Valerie King (19 page)

Violet stood with one hand on her cheek and her doll tucked beneath her arm. “Oh, Mama,” she whispered, eyeing Lady Sandifort as one completely awestruck. “You are so beautiful! You look just like a princess!”

How could Lady Sandifort resist such a perfect compliment? She approached her youngest child. “You may kiss me on the cheek if you like, but pray do not disturb my hair!”

“Oh, I would not do so, Mama.” She leaned forward very carefully and barely brushed her mother’s cheeks with her lips.

Lucy’s heart was rent, not by Lady Sandifort, of course, but by the sweetness of her neglected children.

Hyacinth offered a similar tribute and, taking care not to touch her mother’s hair, also kissed her on the cheek.

William merely smiled somewhat shyly. “I think you look very pretty.”

“
Very pretty
, William?” she returned sharply. “You must learn to pay better compliments than that or you shall never win a lady’s heart.”

His delight dimmed. “Yes, Mama. I think you very beautiful.”

“Much better.”

Her duty fulfilled, Lady Sandifort swept away from her children and made her descent before the others.

Once she was gone, however, the remaining ladies gathered round them. Lucy did not hesitate to pick up Violet. “You all look like princesses,” Violet said, “but I knew Mama would be angry if I said so.”

The ladies giggled together. It seemed so very odd to Lucy that even a five-year-old knew better than to cross the vanity of an extraordinarily vain woman. After innumerable hugs, kisses, and compliments were passed around, Lucy returned the children to Miss Gunville.

Descending the stairs, Lucy was surprised though very pleased to find Robert and Henry awaiting them, as good brothers ought. Henry took Anne’s arm and Robert took Alice’s, a break with the usual order of going in to dinner, but, given that this was their first trip to the local assemblies, a not unappreciated gesture.

Lucy tried to ignore the sudden riot of butterflies swirling about her stomach as she met Robert’s gaze quite briefly. He was unutterably handsome in his formal ballroom attire. Would she dance with him this evening? she wondered. He smiled, inclined his head to her, perhaps acknowledging all that she had accomplished, then moved into the dining room.

Lucy and Hetty followed and, as they crossed the threshold, Hetty tweaked her arm and said, “Robert seems properly chastened these days. I do believe he has finally come to appreciate you.”

Lucy was surprised that Hetty would say so, but not a little pleased. She almost felt she might be able to truly enjoy the evening, until she chanced to look at Lady Sandifort, who was regarding her eldest stepdaughter. There could be no two opinions that the dislike Lady Sandifort felt for Hetty had turned to something deeper still, no less so than in this moment because Valmaston graciously offered to seat Hetty. Lucy had never seen hatred blaze more strongly in Lady Sandifort’s otherwise lovely blue eyes.

Despite the tensions mounting between Lady Sandifort and Hetty, Lucy was reminded how enjoyable a local ball could be. She had certainly been to such assemblies before in Somerset, but there was something about this particular event that was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She could not quite ascertain just what that was, except that an entire family was involved in the experience, Hetty and Robert, Henry, the twins, even Lady Sandifort. And for tonight, she was part of the family as well.

She stood by Robert, watching both Anne and Alice going down their first dance.

“You must be so proud of them,” she said. Alice was dancing with a shy young man by the name of James Colbury and Anne was moving gracefully with Henry. Valmaston was of course partnering Lady Sandifort.

“Indeed, more than I can say,” he murmured.

The assemblies that evening were very crowded, since word had spread throughout the neighborhood that among those to attend would be the inmates of Aldershaw, as well as the renowned Lord Valmaston. In addition, Lucy discovered that Valmaston had written to a friend of his, Lord Hurstborne, who lived not ten miles from Bickfield to the east, inviting him to attend as well. He was an engaging gentleman with a great deal of town bronze and shirt points that rose excessively high on his cheeks. Of course, after several dances they would undoubtedly wilt away from his face, but for now he appeared quite the dandy.

“Do you know Hurstborne?” Lucy inquired of Robert.

“Not very well and I must say I am surprised to see him here. He was caught recently in a very great scandal in Brighton. And no, I shan’t relay the particulars!”

“Whyever not?” she asked gaily. “You know I will just tease Hetty later until I have the information I seek.”

“Nonetheless, my beautiful Lucy, you shall not hear a word of it from me.”

“Very well,” she stated, attempting to sound disgruntled but finding her spirits so high that even to her own ears she sounded as though she were delighted with his decision.

Hurstborne was a rather intriguing creature. He was nearly as tall as Robert and quite handsome, but in a rather devilish way. His eyes were small, though, giving him the look of a Frenchman. It also seemed to her that whenever his gaze would fall to hers, as it had just now, she felt as though she was wearing nought but her shift!

She heard Robert growl next to her. “Do look away, Lucy,” he whispered, “or he will think you wish to dance with him.” The country dance was just coming to an end and Lord Hurstborne was eyeing her again rather scandalously.

“Perhaps I do,” she teased. “Unless of course someone else were to ask me.”

“I am already fatigued with dancing,” he complained.

“But you have not even gone down one set!”

Since he was smiling, she took strong hold of his arm and without so much as a by-your-leave pulled him toward the floor where couples were just taking their places.

“I have not asked you,” he said, appearing affronted.

“If I wait for you to ask, there will not be a place for us.”

“Oh, very well.” For all his pretence, she knew he was contented.

The music commenced. She made her curtsy. How happy she was. He laughed aloud, perhaps because she could not stop smiling. He danced and danced with her, first one set then the next. She felt she could have danced forever and he was such an easy partner. He quite spoiled her for all the other gentlemen present.

He was guiding her off the floor when Henry approached them. “You have taken up enough of Lucy’s time.”

Only then did Robert’s spirits seem to dim. Lucy wondered why, but he certainly relinquished her quickly to Henry who, rather than taking her in the direction of the dancers, invited her to partake of refreshments in an adjoining chamber.

She had just sat down when she noticed Hetty standing in a corner with a man she did not know. “Henry, who is that man? There, by Hetty. He is making her laugh.”

“Thomas Woolston. We have known him since we were children. He has the living at Laverstoke, just north of Bickfield.” He then leaned quite close and, as she lifted her glass of lemonade to her lips, he whispered, “How beautiful you are, my darling Lucy. You have never been prettier than you are tonight.”

Lucy was scarcely attending him, her attention being wholly caught by Hetty. “Never mind that, Henry. Pray tell me what do you know of Mr. Woolston?”

Henry laughed but said nothing more.

Lucy glanced at him and saw that he seemed confounded. “What?” she cried. “Do you not like Mr. Woolston?”

“I was not thinking of Mr. Woolston just now, or of my sister. I was thinking of something far more important.”

Lucy glanced back at Hetty. She wondered just how well acquainted she was with Mr. Woolston. “So, you do not know Mr. Woolston very well?”

She heard Henry sigh, quite deeply, though she was not certain why. “Very well, if we must speak of Mr. Woolston. He is older than I, therefore I was never on excellent terms with him.”

“Hetty seems to like him.”

“His manners I believe are reputed to be quite engaging.” He looked about the chamber and directed her attention to the corner nearest the refreshments. “Do you see that lady with three feathers sticking upright in her headdress? She is speaking with, oh, now what is her name? Oh, yes, I believe she is Colbury’s mother. At any rate, the woman with the feathers is Mrs. Woolston. She has born the good vicar nearly a dozen children in that many years of marriage.”

“A very promising brood.”

“He can well afford them. She brought fifteen thousand into the marriage.”

“Good God! A fortunate match, indeed, at least for him.”

From time to time as she sat with Henry, she glanced toward Hetty’s corner. Just as she and Henry rose, she glanced again and saw something extraordinary. Hetty was looking at Mr. Woolston with an expression of distress. Mr. Woolston immediately leaned forward, whispered something to her, then moved away. Hetty remained as one in a deep mist, her expression rather absent.

“Henry, would you excuse me please? There is something I would discuss with Hetty.”

“But you promised to dance the quadrille with me.”

“Surely that can wait,” she said pleasantly. “I believe I must go to her. Tell me you will not object.”

Henry glanced at his eldest sister and frowned slightly. “I wonder what the devil Mr. Woolston said to her, for she looks uncommonly pale of a sudden. Yes, Lucy, do go to her.”

Lucy approached her and said, “I have need of a little air and I mean to go outside for a minute or two. Will you join me?”

Hetty’s gaze cleared. “Yes, of course,” she said, smiling suddenly. Lucy did not know what to make of this abrupt shift in demeanor. She had been prepared to offer her some sort of comfort, thinking perhaps Mr. Woolston had said something improper to her, but she did not seem especially overset. Indeed, the entire circumstance had a very strange air about it.

Once out of doors, she spoke on a low tone to Hetty. “I thought Mr. Woolston had said something improper to you,” she began.

“Thomas? Oh, no, of course not. He never would.”

Thomas.
So they were on rather intimate terms.

“Yet you seemed distressed.”

Hetty laughed. “Thomas and I have been very great friends these many years and more. I do not know how he bears his wife, though. She is a very coarse creature. Did you happen to see her eating? Like swine at a trough.”

Lucy frowned as she walked beside her friend. “I did not notice.”

“Nor should you have, I suppose. It is no one’s concern, really, but there are times when I do feel truly sorry for him.”

“I do not know why you should. Henry tells me that she had a large dowry and has since provided Mr. Woolston with a healthy brood of offspring.”

“She has certainly done her duty by him, but he has confided in me over the years. Things have been said, so you see I am allowed to have compassion where others perhaps think it unnecessary. But come let us return. I find I am growing chilled in this night air.”

Lucy walked back with her, up the high street. She realized Hetty had never been so remote as in this moment.

When she reentered the assembly room, Hetty was called away by Anne, who wanted to introduce her to friends of hers. Valmaston approached her, expressing his desire to make her known to Lord Hurstborne.

“Indeed?”

Lord Hurstborne approached and after being introduced took her hand, promptly placing a kiss on her fingers. “Well met, Miss Stiles.”

Lucy smiled and offered a curtsy.

Releasing her hand he promptly addressed his friend. “What a curiosity you have become, Val,” he said. “When first you asked me to the assemblies, I thought perhaps you had gone mad, for is this not a collection of rustics? However, I vow I have not seen so many pretty ladies in all my life and therefore I believe I shall be happily entertained after all.”

Lucy thought his speech put her forcibly in mind of Lady Sandifort.

Lord Valmaston merely laughed at him, told him to refrain if possible from being a pompous bore, and sauntered away.

Lucy might have been offended by Hurstborne’s forthright and quite uncivil speech, but there was such in his countenance and address that did not invite offense. Perhaps this was the true composition of a rogue, that he could be wholly critical yet still invite interest, fascination, even adoration.

Lord Hurstborne did not hesitate in asking her for the next dance.

“I should be delighted,” she said, taking his arm.

The viscount danced quite well and was fully able to engage her in conversation as they went down the country dance.

Lucy was not in the least disturbed by the piercing manner of his gaze as though he was utterly fascinated by her. She had already observed he looked at nearly every female in the same manner, the expression of a hawk after its prey. She understood quite well that he was the sort of gentleman who responded to even the gentlest tug on his line.

After dancing with Hurstborne, Lucy never quit the dance floor, though she had to admit that when the assemblies drew to a close her feet ached.

By the time she climbed between the sheets, the hour was long past midnight. She had scarcely closed her eyes, however, when she heard a loud thumping sound and afterward a soft moaning. She left her bed, donned a robe, and made her way toward the dim light that showed at the top of the stairs. When she reached the landing, she listened carefully and heard another moan.

She raced down the stairs to the first floor and flew into the library, certain that someone was badly injured. The sight that met her eyes, however, made her laugh aloud, then afterward clamp her hand over her mouth. She would not for the world wake the house for this!

“Robert, whatever are you doing?” she whispered, having gained her composure. “Good God, are you foxed? Do not tell me you have been at the brandy—”

“Sherry.”

“—sherry, then, since we retired?”

He squinted. “Do you know, I do believe Valmaston has the hardest head of any man I have ever known.”

So, this incident must be laid in part at Valmaston’s door. It would seem the gentlemen had been drinking together after the ball. “Clearly harder than yours,” she responded. There was an irony to her words, since in approaching him she saw that he was bleeding from a cut on his scalp. Little red rivulets flowed over his forehead and down the side of his cheek. “Have you a kerchief?”

“Mm,” he murmured, closing his eyes, but not moving in the least to retrieve it. She searched in his pocket and, finding the soft square of cambric, dabbed gently at the wound, which proved to be rather insignificant. She suspected, however, that by morning he would have a nice little bump on his head.

Once she had cleaned up his face, she said, “Come, Robert, let me take you to your bed.”

“Lucy, that sounds so very nice. You have no idea just how many times I have wanted you to do just that.” He touched her cheek gently.

She was properly shocked but amused at the same time. “How you flatter me,” she said. She tried to lift him by sliding her arm about his but he would not be moved.

“No, ’tis I who am flattered. Will you kiss me even now before we go to my chamber?”

Before she knew what was happening he had pulled her onto his lap so that he was cradling her and his lips found hers in a horribly wonderful kiss.

“I love kissing you,” he murmured, then assaulted her again.

She tried to push against his shoulder but to little avail. He held her as he always did in a powerful embrace from which she would naturally have some difficulty extricating herself. “Will you not kiss me in return?” he asked, a look of hurt in his eyes. “Do you not wish to kiss me?”

“Robert, the place, the hour, the reason, is hardly seemly.”

“What do I care for that!” he cried, holding her more tightly still. He could barely keep his eyes open and every word that fell from his tongue turned sideways before hitting the air.

“One kiss, then,” Lucy said, “but afterward you must promise to let me take you to your room.”

“I shall, indeed,” he slurred but with much enthusiasm.

The kiss that followed, tasting very much of sherry, nearly undid her senses. When he forgot himself, Robert could be incredibly passionate, a quality she was beginning to understand he held severely in check.

“Lucy,” he whispered against her lips.

How tender he could be. How sensual was the manner in which he drifted his lips over hers as though savoring her. The pressure increased and her body, quite without permission, melted into his. She slipped her arm about his neck and for reasons she kept hidden from herself she kissed him quite wickedly in return, allowing his tongue to reach the depths of her mouth. She trusted or at least she hoped that he would not remember anything on the morrow. For the present, she allowed the most passionate thoughts to ripple through her mind, what it would be like to be a wife to Robert, how much she would enjoy kissing him like this day upon day, night upon night, and how often under the sanctity of marriage she would demand he take her in his arms.