A knowing expression lit his blue eyes. "Quite a trial, ain't it?"
"Oh, no. I . . ."
Lucas strode back into the room and propped one foot on the edge of the hearth. "Keeping Lady Foxhaven amused, Bas?"
Bascombe nodded, his gaze fixed on her novel. "Did you purchase your book in London?"
Caro nodded. "Yes, at Hatchard's."
His expression turned serious. "You did warn Lady Foxhaven not to shop on Bond Street after midday, didn't you, Luc? Nothing but a bunch of ogling beaux." His fair skin above his collar turned pink. "You will find yourself quite out of countenance."
"Actually, I didn't think of it," Lucas said, apparently horror-struck.
How like him not to remember to tell her something so important after she had informed him of her intention to shop in Bond Street. "Thank you for warning me, Mr. Bascombe. I should hate to embarrass myself."
Lucas stared at her for a moment and then pushed himself away from the hearth and sat beside her on the sofa. He glanced over at his friend. "Bas, I had actually planned to talk to you about this."
Frowning, Bascombe crossed his feet at the ankles. "Shopping in Bond Street?"
"No." Lucas shook his head. "Introducing Lady Foxhaven to the ton. She doesn't have any female relatives of her own in London and doesn't know anyone yet. My Aunt Rivers has offered to take her to Covent Garden on Friday, but well . . ."
"Bit of a she-dragon." Bascombe's tone held sympathy.
Caro sent him a quick smile. "Frightening." Somehow she felt she could be straightforward with Lucas's good friend.
"Thing is," Lucas continued, "Aunt Rivers will provide tickets to Almack's, but I don't think Caro will like spending all her time with a pack of dowdy dowagers."
Bascombe shot him a sharp glance. "Why can't you take her?"
He curled his lip. "To Almack's? You know me. Balls, routs, and debutantes. Not my style."
"You don't have to worry about debutantes any more, you lucky dog. No need to dance with anyone except your wife."
The expression of distaste on Lucas's face remained firm. He obviously couldn't think of anything worse than dancing with his chubby unfashionable wife, Caro thought. Her heart sank.
"Caro doesn't want me hovering around, do you?" He cocked a brow in her direction.
She didn't? They'd agreed not to interfere with each other, and she'd started on the wrong foot with his aunt. A mistake she would not repeat. And if she was going to get all hot and fluttery every time she looked at him, avoiding his company might be a good idea. "Certainly not."
Bascombe looked from one to the other with a puzzled frown.
Seemingly oblivious, Lucas continued, "What Caro needs is a female around her own age who can take her under her wing until she gets established." His mouth turned down. "I just can't think of anyone suitable."
"That doesn't surprise me," Bascombe said. He pursed his lips, appearing to give the matter some thought. "Tisha," he announced.
Lucas looked blank.
"My married sister, Lady Leticia Audley. Thing is, Audley's in the foreign office, or some such. He's been assigned to the embassy in Paris and left Tisha moping in Town. Blue as a megrim. This might be just the thing to cheer her up."
Hope flittered in Caro's breast. "Do you think so?"
A doubtful expression lurked in Lucas's dark eyes. "Tisha's been on the town for years, and she certainly knows the ropes, but she's a bit on the flighty side. At least she was—"
Bascombe coughed. "Settled down quite a bit since she married Audley."
The more she heard, the more she liked the sound of Lady Audley. To have a friend who knew her way around the ton would be a boon. "If you think she'd be willing . . ."
Bascombe waved a languid hand. "My mother was only saying this morning that Tisha needs something to take her mind off Audley's absence. She's been in the doldrums ever since he left. Mother doesn't have the time; she's far too busy with the young'uns. I think she would feel a whole lot easier in her mind if Tisha had a sensible companion while Audley's away."
Sensible. He meant unattractive. Someone who was unlikely to get the spirited Lady Audley into a scrape. "Oh, I see."
Bascombe leaned back. "My mother would be most grateful, but there's no sense in denying that Tisha's a bit of a gad-about. I could well understand if you don't like the idea."
Someone as worldly as Leticia Audley sounded would surely find Caro dull. But not if she changed—the idea popped into her head from nowhere. "I do like it."
A piercing glance shot from beneath Lucas's lowered brows at his friend. "I'm not sure Caro is ready for your sister."
Bascombe grinned. "I tell you what, I promised to escort her to the theater on Friday in Audley's absence. I'll bring her to your box. You can see if you hit it off."
Perfect. They could look each other over before deciding anything. Caro nodded. "I'd love to meet her."
With the look of a thwarted man, Lucas clapped Bascombe on the shoulder. "What a dull dog you are, Bas, playing escort to your sister. Becoming quite domesticated."
The words must have struck a nerve with the drawling Mr. Bascombe. He glowered. "And I suppose you ain't. You're the one who's married."
Caro winced at Lucas's sudden blank expression.
He strode toward the door. "Come on, Bas. The horses are champing at the bit. "I'll see you tomorrow," Bascombe called over his shoulder on his way out.
Four
Caro reached for the strand of pearls on the polished dressing table, her only piece of jewelry. It had been her father's wedding gift to her mother.
"Stop fidgeting, my lady," Lizzie grumbled.
"Sorry."
Lizzie finished tying off her stays, and Caro held up her arms to allow the maid to drop the gown over her head without disturbing her coiffure.
The hairdresser recommended by Beckwith turned out to be an artiste par excellence and had teased and curled until ringlets surrounded Caro's face and a waterfall of glossy tresses fell to her shoulder. Sadly, with her straight, fine hair, it likely wouldn't last the night.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced in the mirror. The oyster silk gown delivered by Madame Charis yesterday lived up to her promise of elegance. She fiddled with a festoon of pink and cream ribbons tied under the bust. For some reason, they drew attention to her bosom, despite a high neckline. Her vaguely brown eyes were still too big, more so behind her spectacles, she thought ruefully, her mouth too full and her nose too short. Her only good feature, as far as she could tell, was a long neck, and the new hairstyle made it look as if it belonged to a giraffe.
"You'll do," Lizzie said.
For all her blunt words, Lizzie's homely face held admiration, and Caro's fluttering stomach began to settle. She tried to smile. "I don't think I look like me anymore."
Lizzie chuckled. "Perhaps that's not so bad?"
A smile tugged at her lips. "Why, thank you." A little jolt of anticipation shortened her breath. "I suppose I should go down. I should not keep everyone waiting."
Mindful of the high heels on her new satin slippers, she glided out of the room.
Further along the hallway, Lucas's valet dashed for the servants' stairs. Lucas stuck his head out of his door, missing her by inches. "The white waistcoat," he called out.
An expression of ludicrous surprise crossed his face. It was as if he'd forgotten she lived there. "Caro. I'm sorry."
Fascinated and breathless, she stared at the triangle of manly chest and its sprinkle of dark curling hair in the open neck of his shirt. She ought to look away, but her gaze remained stuck on a hollow at the base of his strong column of throat. In such careless disarray, he had the look of a ravening pirate, a dashingly handsome one.
Lifting her gaze to his face, she observed the smug curve to his lips. A black eyebrow rose in question. This time, he definitely knew what she was thinking. Fire flamed in her face.
"You look stunning," he said.
A compliment? She blinked with surprise, peering into his face in search of sarcasm. Finding none, and feeling a tiny dash of confidence, she bobbed a brave curtsey and attempted a friendly smile. It felt more like the fatuous grin of a besotted schoolgirl. "Why, thank you, my lord." She dropped an arch glance to his chest. "I wish I could say the same about you."
He cursed softly and clutched at his shirtfront.
A little surge of triumph lifted her spirits. The ability to discomfort wasn't all one-sided, it seemed. "I'll meet you downstairs," she said and continued on her way.
On reaching the first floor landing, she glanced up. He stood motionless staring down at her, the chiseled lines of his face set in hard planes and shadowed valleys like some dark angel. She shivered. He caught her eye and turned away.
* * *
Whatever Caro had expected, the crowds on Bow Street outside Convent Garden Theater exceeded it by far as the coach drew to a halt. Jarveys, theater-goers from of all walks of life, and liveried footmen jostled for position in front of the brightly lit portico.
Mr. Rivers, Lucas's cousin, a thin, dark-haired man of some forty years with a serious demeanor, assisted his mother down, while Lucas attended to Caro. A rough-looking fellow pushed past them with a woman sporting a tawdry blue gown, a quantity of flamboyant red feathers, and the heavy scent of roses.
"Take care of Lady Foxhaven, Lucas," Mr. Rivers said. "There are cutpurses among the riffraff, I'm afraid."
"She is perfectly safe with me," Lucas replied. Nonetheless, he drew her tight to his side like some treasured object he'd hate to lose.
"Is it always like this?" she gasped, narrowly avoiding a foot-skewering from an elderly gentleman's walking stick.
"Pretty much," Lucas said, maneuvering them through the cheerful mob and up the columned staircase, closely followed by Mr. Rivers and his mother.
On the second floor, Lucas held back a red velvet curtain, and Caro entered Lord Stockbridge's rented box. She tiptoed to the front, put on her spectacles, and gasped. The fluted marble proscenium arch stretched to the high ceiling and framed a stage hidden by blue velvet curtains. A huge chandelier hung from a central rose to light the pit, and candelabras burned on the walls between each festooned box. Heat and the smell of tallow thickened the air, which throbbed with the noise of what looked like hundreds of people making their way to their seats.
Lucas joined her at the rail. "Does it meet with your approval?"
"Yes. It is enormous," she said.
The orchestra had already begun tuning their instruments in a cacophony of squeaks and groans.
"Mama tells me it's your first visit to the theater," Mr. Rivers murmured as he shepherded the doughty lady to a chair.
Caro untied the strings of her velvet cloak. "Yes, indeed. And my first real outing in London. I am thrilled." She smiled across at him.
Though his rather gaunt face remained stern, a friendly warmth glowed in Mr. Rivers's gaze. "Lucas, I must congratulate you on your choice of a bride. Her enthusiasm is refreshing."
As if he'd had some choice in the matter, Lucas smiled and bowed. "I could not agree more."
For his generosity, Caro cast him a grateful glance.
Aunt Rivers tutted softly from her corner. "I am glad you finally listened to your father, Foxhaven. It is time you took your responsibilities seriously."
Lucas's shoulders stiffened, and his smile faded.
"Now, Mother," Mr. Rivers said gently. "Foxhaven doesn't need you reminding him of his duty."
"Playing the peacemaker, cousin?" Lucas drawled. "My father would be glad to have you as his heir."
"Do you think I am waiting around to fill your shoes?" Mr. Rivers's tone sharpened a little. "I can assure you it is not my intention. I am fortunate your father recognizes my humble efforts."
"Too bad you can't use your influence with him where my affairs are concerned," Lucas said.
"Lord Stockbridge is perfectly reasonable," Mr. Rivers replied, "provided one always answers yes."
Lucas cracked a laugh. "I don't know how you tolerate his crustiness. You have my undying gratitude for relieving me of that burden."
"I aim to please."
The friendship between the two men gave Caro comfort. At least Lucas wasn't at odds with all of the members of his family. And it seemed through his cousin there might be a way for Lucas to effect a reconciliation with the autocratic Lord Stockbridge.
Adjusting her spectacles, Caro leaned forward and peered into a seething mass of gentlemen in beaver hats and ladies in bonnets adorned with feathers of every hue.
"We barely arrived in time," Aunt Rivers said with a brisk flick of her skirts as the orchestra struck up the opening bars. The deafening roar of conversation gradually subsided, and before many minutes Caro had lost herself in Shakespeare's words.