The Cinderella Debutante (15 page)

Belinda didn’t realize that events around her were being manipulated – but why? What could Sneyd’s message be, and why had he taken the trouble to arrange a clandestine meeting between Belinda and one of his friends? Equally, if Sneyd had gone out of London, he could not be planning an elopement, certainly by proxy of Sir Oswald.

There must be a reason for this deception but if Sir Oswald was to meet Belinda then it was hard to see any real danger, other than the impropriety of meeting without a chaperone.

Lucy tried to think. Something must be done and quickly, but what? It was no use telling her stepmother. As Lord Sneyd had already proposed marriage, Lady Sinclair was unlikely to dissuade Belinda from keeping the assignation - she too would want to know his reasons for leaving London. Worse, she might simply wink at the arrangement and sigh at Belinda receiving secret love letters, saying it put her in mind of her youth.

Lucy could approach Lady Gainsford or her grandmother, but her health was delicate and Lady Gainsford was wrapped up in arrangements for the ball. Moreover, it was doubtful that either could intervene at such short notice.

Rather wildly, she considered sending a note to Lord Devlyn before rejecting this idea too. She only had to try and phrase such a letter in her head to see how awkward it was. Devlyn would have an abhorrence of scandal and although it was appealing to ask for his help, in reality it would not do. It could ruin Belinda’s reputation in his eyes and however much she wished her sister was not going to marry Lord Devlyn, she could not be responsible for shattering his image of the woman he wanted. He had endured enough pain in life – Lucy did not want to cause him more.

She had no wish to blazon Belinda’s behaviour abroad either so there seemed no alternative but to deal with this alone. She would go with Belinda and persuade her that meeting Sir Oswald would be scandalous. It might be enough to make Belinda reconsider.

So she had a plan of sorts but she lay awake feeling miserable and staring into the darkness until she fell at last into a troubled sleep.

***

Lady Gainsford surveyed the crush of people in her ballroom with a satisfied smile; the event would be hailed as one of the Season’s highlights. She had particularly wanted it to be a success this year and begrudged not a penny of the large sum she had spent on touches that raised her parties above others. The musicians were the best available, the ballroom and adjoining supper room were decked in flowers, the food and the champagne of the finest quality.

Determined Lucy would not play second fiddle to her step-sister tonight, Lady Gainsford had watched as Lucy’s natural advantages outshone Belinda. There was no denying Belinda’s beauty, but from the tips of her satin slippers to the elegant tilt of her head, Lucy’s charm was blinding and her unaffected manner a breath of fresh air among the artificial and pretentious ways of the
ton
.

She looked lovely tonight too, her appearance sending men scurrying for their quizzing glasses. A gown of embroidered silk organdy over aquamarine satin highlighted the colour of her eyes. She wore a single string of pearls and diamond earrings. More pearls had been artfully woven through the shining curls piled high upon her head.

Her star burned brightly. She was engaged for every dance, a crowd of men had rushed to escort her into supper and her smile was admired by everyone.

But despite this success, Lady Gainsford sensed all was not well. Something was worrying Lucy; she had been abstracted all evening and Lady Gainsford was certain the cause involved Belinda. She reflected that the mother and sister were a burden that Lucy would be well rid of.

Through her quizzing glass, she observed her godson approaching.

“What do you say to the entertainment, Alexander?” she asked in her usual brusque fashion. “I trust it proves that I am neither too old nor too infirm to arrange the best social gathering of the year.”

“You know perfectly well that the
ton
flock to Gainsford House when you lift your finger.”

“Probably has as much to do with the food, wine and entertainment being plentiful. No one can accuse me of organizing a paltry affair. Even your sister and her husband can have no complaints on that score – Lord Fanthom availed himself readily of my port after dinner; his complexion is evidence of that.”

“I observed him earlier in the card room, red-faced and losing steadily but in still in good-humour.” A sudden frown creased Alex’s brow. “And I see my sister is just now talking to Miss Sinclair on the other side of the ballroom. I trust she has finally chosen to make herself agreeable – if she upsets Lucy in any way, she’ll feel my displeasure!”

Lady Gainsford followed his gaze. “Your concern is understandable, Alex,” she said after a pause. “Lucy deserves to be thoroughly spoiled and I don’t doubt you will be more than happy to do so when you are married to her.” She turned towards him, smiling innocently.

He drew in a breath. Looking down from his superior height, he murmured, “I see there is no pointing in denying my feelings - are they really so obvious?”

“Only to those who know you well. You play your cards too close for most to realize your thoughts lie in
that
direction.”

“Lucy also keeps her feelings well hidden,” he said ruefully. “I only hope she will not reject me outright. Wealth and social standing have no sway with her and I cannot say how she views me. For a moment at Richmond, I thought—

“My boy, stop fearing to put it to the touch and
ask
her!” said Lady Gainsford peremptorily. “My instincts tell me she does not look upon you unfavourably but that’s of little comfort to a man as desperately in love as you are! Remember it was
I
who suggested you visit Hampshire in the first place, so give me some credit for judging the state of Lucy’s heart. But do not press the poor girl tonight; something is worrying her, enough that she has only half a mind on this evening. Find out what it is and offer your assistance – I am willing to bet it concerns her tiresome sibling! Delay your lovemaking until she is less pre-occupied. Ah, there is Mrs Pottingham! Pray excuse me - I must discover why her prosy son is absent this evening.”

She walked away and Devlyn was left to muse on her words. He was not entirely surprised Lady Gainsford had realized how he felt about Lucy; his passion was so intense, so fierce, he feared it must be obvious to everyone.

When he arrived he had every intention of speaking to Lucy this evening, but he had noticed her conversation at dinner had been sparse and most of her food had remained untouched. She was looking pale and drawn too. What on earth was wrong? He had longed to reach out, take her hand and reassure her. Now, as he watched her from across the ballroom, a tremor of suppressed need and frustration ran through him. All he desperately needed to say to Lucy might have to wait, but at least he could try to discover what was troubling her.

***

Lucy was enduring one of the most difficult evenings of her life. She had been unable to do justice to the dinner provided by Lady Gainsford’s chef. Buttered lobster, pigeon soup, calves foot pudding, numerous syllabubs and jellies – all had turned to ashes in her mouth and Lord Devlyn’s steady gaze on her during the meal had compounded her difficulties. She hoped he wouldn’t notice any difference in her manner. The thought of explanations filled her with dread.

Having him so close was a bittersweet experience. She felt like Tantalus, banished to the underworld and forced to stand up to the neck in water but unable to quench his thirst because the water went away as soon as he stooped to drink – Lucy wanted to enjoy Lord Devlyn’s company, to talk and laugh with him, to watch his expressions, to let desire and sensation pulse through her unchecked and yet it would increase her torment if she did.

So she talked to Lady Barchester and Lady Gainsford while conscious of a fierce tug of attraction to the man opposite. Lucy’s fears had been confirmed by Lady Barchester: she was distantly related by marriage to Mrs Wimpole but had never acknowledged the relationship. Mrs Wimpole and her daughter were not
bon ton
.

After dinner, Lucy forced herself to laugh and dance and discovered nothing was so tiring as pretending to be happy when you were miserable. Notwithstanding her surroundings, the numerous compliments she was paid and a succession of dance partners, Lucy’s head began to ache and she stood in an alcove, gently rubbing her temples to ease the pain.

“I trust you are not finding the heat oppressive?” said a haughty voice nearby. “Lady Gainsford’s events are always a sad crush.”

Lucy turned. Lady Fanthom was standing next to her.

“I am finding it uncomfortable at the moment,” admitted Lucy. “Mr. Fernihough has gone to fetch me a glass of lemonade.”

“Quite. I daresay you and your family are only accustomed to country gatherings”

Lucy felt her anger rising, but she responded in a steady voice. “Assemblies in Hampshire might not be on this scale, but conversation is often more stimulating.”

“Indeed?” Lady Fanthom’s eyes snapped with spite. “Your mama never liked London, I believe, and was happy to stay in the country. I should not care for that myself. Town intrigue is more to my taste.”

“That is understandable, knowing your ladyship’s reputation.” Lucy met Lady Fanthom’s glare following this remark with a guileless look.

“The country holds little interest for my brother. He finds it tedious and prefers the company of young women who know how to entertain a man of world. No matter how beautiful they may be, he pays only passing attention to debutantes, wealthy or otherwise, who do not inhabit his social sphere.”

There was a long pause before Lucy replied, “Perhaps he finds young ladies from the country a refreshing change.”

“I know my brother’s preferences better than you, Miss Sinclair,” said Lady Fanthom acidly. “Enjoy the rest of your evening – I doubt I will speak to you again.”

She swept away, leaving Lucy flushed with anger. The warning behind Lady Fanthom’s comments was clear – her brother was head of a distinguished family and as such was expected him to marry for lineage or wealth, preferably both.

But would Lord Devlyn forsake Belinda for his family’s sake? It seemed unlikely. He had acknowledged Lady Fanthom’s pride and he was not a man to let others, even his sister, decide his future. His marriage to Belinda might not be considered a brilliant match by most of the
ton
, but it would be an acceptable one, given Belinda’s beauty, wealth and genteel if undistinguished rank.

By the time Gil brought her lemonade, Lucy’s headache was worse and she wanted nothing more but to seek out her bed. Gil didn’t notice how pale she was and apologized for the delay.

“Had to fight my way to the refreshments, I’m afraid – the whole of London seems to be here this evening,” he said.

“Thank you. Gil, would you please—” Lucy had been about to say she needed some air when the broad-shouldered man who haunted her every waking thought as well as every dream appeared.

Devlyn bowed. “May I have this dance, Miss Sinclair? You are so well-attended this evening that I must beg Gil to let me to take his place otherwise I shall be cut-out.”

“Happy to, if Miss Sinclair doesn’t object,” said Gil. “I’ve a fancy to look in on George and Toby and see how much they are behind at the tables.”

Lucy was obliged to murmur her agreement and almost before she knew it, she was dancing with Lord Devlyn, his touch sending thrills through her body despite the pain coursing through her head. Unwilling to talk much for fear of dissolving into tears, she studied the top button of his waistcoat, concentrating on her steps and reaching the end of the dance without making a fool of herself.

“My waistcoat is undoubtedly interesting,” he said at last, “but I would rather look into your eyes than at the top of your charming head.”

“Oh!” Lucy looked up at once.

“Better,” he observed. “Come, let us give the tabbies reason to wonder what we are discussing. They thrive on scandal-broth.”

In spite of everything, she smiled wanly.

“Much better!” A crease appeared between his brows. “But you are not quite yourself this evening - are you ill?”

“I-I have a headache.”

“Ah, I see. I am sorry to hear that but if something else is worrying you, I should be happy to offer any assistance in my power, Lucy.”

Their eyes met and he smiled. Lucy thought how charming his smile was; it reached his eyes and made them glow. One could almost believe it was meant for her and no one else. How stupid. Sobs suddenly crowded in Lucy’s chest; tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Sick with misery, she blinked them away.

“Thank you, but there is nothing you can help me with,” she said in a stifled voice.

“Very well, I shall not press you but if you ever need assistance, just send word. Things are rarely as desperate as they seem, you know.”

When she made no reply, he added softly, “I intend to call in Mount Street on Sunday. I hope you will be fully recovered by then as I would like to talk to you. Alone.”

Lucy tried to concentrate on what he was saying but the pounding in her head was now so intense she barely knew what he said or how she answered. She felt nauseous and disorientated, and whirling around the dance floor was making matters worse. If it had not been for his strong embrace, she would have stumbled. Somehow she struggled through the rest of the dance. When the music ended, she heard his concerned voice insisting she return home at once and go to bed. She did not argue and hoped she could reach Mount Street before being sick.

Vauxhall and a shocking exit…

Sir Oswald was worried. For the first time he could remember, he had been unable to finish dinner last night. Afterward he had no desire to gamble into the early hours as usual, or to seek out other, less respectable forms of entertainment.

He sat alone in his rooms off St James’s and contemplated the part he had been instructed to play. It mattered little that he hated his tormentor with a passion that belied his indolent nature, and which he kept well hidden – Julius Sneyd knew details of his life that could ruin Sir Oswald’s position in the polite world, even when measured by the hedonistic standards of the day.