Unmasking Miss Lacey
‘Shall I lay out the cream silk, miss? That complements your skin beautifully. And we can do your hair à la Meduse—little ringlets, like so.’ And she made a few passing feints in the air. ‘I’ve been practising these past weeks and it shouldn’t take long.’
Lucinda glared at her, shaking herself free of the depression which had begun to lap insidiously at her spirits.
‘Lay out the drabbest gown you can find, Molly,’ she commanded imperiously, ‘and search for that dreadful shawl the vicar’s wife gave me. I wish to look a complete dowdy! That should send him beetling back to London in a hurry, for he will want his money and title to buy something a great deal better.’
When she saw who stood in the flagged hallway below, Lucinda almost turned tail for the sanctuary of her room. She faltered on the final two stairs and, but for her uncle’s intervention, might have fallen. A state of frozen horror engulfed her. At this very moment she stood facing the man she had attempted to rob! She was incredulous, dumbfounded.
‘Allow me to present my niece to you, Lord Frensham—Miss Lucinda Lacey.’ Francis Devereux danced fussily around them. ‘Lucinda, this is the Earl of Frensham.’
‘Jack Beaufort,’ he said, bowing low over her hand.
‘My lord.’
Her tone was coldly formal and the curtsy she bobbed perfunctory. She was forcing herself to present an indifferent face, but it was a titanic struggle. To maintain composure when her mind was besieged by terrors! Had he recognised her? Was it possible that he saw, in the badly dressed girl before him, the highwayman of a few hours ago? Please, no, she prayed. She had recognised him immediately.
Slowly she emerged from the first sickening sense of shock and, under cover of her uncle’s monologue, snatched a covert glance. He wasn’t what she’d expected. Nor, she was sure, what her uncle had expected. The man appeared completely at his ease, his air of confidence pervading the vast hall and metaphorically rattling the suits of armour which punctuated its panelled walls in dreary sequence. His dress was elegance incarnate, down to the last burnished tassel swinging from his gleaming Hessians, and, if not precisely handsome, he made a striking figure. A small scar punctured his left cheek and the way that a lock of dark hair fell across his brow almost meeting it, gave him the look of a pirate. He needed only the eye patch and he would be complete. She could see why he had overpowered her so easily for, though tall, he was solidly built. His form told of many hours of punishing sport and she thought he would revel in it. Even his name—Jack Beaufort—had a piratical tang.
‘We are delighted that you were able to visit, your lordship,’ Francis Devereux oozed, his plump cheeks puffed with pride.
‘I am delighted to be at Verney Towers and to make your acquaintance.’ The words were right, but the man’s expression suggested otherwise. His was a smile of false pleasure, Lucinda decided.
‘It is a great honour to welcome you to our house, Lord Frensham, no matter what the hour.’
Sir Francis, she noted, was unable to resist a rebuke even to his prize guest, but the earl seemed not to notice. ‘I regret the necessity of arriving so late,’ he said smoothly, ‘but I was forced to hire a conveyance from the Four Feathers, an inn a few miles from here.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Devereux said eagerly. ‘We know the Feathers well. But why did you not continue the journey in your own carriage? I would have been more than glad to house your cattle.’
‘That is most kind, Sir Francis, but unhappily it was not possible.’ She saw a small smile appear at the corners of the earl’s mouth and knew that he was enjoying himself. ‘You see, I was set upon by a robber, a gentleman of the road as I believe they call themselves. He cut the traces and made it impossible for me to continue. I was forced to ride to the inn to secure help.’
‘But that is dreadful.’ Francis Devereux’s face was stricken. ‘Quite dreadful. A highwayman, you say. But we have not had highwaymen in Sussex for many a year.’
‘You have now,’ the earl remarked laconically.
‘But where did this dreadful event occur? Were you or your company hurt? What valuables were you forced to hand over?’
The questions rained down and she could see their guest exercising severe restraint to stop himself from laughing aloud. The ambush had disturbed her uncle acutely and he had forgotten his society manners in the clamour to know every last detail.
‘Please do not concern yourself. Nothing was taken and neither of us was hurt.’
‘Neither?’ Sir Francis looked puzzled.
‘I was travelling alone except for my coachman.’
‘Only a coachman!’ This seemed to exercise Sir Francis even more than the attempted robbery. ‘But my dear sir how could you be so imprudent?’
‘Lynton, my valet, will follow in a few days.’
Francis appeared to be working himself into a small paroxysm. ‘This robbery …’ he began for the third or fourth time.
‘Nothing was taken,’ the earl reminded him.
‘But it could have ended in disaster. We cannot have such a thing happening again, not in our quiet Sussex lanes.’
‘In fact, a quiet Sussex forest,’ Jack interjected, evidently hoping to annoy.
Sir Francis began to wring his hands. ‘But to have this threat on our very doorstep …’
She could almost see Jack Beaufort sigh inwardly. His host was not going to forget. She was sure that he had mentioned his adventure to see its effect, no doubt a small amusement in a vale of tedium. And now he had seen it and amusement was not the first word that sprang to mind.
In an attempt to deflect his host, he said, ‘I could always call in the Runners if you are seriously concerned. I have some small influence at Bow Street.’
The older man leapt upon the suggestion. ‘Yes, Bow Street. That’s the thing. I should be most grateful if you would do so, my lord.’
At these words, Lucinda felt her body stiffen. It was involuntary, the smallest of movements, and she prayed that her adversary had not noticed her recoil. She turned her head very slightly and met a pair of the deepest brown eyes. They wore a mere whisper of curiosity, but they were fixed intently on her. He had noticed, she thought, with misgiving, but what would he make of it?
It was clear that the girl had not liked the suggestion of a Runner. He could not imagine why that might be, but he hoped it might provoke her into speech. She had hardly said a word, standing mute and expressionless, beside her uncle. He was unused to such cavalier treatment, especially from a nondescript provincial. She was small and drab, but what else had he expected. She appeared to be dressed in a brown sack for that was all he could call it: a shapeless, mud-coloured garment that looked as though it had been worn to clean the scullery. Beneath his fascinated gaze, she had pulled a shawl of the vilest magenta stripes more closely around her shoulders.
She appeared nervous, too, or so he had at first thought. That was hardly surprising, ill dressed as she was and no doubt unused to company. She had almost tripped as she came down the stairs towards him. But straightening up from his bow, he’d been met by a pair of mutinous blue eyes. In the sparse candlelight of the bleak hall, they were pure sapphire. This was no shy ingénue, made uneasy by their meeting. Intrigued, he’d looked more intently at her. In response she’d averted her glance and quite deliberately looked through him. He was taken aback. He had no intention of making her or anyone else an offer of marriage, but she could not know that. She would imagine that he had come with courtship in mind and she was behaving as though he were the last man in the world she wanted to see. Miss Lacey was an enigma, but there was something, too, that was strangely familiar about her. He couldn’t put his finger on it.
Not that he wanted to, for he was already cursing himself for having embarked on this journey. He must have been mad to agree to his sisters’ suggestion. He’d risked robbery tonight—possibly worse—in order to visit a man he’d taken in immediate dislike and a girl who radiated disdain. Rescue could not come quickly enough. A fervid image floated in the air before him: Fielding racing his team of greys up the gravelled drive and pulling the coach to a welcome halt. He could almost smell the cloud of dust.
He’d had to get out of town: that was clear enough. London was getting just a little too hot for him, the duel a step too far. And the constant scolding of his sisters had become intolerable. At the time it seemed a clever ploy, disappearing from London society for a few weeks to allow the gossip to quieten, while at the same time fulfilling his family’s wishes. But now it no longer seemed quite so clever. In fact, it was quite possibly one of the worst decisions he had ever made. The sooner he was on his way to Merry’s and the congenial shooting party that awaited him, the better.
Verney Towers! The house was a barrack of a place, grandiose and uncomfortable in equal measure. Why had he allowed himself to be persuaded here? The scandal with Celia Burrage would have died a death soon enough. Ton gossip had a short life and, after all, he had done no more than many. His was not the first duel to be fought over an errant wife, nor would it be the last. But in future he would eschew the married ladies of his acquaintance, accommodating though they were, and find his fun elsewhere. That shouldn’t be too difficult. There were plenty of chère amies to keep the boredom at bay, barques of frailty more than willing to spend his money. As for his three taskmasters—he should be immune to his sisters’ reproaches by now. That they should imagine he would honour some insane pledge of their grandfather’s had seemed ridiculous when they’d told him. Now it left him speechless.
They might be rendered speechless, too, if they saw for themselves the bride they were proposing. It wasn’t that she was bad looking. Indeed, he imagined that those eyes could be fascinating when they weren’t so evidently affronted and the straw-blonde locks entrancing when not scraped into the most unbecoming bun he had ever seen. But they were of a piece with the rest of her appearance: she made no attempt to attract, no attempt to interest or entice. Nothing, in short, that would persuade him to stay a minute longer than he needed. As soon as his travelling coach was once more roadworthy, he would make his escape.
Chapter Two
Lucinda woke early the next morning to the sound of creaks and rustlings as the old house settled itself to endure the coming winter. A sliver of bright light encircled the window frame and she threw back the curtains to a perfect autumn day. The sky was a blue sphere, untarnished by even a wisp of cloud. The air was still, the trees motionless, standing tall and proud, clothed in their last glowing leaves. It was a morning to be out, out and away from these musty walls and from the memory of yesterday’s disasters.
She dared not think about Jack Beaufort and what he might do. If he were to recognise the figure that had ambushed him, she was powerless to save herself. He might have recognised her already—she felt a spark of terror pinch at her heart. He had certainly looked at her closely enough, but that might have been simple curiosity. He would wish to inspect the woman his sisters were proposing he make his wife. He must have suffered a gross disappointment. Even in her present dire situation, Lucinda had to chuckle at the likely effect of that hideous brown gown and the even more hideous shawl. If they had not completely repelled him, then her air of cold boredom should have completed the task. She wished now that she hadn’t acted quite so badly and not just because of her uncle’s inevitable scolding. She had to confess that the earl fascinated. He was quite different from any man she had met: he was fashionable, elegant, beautifully mannered, but so were others. He was a rascal, she thought, that was what marked him out—the scar, those eyes, the wicked enjoyment of seeing Sir Francis and his pomposity deflate with fear. But she must tread warily: she must never forget that he could undo her at any moment. Her future was in his hands.
But that of Rupert was in hers. She knew that she must plead with her uncle to change his mind, to pay the money that would liberate her brother. It would be a final appeal to his affections, though in truth he had none. Once he had issued a decree, this soft and flaccid man was granite. Rupert had to be punished and more brutally than ever. Francis had failed to bring him to heel, to inculcate in him the imperative of family honour, and for that there could be no mitigation. It was terrifying to feel that she alone stood between her brother and an early death, but today was a morning to shake off such black thoughts. She would ride far and away and consign Francis, his house and his guest to oblivion.
In half an hour she was in the saddle and urging her mount along one of the chalk cart tracks which led to the Downs. The horse was in no mood to hurry and she had constantly to spur him forward. After her whirlwind ride last night, it felt unbearably slow. Once on the Downs, though, her mount grudgingly picked up speed until she was riding at full gallop along one of the highest ridges. In the translucent light of early morning, she could see in the far distance the smudge of coast and the sea, calm as a fathomless mirror.
She galloped on until her breath was all but spent. Slowing to manoeuvre her way around a thicket of bushes, she heard hooves coming from the opposite direction. It was unusual to meet another rider on this vast expanse of downland, and particularly so early in the day. She dropped to a walk and rounded the bushes cautiously. Not cautiously enough, for almost before she knew it, she had met the other rider head-on. She began to apologise for her clumsiness but then found herself looking into the sardonic face of Jack Beaufort. Her apologies stuttered to a close.
‘You,’ she exclaimed ungraciously. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Good morning, Miss Lacey. How delightful to meet you once more.’ The irony was unmistakable. ‘You must forgive me for not realising that I was trespassing. I apologise for my ignorance.’
Her face turned red. ‘I am sure you know, Lord Frensham, that downland is rarely private. You startled me—I had not expected to see you here and so early.’
He sat back on his horse, perfectly at ease. Arrogantly at ease, she thought. The firm chin and the set mouth spoke of a man who would not easily yield.
‘There is a simple explanation for my early ride. I could not sleep. I trust this is not an indelicate question, but does Verney Towers by chance play host to the spirit world?’
‘There are no ghosts, if that is what you mean.’
‘No murdered husbands or wives for ever immured within its walls?’
‘The house has led a blameless life.’
‘Then the noises …?’
‘It creaks and groans with changes in the weather.’
‘How very disappointing! I have been imagining a hundred different tales, each of them more bloodcurdling than the one before.’
‘The only death at the Towers is like to be from boredom,’ she said tartly.
He could not prevent a grin lighting his face. ‘And is that your opinion of Sussex society in general?’
‘I imagine that society is much the same everywhere.’ Her tone was dismissive.
‘Where else have you known?’ It was a sly question.
‘I have lived a narrow and entirely parochial life, your lordship, as I am sure you are aware. But I doubt that I would go on in London any differently than I do here.’
His eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘But if you have never partaken of London’s attractions, how can you be sure that you do not undervalue them?’
‘I cannot be sure, of course, but it is inevitable that given time they would pall.’
‘In that case, let us do our small best to keep life’s boredom at bay. I wonder if you would care to walk. The day is splendid and we ought not to waste it.’
She should ride on. Walking with him was dangerous, the last thing she should do, but the grin had metamorphosed into the sweetest of smiles and she found herself acquiescing. He slid from his saddle and in seconds was at her side, helping her dismount. She was aware of the strong arm beneath her elbow, the strong fingers on hers, but she winced as his hand brushed against her wrist.
‘You are hurt, Miss Lacey?’
There was a momentary pause before she replied. ‘I was in the garden yesterday and foolishly attempted to unearth a small bush without tools.’
‘And what had the bush done to earn your displeasure?’
‘It was in the wrong place,’ she said shortly.
He gave a mock sigh. ‘So often our troubles are down to that one small fact, don’t you find—being in the wrong place?’
She gazed sharply towards him, but his face was innocent of suspicion. She was tense, agitated: that was the trouble, she chided herself, jumping at words that meant nothing.
They tethered the horses to the largest of the bushes and began to stroll towards the sun. She kept a clear distance from him, following a separate but parallel path.
He ignored her deliberate aloofness, but his words when he spoke sounded a challenge. ‘I hope that my visit has not incommoded you.’
‘My uncle’s guests rarely disturb me,’ she hit back. That was true since visitors were unknown at Verney Towers, but she had not meant to speak so rudely; she felt flustered and uncomfortable and had no idea why.
‘I am greatly relieved,’ he was saying, the wry pull of his mouth undermining the sentiment. ‘My stay is to be brief, but I would not wish you to be inconvenienced.’
‘How brief?’
The bald question left him unfazed. ‘If I had not had the misfortune to meet with some desperado on the road, I would even now be in the next county, enjoying the company of Lord Merrington and his friends.’
Was his mention of a desperado a tease? Had he guessed? Her heart was in her mouth and she dared not look at him, dared not speak, for she knew she would be unable to keep the tremble from her voice. The only sound was the soft swishing of her skirts against the tufted grass. If only she had not chosen him of all people to rob … but she must give nothing away.
‘I am sorry your plans have gone awry,’ she managed at last, ‘but if your intention was to stay only one night with us, it seems hardly worth your while to call.’ Once more she was sounding ungracious, she thought, little better than a badly brought-up schoolgirl.
‘I would not be so harsh, Miss Lacey. If I had not found my way to Verney Towers, I would never have had the pleasure of meeting you or your esteemed uncle.’ His voice was bland, but when she shot a glance at him she saw that his eyes sparkled with enjoyment.
He continued to talk, as smooth as caramel. ‘My sisters will be delighted, too, for I came at their behest. They wished me to make your acquaintance and, since I planned to travel to Hampshire, it needed only a small diversion to find my way here.’
‘I do not know your sisters, Lord Frensham, and cannot imagine why they were so eager that you should meet me.’
‘It is hard to credit, is it not, but their eagerness sprang from some ridiculous story they were told. They got it from a very old aunt who died quite recently. I wonder if you have heard the same tale.’
‘Are you referring to our grandfathers and the promise they made each other?’
‘Precisely. It is a fantasy and maudlin beyond belief. But for some reason the story has taken hold of their imaginations and they will not let it go.’
The story was maudlin and should be buried as quickly as possible. For the first time since they met, she felt in charity with him. ‘I fear that Uncle Francis is as enthusiastic as your sisters,’ she was moved to confess.
He pushed the stray lock of hair from his forehead in an impatient gesture and she saw that he was frowning. ‘It is amazing, is it not, that otherwise sensible people should concern themselves with such flummery. Such a proposition belongs to the last century—two people who have not a thought in common, to be pushed together, only because their families wish to be united!’
‘I believe that many people still find arranged marriages acceptable.’ She did not intend to be too much in charity with him.
‘That may be so, but I am not one of them.’
‘Then you did not come as a suitor?’
‘No, I did not,’ he said gently. ‘I hope that does not disappoint, but from our brief acquaintance, I imagine not.’ There was the shadow of a smile on his face.
It did not disappoint, of course it did not. The last thing she wanted was to be forced into allying herself with a stranger—allying herself with anyone. If she were ever tempted to consider matrimony, she had only to remember her mother’s history for the temptation to vanish as swiftly as morning dew. But still, in the back of her mind there was a small wistful thought: Jack Beaufort would make a handsome husband. She felt unbearably confused.
‘So why did you come—if you consider the story nonsense?’ she blurted out.
‘I confess that my visit was simply to stop my sisters’ infernal nagging.’
‘And will it?’
‘I doubt that. Their mission is to find a wife for me and they seem unable to resist any opportunity. But by calling on you, I have done as they asked and that surely must count for something.’
They had left the pathway and were strolling freely across the cropped grass, the sun warm on their faces. He was walking closer now and she was sharply aware of his proximity: the powerful athleticism of his figure, the lean, tanned face, the mocking dark eyes. She wished that she wasn’t enjoying his company quite so much. Then she sensed he was watching her intently and the spell was broken. He was assessing her, appraising her, she thought indignantly. It was time to cause him discomfort if she could.
‘I am beholden to my uncle for a home, your lordship, but you are free and independent. I cannot imagine why you would bend so easily to your sisters’ demands.’
‘That is because you have never met them.’ The slur on his manhood was brushed aside. ‘Georgina, the eldest, is overbearing and not easily gainsaid. Hester’s ceaseless complaining drives me to distraction and now Maria has joined forces with them and in the gentlest way possible has indicated that she wishes very much that I will soon bring a wife into the family. Together they are a formidable army.’
‘Would it not be easier therefore to settle on a bride of your own choosing? I understand from my uncle that you have the pick of London beauties.’
‘Surely Sir Francis could not be guilty of such vulgarity!’
Her unguarded remark had met the derision it deserved and she was left feeling gauche. But after several minutes he appeared to relent and, stopping close, he fixed on her a pair of candid brown eyes.
‘I see I must make a full confession. The truth is, Miss Lacey, I have no intention of ever marrying. My sole hope in coming here was to secure a breathing space before the next onslaught.’
She looked up at him, wrinkling her nose in disbelief. ‘It sounds as though you are fighting a battle.’
‘It feels so. You have not experienced the full ferocity of a London Season, I believe, or you would understand.’
‘I am grateful to my uncle for sparing me that at least. But I think you protest too much. I understand that you are a grand matrimonial prize and courted avidly. It seems to me that you cannot be so averse to ton circles.’
The earl shrugged his shoulders impatiently. ‘You have that from your uncle, too, I imagine. What other morsels has he seen fit to communicate?’
‘He implied that your name is often linked to others. Would it not be sensible to marry one of your devotees as soon as possible?’
The grin was back, but he schooled his voice to sound reproving. ‘You should not listen to gossip. Come, we must walk on. The sun is warm enough, but it does not do to be standing too long.’