Lady Lucy's Lover (15 page)

“Yes, so very frightened. He is… he is going to
force
me to pleasure him as… as… revenge.”

“Then you will come home with me immediately,” said Ann briskly. “No, don't ring for your maid. Leave everything. My servants can fetch your trunks in the morning and you shall stay with me until this ridiculous duel is over.”

“There will be no duel,” said Lucy. “For I am going to inform Bow Street.”

“Nonsense. If either Habard or Guy found out then
neither
of them would look at you again. You do not understand gentlemen and the emphasis they put on these affairs of honor.”

“Well, never mind,” said Lucy. “I must leave, and quickly.”

The two women crept down the stairs. The servants were all out of sight. Wilson, the butler, who had been listening at the door, had scurried away. If my lady left, it must appear to be without his knowledge.

Ann and Lucy emerged on the doorstep and were halted by an enraged shout from across the square.

The Marquess of Standish had seen them. His eyes gleaming dangerously in the flickering light of the parish lamps, he lurched toward them.

Lucy let out a little scream and clutched Ann.

And then a shot rang out. The Marquess felt a teriffic blow in his back and staggered forward. Lucy's white face seemed startlingly near and clear and then it began to blur and fade.

Making a superhuman effort, he lurched forward and fell by the steps at her feet, clutching a fold of her dress in his hand.

The house was in an uproar as servants tumbled out, shouting, “Hey, watch! Watch! Murder! Murder!” And then came the rickety clatter of the watchman's rattle at the end of the square.

Lucy knelt and pillowed Guy's head in her lap. For a moment his mind and his vision cleared. He knew he was dying, dying and leaving Lucy to Habard. He looked solemnly up into her eyes and whispered, “I love you, Lucy. D-don't m-marry anyone else.”

“Oh, I won't, Guy,” said Lucy with tears streaming down her face. “Of course I won't.”

The Marquess gave a little smile, a little cough, and died with his head in her lap. Ann Hartford, who had caught his last words, thought bitterly that it was like the man to be as self-centered in his last gasp as he had been in his life.

For a time it seemed as if Lucy would be suspected for the murder of her husband. Had not the servants heard her shouting that she would shoot him?

But when the furor died down and the servants realized that the Marchioness had inherited everything belonging to the Marquess, and after grumbling that it sounded like a very “Scotch arrangement” since they had been sure they and the property would go to a nephew, they made a turn-about and calmed down to present the true facts of the case—namely that the Marchioness had been locked in her room all day and had been on the point of leaving with Mrs. Hartford when the Marquess had been shot.

But ugly rumors still circulated. The Marquess had said he was to fight a duel with the Duke of Habard. The Marquess was an expert shot. The Duke of Habard was in love with the Marchioness. Therefore it followed that the couple had conspired to rid themselves of the unwanted husband.

Scandal sheets appeared in the booksellers' shops with cartoons of a painted and voluptuous-looking Lucy handing the Duke a gun, and, like Lady Macbeth saying, “If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly.”

A mob began to gather in Clarence Square daily—not so many weeks after the funeral was over—to jeer the little Marchioness every time she emerged from seclusion.

Lucy had not heard from the Duke of Habard. She herself had no intention of communicating with him ever again. Guilt had struck her like a hammer blow when the dying Guy had said he loved her. As time passed and the ugly rumors persisted, Lucy began to think that the Duke might possibly have done the deed. She did not realize that she was so anxious to expunge all thoughts of him from her mind that she was ripe to believe the worst.

At last, becoming increasingly afraid of the anger of the mob, Lucy decided to retreat to Standish, the Marquess's country home that she had only seen once before.

It was when she was driving through the village of Standish that the cure to all her miseries began to take place.

Her wide eyes noticed barefoot, shabby children playing in the dust outside rundown cottage doors.

Lucy's parents, for all their social climbing, had instilled in her the basic grounding for running a country estate.

“See the land is in good heart and the tenants are clothed and fed,” her father had said, “and you will have no fear of riots.”

Standish itself was an old Tudor mansion which was fortunately in better repair than the village, the old Marquess having put a great deal of money into the restoration. Lucy settled down to her new role with a will, interviewing the steward and then the tenant farmers, the vicar, and the tenants themselves, and beginning to feel an easing of the pain and worry over her husband's death as she lost herself in all this activity.

The money the Marquess had milked out of the estate had been quite amazing, and with this new shattering proof of her late husband's sheer self-interest, a little of the guilt she felt over his death began to disappear.

Although the Marquess had left staggering debts, the steward, a very sensible man called Mr. Joseph Berry, pointed out that without the immense drain on the estate caused by his lordship's bills, they should very shortly come about. Lucy gave instructions that the hunting box in Leicester was to be sold and the townhouse in Clarence Square. The proceeds from these sales were to be ploughed into the Standish estate and the estate in the north. The steward reflected there was a lot to be said for her ladyship coming from the more practical-minded middle class rather than the aristocracy. She seemed to have no interest in keeping up appearances and promptly put all her jewels up for sale.

She gave instructions that the furniture from the townhouse should be sent to Standish with the exception of the clocks. She did not think she could bear the sound of all that ticking and tocking again.

Ann Hartford arrived after Lucy had been in residence for some months, bringing her husband with her, and the intelligence that the authorities had decided the Marquess's death was the result of an attack by some footpad. She did not mention the Duke of Habard. She did, however, bring some disquieting news. Ann had agreed to supervise the carting of the furniture from Clarence Square. She said she had found that the Marquess's study had been ransacked. Papers were lying all over the floor and furniture had been overturned. It was assumed the burglars had been surprised and had not had time to take anything of value.

Two days after her arrival, Ann was seated in the cheerful, sunny morning room, helping Lucy repair curtains for the drawing room, when she suddenly put down her sewing and said, “Lucy. I did not like to speak of this so soon after Guy's death but it has been preying on my mind. You are young and pretty—too young and pretty to be burdened with the cares of the estate.”

“I have an excellent steward,” said Lucy in surprise. “I told you, Ann. Without Guy taking thousands and thousands of pounds out of the exchequer of the estate, we should soon be extremely prosperous again. Did you not notice? All the houses in Standish have been repaired and the church has set up a clothes fund. And not before time. The people were so poor and ill-cared-for that they were on the point of burning Standish to the ground! How Guy could let things come to such a pass…”

“Well, he could and he did and he did not care a rap for anyone other than himself. Which is what I want to talk to you about. Do you remember his last words?”

“Often,” said Lucy in a low voice. “To think that he
did
love me.”

“Fiddle! That young man was selfish to the last—and his last dying thought was that you should not be happy!”

“Oh, no,” said Lucy, her eyes filling with tears. “He
must
have meant it.”

“Oh, Lucy, I would not hurt you for worlds, but did he ever do anything in the short span of your marriage that showed he cared one rap for you?”

Lucy thought. She remembered Guy saying her parents had bought his title, she remembered his infidelity, his lies, his gambling, and his drunkenness. And she then remembered the times he appeared warm and caring.

“Oh, I don't know. I can't think,” she said wretchedly.

“You see, there is Habard to think of,” said Ann, twisting a piece of silk round and round in her thin fingers.

“But you said… we finally agreed that he had only been philandering.”

Ann looked out at the gray autumn sky and the clouds of scarlet and gold leaves hopping and tumbling across the lawns. “Well…” she said hesitantly. “It appears that he
should
marry you.”

“Marry? What can you mean?”

“It is put about that his mama was
not
in residence and that you were alone together at Mullford Hall.”

“Is there no end to all this spite and malice?” said Lucy. “Not only was his mother very much in residence but most of his relatives.”

“But the Duchess is saying herself that he sent them all packing and that she herself went off on a visit the last two days, leaving you alone together.”

Ann watched as Lucy's face turned scarlet. Lucy was remembering how glad she had been when the Duchess had not joined them for dinner and how she had assumed that Her Grace was sulking in her room, having her meals from a tray.

“But Simon would never… he would have told me!” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“He is a
gentleman
!” said Lucy hotly.

“A gentleman who has not been near you since Guy's death,” said Ann, picking up her sewing and stabbing a needle into the brocade.

“But how could he?” said Lucy reasonably. “There were ugly rumors. We were both being accused of the murder. To have been seen together at all would have been folly.”

“But he could have written to you.”

Lucy gave a little sigh and echoed sadly, “Yes, he could have written to me.”

“Well, either his mama is lying, which from all accounts is a thing she does quite often, or you are compromised. But one way or t'other, the world believes you to have been compromised and Habard is expected to make an offer when your period of mourning is over.”

“I cannot marry him.”

“I thought you cared for him.”

“Oh, I did,” said Lucy. “But perhaps I was mistaken and besides you are probably right. He was probably only amusing himself. It's all my fault. I wanted to make Guy jealous and I asked Simon to be my lover.”

“You
what
?”

“Well, you suggested…”

“Oh, my wretched tongue. This is dreadful.”

“I did not sleep with him,” said Lucy in a low voice. “He… he kept suggesting I try to repair my marriage… even when I threw myself at him.”

Ann's thin face registered every degree of surprise.

“I think the man must have been in love with you after all,” she said at last.

But Lucy shook her head. “There were times,” she sighed, “when I began to think his feelings might be deeply touched. But I was there and I was available. That is all. I shall not see him again.”

“Fiddle,” said Ann briskly. “You cannot molder here in the country forever. Come back to Town with us for a few weeks.”

“I am quite happy here,” said Lucy. “I have so much work to do, it stops me from… thinking.”

Lucy suddenly felt she had to get away from her friend. She wanted to be alone to think.

“I feel very hot indoors,” said Lucy, rising to her feet. “I think I shall go for a walk on the grounds.”

Ann opened her mouth to point out that the room was in fact becoming very chilly but she saw the distress in Lucy's eyes and contented herself by saying instead, “I shall not accompany you, Lucy dear. Giles is to join me presently.”

Lucy walked out of the house into the flying wind under the flying clouds. The cloak she was wearing was the one she had worn when he had walked with her in the gardens.

Then she remembered the intensity in his voice when he had held the swing and said, “You enchant me.”

But Lucy could not believe he loved her. The Marquess had taken away from her all self-esteem. She no longer saw a pretty girl when she looked in the glass but an insipid and colorless blond.

The blast from a horn blown on the wind from the direction of the south lodge made her frown.

Visitors.

For once, she was going to hide and leave Ann to do the entertaining.

She hid behind the wide, dark green skirts of a cedar and watched.

A muddy traveling carriage flanked by outriders appeared at a bend in the drive.

Seated on the box with his coachman beside him, his long hands holding the reins, was the Duke of Habard.

Lucy stepped out from the shelter of the trees.

His head jerked around and he reined in his team and then sat for a few moments looking down at the reins in his hands.

Then he gave instructions to the coachman who took his place and he jumped lightly down.

He was dressed in a scarlet garrick redingote with a top hat with vertical sides and a narrow brim set to a nicety on his crisp black hair.

He was more handsome than she had remembered, and more formidable.

“Lady Standish,” he said, making her a low bow. “I present my compliments and also my condolences over your bereavement.”

“Thank you,” said Lucy faintly.

He surveyed her in silence and Lucy felt constrained to speak.

“Did you… have you come to stay with us, Your Grace? I did not receive your letter.”

“I came without writing first,” he answered. “Pray forgive me. I have a certain business matter to discuss with you. If my stay will inconvenience you, I can put up at the inn at Standish.”