CHAPTER EIGHT #2
Her eyes flashed. “You need not patronise me, my lord!”
The room fell silent. Stefan clamped down on a rise of annoyance. Dion was frantically trying to engage Lucy’s attention with a pair of wriggling eyebrows, while Corisande was looking at Lucy as at a rare poem.
Mortified at forgetting herself in public, Lucy could only be relieved when the butler saved the day by beginning to serve the next course. She really must make more of an effort to keep her tongue.
“What was it you had decided, Stefan?” Dion asked.
He did not look at Lucy, who was thus able to watch him surreptitiously as he responded. “I was of the opinion we should use the tale I gave to the curate.”
“What, that Mr Graydene commended Lucy to Uncle Beves’s care because of some long-forgotten obligation?”
“Precisely. But on reflection, I suspect it will scarcely pass muster with Paulina.”
“Gracious, yes. She would be bound to plague us with question. She always does when her papa is in the case.”
“Which is why I think the indigent relative is preferable. And we had best make it on Corisande’s side. To set the relationship far from any connection with the Ankervilles seems to me the safest course.”
He was unprepared for what his mother had to say to this. “You cannot expect Paulina to be blind, Stefanus. Do you suppose she has never looked in a mirror?”
Stefan frowned. “Meaning?”
Corisande raised her brows. “For all I know Beves fathered a multitude of bastards, but there can be no doubt he left his mark on his daughters.”
Shock rippled through Stefan. “Mama, how did you know Lucy is his daughter? I distinctly recall it was not mentioned.”
“No, indeed,” agreed Dion. “You asked no questions, Mama, so we said nothing.”
Lucy’s chest had dropped sharply at Mrs Ankerville’s words, and she was the more disturbed by the expression of astonishment on that lady’s face.
“Why should I need telling? I have eyes in my head, have I not?”
Dion’s own eyes were popping as they came around to Lucy’s face. “You mean she looks like Paulina? Oh, no. No, no, Mama. Why, Lucy has a charming countenance, while Paulina —” She left the sentence unfinished, her wrinkled nose proof enough of her opinion of her cousin’s features.
Lucy caught Stefan looking at her, his brows beetled in a concentrated frown. “I confess at first I could see points of resemblance. Paulina has dark hair like yours, Lucy. And her eyes are perhaps similar, but paler in colour.”
Mrs Ankerville uttered a disbelieving laugh.
“Hair? Eyes? Heavens, Stefanus, but use yours!” Her hand swept an encompassing arc across Lucy’s features.
“The shape of the face; the little determined chin; the width of the brow. Granted, Paulina has grown chubby in the face, big as she is with child. But you cannot have forgotten how she looks under normal circumstances. They might be sisters.”
“I must be gone from here!”
Lucy was pacing the carpet in Stefan’s study, while he perched upon the edge of the desk, watching her.
The shock in her face at Corisande’s appalling revelation had struck him to the core. He had known how desperately upset she was, and it did not surprise him when she developed a headache before dinner was over and excused herself.
Dion had risen. “Shall I go after her? Though what in the world can be said?”
Corisande had looked from one to the other of them. “Dear me, have I put the cat among the pigeons?”
“Well and truly, I fear, Mama,” Stefan said drily. And to Dion, “I will go. This is likely the opportunity I need, though I’ve been reluctant to look for it.”
He had left the room on the words, giving Dion no opportunity to enquire further into his meaning. It had not taken many minutes to track Lucy down. He caught her up in the corridor on her way to her chamber. He had given her no chance to evade him, taking her arm in a firm grip.
“Come to my study.”
In the event she had not resisted as he marched her back down to the first floor and into his private sanctum. There he had released her, going immediately to the bell-pull and tugging on it.
“I’ll send for brandy. A sip or two will do much to alleviate shock. Unless you would prefer tea?”
“I want nothing, I thank you,” she’d uttered on a fretful note, already shifting to and fro in a manner reminiscent of a caged animal. Stefan went to perch on the desk, waiting until Lucy should have calmed sufficiently to talk.
She ceased her pacing and turned to look at him. “I cannot stay here, you must see that.”
Stefan warned himself to be careful how he handled her. He tried for a measured tone. “Where would you wish to go?”
“Anywhere!”
He could not forbear a smile. “Highly impractical.”
She struck her hands together. “Oh, don’t jest. Cannot you see how impossible it is I should remain here? Your mother had no notion of Lord Pennington being my father, and yet she saw sufficient resemblance to know that this woman is my sister.”
“Yes, I heard it,” Stefan said smoothly. “And she is only your half-sister.”
“What does that matter? How do you suppose she must feel when she finds you are housing a woman who shares the same father as she? In her place, I should be insulted beyond all bearing.”
Stefan rose from the desk and went to her, attempting to take her hands. Lucy would not let him, instead holding them palm up against him and backing away.
“Don’t touch me! I cannot endure you to touch me!”
He stopped short, a shaft slicing into his chest. For several moments he was deprived of breath, and his mind refused to operate. All he knew was a sensation of corroding hurt.
A knock at the door penetrated his consciousness. Stefan turned sharply, calling out, “Come in.”
The door opened to admit the housemaid. She dropped a curtsy. “You rang, my lord?”
He had done so, yes, but at this precise instant he could not recall why. He struggled to clear his head. “Yes. Yes, I did. Desire Hawkesbury to bring brandy to this room, if you please. And two glasses.”
Turton’s eyes went from him to Lucy and Stefan came to a sense of how they must both appear. His sharpened his tone.
“That will be all.”
The girl gave him one fearful glance and disappeared. The door closed behind her.
Stefan pulled himself together. He crossed to the desk, putting distance between himself and Lucy, and turned there to confront her. She had whisked to the far end of the room, her face averted. He summoned a tone as close to normal as possible.
“Let us begin again, Lucy.”
She turned, casting him a sharp look. “Begin what again?”
“This discussion. Clearly it is time we looked at the best way to provide for your future.”
Her gaze became fixed and Stefan thought her eyes darkened, but in the uncertain light he could not be sure.
“Do I have a say in it, then?”
“Of course you have a say in it,” Stefan returned, snapping uncontrollably. “Did you suppose I meant to force a solution on you?”
She did not move. “I supposed you had decided everything without consulting me. That is your usual practice.”
Stefan wanted to refute the charge with heat, but the germ of truth would not permit him. He had settled it with himself just what would be best, but he was aware of finding alternatives only so he might give Lucy the pretended option of choice.
Suddenly she wafted a hand as if to throw something away. “Let it be some way I may remove from here as soon as may be and I will say nothing against it.”
The sentiments that prompted this he could appreciate, but the urgency behind it gave him pain. Abruptly hating the plan he had made, Stefan knew it nevertheless for the best.
“I was going to send you to the Dower House,” he said, only half aware of the deadness of his tone.
Lucy was staring at him, blankness in her face. “I cannot live in your mother’s intended dwelling.”
“I was not proposing to have you live there alone. It is already occupied, but —”
He was interrupted, Lucy’s eyes flashing fire. “I will not suffer you to turn out your tenant for me.”
He was nettled. “A fine opinion you have of me, by God! If you will allow me to finish before making premature judgements, we may be able to get somewhere.”
Lucy bit her lip, cursing her hasty tongue. She was in the wrong yet again. Her heart cried out at the constant clashing of swords with him, but the churn of emotion too readily got the better of her. “I beg your pardon,” she said, aware of stiffness in her tone. “Pray continue.”
“I thank you,” he returned, and she winced at the ironic twist. “The house is occupied by my great-aunt, Lady Dorothea Ankerville. She is very elderly, quite as eccentric as Corisande and at least twice as scatterbrained.”
Lucy’s interest was fairly caught. “You mean me to care for her?”
He shifted his shoulders in a half shrug.
“Not precisely. She is sprightly for her years, and she has her maid who is fiercely loyal, as well as servants.” Stefan threw up his hands.
“Well, let us be honest. She needs a guardian. I have been increasingly troubled for her. It had not occurred to me until we were upon our travels, but I believe it would answer perfectly.”
Forgetting caution, Lucy moved closer, intrigued. “How so? What would you have me do?”
Stefan wafted a vague hand. “You will know better than I, believe me. Keep an eye on her. Prevent her from doing herself a mischief. As things stand, I have enjoined her maid to watch her, but the woman cannot be forever at her side.”
It sounded ideal to Lucy. Provided it was far enough away from Pennington to be safe from too many incursions. “Where is the Dower House?”
“Within an hour’s journey from here.”
Not far enough. But an hour might discourage too frequent visits. On the other hand, her heart whispered, it was yet within reach of him. She would not be quite parted from him — until he married.