An Unwilling Conquest (Regencies 7)

Mrs Allerdyne turned as Lucinda subsided onto the wicker seat.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Babbacombe—or can I dispense with formality and call you Lucinda?”

Lucinda blinked at Henrietta Allerdyne’s charmingly gentle face. “Yes, of course.” Feeling as if her eyes had just been opened to yet another aspect of tonnish life, Lucinda, somewhat dazedly, glanced about her again.

“This is your first time here, isn’t it?” Henrietta leaned closer. “Marguerite mentioned it,” she explained when Lucinda switched her gaze back. “No need to feel awkward about it.” Henrietta patted Lucinda’s hand. “We’re all friends here, of course. The very last whisper in discretion—no need to fear any comments once you’re back in town.” Henrietta glanced around with the air of one entirely at her ease. “It’s been like that for years, ever since Harry started it.”

“Harry?” Lucinda’s breath stuck in her throat. “Harry Lester?”

“Mmm.” Henrietta was exchanging none-too-idle glances with an elegant gentleman across the room. “As I recall, Harry was the one who thought of the idea. Alfred simply implemented it to Harry’s directions.”

Harry—who had sent her here.

For an instant, Lucinda felt as if she would faint—the room receded into a dark mist; a chill spread through her. She swallowed; clenching her fists in her lap, she fought back the dizziness. When she could, she murmured, “I see.” Henrietta, engrossed with her gentleman, had not noticed her difficulty—nor her sudden pallor. Her cheeks felt icy; Lucinda grasped the moment to recoup, to let her senses settle. Then, with what nonchalance she could, she asked, “Does he often attend?”

“Harry?” Henrietta smilingly nodded to her gentleman and turned back. “Occasionally—he’s perennially invited but one never knows if he’ll show.” Henrietta’s smile turned affectionate. “Not one to run in anyone’s harness, Harry.”

“No, indeed!” Lucinda ignored the questioning look her tartness invoked. A rage unlike any she had ever experienced was rising within her.

Was her invitation here Harry’s way of showing her how he now viewed her? That she had become one with these ladies, dallying with any gentleman who took their fancy? Had he sent her here to experience the “congenial company” she had assured him she was seeking?

Or had he sent her here to teach her a lesson—and was planning to arrive just in time to rescue her from the consequences?

Her jaw set, her hands clenched, Lucinda abruptly stood. She felt like screaming, pacing the floor—throwing things!—she wasn’t sure which of his possible motives enraged her the most. She dragged in a deep breath. “I hope he comes,” she breathed through clenched teeth.

“Lucinda?” Henrietta leaned forward to peer up into her face. “Are you quite well?”

Rigid, Lucinda plastered a smile on her lips. “Perfectly, thank you.”

Henrietta didn’t look convinced.

Luckily, the gong sounded, sending them to their rooms. Lucinda reined in her impatience enough to accompany Henrietta to her door—then briskly strode down the corridor to the Blue Room.

“What have you heard?” she demanded of Agatha the instant the door shut behind her.

Agatha looked up from the navy blue silk gown she was laying out on the bed. She took one look at Lucinda’s face—and answered directly. “Not much—but nothing good. Lots of innuendo “bout what the nobs get up to o’nights. Doors opening and closing at all hours.” Agatha sniffed. “An’ such like.”

Lucinda sat at the dressing table and started pulling pins from her hair. She shot her maid a severe look. “What else?”

Agatha shrugged. “Seems like it’s the expected thing here—not just the odd couple or so, like happens anywhere.” The maid grimaced. “Did hear one of the footmen liken it to a set of coaching inns—one coach pulls in as the last’s pulling out.”

Lucinda sat back and stared at Agatha in the mirror. “Great heavens,” she finally said, somewhat weakly. Then she rallied—no matter what the general practice, she was confident that not one of the gentlemen present would force his attentions on an unwilling lady.

Her gaze fell on the navy silk gown. “Not that one.” Her eyes narrowed. “The silk gauze.”

Agatha straightened, hands on her hips. “The gauze?”

In the mirror, Lucinda raised haughty brows.

Agatha snorted. “’Tis barely decent.”

“For my purposes tonight, it’ll be perfect.” Lucinda drew out the last word to a literal purr. She wasn’t the one who would learn a lesson tonight.

Grumbling beneath her breath, Agatha put away the navy silk and drew out the shimmering silk gauze, its colour a silvery sky blue. Laying it carefully on the bed, she sniffed disapprovingly, then came up and started on Lucinda’s laces.

Lucinda tapped her comb on the table. “This is a horrendous coil.” She frowned. “Have you asked after Lady Asterley?”

Agatha nodded. “There isn’t one. The last—her as was Lord Asterley’s mother—died years ago.”