The Cinderella Debutante (8 page)

When the orchestra began playing the new waltz, Lucy was grateful that she had practiced it, but the pleasure of having his body pressed against hers, the feel of his hand settling over the curve of her waist, threatened to banish every step from her head. His touch made her feel almost feverish. She could feel her blood running hot and fast. She closed her eyes and drew in his fragrance, the scent of sandalwood on warm male skin. He was so close, his strength and maleness surrounding her. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful. She swallowed hard and tried to marshal her wits. Forcing herself to relax and hoping she would not trip over her feet, she tilted her chin so she could look into his face.

“So you have paid my godmother a visit?” he began. “I understand she passed a pleasant afternoon in your company.”

“She is as exuberant as I remember,” said Lucy. “Lady Gainsford will never allow my grandmother will to become melancholy.”

“I am pleased to hear it.” He studied her, a slow smile curving his mouth. “Your grandmother must have missed you a great deal.”

A blush stole into her cheeks at the warmth in his voice. “The feeling of loss was mutual. Although we exchanged letters, I have often longed to see her since my father’s death.”

“Very understandable,” he murmured. “By the way, I have not forgotten my promise to acquire a suitable mount for you to ride. Could you oblige me by exercising a neat little mare I have recently bought?”

“I—”

“I’ll arrange for her to be kept in my mews, ready for your use. You just have to send word and one of my grooms will bring her to Mount Street.”

“Very well, thank you,” she said. “I own I am looking forward to it.”

“I should be grateful to you.” He seemed for a moment to hold her more tightly as he whispered, “And before you feel the need to reassure me of your competence, remember I saw how you calmed that terrified animal after your accident. I need no other confirmation. Do you stay in London until the end of the Season?”

“Yes, and then Mama intends to go to Brighton. She wants to see the Prince Regent’s new pavilion.

“I see. Well, it is an, er, extraordinary building. The music room is magnificent although too ornate for my taste. Devlyn Court looks shabby in comparison.”

She gave a chuckle. “You are quizzing me again! Your estate is generally held to be one of the finest in the country.”

“Am ambitious claim and one I’m not sure it lives up to yet,” he said, with an answering grin. “There is more work to be done, but at least the house has been restored. It fell into disrepair after my brother’s death. My land agent began to worry I intended to forsake it completely.”

She frowned. “Surely you would not have done so? It is your home, after all.”

“It held no meaning for me at the time and I did briefly consider selling. As the younger son, I never expected to have the responsibility for it. I reconsidered as time went by and recently I’m glad I did. You see, despite its grand scale, Devlyn Court is first and foremost a home. It deserves to be lived in and enjoyed by a family…my family, when I have one, and I am hopeful now that day is a little nearer.”

His words sent a sudden chill over Lucy and she reflected bitterly on how well Belinda weaved a spell over her admirers. She envied her sister no conquest but the man holding her in his arms. When the music stopped all too soon, he returned her to her stepmother and sister. Her skin still tingled where his fingers had spanned her waist; her body was still heavy with pleasure where it had touched his.

Lady Sinclair and Belinda were anxious to discover what they had talked about but Lucy was able to convince them they had missed nothing important.

Later, finding the heat oppressive, Lucy slipped out of the ballroom and found herself in an oak-paneled library. She ran her finger along the shelves of leather bound volumes, thinking how much her father would have appreciated such a collection. She drew out several books and let the cool air and quiet envelop her.

Suddenly, the unmistakable tones of Lord Devlyn and Lord Ashe reached her through the ha1f-open doorway. Their voices grew louder, and, thinking they were about to enter, Lucy moved to the shadows. They did not come in but remained outside, close enough for Lucy to hear everything, each word an arrow through her heart.

“She is a darling,” Devlyn was saying in low voice. “I intend to declare my feelings when the moment is right and hope she will accept. I only make you aware now because you have, surprisingly for one normally so obtuse, correctly judged my intentions. But please… do not speak of this to anyone.”

“As if I would utter a word! I only guessed because I know you well - no one else would have the least notion.”

Lucy put her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.

“Did you hear something then?” asked Devlyn, after a pause.

“No, nothing.”

“That’s odd. For a moment I thought—”

“She’s a fine girl. Gil will be shattered; he’s lost his heart already!”

Devlyn laughed softly, before continuing in a more sober tone, “Sneyd is a concern though. His attentions are causing me a great deal of disquiet…”

His voice receded as they moved back towards the ballroom, and the rest of the sentence was lost to Lucy.

What she had overheard seeped into her soul. Devlyn’s proposal of marriage to her sister was imminent and the truth she had been denying refused to be subdued any longer.

Within a fortnight of their first meeting – or had it been within a minute? – he had destroyed her calm and demolished her comfort. Attraction had flared and burnt fiercely inside her. Exactly how it had happened, Lucy didn’t know. She had not spent a great deal of time in his company and even less time alone with him, but it was enough. This wasn’t just infatuation. It felt much worse than that. Incurably truthful, Lucy was now forced to acknowledge how she felt, even as she chided herself for being an idiot.

She was truly, madly, desperately in love with the man who was about to offer for her sister.

Her enjoyment of the evening had melted away like snow on a spring morning. She felt more alone than ever. She looked at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece through a shimmer of tears as it chimed midnight. Her posy of forget-me-nots slid from her nerveless fingers to the floor.

For what seemed like endless minutes she waited to make sure they had gone. Then, she closed the library door and made her way back to the ballroom, biting her lip to suppress the sadness engulfing her.

Lord Devlyn was a dream she had to let go of.

A marriage proposal

Arriving at Lord Sneyd’s lodgings the following morning, Sir Oswald found him in a propitious mood. As he lowered himself into a chair, his corset creaking ominously, Sir Oswald also noted that his lordship wore a satisfied expression. It transpired his good humour was due to his excellent progress with the heiress; for the first time in months, Lord Sneyd believed his fortunes were about to take a turn for the better.

“The marriage banns will be issued soon,” he explained, “and the ceremony will follow immediately afterward. The mother is a halfwit: she is all encouragement for her daughter to make a good match. The chit herself appears willing enough, although she is a heartless minx with a temper; I shall enjoy taming her once we are married.”

Sneyd’s soft tone sent a shiver down Sir Oswald’s spine. “Excellent, Julius. Only the formalities to be dealt with then and Devlyn will be cut out, just as you planned.”

“He observed the civilities last night but from his expression he wished me in Hades.” He laughed sardonically. “I’m aware of society’s opinion of me, but wealth makes one suddenly much more agreeable.”

“But what if Devlyn offers for her first?” queried Sir Oswald, “Great deal of address, you know, as well as being rich, one of the leaders of the
ton
and a war hero to boot. Bound to impress a young girl.”

“Nothing will stand in my way. The stakes are too high and I will take drastic measures if necessary. The only difficulty lies with the older sister. Her distrust of me becomes more obvious by the day. The marriage must be done quickly before she can influence her mother and sister.” Sneyd’s expression became thoughtful for a moment as he concluded, “What a pity it is not she who has the fortune. She would make a more worthy adversary.”

“Seems now to arouse almost as much interest as the heiress,” said Sir Oswald, whose precarious social status depended on following the ebb and flow of fashion.

“Nevertheless, she must not be allowed to meddle. This arrived today, Hen. Read it and you will see how little time I have left; that damned leech is after my blood!” He thrust a grubby letter in Sir Oswald’s direction.

The missive was brief, but the meaning was clear,

It pains me to write to your lordship, but news has not yet reached me of your betrothal to a certain wealthy young lady. My sources inform me that the lady looks with favour upon you, but also on many others. If I do not hear of your marriage soon, I shall be forced to act. I hope that your lordship would not be foolish enough to try and trick me - others have tried and paid dearly for their mistake
.

The letter ‘S’ was scrawled at the bottom. Sir Oswald handed it back with a hand that shook.

“Don’t look like a startled rabbit,” muttered his companion. “I’ll soon be out of his clutches. Let us order a new coat for my wedding – my tailor won’t worry about extending credit on the strength of my impending marriage.”

***

Lucy sat alone in the morning room. A book lay open in her lap while she stared through the window. It was sunny, but a blustery wind tugged at the trees and chased clouds across the sky.

Sleep had proved elusive and she had risen early. Sifting through her thoughts and feelings, she had examined them with weary resignation. There was no hope. Lord Devlyn’s feelings for Belinda were no longer in question; it was only a matter of time before he declared himself.

She wished with all her heart that matters were different, but one could not choose who one fell in love with, any more than one could make someone love them. It had been a forlorn, brief hope that a man like Devlyn could prefer her over her sister’s beauty and fortune. At least now there was no need to subdue the thrill she felt whenever she saw him.

Her heart gave a jolt at the thought of having Devlyn as a brother-in-law. How would she bear it? Perhaps the pain would diminish over time but in this she was not hopeful. Her father had always teased her about her enduring passion on lesser matters. She loved Devlyn and that would not change, but it must remain her secret. She couldn’t confide in anyone else and besides, it wouldn’t make her feel any better. She didn’t need to be told how stupid it was to pine for a man she could never have.

Her stepmother would be happy for her to remain a spinster after Belinda had tied the knot. Lucy could not contemplate this but nor could she envisage marriage without love. She would take up Lady Gainsford’s offer to live at Gainsford House, at least until she could make other arrangements.

In spite of her misery Lucy smiled at the thought of Lady Gainsford coercing her stepmother into agreeing with this plan. She was still smiling when the door opened.

“And what do you find so amusing?” asked Lady Sinclair. “Goodness knows why you must keep country hours! It must have been 2 o’clock in the morning when we returned home, yet still you insist on rising early. Your complexion will suffer, my girl, have no doubt. You may use some of my rosewater lotion.”

“A kind offer,” said Lucy evenly, “but I see keeping late hours has not affected Belinda’s looks.”

Her step-sister did indeed look beautiful in her primrose coloured gown. Belinda’s success the previous evening had ensured her good mood this morning and she responded graciously for once.

“Mama, you are exaggerating. Anyone would think Lucy looked haggard and that is not so at all. She just looks a little dark around the eyes.”

“La, never mind about that!” said Lady Sinclair airily. “What of Belinda’s triumph, Lucy? Several posies of flowers have arrived and she has so many gentlemen waiting on her, she may choose any one of twenty or more. Arthur Baillie has already asked for her hand in marriage twice, although she would never throw herself away on such a man as he. And last night, Lord Sneyd confided that his attachment to your sister grows stronger every day.” She clapped her hands together in delight. “Belinda, you should expect his offer at any time - it is just as I hoped!”

“I am aware of Lord Sneyd’s regard, but Lord Devlyn also danced with me twice and he is a far grander person. You said so yourself when he visited Hampshire.” Belinda’s lips curved into a provocative smile. “I have been thinking…Viscountess Devlyn sounds very well and as his wife, I would be an important figure. He is rich, famous and has a great deal of influence. The rest of his figure is handsome and I daresay I’d grow used to that horrible scar eventually. In any event, wives do not have to see a great deal of their husbands. What say you, Lucy?”

“You must bestow your affections as you see fit,” said Lucy, feeling a sickening pang of jealousy. “You already know my feelings regarding Lord Sneyd.”

“Affections!” echoed Belinda with a titter, “How perfectly gothic you are! No-one marries for love any more - it is not fashionable. I’m only interested in what marriage to them can bring me.”

“Take care you are not completely mercenary!” retorted Lucy. “If you do not at least esteem the man you choose, you will be doomed to an unhappy marriage. Mama, please tell Belinda you agree with me.”

But Lady Sinclair always agreed with Belinda and she did not disappoint now. “Well, your sister may be right about not marrying for love. It is not fashionable and the parties are hardly ever suitable for one another. I did not love your father, as I recall, but I thought it an excellent match. Who is to say that Belinda should not choose the most brilliant match available to her, regardless of affection?”