“My marriage wasn’t really a marriage at all—it was a rescue.” Lucinda frowned, her gaze dropping to her tapestry. “You must remember I was only sixteen at the time—and Charles was nearing fifty. He was very kind—we were good friends.” Her voice low, she added, “Nothing more.” Straightening her shoulders, she reached for her scissors, “Life, I fear, has passed me by—I’ve been put back on the shelf without having been properly off it in the first place.”
“I…see.” Em blinked owlishly at the tips of her half-boots, peeking from beneath her dirtied hem. A broad smile slowly broke across her face. “You know—your…er, inexperience is not really a handicap, not in your case. In fact,” she continued, her old eyes lighting, “it could well be a positive advantage.”
It was Lucinda’s turn to look puzzled.
“You see, you have to think of it from your prospective husband’s point of view.” Eyes wide, Em turned to face her. “What he’ll see is a mature and capable woman, one of superior sense who can manage his household and family while at the same time providing more—” she paused to gesture “—satisfying companionship than a young girl ever could. If you make no show of your innocence, but allow him to—” she gestured again as she groped for words “—stumble on it in good time, I’m sure you’ll find he’ll be only too delighted.” With a last shrewd glance at Lucinda’s face, Em added, “I’m sure Harry would be.”
Lucinda’s eyes narrowed. She favoured her impossible hostess with a long stare. Then, looking down to tidy her needlework, she asked, “Has he ever shown any interest in marrying?”
“Harry?” Em sat back, a smile on her lips. “Not that I ever heard. But then, he’s never had need to—there’s Jack before him and Gerald behind. Jack’s about to marry—I just got a summons to the wedding. So Harry’s thoughts are unlikely to turn to gold rings and white icing—not, that is, unless he’s given an incentive to pursue the subject.”
“Incentive?”
“Hmm. Often the case with gentlemen in that particular mould—won’t have a bar of marriage until the benefits become so blatantly obvious that even they, with their blinkered vision, can see it.” Em snorted. “It’s all the fault of the light-skirts, of course. Lining up to give them anything they want—whatever their lusts desire—without any strings attached.”
“I suspect,” Lucinda said, her expression guarded, Harry’s “No” echoing in her ears, “that it would take a fairly…powerful incentive to make Harry actively desire to be wed.”
“Naturally—Harry’s all male to his toes. He’ll be as reluctant as the best of them, I don’t doubt. He’s lived a life of unfettered hedonism—he’s hardly likely to volunteer to change.” Em brought her gaze back to Lucinda’s face. “Not, of course that that should deter you.”
Lucinda’s head came up; she met Em’s old eyes and saw in them a wealth of understanding. She hesitated for only a moment. “Why not?”
“Because, as I see it, you’ve got the most powerful weapon in your hands already—the only one that’ll work.” Em sat back and shrewdly regarded Lucinda. “Question is, are you game enough to use it?”
For a long moment, Lucinda stared at her hostess—then shifted her gaze to the gardens. Em sat patiently watching her—slim, dark-haired, fingers clasped in her lap, her expression calm and uninformative, a faraway look in her soft blue eyes.
At length, the blue eyes slowly turned back to Em. “Yes,” Lucinda stated, calm and determined. “I’m game.”
Em grinned delightedly. “Good! The first thing you’ll need to understand is that he’ll resist for all he’s worth. He’ll not come to the idea meekly—you can’t expect it of him.”
Lucinda frowned. “So I’ll have to put up with more of this…” It was her turn to gesture as she sought for words. “This uncertainty?”
“Undoubtedly,” Em averred. “But you’ll have to hold firm to your purpose. And your plan.”
Lucinda blinked. “Plan?”
Em nodded. “It’ll take a subtle campaign to bring Harry to his knees.”
Lucinda couldn’t help but smile. “His knees?”
Em gave her a haughty look. “Of course.”
Head on one side, Lucinda eyed her unpredictable hostess. “What do you mean by ‘subtle’?”
“Well.” Em settled in her chair. “For instance…”
“GOOD EVENING, Fergus.”
“Good evening, sir.”
Harry allowed his aunt’s butler to relieve him of his greatcoat, then handed him his driving gloves. “Is my brother here?” Harry turned to the mirror hanging above the ormolu table.
“Master Gerald arrived half an hour ago. In his new phaeton.”
Harry’s lips twitched. “Ah, yes—his latest achievement.” He made an almost imperceptible adjustment to the folds of his crisply white cravat.
“Your aunt will be delighted to see you, sir.”
Harry met Fergus’s eyes in the mirror. “No doubt.” He let his lids fall, veiling his eyes. “Who else is here?”