure it is true, at least not these days. He may have his…arrangements, of course, but many unmarried gentlemen do. But it is more than that, I think. I have asked Drew, but he will not say.’ She shook her head. ‘It does not matter. I like him very well, and he is always generous.’
‘Yes, he is kind. I have always thought so,’ Lucy agreed. ‘I am sorry he has gone. I did not get a chance to say goodbye to him.’
‘Well, I dare say you may see him in London when you go up with Mama next week,’ Marianne said. ‘I believe he spends much of his time in London, though he has a large and very beautiful country house—and he is a wealthy landowner and has a respected title. I dare say that was what attracted Miss Tremaine. She has held out for a title, I believe, but so far none has come her way.’
‘Oh…is that why she has not yet married?’ Lucy looked thoughtful. ‘It must be a consideration, I suppose, but I do not think it would be important if one loved a gentleman—do you, Marianne?’
‘When I fell in love with Drew, I did not know he had a title and I did not think him rich,’ Marianne said, smiling at the memory. ‘He was posing as plain Mr Beck, and the boots he wore were quite disreputable. He still clings to them now, though his valet despairs of them and he has more than a dozen pairs of new ones.’
‘Drew is Drew,’ Lucy declared with a lilting laugh. ‘There is no one like him, Marianne. Harry is very nice and kind, but Drew is wonderful. I am so glad that you fell in love with him, because I like to see you happy—and your little Andrea is gorgeous.’
‘Yes, she is, isn’t she?’ Marianne said. ‘Come, Lucy, let us go in. We can go up to the nursery and see if she is awake, because early in the morning is the best time to play with her.’
The rest of Lucy’s stay with Marianne and Drew flew by. Sometimes she caught herself thinking about Lord Harcourt, but she tried hard not to dwell on her feelings for him. After all, she had thought of him as her ‘prince’ for years without feeling heartache, and if she were strict with herself, she could pretend that nothing had changed, even though she knew that her childish dreams had become something very different. As a child she had dreamed of him, but it had all been far away, remaining just a dream, but now…seeing him, talking to him, dancing with him, had made her so much more aware of him as a man.
During her last afternoon at the Marlbeck estate, Lucy had a visitor. Mr Tristram came to call and she walked with him in the gardens for half an hour before tea. At first they spoke of inconsequential things, recalling the ball and talking of the lovely weather, which had remained fine for some days—and then he stopped walking and turned to look at her.
‘So you go to London in the morning, Miss Lucy?’
‘Yes, we leave first thing,’ Lucy said. ‘I believe we shall stop at an inn for one night—that is, Mama and I, of course. Aunt Bertha has decided to stay here and then return to her home in Cornwall. Marianne and Drew are to follow in a couple of days and we shall all be together for most of my stay in town.’
‘That will be pleasant for you,’ John Tristram said. He hesitated, then, ‘May I call on you in a few days? I have decided to go up and stay with my uncle—Sir Michael Gerard.’
‘I am sure we shall be delighted to see you,’ Lucy said, though she blushed and looked down, because his gaze was rather intense. ‘Oh, was that the gong? I think it must be time for tea.’
She was a little embarrassed and relieved that they would no longer be alone, for she was afraid that he might go on to say something that would cause her discomfort. She liked him very well, but she did not wish to hear a proposal of marriage from him.
‘Yes, I think it was,’ he said, looking relieved himself. She thought that perhaps he had lost his nerve at the last moment. ‘Yes, we should go in.’
Several of Marianne’s guests had gathered for tea, though most had departed. Lucy knew that the remaining few would take their leave later that day. General Rawlings was one of the last to leave, and he gave Lucy a sharp glance as she came in with Mr Tristram. She had done her best to avoid being alone with him since Jo had warned her that he was looking for a third wife to take charge of his children, and she believed that he had given up his hopes of her.
‘Ah, there you are, m’dear,’ he said as Miss Tremaine followed Lucy into the room. He stood up and went over to her, smiling down at her before clearing his throat. ‘Have I your permission to tell everyone?’
‘Yes, of course, Henry.’ She gave him what looked to Lucy to be a forced smile. ‘I think you should.’
‘Miss Tremaine…Angela…has done me the honour to say that she will become my wife,’ he announced, looking very pleased with himself as a stunned silence fell. ‘I am of course the happiest man alive…never thought she would take me.’
Lucy was shocked, though she did her best to hide it. She had been certain that it was Lord Harcourt Miss Tremaine had had in mind as a husband, and she could hardly believe that she had settled for so much less. General Rawlings was a gentleman and quite respectable, his fortune adequate—but he was not an aristocrat and he could not match Lord Harcourt in looks or manner.
A little buzz of congratulations burst out. Lucy added hers to the general chorus, though she could not help wondering why Miss Tremaine had accepted his offer. She must surely have had others more favourable. However, it was not for Lucy to question and she kept her thoughts to herself.
It was only when she left the company to go upstairs and change for the evening that she suddenly found herself alone with Miss Tremaine.
‘I dare say you are wondering why I have accepted General Rawlings,’ she said, surprising Lucy by her directness. ‘I had thought that I might accept Lord Harcourt—but Mama has heard unpleasant rumours, so I decided that I would marry a man of good reputation.’
‘Oh…’ Lucy wished that she might run away but it would be rude to do so. ‘I was not wondering…’
The older girl frowned. ‘I thought that you might rather like him yourself and that is why I decided to warn you. He is not to be trusted. Mama has it on good authority that he is a rake and…’ she glanced over her shoulder ‘…there is something dreadful. I do not know if I should tell you this, but they say he has a—’
‘Please do not!’ Lucy said at once. ‘It is kind of you to warn me, but there is no need—and I do not wish to hear gossip.’ She turned away and fled up the stairs, suddenly uncaring of whether Miss Tremaine thought her rude or not.
Alone in her room, Lucy discovered that she was shaking. She felt very angry. How dare Miss Tremaine hint at such terrible things? It was most unfair of her when Lord Harcourt was not here to defend himself. And after she had made such a play for him!
If Lucy had been a different girl, she might have suspected Miss Tremaine of jealous spite, but as it was she crushed the unworthy thoughts. She suspected that Miss Tremaine had been hurt, and perhaps there was something of the rake about Lord Harcourt—for he had flirted with both Lucy and Miss Tremaine. However, she did not wish to listen to spiteful tales and she would not let anyone poison her mind against him!
She still could not quite understand why Miss Tremaine should have accepted General Rawlings, and she asked Jo about it later. Jo had come to her room to give her a little gift and to wish her well in her first Season in London.
‘I do not know for sure,’ Jo said, looking thoughtful. ‘I think she has been on the town for some years and is disappointed. I know that her mama had high hopes for her, but for some reason they have come to nothing. I believe she had offers in her first Season and turned them down, and since then…’ Jo shook her head. ‘Perhaps it is because she has a sharp tongue and is not always kind. I do not think I envy General Rawlings his choice of a wife—and I pity his children, for I cannot believe that she will be a kind mother to another woman’s children.’
‘Oh…’ Lucy nodded. ‘Mr Tristram said that she could be unkind. I told him he should not say so, but perhaps he was right.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Jo said. ‘In any event, she has made her choice and I dare say she may have felt a little desperate, for I imagine she thought Lord Harcourt would come up to scratch.’
‘He did seem attracted,’ Lucy said and frowned. ‘Do you think he is a flirt, Jo?’
‘Yes, I am certain of it,’ Jo said. ‘I have heard that he is a rake, but I do not know how true it may be. Drew likes him and so does Hal—and I would trust their judgement.’
‘Yes, that is what I thought. If Drew likes him, he cannot be so very wicked.’ Lucy smiled happily, taking her sister’s arm as they went downstairs together. It would be the last time they would have dinner together for some time, because Hal was taking Jo home the next day. She would probably spend the next few months quietly at his father’s home awaiting the birth of her baby, but she had told Lucy that she was looking forward to being with her great friend Ellen again.
Miss Tremaine was not present that evening. She, her mother and General Rawlings had left after tea, and it was just the family who dined that evening. Lucy had enjoyed meeting Marianne’s friends, but she thought it was even nicer with just her close family about her.
She felt happy when she went to bed, even though a little shadow hovered at the back of her mind. She knew that she must make every effort to put Lord Harcourt from her thoughts. He was older, a rake and, perhaps worse, he thought of her as a child. Only a foolish girl would break her heart for him. Lucy had decided that she would try to forget her feelings for him, and if she should meet someone else she could love that ought to be easy enough.
Jack walked into the less-than-respectable nightclub. It was frequented by young rakehells and ladies of dubious reputation, though sometimes impeccable birth. He stood watching as one rather raddled-looking lady gambled carelessly at the throw of the dice, her rouged cheeks disguising the ravages of dissolute living. A woman of advanced years, who had buried three wealthy husbands, she bore a name that had once commanded respect. She was with a party of gentlemen, who were encouraging her to gamble ever more recklessly and were, by the looks of them, the worse for drink. His eyes narrowed as he saw that one of her court was the man he sought—Sir Frederick Collingwood.
He strolled towards them, outwardly detached, as careless as they, though inwardly it was another matter. He wished that he could simply have come out with his accusations, but he knew that Collingwood would have covered his tracks well. Before he could bring him to his knees, he needed proof that he had been responsible for David Middleton’s death. He already knew that they had gambled on the night David was murdered, but that in itself meant little. What lay behind the events played out in public that night? Several people had spoken to him of a quarrel between David and Collingwood—but was it simply over a card game?
Collingwood turned to look at him as he approached, a guarded expression in his eyes, as though he sensed something. Since Jack Harcourt seldom frequented clubs of this nature and reputation, it was hardly surprising that the other man should wonder why he was there—especially if he had a guilty conscience.
‘Good evening, Collingwood,’ Jack said pleasantly. It took all his strength of purpose to speak politely to the man he knew to be a shark and a cheat, but he must do so if he were to learn what he needed to know. ‘I did not think dice was your game?’
‘It is not,’ Collingwood agreed, lifting his quizzing glass to look at Jack more closely. ‘I did not think that this was your sort of place?’
‘It is not,’ Jack agreed, resisting the urge to lunge at him and knock the truth out of the lying devil. ‘But there are times when a man needs something more…shall we say spiced with danger?’
‘Ah, yes.’ Collingwood nodded, for he understood that, being a reckless gambler himself. ‘So what is your pleasure, Harcourt?’
‘I am looking for a game of piquet,’ Jack said, because he knew that it had been his friend’s favourite game of chance. ‘But it seems there is no one willing to oblige me. I win too often, it seems.’
Collingwood studied his face, and then nodded. It was clearly a challenge and one that he could not resist, even though he suspected that something more lay behind it.
‘I am otherwise engaged this evening, as you see,’ he said. ‘However, I should be delighted to take you on, Harcourt—in more pleasant surroundings than these.’
‘Good. Shall we say tomorrow evening at White’s?’
‘We shall indeed.’ Collingwood grinned. He was a rake of the worst order, a man careful mothers told their daughters to avoid at all costs, but he was dangerously attractive. His black hair and dark eyes brought women to him easily, and he treated them all with contempt. ‘Tomorrow at nine, Harcourt. Now, do you care to hazard a bet on the roll of the dice?’
Jack had noticed a certain tendency for the dice to fall a certain way three times out of six. He reached forward, scooped them up, and blew on them and then called a hundred guineas on sixes as he threw. The dice fell with the six spots showing on both of the dice. He smiled at the reckless lady, who had placed her bet on sixes and was now gleefully gathering her winnings. His gaze strayed momentarily to the disappointed faces of the young rogues who had been hoping to fleece their victim of more of her money. He raised his brows, then turned and walked from the room, knowing that several of them were following him with their eyes, and that they would not be wishing him well.
Lucy looked about her eagerly as the carriage bowled briskly through the streets of London. It was early in the morning and they were not yet crowded with the traffic of the day. She could see a milkmaid crying her wares, her pails suspended from a wooden pole she wore across her shoulders. A coster was selling fresh mussels and oysters from a barrow he wheeled through the streets, and a brewery wagon was trotting proudly along the road, its horses dressed in shining brasses that jingled.
They had stayed at an inn just outside London the previous evening and come on early this morning. Lucy craned excitedly to see as the carriage came to a halt outside the Marquis of Marlbeck’s London home. Although Drew and Marianne were to follow in a few days’ time, they had insisted that Lucy and Mrs Horne go ahead so as to begin the task of gathering Lucy’s new wardrobe before she was introduced into society.
Lucy was glad that her elder sister would be in town during their stay, for she knew that Marianne had many friends, and she would be sure to introduce her sister to them. As she got down from the carriage, she saw a man walking down the street and thought that she recognised his tall figure, though, as she could not see his face, she could not be certain. She wondered if Lord Harcourt was returning to his home after a night out, or if he had risen early—and then scolded herself for speculating. It was none of her business if he had spent the night gambling or…with his mistress. A little flush stained her cheeks, for she imagined he must have a mistress. It was what Jo had meant by an arrangement—and what Miss Tremaine had implied by saying that he was a rake, of course.
A butler dressed in formal black, his manner stately and slightly intimidating, had opened the door. He looked at her in what Lucy thought of as a stern manner as he welcomed them to the house, but as she entered behind her mama, a young footman winked at her. Lucy smiled at him, feeling better immediately.
The housekeeper bustled forward, introducing herself as Mrs Williams and apologising to Mrs Horne for not being there sooner to welcome them.
‘Your rooms are ready, ma’am,’ she said. ‘If you will follow me upstairs, the footmen will see to your luggage, and if you care for some refreshment in the morning parlour, a maid will unpack for you.’
‘We have only brought a small amount of baggage with us,’ Mrs Horne told her. ‘It is my intention to buy my daughter a fashionable wardrobe in town.’
‘Very wise, if I might say so,’ the housekeeper said, looking at Lucy. ‘Would you like me to send and have the seamstress of your choice wait on you here?’
‘That is an excellent suggestion,’ Mrs Horne replied. ‘Lady Marlbeck has given me the address of the seamstresses she uses and I shall write a note, asking them to call tomorrow if it is convenient.’
‘I am sure it will be,’ Mrs Williams replied. ‘The Marchioness is a very elegant and beautiful lady, and her custom is eagerly sought. A recommendation from her would be attended immediately.’
‘Yes, I dare say,’ Mrs Horne said, looking at Lucy thoughtfully. In her opinion Lucy was as lovely as either of her elder sisters, but there was no denying that she was fortunate to have the Marchioness of Marlbeck as her sister. It would be sure to bring her to the notice of gentlemen and ladies alike, though Lucy’s portion was not large. However, her two brothers-in-law had both promised her a dowry, which meant that she would not go empty-handed to her husband. All in all, Mrs Horne believed that her youngest daughter ought to make a worthy match, though she had no intention of pushing her towards marriage. She was young yet and it would be Lucy’s choice—providing, of course, that she chose sensibly.
Lucy looked about the house with interest as her mama continued to chat with the housekeeper. It was larger than it had appeared from the outside, for it was in a terrace of houses built at the end of the previous century. However, first appearances were deceptive and Lucy realised that it had considerable depth and width, and there were four storeys—the top being the servants’ bedchambers—and the kitchens and servants’ hall were in the basement. The staircase was wide and impressive, carpeted in a rich blue Persian design, as were the landings on the first floor.
There were beautiful paintings in gilt frames on the walls, also gilt pier tables interspersed with small gilt chairs along the landing of the first floor, which was where some of the main reception rooms were situated. They had to go up a second short flight of stairs to the guest bedrooms.
Lucy was taken to her room first. Her mama told her to simply tidy herself and go down, because they had not stopped for breakfast at the inn and would take some refreshment in fifteen minutes. As she stepped inside her bedchamber, Lucy gasped with surprise for it was very different to the furnishings at Marlbeck Place, which was all rather grand and formal—though Marianne had begun to change some of the rooms. Here, the furniture was far more modern and fashioned of a pale wood that gave the room lightness and style, blending well with the soft rose curtains about the bed and the windows. Rose and cream with a hint of crimson here and there was a pretty combination that pleased Lucy very well.
She believed that she would be very much at home here and crossed over to the window to look at the pretty writing desk that stood there, taking off her bonnet and shaking out her long hair. The desk had a leather writing slope and drawers that contained paper, pens, ink and sealing wax. She was examining some other pretty items that had been placed there for her use and it was a while before she sensed that she was being watched. She glanced out of the window and saw that a young man was standing in the road below, looking up at her window. When he saw her, he doffed his hat, sweeping her an extravagant bow, a grin on his handsome face.
Lucy felt her cheeks grow warm. The look he gave her had been too intimate…almost insolent, and it made her shiver. She drew back from the window, retreating to the far side of the room. It had not occurred to her that she could be seen from the street for she was used to country houses, and no one would have been rude enough to stare at her aunt’s house. She realised that her time in London would open her eyes to many new experiences.
She had taken off her bonnet and now she removed her travelling cloak. Her dress was a little creased from the journey, but she smoothed it down, knowing that she did not have time to change before she joined her mama in the breakfast parlour.
She went over to the dressing table, which was to one side of the room, and sat down on the stool. She dragged a comb through her hair, which had begun to tangle about her face, as it often did, because it was so fine. Some of the gentlemen staying with Marianne in the country had told her that her hair was like spun silk and the colour of moonlight.
Lucy pulled a face. She supposed that she had nice hair, but she had always envied her sister Jo her red locks, which curled into ringlets if allowed to blow freely in the wind. Jo usually brushed her hair back, but sometimes she simply tied it with a ribbon, because it was the way Harry liked to see it.
Lucy’s hair was usually held by ribbons, because it was too fine to put up in elaborate styles, though Mama had told her she would be employing a hairdresser in London to dress her hair and style it in a more fashionable look. She made a face at herself in the mirror and sighed. She would do anything if it helped her to look a bit older!
Chapter Three
‘Lucy darling, that looks lovely,’ Marianne said, coming into her sister’s room as she finished dressing for the evening, some four days after Lucy’s arrival in town. They were all attending a ball, Lucy’s first in fashionable society. She was wearing a new gown of shimmering white silk with an overskirt of gauze trimmed with spangles. Her hair had somehow been teased into a single ringlet that curled enticingly over her left shoulder. It had been fastened with pearl-and-diamond pins—a present from her sister—and she had diamond drops in her ears, a large diamond pendent at her throat. ‘I knew Madame Suzanne would make something perfect for you and she has.’
‘It is wonderful,’ Lucy said, turning to her excitedly. ‘I really love it, Marianne. I never thought I could look like this—I look older, not like a child any more.’
‘Yes, dearest,’ Marianne said with a nod of satisfaction. ‘Mama was a little afraid that it might be too sophisticated for you, but I persuaded her that it was just right. You are eighteen and not a little girl any longer.’
‘Mama is a little reluctant to see me grow up, I think.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Marianne agreed and smiled at her. ‘She does not mean to keep you a child, but perhaps because you were the last of her daughters she has tended to protect you too much. However, I know you will be much admired this evening, Lucy.’
‘If I am, it is because of all the lovely things you and Drew have given me—and Jo, of course.’ She touched her necklace. ‘This was so generous of Drew, because he has already given me so much.’
‘He wanted you to have it,’ Marianne said. ‘I already have far more than I need, and Drew likes to give presents. Now, are you ready to go down? I know Mama is already there with Drew.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Lucy said. She picked up a small posy of roses, which had been given her by her brother-in-law and were tied with yellow silk ribbons. ‘These are so pretty.’
Marianne nodded her approval. ‘After this evening, I am sure you will have many tributes sent to you, Lucy, but Drew wanted you to have something for your first evening.’
The two sisters went downstairs together. Marianne was dressed in green silk and carried a stole of silver spangles over her arm. She was wearing a magnificent necklace of emeralds and diamonds, and matching drops hung from her ears. She made a perfect foil for her sister’s ethereal looks, being a warm, vibrant woman who was universally admired in society.
Drew’s eyes lit up as he saw his wife and he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek before turning his gaze on Lucy. He nodded his head in approval. ‘She is a sprite, an angel…’ He took her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss the back. ‘You look heavenly, Lucy. As I stand in place of a father to you, I think I shall have my work cut out this evening, defending you from the wolves.’
‘Oh, Drew!’ Lucy’s laughter was warm and delightful. ‘You do say such foolish things sometimes! You are not old enough to be my papa.’
‘But since you have none, I shall stand your guardian,’ Drew told her, a sparkle in his eyes. ‘If anyone asks you to marry him, you must direct him to speak to me first. I shall make sure that you do not fall prey to a rake or worse.’
