Chapter 13 #2
It was a warning, one Trevor acknowledged by a tight knot of muscle in his cheek.
Lucasta held her breath. If Trevor didn’t want her, she would be free from the Baron’s schemes.
Trevor would face his father’s wrath, but Lucasta could continue planning her concert.
Or thinking about her concert, at least.
But if he fell in with his father’s plans—she didn’t know what she’d do.
“And Cici?” Lucasta asked. No one ever asked Cici what she wanted. She, too, was expected to fall in with her father’s plans for her without a murmur of complaint. But if Cici wanted something better for her brother, she could be an ally.
“Oh, do marry my brother, Lucasta.” Cici threw her arms around Lucasta’s shoulders, a gesture that took her entirely by surprise. “I would adore having you for a sister.”
Lucasta’s head felt like a chamber orchestra all tuning to different scales, a discordant blur of noise.
“It seems my sister is as eager to welcome you into the family as is my father,” Trevor drawled.
“Cici, why don’t you show your cousin what arrived for her,” the Baron said, narrowing his eyes at his son.
“Oh, you must see,” Cici squealed, tugging at Lucasta’s arm. “The first of your new wardrobe, and I hope you will be very pleased with it! Those awful things belle-mère gave you need never again see the light of day.”
Lucasta followed Cici’s bright chatter to her chamber where the dress box awaited. She wished she could escape to her music room and sort out the blaring riot of music in her head.
She needed to stop dwelling on that moment when Jeremiah Falstead might have kissed her.
She needed to hold the Baron’s goodwill long enough to organize the benefit concert.
She needed to avoid being trapped into marriage with Trevor Pevensey. And she could achieve that by remaining no more than what she was: poor, plain Lucasta Lithwick.
But Lucasta had not reckoned on the consequence of being flattered by Smart Jeremy. Nor the effect of Mademoiselle Beaudoin’s gowns.
Lady Plimpton’s rout was a crush when they arrived in Berkley Square.
Sir Titus Plimpton was a nabob awarded his knighthood after he brought home a fortune from India and with it wooed the daughter of a shipping magnate who ran an empire in slaves, sugar, and rum.
Lady Pevensey speculated that the Countess of Jersey, Horace Walpole, and the Prime Minister, Lord Shelburne, were all likely to make an appearance, given they lived in the neighborhood, and it was only too bad that the Devonshires had withdrawn to Bath for the summer, for the Duchess could not fail to make a pet of Cecilia, did she only meet her.
Trevor gave noncommittal answers as his stepmother furnished a long list of ladies of birth and breeding who could be considered worthy of his attentions.
Lucasta looked for her friends, and as soon as she could make her excuses, she joined them before a study of classical sculptures clustered in the corner of one enormous drawing room.
“Queen Lucasta!” Annis cried. “Is this Mademoiselle Beaudoin’s doing? How clever she is.”
All three of them circled Lucasta, admiring her new gown.
The seamstress had taken the patterned chintz Rudyard sent and turned it into a gorgeous open robe with just enough ruffles to make it seem the gown floated on its own, but not so many that Lucasta appeared drowning.
For the front panel she had chosen a contrasting silk in blushing pink, the color of the inside of a grapefruit, and lined it with small flirtatious ribbons that cascaded over the bodice and down the skirt.
Instead of a cap, the seamstress had insisted on a gauzy veil that looped Lucasta’s head, showing off the color of her curls, and a slender collar of ribboned lace around her throat to make up for her lack of jewels.
The effect was fresh, demure, sensual, and sensible all at once.
“It suits you exactly, my dear,” Minnie pronounced. “I hope my creation is as marvelous.”
Selina gave her a merry smile. “Have you forgiven Lord Rudyard at last?”
Lucasta squeezed her friend’s hands and refrained, with an effort, from looking about the room for him. “I am taking forgiveness under consideration.”
Aside from fancies here and there for various musicians known about Bath, and a short-lived period of pining for a concert-master’s son, Lucasta had never entertained attachments to a man.
Her friends would be astonished, and possibly concerned, to hear she might be developing a tendre for Smart Jeremy.
No, not Smart Jeremy—that was a creation of the gossip sheets and the man himself.
She was going soft in the head over Jeremiah Falstead, a man who was devoted to his family and who helped young dressmakers trying to make their way.
A draper’s son with a discerning eye and a voice that made her weak in the knees.
“Did you get my letters from yesterday?” she began. “I—”
“Miss Lithwick.” Ralph Plimpton, scion of the house, stalked toward them wearing a waistcoat of crushed silver with so much embroidery that the eye could look nowhere else.
“If Mum asks, tell her I made you a leg, will you? She said I ought to do the pretty, though she also said I wouldn’t have a chance with all the other bucks likely to be sniffing around you.
” He wheeled to glare at where the Pevenseys stood, chatting with their hostess.
“Now tell me, who’s that chap drooling all over your cousin?
He’s standing a good deal too close, if you ask me. ”
“That is her brother,” Lucasta said. “Mr. Pevensey, just returned to town.”
“It can’t be.” Annis turned with an incredulous look. “Who swapped Trevor for that gorgeous specimen?”
“Gorgeous?” Lucasta blinked. “Are we looking at the same person?”
“My word, he’s turned delectable,” Minnie observed. “Can the Grand Tour do that to a man?”
“What was he before?” Selina stared as avidly as the rest. “Remember I did not know him.”
“He wasn’t this.” Annis gave Lucasta a shrewd look. “Does it change anything? For instance, how we feel about the Baron’s wishes.”
Lucasta worried her little finger between her teeth.
Marriage was the way a woman secured her position in the world.
Marriage to a baron’s heir would grant her status security and protection.
As an eventual baron’s wife, she would have access to musicians galore.
She could be a patroness to many, and she could perform as much as she liked for private audiences.
She’d never be a leading lady on the public stage, but she could build her own.
“Currently, I am letting the Baron dangle me, or rather my supposed inheritance from Aunt Cornelia in front of Trevor, in return for permission to put on the concert to benefit the Foundling Hospital. And if you think it too sly in me,” she added, glimpsing Selina’s wide eyes, “believe me, I am repenting the bargain. But if I tell Trevor he has no hopes of me, his lordship may send me packing straight back to Bath, and I won’t have the concert at all. ”
Or her friends. Or Cici. Or more time with Jeremiah Falstead, whatever fragile accord seemed to be growing between them.
“What do we do?” Selina asked.
“Help me persuade milord Pevensey I am an unsuitable match for his son. Or persuade Trevor of it. I am plain, I lack accomplishments, I am of low birth, and I have no real expectations. I am the last person he ought to be paying address.”
“Him and every other unattached gentleman here tonight,” Minnie murmured.
Lucasta straightened with a nod. “I must be a Gorgon in truth. Reviled. Unapproachable. Let men shudder at my very name.”
Annis laughed. “A forfeit, girls, from the one of us who tonight who receives the most offers to stroll about and admire Lady Plimpton’s art? I suggest she must pay our way into Leicester House so we may see Sir Ashton Lewes’ collection of curiosities.”
“Cox’s Museum,” Minnie answered. “He’s a new silver swan among his automata I want to see.”
“The Royal Circus,” Selina suggested.
“A concert at the Hanover Square rooms managed by Signor Gallini,” Lucasta began, but Minnie jostled her into silence.
“Be certain you can afford your forfeit for all of us, dear, for you shall be called upon to pay it,” she said.
Lucasta returned her smile with a glower. “I am Medusa.”
Annis laughed. “You fascinated Smart Jeremy, and now the gossips have put you in line for a fortune. The Baron may make his gamble, but if milady Plimpton has her son making a pitch, you may count upon it, Lucasta. You will be besieged.” Her eyes danced with mischief.
“We did establish a forfeit for the first among us to obtain a marriage proposal, did we not?”
“My stepmother had not told me you were the toast of the season,” Trevor commented to Lucasta as Lady Plimpton’s guests circulated in the small parlor where a light supper was laid on. “She had intimated that Cici had taken well, but she suggested you were—”
“A complete antidote,” Lucasta said.
“Not in so many words.” He glared as a gentleman to Lucasta’s left placed a slice of cold ham on her plate with an ingratiating look. As the companion who had escorted her in, it was Trevor’s duty to stock Lucasta’s plate with delicacies.
She could see any number of young ladies in attendance who wished they were in Lucasta’s place beside the beguiling new arrival. But any number of men glared at Trevor, too, clearly wishing him at Jericho.
“You are very much in demand,” Trevor observed.
Lucasta didn’t respond, for at that moment, Rudyard strolled in with Clara Bellwether on his arm.
He wore a suit of midnight blue silk embroidered with a pattern that spread to the silver-gold waistcoat, and the matching lining inside the tails of his coat, contrasting the embroidered breeches, drew attention to his powerful legs. He was gorgeous.
Lucasta’s mouth went dry as Lady Clara whispered to him behind her fan, inviting him to lean close to hear her.