Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Something caught tight around Lucasta’s throat and strangled.
She made her living by her voice, by her expression, and she couldn’t make a sound.
She’d met Trevor Pevensey on a few family occasions after Aunt Patience married the Baron. He’d been a pudgy, petulant boy with a pouty lower lip, prone to tantrums, cheeks always red from exertion. From all she’d heard of him since her arrival in London, he was much the same as a man.
She saw now he had changed a great deal.
The man before her was assured in his manner and fashionable, but not flamboyant in his dress.
He wore a single-breasted riding coat with broad lapels and a collar and cuffs trimmed with blue.
Rows of large silver buttons lined the coat and the matching waistcoat beneath.
A ruffle of white linen peeked from his cuffs, a black silk cravat nestled about his throat, and his lightly powdered hair was pulled back in a queue and tied with a blue ribbon. Rudyard would approve.
His was a younger version of the Baron’s face, with a broad forehead and pronounced chin, slashing black brows over lively blue eyes, and a nose that still looked masculine rather than overly large. Grooves about his mouth deepened into creases as he smiled.
“My cousin Lucasta, all grown up.” Trevor swept her a graceful bow and rose with her hand at his lips. “Cici tells me you have been the most charming possible chaperone for her season.” The corners of his mouth quirked upward. “But who has been chaperoning you?”
Unless she was mistaken, he squeezed her hand lightly before releasing her fingers. That made two men who had held her hand in the span of minutes.
“Trevor. Mr. Pevensey.” She fumbled with the strings of her bonnet, flustered.
“Trevor,” he and his father said at the same time.
“Trevor. How—how delightful that you are home. You enjoyed your Grand Tour?”
The gossip she’d heard belowstairs gave various reasons for his circuit abroad.
Some said a scandal with a woman, some said gambling debts, some an affair of honor, and some thought all three.
But whatever the reason, the effect of his foray on the Continent had been to mature her cousin.
He had lost at least a stone of baby fat and acquired a degree of polish in its place.
“I’ve any number of stories I could bore you with,” he said lightly.
“I’ve already shared a few of the more amusing anecdotes with Cici and her ladyship.
” He turned his smile to Cici, and she glowed like a cat in the sun.
Lucasta noticed that Trevor’s warm expression did not extend to his father’s wife.
“Show her the little trinket you brought her from Paris,” the Baron prompted.
The strangling twist in Lucasta’s throat inched lower. Her cousin, alone, would not have marked her existence. The Baron had warned him to return home ready to woo.
Trevor held out an exquisite enameled box not much larger than his hand. “I remembered you were musical.”
Lucasta accepted the gift with caution. Trevor’s hands were soft, the hands of a gentleman. Unlike Rudyard, he’d been born to leisure. And unlike Rudyard, he was not a man who would work when he had other expectations.
For instance, gaining a fortune through marriage.
The delicate scenes painted along the top and sides of the music box featured Marie Antoinette and her ladies in brilliant dress, lounging in the Queen’s Petit Trianon.
When Lucasta turned the crank, a clear, metallic song tinkled out.
She recognized the short piece from a recent French comic opera.
It was a charming tune, with the kind of melancholy undertone that she loved.
She met Trevor’s eyes, surprised that whether by insight or sheer luck he should stumble onto something that pleased her so well.
“I adore it.” She tilted her head to listen to the tune again. “Thank you.”
Trevor held her gaze. His was curious, amused, but veiled. He nodded his head in acknowledgement. “How fortunate for me.”
Cici had contained herself long enough. She seized her brother’s hand.
“Can you imagine how wonderful it will be, Lucasta, now that we will have a handsome escort for our revels? I have already begged belle-mère to let us bring him to Mrs. Plimpton’s tomorrow, and to Ranelagh Gardens the day after.
” She giggled at her brother. “You will make such a splash! I daresay you will outdo Lord Rudyard as the Season’s most eligible bachelor.
How I will adore watching all the girls go wild over you. ”
Trevor met this confession with a manufactured smile. The Baron laid a hand on the back of his lady’s chair, clearing his throat.
“You may wish to consult with your brother, miss, before you fan the hopes of any of your friends. Trevor might already have his own match in mind.”
Lucasta’s heart slipped down to puddle in her stomach. The Baron’s triumphant smirk said he would hold her to the devil’s bargain she had struck. Her sly promise to entertain Trevor’s suit, made when she thought he would linger on the Continent for the foreseeable future.
Now he was here. And she sacrificed her benefit concert if she let the Baron know how she felt.
The strangling vine slithered through her chest and wrapped tight. She must not let herself be trapped by these men. And she must not be a fool.
“Time enough to think of all that later, sir.” Trevor directed a brotherly smile at Cici’s adoring face. “You will first allow me to wash off the dust of the road, I hope, and look up a few friends before I go marching anyone up to the church door.”
“I expect you’ll find more than a few friends under the hatches or in disgrace,” the Baron said. “Best to start fresh, son, and begin as you mean to go on.”
Aunt Pevensey grimaced as though someone were sticking her with pins.
“But we cannot think of marrying Trevor off when he has just returned to us. Besides, we are concentrating on Cecilia’s marriage this Season.
I daresay your son’s expectations might be raised higher if his sister makes a worthy match, my love.
Rudyard meant to take her driving today, before Lucasta pushed her way in. ”
“Rudyard?” Trevor frowned. “Do you mean Cadmus?”
“Your friend Cadmus died of fever,” the Baron informed him.
“Then his father died of a side of bad beef and passed the title of Earl Payne to his uncle. This new Lord Rudyard is no more than a draper’s son who thinks himself quite a beau, and there are far too many who let him believe it.
Worse, he’ll be heir to the Marquess of Arendale.
Sooner rather than later, if his father stays in the West Indies. Hardly a place for civilized men.”
“They were out all day,” Aunt Patience said. “Wherever could you have gone, Lucasta?”
Every Pevensey eye turned to her. The images came in a hot rush.
Sunlight on green fields and blooms of color climbing the elegant cottage.
Judith, Bertie, and the children chatting with her in a golden pool of light, weaving her into their life, their parlor filled with sweet aromas and enchanting song.
A rich baritone voice that had been imprinted in her memory, never to leave.
If Aunt Patience sabotaged the Baron’s plot to match her with Trevor, Lucasta would find her permission to host the benefit concert withdrawn with the snap of a finger.
“Rudyard means to engage me as a music tutor for his cousin,” she said finally. His name left a soft hum on her lips, like the reed of an hautboy. “I give lessons, you know. That is how I support myself.” Time to remind them all that she labored for a living. No fit match for a gentleman.
“But you won’t need that now, with your Aunt Cornelia determined to make you her heir,” the Baron said with a toothy smile. “She’s sitting on a tidy sum, I wager.”
Lucasta loosened her fingers before she crushed the delicate enamel music box. If the Baron convinced Trevor that she was some prize—
“I must confess, I do not stand in expectation of any inheritance from Aunt Cornelia. She will likely give away her fortune to one of her favorite charitable institutions. Or bequeath it to the current Viscount Frotheringale.”
“She will!” Aunt Patience cried. “It is as I said, my love.”
“Gale?” Trevor untangled his arm from Cici’s. “He’s plump enough in the pocket. He’s no need for her boodle.”
“A smart man would try anyway,” the Baron replied. “But if there’s expectation of a happy event, why shouldn’t Lady Evers open the purse strings early?”
Cici linked her hands beneath her chin, glancing from Trevor to Lucasta with consideration. Aunt Patience looked as if she’d drunk vinegar. Lucasta didn’t know where she drew the courage to say what she said next.
It had something to do with Jeremiah Falstead’s expression when he introduced his half-siblings to her. With the way his rich baritone had supported and complemented her voice during their duet.
With the way his eyes lit when she practically fell out of his carriage into his arms and they stared at each other for a long moment, both of them, she was certain, feeling that strange sense that though they stood on a public street, the rest of the world had momentarily withdrawn.
She had always been inclined to speak her mind. But something about the golden light of his notice—of Jem’s approval—was making her uncustomarily bold.
“Aunt Cornelia said she approves my being invited to get up a benefit concert for the Foundling Hospital,” Lucasta said. “She adores music. And I expect I will be kept quite busy with that project in the coming weeks.”
“Not too busy to have a bit of fun!” With a wave of his hand, the Baron swept her protestations aside.
Lucasta couldn’t recognize this hearty man who had replaced the tight-lipped, sullen Lord Pevensey.
He behaved as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders, or a festering splinter taken from his side.
“You’ll enjoy squiring your cousin about, won’t you, Trevor? ”