Chapter Nine
“Gentle is the breeze that flows through my window and lifts my spirits, for I have been too heavy of heart to raise myself up from the doldrums below me.”
Lucinda put down the book of poetry by a gentleman poet called Barton. Was she open to the breeze? Had she been hovering above the doldrums since the day her father had left her behind? Like a clock whose hands were stuck at midnight, she had not moved, rusted in place.
If her father had known what she had gone through, would he have left her at the first school? If he knew what she had endured? Others teased her for being snobbish because most of them came from merchant-class families while she was a gentleman’s daughter.
Her teacher, Mrs. Wilford, had thought she was too high in the instep, too willful and spoiled.
And her hands had paid the price at the tender age of nine.
She had learned quickly never to show tears and to keep to herself.
They had tried to break her, but part of her had held safe the part of her that dreamed one day her father would come to get her.
The day she was informed her father had died was the day her dream of ever having a life of her own choosing was dashed. Her life was in the hands of others, and they too soon forgot about her.
Now, as she looked around the room that was hers for now? Did she have a reason to hope for more? She had to. There would be no second chance.
Calling cards had been coming in all morning and Marianne had told her to prepare for a parlor full of gentlemen.
As she made her way down the stairs, she thought about the kiss Tony had given her right here on the bottom step.
The thought of being in the arms of her guardian and never leaving was a tempting one.
That wistfulness soon turned to anger. He had rejected her and then left her, like all the men who had come into her life.
Her father, Lord Markham, and his son, Captain Markham.
How long would it be until Tony left her solely to his mother and sister?
With a sigh, she pinched her cheeks; she took a few breaths then nodded to a footman who opened the door. She sailed into the room, determined to show these men she was worth their time.
“Ah, here she is.” The dowager swept her arm across the room. “These gentlemen have come to make your acquaintance.”
“How lovely.” She curtseyed to the men who thrust flowers and boxes of sweets at her. The dowager signaled a maid to take her gifts away. Tea was poured and a lively conversation started.
“Miss Sterling and Lady Ashton, I would love to take you riding in the park tomorrow, if permission was granted by the dowager of course,” Lord Lumley asked.
Lucinda bit her lip. This is where they would find her education severely lacking. “I fear I do not ride, my lord, but Marianne does.” Lord Lumley bowed, and Marianne replied, “Perhaps, my lord, if Mother approves.”
The dowager put down the teapot and smiled. “I will think on it.”
Lord Calvin asked, “Are you participating in the promenade in Hyde Park this afternoon, Miss Sterling?”
“I am not sure.” She looked over at the dowager who smiled again at the man.
“We are taking in an exhibition this afternoon but perhaps tomorrow if the weather is fine.”
This sort of questioning went on for some time, and Lucinda’s head began to whirl. So many questions. She did notice that Lord Dunstan was not among the gentlemen, and she could not decide if she was disappointed or not.
“Lucinda, why don’t you play for us?” Marianne went to the pianoforte. “I will turn the pages for you.”
If it would stop the endless questions, she would play the spoons. Taking her seat at the pianoforte, she looked through a few songs until she found one that was vaguely familiar. As she played, the gentlemen went quiet.
Marianne whispered to her, “You play much better than I.”
“It is nice to play on an instrument that is not out of tune.” Lucinda played two more songs and then Marianne took a turn to play a song and once they finished, everyone clapped.
“You both play like angels,” one of the gentlemen said.
“Such accomplished young ladies,” said another.
“I am afraid our time is up as we must get ready for our next engagement. Thank you all for coming.” The dowager duchess ushered them all out of the room with a grin on her face.
Once the door was closed, she turned and clapped.
“You both did so well. I must admit at one stage I thought I might get a headache as they were all talking and asking questions at once. It is time to rest a little before the exhibition. I will send a maid up when it is time to dress.”
Lucinda was thankful for the time alone to sort through her thoughts on the men who had turned up today.
None of them were particularly interesting although one or two were quite handsome.
She wondered why Lord Dunstan had not come.
He may have called on another young lady instead.
It was not as though she had a monopoly on him.
Why was it that every time she thought of Dunstan, she compared him to Tony? It was unfair as one was the one she wanted but could not have and the other she was not even sure was interested in her.
The dowager was quite put out that Lord Dunstan had not turned up and made a note of it.
Lucinda was not sure if she was disappointed or not.
She was disappointed that Tony had not been present.
She wondered where he was. With Lord Stafford, presumably, doing whatever it was that he did for the man.
In any case, he had not been there to do his job for her, which had been to guide her on the men who had graced the parlor.
“Lucinda! Are you not ready yet? The carriage is waiting. Don’t you want to see the art exhibit on Bond Street?” Marianne came scurrying into the room, bonnet in hand.
“Yes, yes of course.” Lucinda put down her poetry book and picked up her bonnet and shawl and hurriedly followed Marianne down the stairs and into the carriage.
The duke greeted her with a nod and a, “Good afternoon, Miss Sterling.”
“Good afternoon, Your Grace. Is Lord Ashton not coming with us?”
“Tony does not care for art,” Marianne explained.
“My brother can be a dullard, Miss Sterling,” the duke said in a lazy drawl. “I am not even sure we are related sometimes.”
The dowager gasped. “Oh, Warrington, do not say such things about your brother.”
This made the duke’s eyebrows lift. “He does nothing of interest, Mother. He does not read—unless it is the papers. He does not participate in sport or even ride much. He is always scurrying places but none of us know where.”
“His position with Lord Stafford demands a lot of his time,” the dowager said.
“So does being a duke, but no one seems to care about what I do.”
“Edward, dear, we do care, and we all appreciate what you do. Now, hush. Lucinda will think you have no love for your sibling.”
Lucinda kept her head down and her eyes in her lap.
She almost felt sorry for the duke. This dynamic was something very new to her, not ever really having a mother or siblings.
Marianne grabbed her hand and squeezed. It was almost like communication.
As if she were saying, I will explain it all later.
How wrong the duke is about his brother, she thought.
She found him fascinating, even if she was mad at him for calling their kiss a mistake.
All she could think about was him kissing her again.
Sadly, she knew he would not. Her heart ached for acceptance in the only way she knew how, and he had turned on his heel and rejected her.
She could not forgive the slight, at least not right now.
Marianne had been fiddling with her reticule. “I wonder if Lord Dunstan will be at the exhibition. I mean, he is an artist, after all.” She looked at Lucinda with concern.
The dowager clapped. “Yes, yes that would be most fortunate, would it not, Miss Sterling?”
Lucinda’s head whipped around to the duchess. “Oh, ah, yes, it would be. He may even have a painting on display. I would like to see some of his work.” Was Marianne still worried he may have been the man who had been rude to her in the park all those years ago?
“That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? I must say I am intrigued to see his art, myself. How about you, Edward?” the dowager asked, but the duke only nodded.
Lucinda turned to the duke. “What style do you prefer, Your Grace?”
The duke slowly turned towards them. “I am fond of botany but only if it is done well. I do like good landscapes as well. If this Dunstan is good, I may invite him to paint Ashtonvale. The gardens are quite spectacular, I hear.”
“Perhaps if you grace us with your presence over Christmas this year, you can see for yourself. Then we need not all travel to London through the snow.” This from Marianne, her tone soothing and quiet.
Warrington raised a brow. “Perhaps, puss. We shall see.”
Studying him in her peripheral vision, Lucinda watched his expression change from fondness to sadness.
She wished she knew the story behind that sadness.
What had happened at that place for him to find it so difficult to be there?
Would Marianne tell her about it, or was it something only family was allowed to know?
Tony had warned her not to ask the duke directly, but he never said anything about asking Marianne.
Thankfully, the carriage jolted to a halt and there was a combined audible sigh. Despite the strange trip, her heart skipped a beat as she anticipated her first art exhibition.