Lucinda shook her head, but did as she was bid. She exclaimed almost at once, but she did not look up until she had perused the last incredible line. Then she lifted her head and stared at her companion. “Tibby Blythe! Why, you sly thing! You have conducted a romance of your own all of these years and I never once guessed!”
Miss Blythe’s cheeks had turned deep rose. “I suppose that it all sounds very clandestine and scandalous to you.”
Lucinda rose to her feet and carefully placed the letter back onto the desk. “I frankly admit that I am confused, Tibby,” she said. “But perhaps I should have realized that something was afoot when Mr. Weatherby suddenly stopped calling or making up one of my court. However, I would still never have connected that with you!”
“I had written to him to stay away, you see,” said Miss Blythe. “After those terribly blunt opinions that he had uttered concerning Mr. Stassart, I knew that I could not trust him to keep my confidence. I don’t mean that he would have deliberately betrayed what was between us, but that his intense desire to have the thing concluded would lead him into indiscretion. And that I could not have, for I did not wish to place any burden on you, dearest Lucinda!”
“Oh, Tibby, I still don’t understand. Why would you send Mr. Weatherby away when you felt such an attachment for one another? What possible difference would it have made to me?” asked Lucinda.
“But, my dear, I could not leave you alone. I could not protect you from that first terrible marriage, but I hoped that I could help you to a better one. And so it has proven, for Lord Mays is just what I had in mind for you,” said Miss Blythe.
Lucinda was touched by the depth of her companion’s loyalty. She knew that it would be useless to point out to Miss Blythe that that lady’s own happiness should have taken paramount importance, so she did not even make the attempt. Instead, she asked, “Was Wilfred on your list of eligibles, Tibby?”
“Not at first, no. However, it soon became perfectly clear to me that you and his lordship were besotted with one another, but you were both too foolish to recognize it,” said Miss Blythe. “And so I did my best to promote the match, quite unobtrusively, of course. That was why I accepted so easily your explanation of the friendship between you, and I did not cavil at leaving you alone with Lord Mays whenever the opportunity arose. Forgive me, Lucinda! I fear that I did scheme on your behalf, after all.”
Lucinda laughed. “I shan’t hold it against you, dear Tibby! It has all worked out for the best, just as you always thought it would. But now you must reveal to me how you came to love Mr. Weatherby and why you never wed the gentleman all of these years.”
“That is simple enough. Marcus was already married,” said Miss Blythe composedly.
There was a moment of silence. “Perhaps you should explain it all to me,” said Lucinda with admirable restraint.
The story that was unfolded to Lucinda’s fascinated ears was one of blighted love. Miss Blythe and Mr. Weatherby had known one another when they were young. They had fallen in love with one another, but before any declaration could be made, another woman had come between them.
“My elder sister,” said Miss Blythe quietly, looking into the past. “Eliza was the beauty of the family, and Marcus had met her first. But somehow, after he had met me, he no longer had eyes for Eliza. She could not bear to lose him, especially to someone as plain as me. Eliza set about whispers that he had pledged himself to her, that there had actually been an understanding between them, and that he had cruelly renounced her. Since he had paid her court, it was all eventually believed. The storm of gossip and criticism gathered such weight that Marcus was forced to wed Eliza or risk social ostracism.”
“That is why Mr. Weatherby reacted so strongly over Ferdie’s public dramatics and also when I took my cousin into my house,” said Lucinda. She had sat down some minutes before in a chair, her chin resting in her hand, as she listened.
Miss Blythe nodded. “Yes. It looked to be the same sort of thing, and quite apart from the attachment that he knew I had for you, Marcus wished to spare you the pain and ignominy of such circumstances.”
“The dear man. But surely, if he loved you, he might have fought for you?”
Miss Blythe shook her head, a sad smile touching her lips. “Marcus was a second son, and he had had to rely on benefactors to secure his first position. It would have cost him everything to have flown in the face of all that was arrayed against him. And my father would never have consented to his suit for my hand, not then. I begged Marcus to run away with me to the border, but he refused. He knew that would only be the crowning folly, and he would not condemn me to the inevitable life of penury and scandal.”
“How awful. And so you could not be together.” Lucinda realized that the story was not complete. “But what happened to your sister, his wife? And how did Mr. Weatherby find you again after so many years, for I gathered from several things he had said that he had spent many years abroad.”
“Oh, yes, he did. Directly after they were married, Marcus was posted to India. I suppose that his benefactors wished to hush up the scandal as quickly as possible, and so they sent them out of the country. Marcus did very well for himself in India. He became quite a wealthy man,” said Miss Blythe. “But it was not a happy marriage. Eliza regretted most deeply ever wedding Marcus, and perhaps his own bitterness at being forced into the union had much to do with her feelings. In any event, Marcus left the trading company and joined the army. He was under Wellesley, the Sepoy General.”
“You mean the Duke of Wellington,” said Lucinda.
“His grace had not then distinguished himself to that honor,” said Miss Blythe, smiling. “When Wellington returned to Europe to head up the British forces in the Peninsular, he brought Marcus with him from India. Eliza was delighted, for she thought that at last she would be going home. But by then our father was dead, the lands had fallen into the hands of a distant relation, and I was well embarked upon my career as governess. There was nowhere for Eliza to go. She was forced to remain with Marcus. He did the best he could for her by situating her in a large house in Lisbon and allowing her to mingle with Portuguese society to her heart’s content while he was off with the rest of the troops. But it did not answer. Eliza never learned to like either foreign lands or their inhabitants.”
“Tibby, surely Mr. Weatherby did not have the opportunity to tell you his entire life story,” said Lucinda, awed.
Miss Blythe laughed. “That is just what he has done, my dear, as I have told him mine. We have been in correspondence for all of these years. Eliza detested it, but she could
not
stop it. I was always very sorry for my sister. She was completely unsuited to the man or to the life that she insisted upon taking to herself. Eliza died last year in Brussels.”
“And so Mr. Weatherby came back to England for you,” said Lucinda.
Miss Blythe nodded. “He knew where I would be, for I had written to him.”
“That was why he practically foisted himself upon Ferdie that first evening at the theater. He did not actually wish to meet me, but he wanted an acceptable social introduction to you!” said Lucinda.
“No one remembered the old scandal anymore, but Marcus thought to simply reappear, claiming a long acquaintance with me, might resurrect it,” said Miss Blythe. A tremulous smile touched her lips. “He said that he had waited too long to have all that old business dredged up to color our lives all over again.”
“I have been shamefully used,” said Lucinda, shaking her head. “I have been the shield for a torrid romance and not once did I suspect it. Really, Tibby, it is too bad of you not to let me in on your secret. I would have enjoyed encouraging Mr. Weatherby’s attentions toward you.”
“I have no doubt of that,” said Miss Blythe dryly, which made Lucinda laugh.
The library door opened, and the two ladies turned inquiring faces. Lord Mays marched into the room. He took up a determined stance a few feet in front of Miss Blythe. There was a martial look in his eyes. “I have been thinking, and I have come to a conclusion, Miss Blythe, I am sorry if you do not approve of my wedding Lucinda. However, I must tell you that neither your disapproval, nor anyone else’s, will sway me in the least. I will still marry Lucinda.”
“Wilfred, it is not at all necessary to—”
His lordship threw up his hand. “I am sorry, Lucinda, but Miss Blythe must be made to understand. I shall not give you up. That is the end of the matter.”
“Bravo, my lord,” said Miss Blythe approvingly. She rose from her chair and picked up her letter. “If you will excuse me, my lord, Lucinda, I have a very important letter to post.” She left the library with Lord Mays looking after her in bewilderment and Lucinda laughing.
Lord Mays turned to Lucinda. “I don’t understand. I thought she was set against it.”
“Oh, not at all! Wilfred, it is the most famous thing!” said Lucinda. “You and I are to wed, and Agnes and Lord Potherby are to wed, and Miss Blythe and Mr. Weatherby are to wed!”
Lord Mays stared fixedly at her. “Miss Blythe and Mr. Weatherby?”
“Yes! They have loved one another for years, and now they may marry at last. Isn’t it wonderful?” exclaimed Lucinda.
“As wonderful as all this might be, Lucinda, I must tell you that I will not be married in such company,” stated Lord Mays unequivocally. “I have nothing against either gentlemen, nor Miss Blythe, but I won’t have my cousin Agnes flooding the church with her tears. Deuced if I have ever met such an unstable female. I have just left her filling buckets in the drawing room.”
“What are you talking about, Wilfred?” asked Lucinda, alarmed. “What has happened with Agnes?”
“She came into the drawing room while I was enjoying my sandwiches. I told her that I wished her well in her marriage to Lord Potherby. The next thing I knew she had thrown herself on my coat and burst into tears!” said Lord Mays. “She had such a clutch on me that I felt like a hooked fish. I was never more dismayed in my life.”
“I expect that she was just expressing her happiness,” said Lucinda soothingly. There was the hint of a quiver about her lips, however, for she could well imagine the scene.
“Well, she can express it all over Lord Potherby’s coat front if that is what he likes,” said Lord Mays wrathfully. “It quite put me off my sandwich, let me tell you. That started me thinking about Miss Blythe’s dissolving into tears—who would have thought she had it in her!—and I realized just what I was up against.”
“Whatever do you mean?” asked Lucinda, fascinated by his expression.
“Why, I know how tenderhearted you are. You wouldn’t be able to stand for Miss Blythe to be unhappy. You would put me off, just until she got used to the idea, and then where would we be?”
Lord Mays answered his own rhetorical question. “There would be something else come up, such as your parents taking a dislike to me because of Mays, though we were never in the least alike. Or Potherby would switch his allegiance from Agnes to you again, and I couldn’t have blamed him, for a sillier female I have never seen. Then there is your cousin Stassart—”
Lucinda was openly laughing by this time. “Wilfred, you dear sweet man. You are right, of course. We must not waste a moment. It will have to be a special license.”
“A special license?” repeated Lord Mays. His crooked grin slowly appeared. “It will cause a flurry of gossip, Lucinda.”
Lucinda walked her fingers up his damp lapel, obviously the area that had suffered the full onslaught of Agnes’s happy storm. “My dear Lord Mays, I have been the center of speculation for years. It scarcely seems right to leave it all behind with a perfectly tame wedding ceremony.”
Lord Mays caught her in such a tight embrace that it felt as though her ribs were cracking. But Lucinda did not care in
the
least. He was kissing her in a very thorough and satisfactory manner.
Copyright © 1996 by Gayle Buck
Originally published by Signet (ISBN 0451186214)
Electronically published in 2010 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.