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“I wouldn’t say that, miss. We could be quite dastardly, I’m sure, if we just put our minds to the thing,”
Fletcher said, winking at Lucas, who believed his friend was enjoying himself entirely too much.
“Ashurst Hall, you said?” Lucas pursued, turning back to the young beauty, whose luscious skin was now lustrous with the misting rain. She was fresh as a strawberry just plucked from the fields, yet the intelligence evident in her eyes told him she might be young, but she was neither shallow nor silly. “Then I may assume that the Duke of Ashurst is known to you?”
“You might assume that, yes. Rafael is our brother. And now that you have the advantage of me…?”
“A thousand pardons,” Lucas said as the beautiful young blond woman who’d been addressed as Lydia joined them beneath their now trio of umbrellas. Sisters? Yes, he could see the resemblance, but at first blush this one seemed to lack the dangerous fire of her sibling. “Lady Lydia, if I heard the name correctly? Please allow me to introduce myself and my friend here.”
“My lords,” Lydia said moments later, dropping into a graceful curtsy while motioning for her sister to do the same. “And in return may I present my sister, Lady Nicole Daughtry.”
Nicole. From the Greek, Lucas was fairly certain, and meaning “victorious people.” Yes, it suited her. He could see her riding at the front of her own army, rather like Eleanor of Aquitaine. The queen, to inspire her troops, was rumored to have ridden barebreasted.
Lucas shook off that disquieting thought and bowed to the young woman.
“A distinct pleasure, Lady Nicole.”
“Yes…” she said, smiling at him as if she totally agreed that the pleasure was his, the minx. It was difficult to believe that the duke let this one out without a leash. She looked down the length of his body and back up again. “Did you happen to notice, my lord, that you’re standing in a puddle?”
Fletcher gave a bark of laughter as Lucas looked down to see that a drainpipe aimed toward the gutter had been emptying rainwater the entire time they’d been standing here, and a dip in the flagway had served to collect quite a bit of that rainwater around his new boots.
“Why, yes, Lady Nicole, I did know that. I’ve made it a point to always stand in puddles. They’re rarely crowded, you understand.”
The dimple appeared, and that small, quick bite at her lower lip came and went almost before Lucas could see it. Almost.
“But I’m standing in it, too, my lord.”
All right. If she wanted to play, he would not disappoint her. “Which now makes it our puddle, doesn’t it, Lady Nicole?”
“I’m not sure. As my twin here could tell you, I have never been all that comfortable with sharing. You might wish to step back, my lord.”
She was giving him a warning? Him? He was the Marquess of Basingstoke, and she was a young miss fresh from the country. He should be warning her, although of what, he couldn’t be sure.
Fletcher nervously cleared his throat. “Yes…ah, um, yes indeed. Well, stap me if I haven’t just remembered something. We have that appointment, Lucas, as I recall. Going to be late, and you know how his lordship frowns when we’re late. And the ladies will take a chill, there’s that, as well. We shouldn’t keep them.”
“Indeed, no, we shouldn’t,” Lucas said, agreeing with his friend’s fib, as he already had a plan in mind to see Lady Nicole again. He turned to Lady Lydia, who might not have much influence over her sister, but who probably could be relied upon not to scramble his brains and tie his tongue into knots. “It would be our distinct pleasure to wait on you ladies tomorrow, if your brother will give his permission for the four of us to drive out to Richmond. Would you be amenable to such an arrangement, Lady Lydia?”
“If she knows what’s good for her, she will,” Lucas heard Lady Nicole whisper under her breath as she covered her mouth with one gloved hand, and once again Fletcher cleared his throat, this time to cover a laugh, no doubt.
“I should imagine you will have to apply directly to our brother, my lord,” Lady Lydia said, earning herself a weary shake of the head from her sister. “We dine at home in Grosvenor Square this evening, and if you and Lord Yalding are free, we would be honored if you’d join us. You can ask him then.”
Lucas glanced toward Lady Nicole, who was now looking at her sister in some astonishment. He quickly agreed, thanked Lady Lydia and then escorted the ladies to their waiting coach, the one with the ducal crest on it.
“What a mischievous piece of work that one is,” Fletcher said as they watched the coach pull off into the light afternoon traffic. “And what was all that ridiculousness about puddles? Not that it wasn’t all innocent, I suppose, but I was beginning to feel like a voyeur, listening to the pair of you. She’s nearly a child, Lucas. Not your usual sort at all.”
“A child, Fletch?” Lucas turned to head to his own coach, for he needed to go back to Park Lane, spend some time alone to consider all that had just happened to him. “That one has never been a child.”
“No, I suppose some females are like that. But they aren’t usually sister to a duke, if you take my meaning and no offense intended. And I’m supposed to be keeping the other one occupied so that the two of you can keep on speaking whatever private language you were spouting back there?”
They both handed their umbrellas to the waiting groom, who would return them to the nearest umbrella shop to be dried and refolded and be supplied with replacements. Umbrella shops were probably the most prosperous enterprises in the city this year.
“If you wouldn’t consider it a hardship, yes.”
“Absolutely not,” Fletcher said. “Lady Lydia is a beautiful young woman. Such a contrast to her sister, though, don’t you think? It would take a special eye to see her quiet beauty when matched up against the fire and flash of Lady Nicole.”
“And you have a special eye?”
“Hardly,” Fletcher said as they settled into the coach. “As you well know, I can’t afford one. Although I have observed that your mood has improved by more than half since our encounter with Lady Nicole. I thought you said you weren’t chafing about that business at White’s.”
“I’m sorry. Although I will admit that I am rather disappointed in my fellow man at the moment. Nobody wants to hear anything but good news. We’d rather close our ears and eyes and go on repeating the same mistakes over and over again.”
“Well, I agree with you there, I suppose, at least with that business about making the same mistakes. For instance, m’father might have thought to learn that a Faro bank in a gaming hell is a harlot’s tease. We all could have benefited if he’d taken that particular lesson to heart. But that’s not what you mean, is it? You’re angry with the way we’re treating the populace.”
“More than I thought I could be, yes. An iron fist is never a good ruler, Fletcher, when a helping hand benefits us all in the end. Why can’t our fellows in the House of Lords see that?”
Fletcher shrugged. “Perhaps because they’re in the House of Lords, and not scratching out a meager existence on the fringes of Society? Still, perhaps you should drop the subject now? You’ve said what you felt needed saying, and nobody seems to care.”
Lucas considered this for a moment, and then shook his head, deciding not to tell his friend about his early morning visit from Lord Nigel Frayne, a contemporary of his late father, and what that encounter might mean if Lucas chose to throw in his lot with the man.
“You’re probably right. But I wish I could do more,” was all he said.
Fletcher was silent for some moments, until the coach slowed and finally stopped outside his rented rooms in Upper Brook Street. He had his hand on the inside latch of the door before he turned to his friend and said, “If you’re set on finding ways to help the downtrodden, and much as I’m certain I shouldn’t tell you, you probably want to hear this.”
Lucas, suddenly lost in thoughts of his dead father, merely lifted an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
Fletcher sank back against the squabs. “I didn’t think so, to tell you the truth, not when I heard it. Perhaps you’ve softened my heart? At any rate, I happened to overhear something about our dear friend Lord Sidmouth at my club last week.”
“Our illustrious Home Secretary is no one’s dear friend, Fletcher. I doubt his own mother enjoyed him.”
“True enough. Do you want to know what I heard, or not? Because after you surprised me with that passionate defense of the common man yesterday, I haven’t been all that hot to tell you. After all, it was only rumor, and I overheard no more than snatches, at that.”
Lucas gave a small wave of his hand. “Go on. I promise not to launch into another hot-blooded speech anytime soon.”
“And thank God for that. What I heard was that, between them, lords Liverpool and Sidmouth are determined to introduce new punitive laws and sanctions against those unhappy with the government. You know, those persons you were so staunchly defending in your magnificent but probably ill-timed comments.”
“I see. And did you happen to hear how they plan to get the whole of Parliament to agree to these new laws, considering that we’ve been introducing reforms this term, not new sanctions?”
Fletcher shook his head. “No, sadly, I did not, but I suppose they know. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” He took hold of the latch once more. “Should I be ready by six, do you think? Or is that too early?”
Lucas was once again deep in thought, lightly tapping the side of his fist against his mouth. “Excuse me? Oh, yes. Too early by half. I doubt the duke sits down much before eight.”
“Then seven it is. Perhaps the lovely Lady Nicole can serve to take your mind off what I’ve just told you?”
“Fletcher, that young woman could take a man’s mind, period.”
Fletcher laughed and exited the coach, at which time Lucas’s smile disappeared as he thought about his strange encounter with Lady Nicole.
She had knocked him off balance, not physically, as a result of their small collision, but mentally, muddling his brain in a way that had never happened to him before that moment.
She was astonishingly beautiful. She was astoundingly forward and impertinent.
She possessed the most kissable mouth he’d ever seen. And clearly she knew that, or else why would she have affected that quick, enticing bite of her full bottom lip, if not to drive a man insane?
She was also a distraction. With what Lord Frayne had just asked of him, with the information the man had just that morning dangled in front of him so unexpectedly, did he need a distraction at this moment in his life?
No. No, he did not.
CHAPTER TWO
NICOLE TOOK HER TIME combing through her thick black hair, carefully working out a few tangles caused by having it all anchored up and off her neck. She could allow her new maid, the estimable Renée, the chore. But, since Renée seemed to be of the opinion that a woman should suffer for her beauty, Nicole had set her to pressing the hem of her peach gown instead.
Looking into the mirror of her dressing table, she studied her sister as Lydia sat in a slipper chair, her head buried in a book. There was nothing unusual about that. Depressing, certainly, as they were in the middle of the most exciting city on earth, but most definitely not unusual.
Nicole loved her twin more than she did anyone else in the world, but this past year had been very difficult. And so terribly sad.
When their brother, Rafe, had returned from the war to take over the reins of the dukedom, he had brought with him his good friend Captain Swain Fitzgerald.
And Lydia, quiet, levelheaded, studious Lydia, had tumbled head over heels into love with the man, only to lose him when Bonaparte escaped his prison and forced one last battle on the Allies.
Even now, Nicole could see occasional hints of sadness in her sister’s huge blue eyes during quiet moments.
Some might argue that Lydia, at seventeen, had been too young to really know her own mind, and that Captain Fitzgerald had been years too old for her. But Nicole would never say any such thing. Not when she’d held her sister in her grief, fearful that Lydia’s very heart would break inside her and she’d lose her best friend, the other half of herself.
That terrible day, when the Duke of Malvern had come to this very house to inform them all of the captain’s death, Nicole had promised herself that she would never open herself to such devastating heartbreak. Life was to be enjoyed, gloried in, celebrated. Allowing one’s happiness to depend on someone else was to invite not only a chaotic mind but a vulnerability to pain that Nicole refused to consider.
No, Nicole would never allow anyone else, any man, to have so much power over her, and had stated that fact quite firmly to both her sister and her sister-in-law, Charlotte.
And they had only smiled indulgently. After all, what was a young lady of Nicole’s station to do but marry? As a sister to a duke, her options were limited, if, to many, all quite wonderful. A husband. Children. She would be mistress of a grand estate, an arbiter of fashion, become a successful and sought-after hostess. It wasn’t as if she could take to the high seas, or fight in wars or sit in Parliament…not that Nicole wished to do any of those things, either.
In truth, she didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life or what she wanted out of that life.
She only knew what she didn’t want.
Mostly, she didn’t want to be desperate, like her mother. Mostly, she didn’t want to be heartbroken, like her sister.
Mostly, she wanted to be left to her own devices so that she could someday answer that question as to what she wanted out of life. And in the meantime, if she thought the idea of some harmless flirtation and exercising of her charms to be a delicious entertainment, surely that wasn’t so terrible?
She loved her family, desperately. She needed no one else. Although not the prodigious student her sister was, Nicole had not been above quoting Francis Bacon to Lydia. “He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief.”
Yes, Lydia had reasonably pointed out that Nicole was not a man (which often chafed Nicole, as she believed men enjoyed much more freedom than women), and that she, Lydia, had never suspected that Nicole had aspirations to great virtuous enterprises. To her sister’s already known propensity for mischievous enterprises, Lydia’s response was only to roll her eyes and sigh in affectionate resignation.
They were so different, she and Lydia. Her sister obeyed the rules, accepted her place in the world, caused not a smidgeon of trouble to anyone, while Nicole strained against every leash, saw every rule as a challenge and, although never purposely, had occasionally caused more than her sister to breathe resigned sighs.
Nicole and Lydia had settled into their very different roles early in life, and Nicole realized now that she had allowed herself to become comfortable with always knowing her sister was dependable if sometimes boring, clearheaded if perhaps too intense, and always a model of propriety.
Which did not explain what had happened earlier that day.
“Lydia?”
“In a moment, please, Nicole,” her sister said as she turned a page in her book and continued to read for several moments before closing the book over her finger. “I’m just reading the most interesting and rather bizarre argument.”
“That’s nice, Lydia. Then I take it you are not still reading Miss Austen’s latest inspired bit of silliness?”
Lydia shook her head. “I finished that yesterday. Today is for something Captain Fitzgerald recommended to me, written by one Thomas Paine. This volume is called The Rights of Man and—well, listen to this.”
It was Nicole’s turn to sigh in resignation. “If it sounds anything like a sermon, please don’t bother.”
“No, no, I just want to read you this one thing Mr. Paine wrote. Here it is. He states quite firmly how necessary it is at all times to watch against the attempted encroachment of power, and to prevent its running to excess. Shall I read you his exact words?”
Nicole bit back a smile. “No, I think I understand his point. Lydia, far be it from me to declare myself a scholar, but you do realize that your Mr. Paine could be thought by some to be fomenting revolution and the overthrowing of governments, don’t you?”
“I choose to think he is only warning us to always remain vigilant,” her sister said, closing the book once more. “But I suppose you could be right. That’s what America did to us, and France did to its king.”
Nicole put down her comb. “Nobody is going to do that here, if that’s what this is all about. We have a good king.”
“Do we, Nicole? Then why did I find this in my maid’s apron pocket when I went searching for the button she promised to sew back onto my blue pelisse? Which is why I’m reading Mr. Paine’s warnings.”
So saying, Lydia took a much-folded broadsheet from her own pocket and handed it to Nicole, who first looked to her sister, and then to the poorly printed call for everyone to join the “Citizens for Justice” and to “take up arms against an oppressive government determin’d to starve our children and screw honest men into the ground.”
She quickly read the rest, and could see why Lydia might be alarmed. “And you found this in your maid’s apron?”
Lydia nodded. “I’m going to show it to Rafe tomorrow. He may know what it all means. Revolution is terrible, Nicole, even when it is necessary. And it isn’t all that far-fetched, you know. It happened here.”
“I remember from our lessons, yes,” Nicole said, more concerned by the broadsheet than she’d allow Lydia to see. “But do you really think that—”
“Oh. Oh, no, I suppose not. Not when I say it all out loud. And I know you’re not interested, in any event. I…I wish Captain Fitzgerald could be here. He’d know just what to say to me.”
Nicole winced inwardly. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested, Lydia. Or do you think I’m selfish, and care only for myself? That I couldn’t be concerned about oppressed classes or whoever it is who raise these revolutions? Because that’s not fair, Lydia, it really isn’t.”
Her sister was quick to agree, perhaps too quick to agree, and Nicole wondered if everyone saw her as shallow and more concerned with enjoying herself than she was with anything or anyone else. Was that the price a person had to pay for preferring a life without complications? Besides, was selfishness really a crime, if you were only selfish about protecting yourself?
Yes, she supposed many would see it that way. The conclusion didn’t sit well with her.
“Nicole? Don’t pout. I didn’t mean to say you aren’t the best of sisters, humoring me when I turn bluestocking, as Mama calls it each time she sees me with a book. If it were up to her, neither of us would have any conversation above commenting on the weather, as if anyone could say more than that they wished the rain would go away and the sun come back.”
Delighted to have any awkwardness passed over so easily, Nicole changed the subject—to the one she’d attempted to broach a full ten minutes earlier. “What made you invite the marquess and the viscount to dinner tonight, Lydia? Not that I wasn’t delighted down to my toes, but it was so unlike you.”
Lydia got to her feet after glancing at the mantel clock and seeing the hour. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? I have no idea why I did that. Except that I believed I could sense that you wished to see the marquess again. It was no secret that he wishes to see you again. There’s never been a man who has seen you and not longed for more.”
“More what, Lydia?” Nicole teased, although inwardly, her stomach was doing a series of small flips. “So you saw it, too? The marquess’s interest, that is?”
“I did, the poor flustered Viscount Yalding did. You did, and then purposely set out to torment the man.”
Had she done that? Nicole didn’t wish to admit it, but she could barely recall a word she’d said to the marquess. She’d been much too busy simply looking at him.
“Do you plan his to be the first heart you break while we’re here?”
Nicole slipped her hands beneath her hair and lifted it up from her nape, piling it all on top of her head for a moment before allowing the heavy mass of waves to fall once more, shaking her head so that it tumbled free all around her face and shoulders. With any luck, Lydia would watch the gesture, and not pay attention to the flash of uncertainty her words had undoubtedly sent into her sister’s eyes. She had been doing her best all afternoon to not think about the Marquess of Basingstoke and his unexpected effect on her.
