CHAPTER FOUR #3
“There is no need for us to leave the room. You are curious as to Miss Graydene’s reasons for approaching me.
” He glanced at Lucy as he spoke, and spied a sudden flash of fear in her eyes.
He gave her a slight smile of reassurance and turned back to Mr Waley.
“You are perhaps not aware that the Reverend Graydene commended his daughter to the care of my predecessor. My uncle was indebted to the vicar for a substantial favour he made him a long time ago. Though I have no knowledge of the nature of it, I cannot in honour repudiate the debt. My uncle being dead, a duty of care towards Miss Graydene redounds upon myself.”
The curate looked more bewildered than shocked, and no wonder. What sort of indebtedness a peer might have to a lowly country vicar was hard to imagine.
“I had no knowledge of this, sir.”
Stefan paid no heed to the querulous tone. “Naturally you had not.”
There was a silence, during which Mr Waley looked to Lucy, as if for corroboration. She kept her eyes demurely lowered, but Stefan could feel an emanation of some unnamed emotion, whether anger or apprehension he could not judge.
“Do you imply, sir,” asked Mr Waley, red about the gills, “that Miss Lucy, or rather Miss Graydene, is under your guardianship?”
“No, I am not!”
Stefan stiffened. He might have known she would cut the ice from beneath his feet. He temporised. “Miss Graydene is of age. But I consider myself wholly responsible for her welfare.”
He caught Lucy’s dagger look, and quickly passed to Dion, who was gazing with mouth at half-cock, her eyes going from one to another like a spectator at battledore and shuttlecock. At least she had sense enough to refrain from adding to the mêlée.
Waley’s consternation was patent. He fidgeted for a moment or two. Then he turned to Lucy. “Miss Lucy, you must excuse me. I am so put about by this news, I must have time to think. When do you go?”
“I do not know.” Stefan watched her head come up, her eyes catching his briefly before moving swiftly away. “Tomorrow perhaps.”
“Do you remain here at the vicarage tonight?”
“No, we are staying at the Half Moon.”
“Then may I call upon you there?”
Lucy’s smile was perfunctory, her voice subdued. “Of course, you will always be welcome with me.”
The curate made a movement, as if he would go to her, and caught himself back again. He made a little bow. “You do me great honour, Miss Lucy. Until tonight.”
With a slight bow to Dion, he came towards the door, nodding at Stefan as he moved to allow the fellow to pass. Before he was through the door, Lucy spoke. “Mr Waley?”
Halting, he looked back. “Yes?”
“Have you any notion where Jenny may be? We have been here the better part of the day, but there has been no sign of her.”
The curate took a step back into the room, a frown creasing his brow. “Ah, you do not know. Jenny’s sister-in-law was taken with a seizure.”
“Oh, no!”
“She is alive, but the doctor thinks she will never manage without help.”
“Then Jenny has gone to be with her?”
Waley nodded. “I suspect she may be obliged to remain. Which was another reason why I —” He broke off, reddening. Clearing his throat, he resumed, “I may answer further when we meet, if you wish.”
And then he went quickly out, as if he was afraid of being called back once more. No one spoke until the front door was heard to close behind Mr Waley. Then Stefan looked to Lucy, expecting the worst. It did not come.
“Poor Jenny. I wish I had been here.”
Stefan was abruptly moved. “Does she live far from here? Would you like to see her? I will drive you there, if you wish it.”
Impulse had prompted the offer, just as it had made him capture the girl into his curricle on a day which was rapidly becoming imprinted on his memory as the moment his life had changed.
He was rewarded with a brief, tired smile. “Thank you, I should like that. It is a matter of four or five miles only. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
“Then it is settled.”
Dion at last piped up. “And what shall I do while you are gone? There is not room for three in your curricle, Stefan.” Mischief entered her face. “I know. I shall entertain Mr Waley for you, Lucy. The poor man is dreadfully set down. I think he must be in love with you, Lucy.”
Reminded of her grievance, Lucy bounded up from her chair to confront Stefan, wholly ignoring Dion’s remarks. “Why did you do that? You should not have spoken for me.”
Those ironic brows rose. “What, will you upbraid me when you clearly needed rescuing?”
“I did not!”
“You had no notion what to say to the man, or how to explain the presence of Dion and myself.”
Lucy bridled. “That may be true, but I would have thought of something acceptable.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, do stop it, the two of you,” cut in Dion in exasperated accents. “I cannot think why you are so cross, Lucy. You surely can’t be wishing to marry the man?”
“That is beside the point,” said Lucy, vainly trying to command her spleen. “Stefan had no right to make it impossible for Mr Waley to make me an offer.” She turned on him again. “You could not know my wishes in the matter.”
His lip curled. “Could I not? When you have so vehemently decried your state of illegitimacy? He does not know of it, that much is evident. And I cannot suppose you would marry him without informing him of the truth.”
That he had so accurately read her character did not endear him to Lucy. Rather it exacerbated her annoyance. “You are making assumptions.”
“Which,” put in Dion judiciously, “are fair ones, Lucy, you must admit.”
“Whether they are or not is scarcely germane,” she uttered in frustration. “What I am trying to make your bull-headed brother understand is that he has no right to make them.”
“Bull-headed now, am I? I thought I was high-handed and autocratic.”
“You are all three,” Lucy threw at him. “I wish you will stop interfering. It was you brought Mr Waley here in the first place. And I should also like to know how you came to do that.”
To her renewed irritation, Stefan folded his arms and adopted the look of cool control she so much disliked. “Nothing simpler, Lucy. I went in search of the man.”
She stared at him, a sense of blank futility in her head.
“I found him in the church,” he added unnecessarily.
“But why look for him at all? What has it do with you? I told you I meant to find him for myself.”
“Then you should be grateful to me.”
Feeling the more befogged, Lucy looked to Dion for succour. She giggled. “I am as mystified as you are, Lucy. I can’t think what possessed him.”
Lucy sat down abruptly, her gaze shifting back to Stefan’s face. A slow pulse began to beat in her ears as a half-formed thought wreathed in her brain. An impossible thought, one she could not begin to accept. Jealousy as a motive? Absurd. There must be some other explanation.
Before she could tie herself in knots trying to fathom his mind, Stefan spoke again. “I have a question. This aunt, of whom we have previously heard no mention, who is she?”
“Yes, you spoke of her earlier today,” said Dion brightly.
Lucy sighed. “She is Papa’s sister. Aunt Harriet. But of course she is not really my aunt, I know that now.”
“And she does not know about the Pennington connection, I suppose,” Dion guessed.
“I believe not. I cannot suppose Papa told her.”
She found Stefan’s penetrating eye upon her. “Why not?”
“Because she had every expectation of my being married. Papa put her off the notion, saying he was not ready to be rid of me yet awhile. Aunt Harriet was wont to reprove him, saying I would soon be on the shelf. Papa always responded that he had my future mapped out and needed no help from his sister.”
She saw Stefan’s deepening frown and wondered at it. Slowly he shook his head. “No, it won’t fadge, Lucy. Did you not tell me Mrs Graydene died before you were born? Your aunt cannot have been ignorant of the circumstances of your birth.”
A tight band seemed to close about Lucy’s chest. Was it possible Aunt Harriet had known all along?
“But how could she suppose you might be eligible to be married?” asked Dion, echoing her own thought.
Stefan moved to perch on the desk, crossing long legs. Lucy shifted in her chair, watching him sideways. “What is in your mind, Stefan?”
His eye turned on her, no hint within it of what he was mulling over. “What sort of man had your aunt in mind for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Of what condition would he be? It is evident she thought Mr Waley suitable. He is a mere curate. A respectable match.”
“For the vicar’s daughter?” put in Dion. “Yes, most respectable.”
“Then I dare say your aunt meant you to marry someone of his ilk, a man for whom your antecedents must be relatively unimportant.”
“As long as no one knew,” said Dion darkly. She seemed to feel Lucy’s immediate dismay, for she added, “I beg your pardon, dearest Lucy, but nothing is to be gained by mealy-mouthed speaking.”
Stefan nodded. “I agree. And I believe Lucy’s mind is of an order to look the truth in the face without a tremor.”
Lucy grimaced. “Not quite without a tremor, but I thank you for that.”
He grinned at her. “A first, Lucy. I must be growing on you.”
She was obliged to laugh. “Until you try to take over my life again and drive me into losing my temper.”
Stefan’s eye gleamed, and Lucy was conscious of a sliver of warmth somewhere inside her. “I cannot promise not to do so again. Habits of command are hard to break.”
“Will you stick to the point?” begged Dion. “Have we established to our satisfaction that your aunt does know of your heredity?”
Lucy puzzled a moment. “I am unsure. At the funeral she invited me to live with her. Would she have done so had she known?”
“Just a moment.” Stefan was frowning again. “If you had the chance of a home with your aunt, what induced you to come seeking my uncle?”
Dion snorted. “Well, if you can’t tell that, brother dear, you must be all about in the head.”
Lucy had shrunk from the question and could only be grateful to Dion. But Stefan was obviously unsatisfied.
“Enlighten me, then, sister dear.”
“Isn’t it obvious? Lucy thought her aunt did not know about her true parentage. Naturally she would reject the notion. Anyone would.”
“And sue instead to a chancy relative? Besides, Lucy had no expectation of receiving money from me — or rather, from my uncle.”
“But it was a possibility,” Lucy cut in. “Oh, I didn’t expect it. Perhaps deep down, I hoped my appearance would induce Lord Pennington to pay me off. I don’t know what I was thinking, to be truthful. I had determined, in any event, on earning my living in whatever way was open to me.”
“Rather than marry the curate? Rather than make a home with your aunt?”
“Stefan, for goodness’ sake! Did I not tell you Lucy thought her aunt was ignorant of the truth.”
A sudden thought occurred to Lucy and she jumped up. “But she does know. So there is another path open to me: I could make my home with her.”
She looked to the others and found no echo of her eagerness. Stefan was wearing his ironic look, while Dion wore an expression of pity.
“Why, what? You look as if I had made an outrageous suggestion.”
“Well, I can understand why you might rather choose your aunt than to live with us at Pennington.”
Lucy was swept with remorse. “Forgive me, Dion, I did not mean it so. Whatever my feelings, it cannot but embarrass all of us for me to live at Pennington. You must see that. Whereas if I went to my aunt —”
“She would marry you to Mr Waley,” said Dion dampingly.
Lucy’s rise of hope fled away. She glanced at Stefan, and found him enigmatic, his eyes fixed on her face.
“You would consider it, then?”
“No, she couldn’t,” uttered Dion, revulsion in her face. “You would not, would you, Lucy?”
The thought was anathema. But of all the options open to her, Mr Waley, whom she liked and admired for all his lack of personable qualities, was the least unwelcome. Lucy hardly knew she spoke aloud.
“I would marry him only if he knew the truth.”