The Cinderella Debutante (9 page)

Lucy ground her teeth.

Her mother sailed on, warming to this discussion on her favourite subject. “Belinda, you are correct in something you said earlier: Devlyn is interested in you and we should therefore wait for his declaration. If Lord Sneyd offers in the meantime, you should neither reject nor accept him, but keep him waiting until Lord Devlyn comes up to scratch. After all, he is a Viscount and it would please me very well to see you cut a dash as his wife rather than merely my Lady Sneyd.”

“You see, Lucy, Mama agrees with me.”

To Lucy’s relief, the butler’s announcement that Lady Gainsford had arrived ended the discussion. She had been shown into the saloon and Stanton’s voice held a note of awe as he explained, “I am afraid her ladyship would not wait in the hall while I enquired if you were at home to visitors – she said she was certain you would see her.”

Thrown into confusion by this unexpected visitor, Lady Sinclair hastened to the saloon.

Lady Gainsford stood leaning on her stick, looking regal. An expensive shawl was draped around her shoulders and Lucy hid a smile at her stepmother’s jaw-dropping reaction to the magnificent emerald necklace around her visitor’s throat.

“M-my dear ma’am, how pleased we are to finally meet you—”

Lady Gainsford waved an impatient hand. “Yes, yes, I send you any greetings necessary to observe the proprieties. You will forgive my blunt manner - my rheumatism plagues me today and I have no inclination for idle chatter.”

Lady Sinclair fell silent at this unceremonious rejoinder while Lady Gainsford studied Belinda, who had sat down on the chaise.

“So this is the beauty?” she queried rhetorically, scrutinizing Belinda through a gold-mounted looking glass.

“This is my daughter Belinda. Her beauty is indeed the talk of London.” Lady Sinclair was unable to keep the note of pride from her voice.

“Pleasant enough looking girl, I suppose,” replied her ladyship, “but I fail to see what all the fuss is about. Beauties were ten-a-penny in my youth, but nearly all milk-and-water misses! Can the girl speak for herself?”

Belinda, less confident than usual in the presence of this imperious visitor, stumbled over her reply.

“O-Of course. Mama and I have been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Shouldn’t think so for a moment,” said Lady Gainsford in a dry voice, “You are only being polite, but I shall not hold that against you.” She held out one gnarled hand to Lucy and smiled, her eyes alight with mischief. “Are you well, my dear?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Excellent! Now I come to the reason for my call.” Lady Gainsford removed a gilt-edged card from her reticule. “There is an invitation to my evening party. You are all invited and the cream of London society will be there. Naturally, you will also attend for dinner before the entertainment commences.”

“That is
most
kind,” trilled Lady Sinclair. “We accept—”

“Ah, I am so pleased,” interrupted Lady Gainsford. “I forgot to mention that on this occasion Lucy will be my guest of honour. This is no slight on you or Belinda, but in recognition of my long friendship with Lucy’s grandmother.”

For the second time, Lady Sinclair was speechless. Unable to retract their acceptance, she tried to make the best of the situation. “I suppose we, er, must understand your feelings.”

Belinda opened her mouth to speak but was quelled by a fierce look from her mother.

“I was persuaded that your good sense would prevail. I see I am not disappointed,” observed their visitor. “Lucy, you are to have a new gown and your grandmother and I shall have the pleasure of providing it. Come to Gainsford House tomorrow afternoon for a fitting with my dressmaker.”

“Surely you do not require a new gown, Lucy?” demanded Lady Sinclair desperately. “You may borrow one of your sister’s - she has several new dresses and you are of a similar size. That will save Lady Gainsford any trouble—”

“Nonsense! It will be my pleasure. Belinda will not have to give up one of her gowns.” Lady Gainsford moved toward the door. “I must go. Good day to you, Lady Sinclair. Belinda, a joy to finally make your acquaintance. You are both exactly as I imagined!” Eyes brimming with laughter, she turned to Lucy. “Tomorrow afternoon, do not forget!”

With a rustle of silk, she left and could be heard calling for her carriage to be brought to the front door.

For a few moments there was silence, before Belinda exploded with pent-up fury.

“If that is not the outside of enough!
Lucy
is to be guest of honour at Lady Gainsford’s ball when it is
my
Season - you cannot allow it, Mama!”

Lady Sinclair tried to soothe her daughter. “Pray do not upset yourself! You know you will be admired whatever the circumstances.”

“I don’t care! Why should Lucy be chosen over me? It’s intolerable and that miserable old woman is to blame! And what does she need a new gown for?” Belinda gave a tearful hiccup. “Oh, I sh-shall not be able to bear it!”

Lady Sinclair uttered deep sigh and wailed, “There’s nothing I can do! Lady Gainsford may organize her evening party as she chooses and I have already accepted the invitation. Indeed, we cannot afford to decline - it will be a sad squeeze and everyone of consequence will be there. We are invited to dine beforehand too – a singular honour!” she concluded in a despairing voice.

Belinda answered with a sob of frustration, but eventually Lady Sinclair managed to persuade her that if she did not attend there would be many disappointed gentlemen. With the added promise of some new diamond earrings, Lady Sinclair succeeded in stemming the tide of tears and, in less than half an hour, Belinda set off with her mother in a reasonable frame of mind to make their purchase.

Lucy reflected it would do Belinda a great deal of good not to have her own way. Her sister had been indulged completely and the rebuff Lady Gainsford had administered was long overdue.

She began to write a note to her grandmother. She had just completed this when the butler announced the second visitor of the day. “Mr Pottingham is enquiring if you are at home”.

Resisting the urge to say she was not, Lucy replied, “Show him into the library, Stanton.”

A few moments later, Lucy found Mr Pottingham studying the portrait that hung above the fireplace. He turned and bowed, his greeting performed with great punctiliousness and followed by civil inquiries about the state of Lady Sinclair’s and Belinda’s health. Only after this did he come to the point.

“Miss Sinclair, my compliments on your appearance. I trust Lady Barchester’s revels have not left you fatigued?”

Lucy gave a peal of laughter. “If my constitution is so poor as to be tired after one evening’s entertainment, then I shall be in a wretched state at the end of our stay!”

“It is to your credit that you did not indulge in excessive dancing,” he said, frowning. “Young women spend too much time dancing and too little time in rational conversation.”

Amusement still quivered in her voice.“Then perhaps our discussion last night has prevented me from feeling too fagged this morning.”

“No doubt,” he replied solemnly. “Serious discourse must always be preferred to dancing.” His expression grew yet more austere. “It is fortunate that I find you alone because I wish to discuss a very important matter. May I speak plainly?”

With a sense of foreboding, Lucy murmured her agreement and sat down. Mr. Pottingham clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat.

“It may not be a surprise to learn,” he began, “that my respect for you is of the highest order. You are one of the most sensible females I have met, as well as being dignified, compliant and an excellent listener. Your appreciation of newts sealed my regard.” He paused to allow the impact of this to be felt before continuing, “I now find myself in the position of contemplating marriage.”

Lucy started and raised her brows, a sign he seemed to take as encouragement as he cleared his throat again and rushed on. “My dear Lucy, I must therefore declare my deepest regard and ask most earnestly that you accept my hand in marriage.”

Lucy’s eyes widened in shock. She had not expected this. She took a deep breath to collect herself and sought for the right words. There was no doubt about her answer, only the most tactful way of phrasing it.

“You do me a great honour, sir. Any lady must esteem a marriage proposal from such an admired member of society,” she said in a quiet, clear voice. “But I cannot accept. My affections are not sufficiently engaged to contemplate marriage.”

His gaze flew to hers and Lucy observed his surprise was genuine; he had apparently not considered the possibility of a refusal. His surprise only lasted for a moment. He smiled and, not at all downcast, replied, “Your modesty is everything I would expect. I understand your real reasons and admire you for them.”

“What on earth do you mean?” she said, perplexed.

“Why, I see now I have been too hasty. I, who always observe the proprieties, have allowed my feelings to overrule my judgment! Any delicately reared female is right to refuse when I have ignored the proper mode of conduct. I should have obtained Lady Sinclair’s permission first. I humbly beg your pardon - I shall do so at the earliest opportunity.”

Lucy jumped up from her seat. “But you misunderstand! My mother is not my guardian - I am three-and-twenty. My refusal is not because I care about the proprieties, but because I feel nothing stronger than friendship towards you!”

“Your reserve is also to your credit, my dear,” he said, smiling faintly. “A gently bred young woman should never admit to deeper feelings until well-acquainted with the gentleman in question. Indeed, it is advisable to wait until well after the marriage ceremony before indulging in passionate outbursts.”

Lucy listened with growing disbelief. “I cannot make myself plainer, sir, and although it may cause you pain, I beg you to accept the answer I have given!”

He shook his head. “You must defer to my greater understanding. I am persuaded you are not really averse to my proposal, and I shall speak to Lady Sinclair. A slight delay will also enable you to be confident about my credentials. I have reasonable estates and fortune and you need not be embarrassed by your circumstances.”

“Your fortune or otherwise would not affect my decision!”

“I did not believe they would. I merely mention it so that you can feel easy on that score, and know we will be comfortably situated after our marriage.” His smile widened. “Lady Sinclair will be hearing from me. Following this conversation, I am even more convinced that my choice of bride has all the attributes I could wish for.”

“But—“

“My dear girl, say no more! You are overcome at this moment, but never fear…we will be married soon and study newts together.”

He then kissed her hand and bade her good morning.

For a while, Lucy stood rooted to the spot with astonishment. She hardly knew whether to be angry at his insistence or diverted by his tenacity. Many would look upon it as an excellent match and yet Lucy could never marry Mr Pottingham.

She chewed on her lower lip, a childhood habit when she had a problem to solve, and pondered on how to convince her would-be suitor that her rejection was final.

Lord Devlyn proposes an expedition

If Mr Pottingham was certain he understood Lucy’s feelings, Alex had no such confidence. He, too, found himself wanting to offer marriage yet was unsure how his proposal would be received.

War had changed him from a carefree, slightly arrogant youth into a more responsible but cynical man. The nightmares had stopped eventually but for years he had simply existed, untouched by emotions other than guilt and sorrow. Why had so many men, including his brother, died when he had survived? It was an all-consuming and unanswerable question that left him numb, bereft of all joy and hope. He had shut out the world and gained a reputation for being reserved.

But just when he had wanted to distance himself from society to heal his mental and physical wounds, he had found himself relentlessly pursued. Promotion to a title and large fortune meant he was a target for many an ambitious mama and eligible lady. The flow of women eager to snare the new Viscount Devlyn as a husband had been never ending and partly responsible for his attitude toward marriage.

He had been subjected to every matrimonial trap, including returning home one evening to find a particularly determined widow lying naked in his bed. It was fortunate his bitter taste of war had not allowed him to grow conceited in the face of all this attention.

From that moment on, he had kept his liaisons to ladies who expected no more than a dalliance. None of these affairs had touched his heart and he had felt no compunction in ending them when his interest began to wane.

Yet Lucy Sinclair had entranced him from the first. Apart from the deep physical desire she stirred in him, she intrigued him with her intelligence, amused with her wit, beguiled with her charm and captivated with her streak of obstinacy. He longed to see her, hear her voice, talk to her. She had renewed his sense of hope, his
joie de vivre
. She filled a void in his life and sated a craving deep within his soul. He couldn’t live without her. Alex recalled how only weeks ago he had wanted to avoid marriage. He acknowledged ruefully that he was now as anxious to join that state as he had been to avoid it.

Lord Sneyd’s visits to Mount Street continued to trouble him. Sneyd’s interest appeared to lie with Belinda, but Lucy could be drawn in. Alex had spent an interesting hour that morning with Lady Gainsford, who informed him that Lucy was also uneasy about Sneyd. This gave him some comfort; there was little else he could do without interfering beyond the bounds of propriety.

His real dilemma lay with Lucy. He was in love yet he had no idea what she thought of him. Did she view him as anything more than a pleasant acquaintance or friend? It was impossible to know. She was polite, animated and attentive, but her manner was the same with Toby, Pottingham or any other man for that matter.