An Unwilling Conquest (Regencies 7)

Mr Ormesby looked thoroughly chuffed. “A pleasure, my dear.”

Lucinda blinked, and hoped she wasn’t raising any false expectations. “Tell me—are the dinners very elaborate?”

Tonight’s wasn’t, but neither was it less than an elegant sufficiency with four full courses and two removes. The conversation, to Lucinda’s relief, remained general throughout, with much exchanging of the latest gossip and on dits, accompanied by considerable merriment, all in the best of taste.

Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the subtle undercurrent, borne on glances and the occasional whispered word, her enjoyment would have been unreserved.

“My dear Mrs Babbacombe.” Lord Dewhurst, on Lucinda’s left, leaned closer to claim her attention. “Have you heard of the treasure hunt Marguerite has organised for tomorrow?”

“Treasure hunt?” Aware of the growing warmth in his lordship’s gaze, Lucinda dimly wondered if such an enterprise, in this company, could possibly be innocent.

“Indeed—and we play a version of Fox and Geese that will, I’m sure, delight you. Needless to say, there’s no board involved.” His lordship smiled. “We, ourselves, represent the pieces.”

Lucinda could just imagine. But she kept her smile serene, grasping the offer of a custard to turn aside without comment. In doing so, she caught Harry’s eye. He was seated across the table, some way along. Despite the distance, she could sense his simmering irritation, there in the odd tenseness that invested his apparently relaxed frame, and in the way his long fingers gripped his wine glass. Lucinda summoned a radiantly ingenuous smile—and turned it on Mr Ormesby.

Harry felt the muscle in his jaw ripple; his teeth were clenched tight. He forced his jaw to relax, turning aside as Marguerite waved at him from the end of the table.

Lucinda had hoped to catch her breath, to rest her wits and strengthen her defences, when the ladies retired to the drawing-room. But at Asterley, port was the last thing on the gentlemen’s minds; they followed in the ladies’ wake, not even glancing at the decanters on the sideboard.

“We generally take things quietly on the first evening,” Mr Ormesby informed Lucinda as he joined her by the hearth. “Let people…get to know one another, if you take my meaning.”

“Exactly!” Lord Asterley followed hard on Mr Ormesby’s heels. “Tomorrow, of course, things will liven up a trifle.” He rubbed his hands together and looked over the assembled company. “We’d thought to start by punting on the lake, then move on to the Treasure Hunt. Marguerite’s got it all organised—to be held in the gardens, of course.” He turned a perfectly innocent smile on Lucinda. “Plenty of quiet nooks to find treasure in.”

“Oh?” Lucinda endeavoured to look politely vague.

“Nothing starts till after noon, of course. We generally all meet in the breakfast parlour about then. Gives everyone a chance to catch up on their sleep, don’t y’know.”

Lucinda nodded, making a mental note to be on the road shortly after ten. Quite how she was to excuse herself, and on what grounds, she did not know—but she’d think of something by tomorrow morning.

Lord Cranbourne and Lady Morcombe joined them; the conversation revolved about the expected entertainments of the next few days—the communal ones. As for the others, those that remained unspecified, Lucinda was increasingly aware of the speculative glances cast her way, by Mr Ormesby, Lord Asterley and Lord Dewhurst in particular.

For the first time since entering Asterley Place, she began to feel truly uneasy. Not out of fear for her virtue, but from dislike of the potentially embarrassing situations she might soon find herself in. Mr Ormesby and Lord Asterley showed no disposition to leave her side; to Lucinda’s relief, they were both summoned by Marguerite to help pass the teacups. She grasped the opportunity to fill a vacant chair by the chaise. On its end sat a pretty woman much of an age with herself; Lucinda vaguely recalled being introduced at Almack’s.

“Lady Coleby—Millicent.” The woman smiled and nodded as she passed a teacup. “Always a pleasure to welcome another to our circle.”

Lucinda’s answering smile was a trifle weak. She hid it behind her cup. She was beginning to wonder if she should have braved the fuss and left three hours ago.

“Have you made your choice yet?” Over the rim of her cup, Lady Coleby raised a questioning brow.

Lucinda blinked. “Choice?”

Her ladyship gestured about her. “From amongst the gentlemen.”

Lucinda looked blank

“Oh—I forgot. You’re new.” Lady Coleby lowered her cup and leaned closer. “It’s all very simple. One just decides which of the gentlemen one likes the best—one, two or more if your taste runs that way—then one lets them know—discreetly, of course. You don’t need to do anything more; it’s all miraculously well-organised.”

Faced with an unwaveringly enquiring gaze, Lucinda swallowed a mouthful of tea. “Ah—I’m not sure.”

“Well, don’t leave it too long or the best will be taken.” Lady Coleby touched Lucinda’s sleeve. “I’m after Harry Lester, myself,” she confided, n

odding to where Harry stood on the opposite side of the room. “He’s not attended in an age—not since I’ve been coming anyway, which is more than a year. But all that excessive elegance, all that lethal grace—” Lady Coleby broke off with a delicate shiver. “Deep waters hold dangerous currents, so they say.” Her gaze fixed on Harry, she took a sip of her tea. “I never would have believed brash, impetuous Harry would turn out like that. It just goes to show. He’s nothing like the fresh-faced young gentleman who offered for me all those years ago.”

Lucinda froze. Then, slowly, she set her cup back on her saucer. “He offered for you?”

“Oh, yes! Not officially—it never came to that. Ten and more years ago it was.” Her ladyship affected a dewy-eyed look, then giggled. “He was most terribly enamoured—well, you know how young men can be.” She waved her hand. “Utterly over the moon. Wild, impassioned declarations—it was all so thrilling for he was very handsome, even then.”

Lucinda studied Lady Coleby’s face as her ladyship studied Harry, engaged in a discussion with a Mr Harding. “But you didn’t accept him?”