Alethea opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then continued, “I have something to tell you, Lucinda, something very, very secret.”
“You can trust me.”
“What bothers me most, you see, is that I may not be around for Charles much longer. Oh, Lucinda!” Suddenly her eyes lit, she clasped her hands together and exclaimed in an ecstatic voice, “I cannot keep this in anymore, I’m bursting to tell.”
“My word, what is it?”
“I am madly in love with Alex, and he with me!”
Lucinda knew her mouth had fallen open, but she was too stunned to care. “I don’t know what to say. I want to be happy for you, but your father
—”
“Papa will kill me.” In a gesture of complete despair, Alethea dipped her forehead into her hand. “Not if, when,” she moaned. “Sooner or later he’s bound to find out.” She looked up at Lucinda with a combination of fear, defiance, and desolation in her eyes. “I’m so desperate. What shall I do?”
“What if I said you had best forget him?” Lucinda inquired, knowing the futility of her question.
Alethea flung out her hands in simple despair. “I love Alex. I could never forget about him. Besides, I have done something that isn’t easy to undo. I am in a spot of trouble. I
—”
“Dinner is served,” announced the butler who had just entered the room.
Lucinda’s mind congested with doubts and fears as she and Alethea rose, both attempting to calm themselves and strike an airy pose. She wondered what, exactly, Alethea meant. Did she mean that she had been—she hardly knew how to put her thought into words, even to herself,
too intimate with Alex
?
Lucinda felt her knees go weak at the thought. She pictured Edgerton’s wrath and knew that if what she suspected was true, Alethea would be far beyond just “in a spot of trouble.”
But it can’t be true
, Lucinda tried to reassure herself as they entered the dining room. Alethea must have some other explanation.
As expected, dinner was the same grim affair with Edgerton acting his usual cold, rigid self, holding sway at the head of the table, lashing out at his cowed family who, for the most part, sat with heads down, faces expressionless.
My family was never, never like this
! Lucinda thought as she unenthusiastically scooped a spoonful of
le potage à la Monglas
. She glanced around the table. Aunt Pernelia, who, it appeared, could never be confounded, was the only person at the table with anything near a relaxed expression on her face. Alethea looked like a scared rabbit. Sarah, blank-faced as ever. Jane, Edgerton’s long-suffering wife, was nervously shifting her gaze from one to another with that perpetual “please, don’t anyone make a scene” expression upon her face. Poor little Charles, his face averted from everyone, looked as if he was poised, ready to escape at the earliest possible moment. Lucinda scooped another spoonful of
le potage
, trying to remind herself of all the good things that moving to Southfield had brought, but they went right out of her head when Edgerton focused his small, mean eyes on Charles.
“So, Charles, your tutor has informed me of your sluggardly efforts in history.” With disciplined preciseness, Edgerton laid his knife and fork on his plate and glared at his son. “What have you to say for yourself?”
Lucinda held her breath as Charles, head far down over his plate, remained silent.
Please answer
, she called silently.
You’ll make him even angrier if you don’t
.
The whole family flinched as Edgerton, in a cutting voice, demanded, “Answer me!”
No answer. Charles had squinched his eyes shut. If anything, he had bent his head farther over his plate.
Shifting to a low voice, controlled but full of rage, Edgerton continued. “I warn you, Charles, I do not tolerate disobedience. If you do not answer me in the next five seconds, you will be sent to the fourth floor. I vow, this time for a week.”
There was a collective holding of breath as all eyes were riveted on the small, defiant boy who had yet to raise his head. He won’t, Lucinda thought with dismay.
He didn’t.
Edgerton pointed towards the door. “Go to the fourth floor now, Charles. You know the room I mean, since God knows you’ve been there often enough. I shall be there shortly to give you the whipping you deserve. You will dine on bread and water for the next seven days. And furthermore”—Edgerton cast a menacing glance around the table—”there will be no visitors. I don’t want anybody pampering the boy. I shall make a little man of him yet.”
An air of shock and dismay filled the room as Charles, his face ghostly pale, silently slipped from his chair and left the room. No one said a word but instead, took a great interest in their plates
—all except Lucinda, who, near-choking with anger, gazed at her cousin with glaring, reproachful eyes. Edgerton noticed immediately. He returned a look so belittling that Lucinda felt like cowering. “Is there something the matter, Cousin Lucinda?” he inquired in a voice deadly calm. “Have you something to say to me?”
Under the force of Edgerton’s continued, caustic gaze, Lucinda fought to control her emotions. She longed to convey her outrage, to tell her cousin exactly what she thought of a man who could display such cruelty toward an innocent little boy. But how could she? Looking around the table, she saw fear in the faces of her cousins. Even Aunt Pernelia looked alarmed. And there was poor Jane, begging with her eyes,
Lucinda please, please, don’t talk back to him
. She felt sick from the struggle within her, but for now there was but one thing to do.
The words stuck in her throat but she finally managed. “Nothing is wrong, Cousin Edgerton. I have nothing to say.”
* * *
The next morning, Lucinda awoke to thoughts of little Charles. She wondered if he’d slept last night in that dark, little room on the servants’ floor. He must be starving, she thought as she slid from her bed. How she wished there was something she could do. Perhaps later in the day she’d find a way to visit the poor child, despite Edgerton’s warning. She felt guilty that she’d been such a coward last night. If only she had voiced her honest opinion to Edgerton! But even as she accused herself of cowardice, she knew that had she spoken her mind an even worse scene would have ensued, further upsetting the family. She tried to assure herself she had taken the right course by remaining silent. Still, a large part of her wished she’d thrown caution to the winds and told Edgerton what she thought.
Something else bothered her, too. Alethea. Those words she’d said:
I am in a spot of trouble
. Whatever had she meant? She must find out.
But not now. Don’t think of it, she advised herself as she started out on her usual before-breakfast bird-watching expedition. Her thoughts turned to the news Alethea had given her last night
—that Lord Belington had returned home. But he was also a subject she shouldn’t think about. In reality, what did she care whether he was home or not? The thought struck her that he might even possibly be hunting in the woods this morning. But what difference if he was? His presence would be of absolutely no consequence. She would not be expecting, and surely not anticipating, another accidental meeting. She had better be careful, though. On her many treks to these woods, she crossed the little brook many a time, trespassing onto Belington property. She had done so with little concern, knowing Belington was in London. Today, though, and for as long as he was home, she had better not cross that brook. Also, she would not look for him, or think about him. But at least, since the sound of gun shots would probably announce his presence, she would be well-warned. Before another pitiful dead bird dropped at her feet, she would gather up her sketch pad and pencil and leave quietly, thus avoiding another uncomfortable encounter.
She settled onto a tree stump on the Linley side of the brook and was surprised when, after a few minutes during which she had been deeply engrossed in sketching the dashing plumage of a magpie, a quiet voice behind her said, “Good morning, Miss Linley.”
Lucinda turned in surprise. When she saw who it was, she hurriedly jumped up, dumping the contents of her lap onto the mossy ground. “Lord Belington, you startled me.”
“My apologies, he murmured, perfectly polite, with a little bow. He stepped forward and bent to retrieve her scattered sketching effects.
“You needn’t bother.” She bent so quickly that they bumped heads, not hard, but enough to embarrass her. “Sorry, how clumsy.” She felt her face grow red.
“No harm done,” he said graciously, but after he’d restored her sketch pad and pencil and stood back, she could plainly see a glint of humor in his eye.
I have just acted like some gawky-awkward country girl, she thought, but still, she would not be laughed at. After that obvious lie he told at Hatchards, he needed to be put in his place. She would do just that, then leave. She decided a bold approach would be best. “May I ask what you are doing on Linley land?” She pointed to the brook. “I’m the one who made a mistake before, but this time you’re the one who’s trespassing.”
“So I am,” he answered congenially and seated himself on a flat slab of limestone that protruded next to the stream. He propped one booted foot upon a small rock and regarded her oddly. “We’re off to another fine start, I see.”
As she watched him, a shaft of sunlight broke through the thick spread of branches overhead. It struck his shining, dark hair, then lit his head and shoulders, and she saw, as she never had before, the inherent strength in his face, accentuated by his fine, straight-as-a-lance nose and the charming cleft in his stubborn chin.
And, too, she could not keep her eyes from his lean body. He was plainly dressed again: buckskin riding pants, snowy white shirt, hunting jacket, no cravat, just a simple stock. Which was positive proof, she thought, that a man didn’t have to dress to the nines in order to look devilishly attractive. In fact, as he sat there, so very sure of himself, so perfectly at ease in those simple clothes, she found herself drawn to him and not the least annoyed with him at all. But that was madness. She would take pains not to let him know. She regarded his empty hands and asked, “So where is your double barrel sporting flintlock shotgun this morning? Are you not planning to rid the world of a few more birds?”
“Not this morning,” he affably replied.
“Did
n’t you understand me? You’re not on your own land, you know.”
He smiled gently. “Do tell. Come sit down.” He glanced toward the ample space beside him on the slab of limestone. “This rock is big enough for two.”
This wasn’t going at all as she had planned. By now he should be humbly apologizing for having trespassed, and, indeed, for all his various sins, but instead, it appeared he did not in the least care whether he trespassed or not.
Don’t forget Edgerton
, she warned herself. She positively could not get involved with this man. “I must go. My Aunt Pernelia needs me.”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “Why the quick retreat?”
“Retreat is hardly the word, sir. I don’t ever retreat. If you must know, I find you very...difficult, and I shouldn’t be talking to you, and that’s why I want to leave.”
He nodded agreeably, as if she had just announced the weather would be warm today. “So you thought my conduct at Hatchards was...?”
“Abominable.”
“And you would like an apology?”
“What for? It wouldn’t do you any good.”
“Then I won’t apologize. There’s something urgent I want to discuss with you.” He raised his brows. “Look, I know it’s wrong. I know I shouldn’t be here, but for God’s sake, quit arguing and just sit down.”
She hesitated, engaged in a heated debate with herself. On the one hand, she most definitely wanted to demonstrate her opinion of him by leaving. In so doing, she would give herself the satisfaction of knowing she had made a wise decision.
But on the other hand...
She found herself so drawn to him she didn’t want to go. And besides, she was keenly curious to know what was so urgent. She decided she had to know. “A minute,” she said primly. She seated herself on the slab of limestone beside him, carefully arranging the skirts of her simple green chintz morning gown. Earlier, her mirror had informed her how fetching she looked in it, with her hair hanging loosely down her back. Ordinarily she did not put a great store on her appearance, other than to be clean and neat, but today she was glad she had taken pains to look her prettiest. Why? she wondered. Was it just coincidence she looked her best, or deep in her heart had she known he would be here?
I did know
, she confessed to herself.
And I do care
.
“Well? What is the great urgency?” she inquired, careful to keep her voice disinterested.
His eyes flickered with amusement. “All in good time. First, you and I must talk.”
“What about?”
An oath flew to Douglas’s lips. He had to tighten them in order not to say it. Stubborn wench! What was he doing, even bothering to spend his valuable time with this obstinate young woman? He tried to recall if any other woman in the world had ever caused him to suppress a curse. None, not ever, as best he could recall. But then, most of the women he had known were docile, agreeable creatures, eager to please. Even Rose, who could be rather caustic at times, would never dream of snapping at him and telling him he was difficult. But this one...