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Not only that, if several plotters were identified and they all died, surely that would warn their collaborators in France, or at least rouse their suspicions that someone had informed on them. It was all most worrisome.

She coded several messages and gave them to Cecil. She found a volume of Virgil, but couldn’t keep her mind on it. She drank tea and tried reading Gulliver’s Travels , but she hadn’t enjoyed it much the first time, and nothing had changed.

She heard the arrival of Restive, who went to consult with Cecil in the library. Frustration at being left out, at doing nothing useful, gnawed at her.

And then, suddenly, everything became much, much worse. She and Dorothea were having tea and cakes, when a message arrived from Sir Frederick Darsington.

“Oh, no,” Dorothea said, scanning the message. “My mother is very ill, and Papa says Cecil and I must go there immediately. He will follow tomorrow, if he can.” She tsked. “He feels obliged to stay here, to deal with any unforeseen consequences of the masquerade.”

She hurried from the room, calling for Cecil, and Lucinda followed to hover in the doorway of the library. Cecil read the message and passed it to Restive. “Inconvenient, but you don’t need me here.”

“What shall we do with Lucy?” Dorothea said. “She can’t stay here. The housekeeper has just taken a couple of days leave to visit her daughter, and the footmen will be at the masquerade, pretending to be extra help for the occasion.”

Lucinda opened her mouth to protest that she would do fine without those servants, but Dorothea forestalled her. “Restive, could she perhaps stay with Lady Alice for a while?”

“No,” Restive said. “Lady Alice is laid low with one of her megrims that last for days. A pity, but your cook and housemaid are not sufficient guardians for a young lady, particularly one who is planning to run away to God knows where.”

“I’m not a child,” Lucinda hurried into the room. “Nor am I really planning to run away, as you know perfectly well. I’m not in any danger.”

“Perhaps, but since Pearce knows of your supposed plan, I’m unwilling to take a chance with your safety. You’ll have to return to your mother.”

“To my mother ?” Lucinda cried.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Restive said. “There is no choice.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy, but you may return here later,” Dorothea said. “My mother’s illness may not prove to be serious, in which case we’ll be back in no time.”

“Thank you, Dot,” she said politely, then returned to glaring at Restive. “I don’t see why I would be any safer with my mother that I would be here.”

“Your mother has a butler, a couple of footmen, and several other servants. All you must do is remain indoors for a day or two, maybe several, until this situation has been dealt with. I’ll have a man keep watch nearby, just in case.”

“In other words, you are making me a prisoner. Perhaps you should advise my mother to put me on bread and water rations—it’s what she always threatens to do, so why not?”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Dorothea began.

“It is,” Lucinda said. “He knows what my mother is like. I made one little mistake—an honest attempt to save a good man—and this is my punishment.”

“It’s not a punishment,’ Restive said, “and you know it.”

“That’s what is seems like to me,” she retorted.

“I daresay, but if you calm down and think for a second or two, Miss Belair, you will realize that your safety is my priority, and if sending you to your mother is the best way to accomplish that, then that is what I must do.”

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to shriek at the top of her lungs. But she wasn’t her mother, so she controlled herself. “I see I have no choice—but I shall never forgive you for this, Lord Restive. Never.”

She stalked away to pack her clothes, muttering under her breath as she went. “And I will see that you regret it, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Almost immediately, Lucinda regretted this dramatic exit. It was unkind to poor Dorothea, particularly when her mother was ill, and it had no effect at all on Restive, who simply didn’t care. What was the chance of his being sorry about imprisoning her? None!

After he left the house, she apologized to Dorothea—but put up a hand to stop her when she attempted to plead Restive’s case.

“I’m sure you think he means well, but I don’t see it that way,” Lucinda said.

“I have tried to appreciate his good qualities, but his behavior today puts the cap on my dislike of him, and that’s that.

” She could have said loathing instead of dislike, but again, that would be unkind to Dorothea.

And excessive. He wasn’t worth such a powerful emotion as loathing.

At least she hadn’t thrown anything at him, but it had been a near thing.

“What a shame,” Dorothea said. “I rather thought—I quite hoped that you and he might make a match of it.”

Lucinda stared. Thank heavens she hadn’t told Dorothea how much she’d softened toward him, even begun to find him appealing in some ways. “I don’t know what gave you that idea, but it’s absurd. We’re completely unsuited.”

“If you say so,” Dorothea sighed, “but Restive is different with you than with any other lady. He meant everything he said about you. He really does value you, very much. He’s being overly cautious because he truly cares for you.”

Lucinda hunched an indifferent shoulder, unwilling to discuss whatever, if anything, Restive felt for her. She was barely managing her roiling anger as it was.

“Anyone but my mother would have been preferable,” she retorted, “but did he give it another thought? Did he allow me a few moments to think of a better scheme? No.” She got a hold of herself, just barely.

She couldn’t afford to start shouting at Dorothea.

It was bad enough that she’d lost her temper with Restive.

She was not her mother and never would be.

She took a deep breath. “Dot, I’d better not talk about him right now. I’m full of the most horrid, evil desires for revenge.”

“Understood, darling, but those feelings will pass once you calm down,” Dorothea said. “You’re not really a vengeful sort of person.”

In the past, Lucinda would have agreed with this, but this time she was overcome with rage, filled with burning emotions, harsh desires to show him, to prove to him that she’d done the right thing, that she wasn’t a hindrance. That she wasn’t as stupid and useless as he clearly believed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” she said. “Go take care of your poor mama, and don’t fret about me. I’ve lived with my mother all my life. I know how to manage her.”

Unfortunately, Lucinda had underestimated her mother.