Lady Libertine (6 page)
‘You were going to see Beaufort.’
‘Yes, but I had forgotten I had to be somewhere else.’
‘Where?’
She shot him an exasperated look. ‘My milliners!’
‘You require a hat?’
‘Clearly. That is why I am going to a milliners.’
‘Perhaps I could take you there. My carriage is just behind us.’ Good Lord, the girl could step it out! Her poor maid was virtually trotting to keep up.
‘Quite unnecessary, I assure you. It is not far.’
‘Miss Landon, I am trying to be of service.’
‘Yes, but I so often end up unpleasantly damp in your company.’ She shot back smartly.
He paused; the comment left him with sudden, unexpected images of the lady damp. Of how he could
make
the lady damp. It was such an unexpected – and inappropriate - mental image that he was momentarily at a loss, before he remembered that upended glass.
Damn the woman, but she had him off kilter. In their brief acquaintance it seemed she had done that a lot. Normally he could charm anybody, but Miss Landon remained steadfastly un-charmed. Clearly, she did not care for him and he found himself annoyed by the fact. It wasn’t as if he
wanted
her to like him, for Christ’s sake! But damn it, she wasn’t giving him a chance. ‘Once again, let me apologize for my clumsiness. I was caught off balance.’
‘Thank you. I accept your apology.’
‘May I say one more thing?’
She shot him a sideways look that seemed distinctly wary. ‘Yes?’
‘You’re going the wrong way. For a hat, that is.’
While it might be expected that a man such as Rand might be ignorant of female fashion, he had more hands-on experience than most. He went shopping with his sister frequently, along with the occasional mistress (although never together – that would be awkward) and he knew that all of the best milliners were located on Brook Street, which was a good mile away to the north. She was currently heading east.
Instead of flustering her, she merely raised an eyebrow. ‘You, of course, know exactly where my milliner is located.’
‘Miss Landon,’ Rand said, putting a hand on her arm to detain her. She came reluctantly to a stop when he did. ‘At the risk of earning your displeasure yet again, I think you are lying to me.’
Lucy Landon looked up at him. As disconcerted as she had been, he sensed that she was recovering her equilibrium. ‘How very discourteous of you to say so, sir.’
Rand shrugged. ‘And yet, I am sure it is true. Come now, be honest with me. Do you know anything about Lady Libertine?’
She stared up at him a moment longer, then glanced down at the hand on her arm pointedly. Such was the force behind that look that Rand found himself automatically removing it.
‘That is a ridiculous question,’ she said coolly. ‘It does not deserve to be dignified with a response.’
He almost apologized, but there was something about this entire conversation. ‘Miss Landon...’
‘Excuse me,
if
you please.’
And Rand watched as Lucy Landon turned away and, with her maid in tow, continued on down the street, her nose (metaphorically) in the air.
He had just received a very large set down.
And she
still
hadn’t answered his question.
Rand shook his head with frustration. There was something not right about this entire situation. If Lucy Landon knew anything about Lady Libertine, then he would find out. One way or another, he would discover what it was she was so eager not to say.
That, Lucy thought uneasily, had been extremely unpleasant!
She should have realized a member of the
ton
was paying Thomas a visit from the expensive landau that had been waiting outside, a bang up to the mark vehicle that must, naturally, have belonged to somebody of consequence. However, she had been preoccupied with her mother’s latest lunacy, a proposed house party at Lord Billingsworth’s estate in Dorset. It was to be quite a large party, but he had particularly invited Lady Landon and her two daughters.
Curse him.
It would play havoc with her column for, even if she employed the services of a messenger, it would be difficult to get the piece to Thomas, and if she were to write about a very specific house party in Dorset, everybody would know Lord Billingsworth was hosting the event.
And
while the guest list was fairly extensive, it numbered only thirty-five, which meant clever people would be able to narrow the list of suspects down a little too much for her liking.
All of which left her thinking that she might need to suspend
On Dit
for at least the Friday edition. Unless she could fudge it, somehow?
Such was her preoccupation that she’d completely missed the landau or, more specifically, the significance of the landau parked in the street until she was through the front door and practically face to face with the Earl of Hamersley and, while he might not have paid the slightest attention to her on Wednesday, things had changed since then. Even Hamersley would not be likely to forget the woman he spilled his wine over three days before.
Unfortunately, the man was not an idiot.
Once, she would have never found the nerve to chase him off, but the likes of Hamersley did not concern her anymore. At least, she amended wryly, they did not concern her in anything but the most fundamental way. She was, after all, only human and Hamersley was, after all, almost
in
human in his masculine charms. She would have to be numb from the neck down not to be affected by him and she was thankful she wasn’t that indifferent
just
yet.
It was peculiar, but ever since Lucy had decided where her future lay, she had cared far less for the good opinion of those she did not hold in high esteem. She knew of the Earl of Hamersley of course – few people didn’t – and if she were truthful, his tall figure had frequently drawn her eye, but when it all came down to it, he was just a man. Not only that, but he was the kind of man that – after seven long and dreary Seasons – she had come to dislike intensely. Good looking, self assured, and arrogant. He trawled the cattle markets every year, looking over the debutantes with a jaded eye and never actually picking one of them for his countess, perhaps the greatest sin of all. Not that she had ever heard of Hamersley ever ruining one. The only ladies he ever dallied with were the ones who liked to dally in return, girls such as Caroline Astor. Lucy was not sure if that made him a rake, or not. Possibly not, for surely rakes were more focused on the wholehearted ruination of unwary damsels and Hamersley was not quite so crass as that.
However it was, the prospect of no longer having to please the likes of Hamersley was very liberating. Even her mother, who had once made her feel sick with anxiety when she spoke with such cutting distain, had lost her sting. Lucy found that, far from being alarmed by her mother’s insensitive vagaries, she could face them with equanimity, even amusement.
It was extraordinary how the promise of a fresh start, free of all of the concerns that had once plagued her, could suddenly make her so bold. In four months time she would no longer be dependant on her mother’s livelihood, no longer be a slave to her nonsensical whims, and the idea was intoxicating.
No more ridiculous house parties in Dorset.
Utter heaven!
Lucy was realistic enough to know her new life would not be trouble free. She expected it would be difficult to make her way in the world, hampered as she was by the fact that she was a mere woman, but to answer to no-one, to please herself about what she did and what she wore, to never have to listen to anybody tell her that if only she had been prettier, more agreeable, more gifted, less
opinionated
, she would be married by now.
It would be bliss.
‘Lor, miss!’ Jenny panted, bringing Lucy back to the here and now. ‘Why are we
running
?’
A very good point. Lucy’s footsteps slowed to a more sedate walk. ‘Forgive me, Jenny. I was not thinking.’
‘I’m sorry if I spoke out o’ turn back there, miss,’ the girl sounded anxious.
Lucy shook her head and smiled reassuringly. ‘No, everything is quite all right.’
‘But that gentl’man; he was angry.’
‘It was a misunderstanding, that was all. Really nothing more than that.’ She came to a stop. Turning, she began to walk slowly back the way they had come.
‘Where are we goin’ now, miss?’
‘Mr. Beaufort’s office.’
‘But… we just came from there! Don’t you need a hat?’
‘I need a great many things, Jenny,’ Lucy said, voice grim, ‘the least of them being a hat. I left something behind.’ Her money, for one thing, and Thomas’s advice for another. ‘Come along. I need to see Mr. Beaufort.’
For perhaps Thomas might help her come up with something that would ensure her Friday column was completed on time, even if it meant fudging the entire thing. With a little work, she was sure it could be done.
It would be such a pity if London did not receive its bi-weekly dose of
On
Dit
.
‘Julia,’ Rand drawled over dinner that evening, ‘what can you tell me about your friend, Lucy Landon?’
His sister paused in the act of quartering a peach and looked at her brother, green eyes searching. ‘She is definitely not your type.’
‘I know that. I don’t want to bed her.’
‘Certainly not. She’s marriage material, not your usual type of skirt at all.’
‘What a vulgar creature you are.’ Rand observed, shaking his head. ‘I wonder you don’t take her in hand, Challender.’
Edward looked across at his wife wryly. She was looking devastatingly lovely in midnight blue satin, cut low across her full breasts on which sparkled a magnificent sapphire necklace. It was a dramatic outfit, more fit for a ballroom than a casual dinner at home, but Julia was a dramatic creature who paid no heed to what was expected and relied more on what she felt like on the night. Her thick black hair hung loose, except for one raven wing that was swept up to one side and held in place with a sapphire clip.
‘I believe she is right. Miss Landon isn’t your usual piece of skirt.’
‘Once again, I am not out to bed her,’ Rand said patiently. ‘Tell me about her. What of her family?’
‘She has a frightfully hideous mother and a devastatingly pretty sister. Younger, doing her first season. Pretty, but not terribly bright. She should do well, however. I believe young Appleby is already dangling after her.’
‘Never mind the sister. What of Lucy Landon?’
Julia arched an eyebrow. ‘
She
is interesting. I find her amusing. What more do you want?’
‘How old is she?’
‘Four and twenty, I believe.’
Rand was surprised. He had not thought her so old, perhaps because she was so small and slender. Lucy Landon had the look of a girl just out of the schoolroom. Still, it made sense. She had far too much confidence to be completely green. ‘Still on the shelf?’
‘Society is idiotic. Although, I daresay she could have made an eligible alliance if it were not for her mother. The woman is quite monstrous.’
‘Why? What is the matter with her?’
‘We-ll…,’ Julia said slowly, ‘I am not sure. She is polite enough when everybody is listening and she clearly dotes on her youngest, but with Lucy it’s different. I do not think she likes poor Lucy at all.’
Rand considered this for a moment. It was hard to imagine what kind of life an unmarried daughter would have before her. A woman’s status in Society was usually linked to her husband's. ‘What of her father?’
‘He died two years ago,’ Edward replied. ‘Riding accident. Nice fellow.’
‘Why are you asking?’ Julia demanded, ‘What is Lucy to you?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Rand admitted, ‘but I think she might know something about Lady Libertine.’
Both Julia and Edward stared at him.
‘Miss Landon,’ Edward repeated. ‘You think Miss Landon is Lady Libertine. And you are basing this on?’
‘I did not say that she
is
Lady Libertine. Merely that she knows something. I saw her coming out of the offices of the
Times
. Twice.’
‘Did she give you an explanation?’ Julia inquired.
‘She said that she knew the editor, Thomas Beaufort.’
‘Well, there you are then.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘You don’t believe that Lucy knows the editor of the
Times
?’ Julia said, bewildered. ‘Why ever shouldn’t she?’
‘I’m not saying that she does not know him. I am saying that there is more to it than that. She was acting very oddly when I encountered her.’
‘You often have that effect on females,’ his sister returned sweetly, ‘they either salivate or reach for a weapon. Why is it that, do you think?’
Rand ignored his brother-in-law’s choking noises from the other side of the table. Instead, he glared at his sister, a turn-you-into-smoldering-ashes kind of glare. Somehow, she remained untouched. ‘Can you arrange a dinner? Some small thing, not too many people?’
‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘I won’t have you persecuting her, Rand.’
He recalled their last meeting and his unaccountable retreat.
Him,
persecute
her
? ‘When have I ever persecuted anyone? I just want the opportunity to talk to her.’