CHAPTER THREE #2
“Excellent. I enjoy nothing better than a puzzle. Tell me all.”
Lucy looked wildly across the table at Dion, who made a face of utter helplessness, and thence to Lord Pennington.
His eyes met hers, the brows above slightly raised, but his mouth firmly closed.
Lucy’s heart sank. He was not going to help her.
Surely he could not wish his mother to know the truth?
It was evident Dion had no notion of revealing it.
Lucy turned back to Mrs Ankerville and found the large eyes sparkling and eager.
“I scent a mystery.”
Lucy sighed. “Yes. Something of the sort. There is — there is some question about my parentage.”
Mrs Ankerville’s look became penetrating, much to Lucy’s discomfiture.
“Do you mean you were born on the wrong side of the blanket? How very interesting. There is a great deal of nonsense talked about illegitimacy, you must know. Yet all the best families throughout history have laid claim to higher birth through just such a connection. Our medieval ancestors made far less fuss. Why, only think of William the Bastard, from whom every other family in the land would like to claim descent. Boys were taken care of. Girls were either married off with a dowry or sent to the nunnery.”
“I think we can spare Lucy that fate,” came Lord Pennington’s amused interruption. His eye gleamed as he turned it on Lucy. “I would have rescued you, had I anticipated any other reaction.”
Lucy was chagrined. “You might have warned me, however.”
“I wanted to see how you would deal with it.”
“I am well aware of that.”
“Stefanus, do be quiet,” cut in his mother. “I have not finished my investigations.”
“Oh, yes, you have, Mama. Lucy has been embarrassed enough.”
“Yes, quite enough,” agreed Dion, throwing a warm look across the table.
Mrs Ankerville frowned. “But no one has told me in what relation Lucinda stands to our family.”
Lord Pennington gave her a meaning look, flicking a glance at the footman and the butler, waiting patiently to serve.
Lucy looked anxiously at her hostess. From the little she had seen of her, she was confident Mrs Ankerville was one of those persons with a sublime disregard for the ears of servants.
The butler, however, apparently knowing his mistress better than her children, signed to his junior to leave the room, meanwhile distracting his mistress by refilling her glass.
“Thank you, Hawkesbury.”
The butler bowed. “There was a package delivered for you earlier this evening, ma’am. It came by courier.”
Mrs Ankerville was instantly diverted. “It must be the Italian manuscript! Why did you not tell me at once?”
“I did not care to disturb you, ma’am, knowing how concentrated you are at your labours.”
Lucy was surprised to see her hostess rising immediately.
“Where is it?”
“I will fetch it to you after dinner, ma’am.”
“No, no, Hawkesbury. Come and give it to me at once. I have been waiting for it for several weeks.”
With which, she hurried from the room, completely ignoring the rest of the company and leaving her half-eaten meal on the plate.
“Masterly, Hawkesbury,” said his lordship, his tone dry. “Don’t forget to send up a tray with a selection of fruits and sweet dishes.”
Bowing, the butler retired without comment, and Lucy was alone with his lordship and Dion.
“Don’t look so shocked, Lucy,” said the latter merrily. “Corisande often leaves her meal unfinished. Usually she remembers some little fact she had meant to write down and must do so instantly, regardless of who may be dining with us.”
“Fortunately, the majority of our acquaintance are so used to it, they do not turn a hair,” added Lord Pennington.
“And now Corisande has accepted you without question,” pursued Dion, “I can bring up the notion of inviting you to remain here for a visit.”
Lucy’s pulse began an uneven beat as she watched Dion turn innocently towards her brother.
“Do you not think so, Stefan? Could we not have Lucy to stay for a time?”
Lord Pennington’s steely gaze came round to Lucy. “The very point we were discussing this afternoon, were we not, Miss Graydene?”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t call her that. It is bad enough having Lucy determinedly calling you Lord Pennington. I know very well you quarrelled, but if you can address her as Lucy in front of Corisande, it is ridiculous to be so formal the moment we are all alone together.”
“I did not drop formality,” Lucy burst out, incensed anew by the reminder of the earlier encounter. “And I do not propose to accede to his lordship’s demands.”
Dion’s eyes widened. “What demands?”
Lucy quelled her rising temper. “I am very grateful to you, Dion, for your kind invitation, but I am afraid it will not be possible for me to remain. I would leave tonight, if I could, but as that is clearly ineligible, I propose to go tomorrow.”
“You propose to, do you?”
Lucy turned on Lord Pennington. “I am going, my lord, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
“That we shall see.”
Lucy was prevented from retort by the re-entrance of the footman bearing a laden tray.
“But why, Lucy? I do not understand.”
Lucy could not but feel sorry for Dion, who had gamely attempted to introduce several subjects of small talk for the remainder of dinner, while she and Lord Pennington had spoken less than two words to each other.
Lucy had never been more glad of the custom for ladies to leave the table first, and she followed Dion with alacrity, refusing to meet his lordship’s eyes as she passed.
“I am sorry to have been so uncivil at dinner, Dion. It must have been very uncomfortable for you.”
“Never mind that,” said the other, taking her favourite perch on the sofa in the Red Saloon. “Please tell me why you will not stay. What did Stefan say to you to make you so cross?”
Lucy ignored the question, opting to answer only the first part. “I cannot live upon your brother’s bounty, under the circumstances.”
“But the circumstances are precisely why you can,” Dion objected. “I know Stefan, and if he can make a duty out of protecting you, he will.”
“I do not need his protection!”
Dion made a face at her. “He phrased it badly, I expect.”
“Badly? He did not phrase it at all,” stated Lucy baldly. “He practically ordered me to remain.”
“Oh, dear, how typical,” said Dion, but her eyes danced. “Stefan has been dictatorial from a child. He drove his nurses to distraction.”
“I can readily believe it.”
She was little mollified to see how the situation amused Dion, but she could not help softening a little when that young lady’s bright eyes dimmed suddenly.
“But if you don’t stay here, Lucy, what in the world will you do?”
Lucy shrugged away a feeling of discomfort. “I shall find employment.”
Dion’s face fell. “As what? I suppose I may guess. A governess or companion. You cannot wish to be a drudge, Lucy.”
“Of course I don’t wish for it.” Lucy caught her tongue on the snap, and softened her tone. “But even less do I wish to be beholden to the family of Lord Pennington. I am talking of your deceased uncle, not your brother.”
“You mean your father,” said Dion, a note of deliberation in her voice.
Lucy shuddered uncontrollably. “I will not have him named so.”
“I beg your pardon. Only I learned from my own papa that it is futile to ignore the truth. One can only deal with it if one first accepts it.”
Yes, Papa had said the same. But Lucy was not ready to allow the relationship. The moment she realised this, her way became clear. She spoke without thought.
“I cannot remain in this house, Dion, to live in the vicinity of those who must, through no fault of their own, be a constant reminder of my condition. Most of all, I cannot usurp a position for which I am wholly ineligible. I may be your cousin, but I am not worthy to be called so.”
To her shocked surprise, Dion’s eyes filled and tears chased one another down her cheeks. She rose and in a moment was beside Lucy, who felt her hands seized in a convulsive grip.
“I am so very sorry. Oh, Lucy, forgive me. I had not thought how dreadful it must be for you. Here I have been positively enjoying the situation, without paying the slightest attention to your feelings. It is too bad of me. And so typical, I am afraid. Can you forgive me?”
Thoroughly taken aback, and yet moved by the note of appeal and the falling tears, Lucy found herself returning the pressure of Dion’s fingers.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she uttered. “Pray don’t cry, Dion. I had far rather have you giggling than weeping on my account.”
Dion smiled through her tears. “You had best take full advantage of my penitence, dear Lucy. Stefan will tell you it is a rare event.”
Lucy could not forbear an answering smile. “In that case, I will confess myself relieved.”
“I won’t press you any more, I promise, but I do so wish you might change your mind. You will never be made to feel your unenviable position in this house.”
Except, thought Lucy, she was made to feel it in every way, if only by default. She longed suddenly for the vicarage, the old days when her evenings were spent in ever interesting talks with Papa, or in reading if he were out upon his duties. Unknowing, she spoke aloud, and from the heart.
“I just want to go home.”
In the open doorway, Stefan lingered briefly, the echo of Lucy’s utterance haunting in his mind. He stepped quietly back into the hall, gently closing the door, sure that neither of the women had noticed him.