An Unwilling Conquest (Regencies 7)

She watched as, with a frigid air that barely avoided incivility, Melthorpe bowed and withdrew. Lucinda frowned at the door as it shut behind him.

There was little possibility she had misread his manner—she had too many years’ experience of servants and underlings. The man had looked at her, treated her, as if…It was a moment before she could correctly place his behaviour. When she did, she was dumbstruck.

The door opened and Agatha appeared, a footman with Lucinda’s case immediately behind. Lucinda watched as her maid, dourly severe as only she could be, instructed the footman to place the case by the dressing-table, then closed the door behind him.

“Well!” Agatha turned to face her.

Lucinda noted the speculation in Agatha’s old eyes, but did not respond. From experience, she knew she would get more information if she let Agatha deliver it in her own fashion. And she was suddenly very curious about Asterley Place.

Stripping off her gloves, she threw them on the bed—a wide four-poster with a tasselled canopy. Her bonnet followed. Then she spread her skirts and considered them. “Hmm—too crushed. I’ll change into my new tea gown, just until dinner.”

Agatha humphed as she bent to the case buckles. “I haven’t seen much of them yet, but they do seem a stylish lot. A goodly gaggle of snooty gentlemen’s gentlemen in the kitchens as I passed—and from the looks of some of the lady’s maids I reckon there’ll be fights over the curling tongs before nightfall. Best let me do your hair up, too.”

“Later.” Lucinda glanced at her reflection in the mirror over the dressing table. “There’ll be time before dinner.”

“Six, they said. Midway between country and town.” Agatha pulled an armful of dresses from the case. “Did hear one of them mention that they have it that way so there’ll be more of the evening for ‘their little games,’ whatever that might mean.”

“Games?” Perhaps the Asterley household amused themselves with the usual country house parlour games? Lucinda frowned. The vision of Lord Asterley and the buxom Marguerite presiding over such entertainments wasn’t convincing. Lips firming, Lucinda stood. “Come—help me change. I want to meet the other guests before dinner.”

As she’d been told, they were in the conservatory. It was an unusually large version built on at the back of the house and filled with potted palms to create a leafy grotto. There was a tiled pool at its centre; the guests were gathered about it, some in wicker chairs, others standing chatting in groups.

One glance made Lucinda very glad she had changed. They were indeed a stylish lot, confident, gaily plumed birds nestling within the greenery. She nodded to Mrs Walker, an elegant widow, and Lady Morcombe, a dashing matron, both of whom she had met in town.

“My dear Mrs Babbacombe.” Marguerite rustled forward. “Pray let me introduce you to Lord Dewhurst—he’s only just returned from Europe and so has yet to meet you.”

Lucinda calmly returned Lord Dewhurst’s greetings while inwardly gauging her companions. She could detect nothing odd to account for her flickering nerves. “Indeed,” she replied to Lord Dewhurst’s query. “I’ve quite enjoyed my time in town. But the balls are becoming a trifle…” S

he gestured. “Overdone—don’t you find it so? So crowded one can hardly hear one’s self think. And as for breathing…”

His lordship laughed, a smooth, suave sound. “Indeed, my dear. Little gatherings such as this are much more convenable.”

The subtle emphasis he placed on the last word had Lucinda glancing up at him. His lordship looked down at her, a warm light in his eyes.

“I’m sure you’ll discover, my dear, that at Asterley Place, it’s very easy to find both time and place to…think.”

Lucinda stared at him. Before she could gather her wits, he took her hand and bowed low.

“Should you find yourself wishful of company, my dear, pray don’t hesitate to call on me. I can be exceedingly thoughtful, I assure you.”

“Ah—yes. That is,” desperate, Lucinda wrestled her wits into order, “I’ll bear your offer in mind, my lord.” She inclined her head, somewhat stiffly.

She waited while his lordship bowed again then gracefully strolled away. Then dragged in a quick breath—and cast another, much more critical, look about her.

And wondered how she could have been so blind. Every one of the ladies present was undoubtedly that, but they were all either widowed or married, all of unquestionable breeding yet of an age when, it might be imagined, they might have a very real interest in indulging in discreet liaisons.

As for the gentlemen, they were each and every one of a type she recognised all too well.

Before she had time to think further, Lord Asterley strolled up.

“My dear Mrs Babbacombe—can’t tell you how thrilled I was to learn of your interest in our little gatherings.”

“My interest?” Lucinda swallowed her amazement and politely if coolly raised her brows.

Lord Asterley smiled knowingly; she half-expected him to wink and nudge her elbow. “Well—perhaps not especially in our gatherings, but in the type of entertainment we all find so…” his lordship gestured expansively “…fulfilling.” He looked down at her. “I do hope, my dear, that, should you feel so inclined, you won’t hesitate to call on me—to help enliven your stay here?”

Clinging to polite form, Lucinda inclined her head; as she could find no suitable words in which to answer his lordship, she left him to think what he would.

He beamed and bowed; to her chagrin, Lucinda found it very hard to feel indignant with one so openly cheery. She nodded and drifted to the pool. There was a seat vacant beside Mrs Allerdyne, a tonnish widow who, Lucinda now realised, was probably not quite as virtuous as she appeared.