Page 31

T here was something decidedly off about Lady Tollister’s, although Lucinda couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Their hostess, an angular lady with a smirk, greeted Lady Alice and looked Lucinda up and down with a sly smile, but all her attention was for Restive, which was only to be expected.

The décor was neither shabby nor in the latest mode. There was a great deal of wine.

Not that Restive intended her to have any. “You will drink no wine tonight,” he had ordered as they neared Lady Tollister’s house. “Lemonade only.”

Lucinda huffed. “I’m not a child, Lord Restive.”

“You are to me,” he said.

She made a furious huff. That was far, far worse than her telling him he was like a brother to her.

She’d been astonished to find that he had changed his mind about allowing her to go, without any persuasion on her or Dorothea’s part.

She would never admit this to anyone, but she was a little disappointed, as she’d spent half the night working out a way to confound him—to get a little revenge—by going to Lady Tollister’s on her own.

Not that she would really have done so, because it would upset Dorothea and Cecil, but it was fun to imagine.

He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Yes, you’re of age, but you’re too young for this place.”

“I’m only four years younger than you!”

“And too innocent. I wish I hadn’t brought you to Mrs. Haraldson’s, but now we are stuck on this path.”

“Luckily for you!” she retorted. “If you hadn’t brought me there, Mr. Pearce would have had to pretend to fall in love with Alfreda Wallace, who probably would have sneaked away from home to come here and behaved like a witless ninny.”

“I rather wondered if you would do just that.” He put up a hand. “Not the witless ninny part, but I wouldn’t put it past you to ignore my wishes.”

“If they don’t make sense to me, of course I will ignore them. And if you must know, I already planned on abstaining this evening, in order to remain as alert as possible.”

Lady Alice, who seemed amused by this discussion, now said with asperity, “I hope you don’t expect me to abstain as well, Algy. It would be most strange were I to do so—and one of the advantages of age is that no one will try to get me intoxicated and seduce me.”

Was that why Restive wanted her to avoid wine? “Hopefully, Mr. Pearce will protect me from unwanted advances,” Lucinda said.

Restive snorted. “He can try. But don’t fret, I’ll see that you’re safe. Just don’t play piquet.”

“What? Why not?” It was her favorite card game, and she played it well.

“Because a game with only two players may be seen as a signal that intimacy is desired,” Lady Alice said. “And the stakes can therefore become extremely improper.”

Lucinda made a sound of disgust.

“I know, dear, it’s horrid—unless one is seeking said intimacy, in which case it can be rather stimulating.

” She chuckled. “No, I’ve never done it, because just think of the hazards!

Not only that, carnal intimacy without love is sorely lacking.

I dearly loved my husband, and no one can ever replace him. ”

“How wonderful it must be to love a man so very much,” Lucinda said.

“It is, my dear. I hope you will find such a man.” They pulled up at the door, and Lucinda prepared herself to remain alert, to observe, and to pretend to encourage Mr. Pearce.

“Well now,” Lady Alice said once they had shed their outerwear, “what shall it be?” Restive had wandered away on his own.

She led the way through several rooms—first a drawing room, where several ladies—including Mrs. Spence and Mrs. Haraldson—chatted and drank tea.

Then into a noisy room where faro was the attraction.

“Although it’s fun, the stakes are much too high,” Lady Alice said. Restive was watching the game and didn’t so much as glance at them.

Next came a room with tables set up for parties of four. “Whist, perhaps? A little too serious, I think.”

“Where would one play piquet?” Lucinda murmured, intrigued despite herself.

“Anywhere there’s a small table in a corner,” Lady Alice continued onward. “Ah, how about loo—that’s such fun!”

With her easy charm, she gathered several other players who didn’t object to low stakes. “For the sake of my little protegée , Miss Belair, you understand,” she said. “Not that I enjoy high stakes myself, for I don’t, so I’m happy to have an excuse.”

Soon a lively game was in progress. Lucinda took stock of the other players: a couple of ladies of uncertain years, and Monsieur Beaudry, one of the Frenchmen she’d met a Mrs. Haraldon’s.

His gaze kept straying to Lucinda. She did her best to ignore him and played slightly more recklessly than usual.

Betting on a mediocre hand was the closest she could get to foolishness.

Unfortunately, she did well with both good and not-so-good hands. “Very nicely done, Mademoiselle Belair,” Monsieur Beaudry said. “I would not dare risk a game of piquet with you.”

One of the ladies tittered. The other hid her smile behind her fan. Lady Alice straightened, sending an austere frown the gentleman’s way.

“I am forbidden to play to piquet,” Lucinda said primly, “so you need have no fear, monsieur.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be afraid ,” he said, and everyone laughed.

Lucinda wished she weren’t blushing. She’d known the company would be different from at Mrs. Haraldson’s, but knowledge and experience were quite different.

Here, one dare not be too outspoken, nor even verge on outrageous, for fear of being seen as fast.

She glanced up to see Mr. Haraldson in the doorway, watching her. Lucinda smiled and nodded politely, and he favored her with a brief, preoccupied smile before turning away.

Lucinda was beginning to wonder when they might move on to something else—partly because of Monsieur Beaudry’s scrutiny, and partly because she’d had enough of assessing these people.

The two ladies seemed rather vapid. One played well but showed no sign of real intelligence, while the other paid scant attention to the cards.

Instead, her gaze flitted about the room, in search of…

someone in particular? Or merely anyone who would provide amusement, perhaps of the carnal sort.

She couldn’t help wondering if Restive was seeking amusement as well. He would no doubt find it, if that were so. How would that affect his ability to discover what was to happen on Beltane Eve?

And what about Mr. Pearce? Why invite her here if he didn’t plan to attend?

“Time for some refreshments,” Lady Alice said suddenly. “Come, my dear.”

Lucinda scooped her winnings into her reticule and stood.

“You seemed uncomfortable,” Lady Alice whispered once they were a safe distance from the table. “I don’t think Monsieur Beaudry meant any harm, though.”

“No, I expect not, but I don’t relish being eyed like that. As for the ladies—” She wrinkled her nose.

“I know, dear. They’re unhappy, poor things—and I don’t think they’re what we’re looking for. Maybe we’ll have better luck elsewhere.”

They found platters of seed cakes and a particularly delicious plum cake on the dining room table, presided over by a footman who served them wine and lemonade. Lucinda followed Lady Alice to the drawing room. Monsieur Fortin, the other Frenchman, was there, speaking in a low voice to Mrs. Spence.

Drat, what a shame she couldn’t hear what they were saying! But surely they wouldn’t discuss secrets in such a public place. Maybe they were making an assignation. Mrs. Spence was a widow, so she might feel free to have an improper liaison. If so, Lucinda didn’t want to hear them!

She began to be bored. Where was Mr. Pearce, the only reason she had come here?

The footman set their refreshments on a small table at Lady Alice’s elbow. Lady Alice performed introductions; she seemed to know everyone here, just as she had at Mrs. Haraldson’s.

“Darling! Dearest Miss Belair!”

Lucinda gasped, choked on a bite of plum cake, and was taken by a fit of coughing. Crumbs flew everywhere.

Mr. Pearce dropped to one knee and grabbed the hand that wasn’t covering her mouth. “Forgive me, please forgive me, my darling. I didn’t mean to startle you, but the sight of your beauty was so overwhelming that I wasn’t thinking.”

“Evidently not!” Lady Alice patted Lucinda firmly on the back.

“It’s all right,” Lucinda croaked, tugging at her hand. She tugged harder, but Mr. Pearce didn’t let go. Everyone was staring at them.

“Say you’ll forgive me,” Mr. Pearce begged, brushing off crumbs she had coughed onto his waistcoat, which was embroidered with daffodils and buttercups.

“Yes, of course,” Lucinda snapped. “Let go of my hand. You’re hurting me!”

He released her immediately. “Oh, no, oh, no,” he gabbled. “Now I must beg forgiveness for that, too.”

“You have it, Mr. Pearce,” she said, wishing she could just tell him to go away. She reminded herself forcibly that England needed her. “Why don’t you get yourself some wine and join us?”

“Perhaps lemonade would be preferable,” Lady Alice said. “You seem quite overwrought, young man.”

“Alas, yes, my lady,” the poet cried. “Love is to blame.” He stood and tottered away.

“What a quiz,” Lady Alice said. “But very well dressed; his waistcoats have the most beautiful stitchery.” She smiled at the other ladies. “I don’t know Mr. Pearce well. Tell me, is this sort of behavior usual for him? Last night, he fell madly in love with Miss Belair at first sight.”

“It’s not really love,” Lucinda said. “He doesn’t know me well enough for that. It’s lust—which I suppose is flattering.”

“I’m sure it’s more than lust,” Mrs. Haraldson said, coming into the room. “He’s a little shy with the ladies, not the sort to boldly express his adoration.”

“True, but I’ve never seen him quite so effusive,” said one of the ladies, a Mrs. Pinkston. “And he does have a sense of drama, evidenced by some of his poetry.”