His suspicions lulled by her outburst, Richard was satisfied when he at last received her reluctant promise that she would observe his restrictions. He thought his threat of sending her back to Toblethorpe had persuaded her, and hoped that her future discretion would scotch the rumours and put paid to the wagering. He would have liked to have called the major out, but that would give rise to even greater scandal; and, besides, the damned upstart had not really done anything that would justify a challenge. Curse the encroaching mushroom!

  Richard left Lucy at their aunt’s house, sent the carriage back to Lady Twistleton’s, and, still raging, walked home, where he drank too much brandy. Unacknowledged to himself was the fact that he was rapidly falling in love with someone who might prove as ineligible as the major. The effort of suppressing that fact did not improve his temper.

  When Mrs. Carstairs and Jenny arrived home, Lucy was in bed. They both repaired to her room at once. Aunt Blanche assured herself that nothing serious was amiss, shook her head over her nephew’s strange behaviour, and retired. Jenny and Lucy spent the next hour in conspiratorial whispering and giggling.

  The next morning, Richard, his head throbbing, took both girls driving. Unaware of Major Bowen’s daily schedule, he was unknowingly cutting out Lord Denham. Since he drove in morose silence, the cousins chattered to each other and ignored him. He was glad to be rid of them, and went on to White’s, where he hid behind a newspaper in the Reading Room and fell as sound asleep as any of the elderly gentlemen snoring in their wing chairs.

  Lucy had already sent a message to the major, and in the afternoon, he escorted her and Jenny on a shopping expedition. Unlike Richard, he enjoyed the girls’ chatter and joined in helping to match ribbons and choose shawls. He bought them each a pair of gloves. Aunt Blanche had no qualms about letting her niece go out without her escort, as Richard, fearing to appear to criticize her chaperonage, had not opened his budget to her. He simply told her that he and Lady Annabel would be happy if she would take Lucy about with her more to meet her friends.

  “The chit becomes a sad romp,” he had explained. “She is always with young people. It would do her good to have more experience at dealing with the older members of the Ton.”

  Aunt Blanche, noting his bloodshot eyes and the way he winced at the slightest noise, privately wondered what was going on but placidly agreed that it would indeed be good for Lucy. Whenever it was not fine enough for the girls to go out walking, she would take her.

  So instead of meeting Lucy in the park, Charles found himself accompanying her to Hookham’s Circulating Library, to Gunther’s for ices—even to see the Elgin Marbles. They paid a nostalgic visit to the Exeter Exchange. Jenny insisted that the menagerie at the Tower of London was more impressive, so they went there and examined the crown jewels, taken for their benefit from a dusty cupboard by a crabbed and cobwebby old man.

  In the evenings, Lucy became expert at finding private corners that could not be stigmatized as improper, and she would sit out two or three dances with Charles. She also granted Lord Denham three dances more than once.

  “To throw Richard off the scent,” she explained to Jenny.

  She had not told Charles what Richard had said to her. Much as she hated concealing anything from him, she knew that he would have insisted on approaching her brother immediately, and the time was most unpropitious. Instead, she told him that Richard had wished to tell her that Miss Fell had had a relapse.

  “He told me this morning that she is much improved again,” she added airily, “but he is excessively worried about her, and you will not wish to speak to him while he has unpleasant matters on his mind.”

  Charles, knowing that Richard disapproved of him, could only agree that the time was not ripe. He felt it was incorrect behaviour to have a secret understanding with Lucy; but his intentions were honourable, and, after all, it was just a matter of awaiting the right moment.

  Meanwhile, Lady Annabel fell ill. Lucy cried for an hour when she was told she might not go home and nurse her mama. Richard spent a great deal of time with her for three days and was so comforting and supportive that for the first time Lucy felt guilty about deceiving him. She had already lied to Charles, and her double guilt weighed heavily on her. Had it been possible, she would have confessed all to her mother.

  So moped was she that Richard became alarmed and redoubled his attentions, not only increasing her guilt but cutting her off from Charles. Fortunately, before matters came to a head, Richard brought the news that Lady Annabel was well on the road to recovery.

  “Dr. Knighton saw her this morning,” he said, “and she is able to be up later today. I shall stay at home to help her downstairs, so I shall not see you this afternoon.”

  Lucy cheered up somewhat. At least one burden was removed from her. No sooner had Richard left than she sent a note to Charles’s lodgings, arranging to meet him as soon as possible.

  Neither of them was in a happy mood. Though greatly relieved that her mother was better, Lucy felt as guilty as ever, and was upset that she would not be able to go home for another week. Charles was disturbed by the implications of the fact that he had not seen his betrothed for three days simply because of the presence of her brother. He was beginning to think that there was more impropriety attached to his position than he had suspected, yet he could not justify disturbing Richard while he was worried about his mother’s health.

  Lucy and Charles saw little of each other that week. The weather took a turn for the worse and threatened a return to winter. Aunt Blanche took Lucy visiting with her every afternoon and Charles was busy wrapping up his affairs at the War Ministry. He also saw a good deal of his lawyer. There was still no news from Northumberland and he was growing worried. He told Lucy he would have to go home to investigate, and she was cross with him for proposing a protracted absence when their affairs were so unsettled.

  Lucy went to an unconscionable number of private parties in the next few days. Lord Denham was usually there, and thinking her dismal face due to her mother’s illness, he was particularly charming. Lucy began again to consider the advantages of becoming a marchioness.

  That Wednesday at Almack’s, Charles became aware that Lucy was responding with unwonted pleasure to Lord Denham’s attentions. She was offhand with him, giving him only one dance; and his jealousy was aroused. He had not, seen her for two days, and, too distressed to be reasonable he was unable to give due consideration to the fact that her brother was present.

  The following morning they had a raging quarrel, in whispers, in a dark corner of Hookham’s where the books of sermons were stacked.

  “I shall marry Tony!” hissed Lucy in the end.

  “If he comes up to scratch,” retorted the major unforgivably.

  She stalked off in a dignified rage, and his heart stood still. He would have called after her, but the library was full of people, and they had already attracted several curious stares. Cursing himself for a bacon-brained ninnyhammer, he followed her. The crowd, which had obligingly parted to allow passage to the beautiful young lady with the stormy eyes, was not at all willing to give way before him. It was several minutes before he reached the door, and there was no sign of her.

  All afternoon he hoped for a word from her. By the next day he was ready to risk sending her a note, and had it reached her she might have relented; but she was busy packing to return to Cavendish Square, and the billet was misplaced by a careless housemaid.

  Lucy felt her long-awaited return home was an anticlimax. Though she was happy to see her mama and Clara again, the world seemed grey. Praying for a message from Charles, she was not yet willing to give in and write to him. When no word came, she decided he was hateful, and she would marry Tony just to punish him.

  On Sunday morning, Richard told her that Tony had requested permission to ask for her hand. He was disturbed by her obvious depression; but his own affairs were much on his mind and he dismissed her attitude with the thought that she was just in the crotchets.

  “I do not mean to put any pressure on you, Lucy,” he said, “but I must tell you that mama and I would be delighted if you were to accept him. We are agreed that you must be happy with such an amiable husband, and of course he is in every way unexceptionable, indeed highly eligible.”

  “I suppose I shall have him,” answered Lucy discontentedly.

  Richard was far from pleased with her reply but forbore from pressing her.

  By the time Lady Annabel and Miss Fell went out that afternoon, Lucy was so miserable that she could not face being polite to her mother’s friends, so she pleaded a headache and stayed at home alone. Brooding on her wrongs, she became more and more angry with Charles, and had quite made up her mind to marry Lord Denham when that gentleman was announced.

  “‘E would wish to ‘ave a word with you privatelike, Miss Lucy,” said Bell in a fatherly manner.

  Now that the moment had apparently come, Lucy put her doubts behind her. “Tell Lord Denham I shall see him in the drawing room in a few minutes,” she ordered firmly. Calling Molly, she prepared herself to dazzle her suitor.

  “Hallo, Tony,” she greeted him, entering the room.

  “Lucy! You look beautiful as ever. Er, has Richard spoken to you?”

  Lucy lowered her eyelashes modestly.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said.

  “Ahem. Will you… Lucy, I shall be very honoured if you will accept my hand in marriage.” Dash it, he thought, as she was silent. He’d made a mull of it.

  Faced with the reality of giving up Charles forever, Lucy had a complete change of heart. “I’m sorry,” she faltered.

  “I love you, Lucy,” he muttered at the same time.

  She burst into tears and threw herself against his shoulder.

  “Tony, I am so very sorry. I really meant to say yes, only I cannot. I love Charles so desperately, and we have quarreled, and I may never see him again ever, and Richard does not like him, and I did not mean to hurt you, for I am truly fond of you, and whatever shall I do?” she wailed.

  Disentangling her from his brocaded coat, Lord Denham sighed philosophically and gave her his handkerchief.

  “Was afraid that was the way of it,” he admitted. “Come, dry your eyes and tell me all about it.”

  Sniffing, she obeyed. The whole story came out bit by bit, and after a few adroit questions Lord Denham thought he understood the chief problem.

  “Don’t like to be advising young ladies,” he disclaimed. “Not at all in the way of it. But if you ask me, you are bein’ dashed goosish. How can the fellow write to you with your wicked brother lookin’ over your shoulder all the time? Stands to reason he can’t. If you love the fellow, by all means write to him—the sooner the better before he takes off for the godforsaken ends of the kingdom.”

  “He’s not a wicked brother,” contradicted Lucy, “but you are right. I will write to Charles at once. Tony, I am truly grateful for your patience and your advice. I never knew you were so wise.”

  “No, am I?” exclaimed his lordship, adding wryly, “I am not so sure of that.” Sighing again, he mended a pen for her and took his leave.

  “Won’t have me,” he admitted to Richard later, tactfully omitting all mention of Major Bowen. “Daresay I am a bit too old for her, don’t you know. Might be a good thing she turned me down. I’m too dashed lazy to make a good husband. Quite happy for Harry to inherit.”

  Richard was struck by a thought that had not crossed his mind in an age. If he himself did not marry, that chuckleheaded fop, his Cousin Edward, would be his heir!

  Lucy, meanwhile, had sent off a brief note to the major. She was not so lost to pride as to beg him to meet her; she merely suggested a time and place for an encounter “to discuss matters of mutual interest.” The footman returned without an answer.

  “T’major weren’t at home,” he reported.

  Taken aback, Lucy was afraid he might have left for Northumberland. Seeing her alarm, James ventured to reassure her.

  “Don ‘ee worrit, miss. T’landlady said he’d be back soon.”

  Well, thought Lucy, even if he refuses to see me, I shall find a way to let him know Tony did offer for me.

  She was not to be required to exercise her ingenuity to that end. Shortly before dinner, James discreetly knocked on her chamber door and handed Molly a twist of paper. There was only a single word on it: “Agreed.” Lucy recognized the writing and hoped that the briefness of the message was caused by caution and not by disinclination.

  In the morning Lucy made sure to leave the house early, before her mother was come down and could demand her attendance. Ignoring Molly’s grumbling at the drizzle, she hurried to the rendezvous, heart in mouth.

  One look at Charles’s face and she knew all was well. Under the interested and benevolent gaze of the shopkeepers arranging their window displays, she flung herself into his arms and wept with as much abandon as she had on Lord Denham the day before.

  “Forgive me, my dearest,” whispered the major hoarsely in her ear.

  “Charles, I did not mean all those horrid things I said,” she replied into his shoulder in muffled tones.

  It was some time before they returned to rational conversation; but at last the tears were dried, and they sat in the Royal Academy before one of Mr. Turner’s pictures, which Lucy generally much admired, though she did not even notice it this morning.

  “We cannot continue to meet in this havey-cavey way,” said Charles gravely. “I must speak to your brother. Surely he would not be so cruel as to forbid you to see me.”

  “N-no,” Lucy agreed, her voice doubtful, “but Charles, I have not yet had a chance to talk to mama. Will you not give me just a few days to see if I cannot persuade her to take our part?”

  The major could not like the new postponement, nor could he at present refuse her anything she desired.

  “As you wish, my love,” he conceded. “Just a few days.”

  Lucy had no chance to speak privately to Lady Annabel until after the theatre on Tuesday evening. She would have happily included Miss Fell in her confidences but for two considerations. The first was that her dear Clara seemed unhappy. The second was that she did not wish to give Richard any opportunity to call her indiscreet, and she was afraid he would not think Miss Fell sufficiently a member of the family to be party to the secret.

  When they returned from the theatre, Miss Fell retired immediately, after her unpleasant experience with Sir Philip Rossiter. Richard was very restless, and after telling his mother the full story of the baronet’s attack, he retreated to the library with a bottle of brandy, which, however, he did not drink.

  Lady Annabel proposed that she and Lucy should retire early for once.

  Lucy agreed. “May I come and talk to you in your chamber, mama?” she added.

  “Of course, dearest. It is such a long time since we had a comfortable cose together.” Lady Annabel was delighted. She did not want to force Lucy’s confidence, but she had been increasingly worried by her daughter’s moodiness, though she had seemed much happier the last two days. Now, she sensed, she would hear the whole.

  Seated on her mother’s bed in her nightgown, Lucy poured her heart out and begged Lady Annabel to intercede on Charles’s behalf.

  “You are quite sure you love him?” she asked slowly. “You have not known him very long.”

  “Precisely six weeks. Is not that long enough, mama? You always say you knew you should marry papa after half an hour in his company. It was so with me and Charles. I was so miserable when we had quarrelled that I wished to die. And the only thing that Richard holds against him is that his grandfather was a nabob and not quite a gentleman, but I do not wish to marry his grandfather, I want Charles.”

  “Lord Denham also wishes to marry you, Lucy.”

  “I know. He proposed to me on Sunday when you were out. I did not like to tell anyone lest he should feel uncomfortable, for I turned him down. Tony is a dear, mama, but I do not wish to spend my whole life with him. And it is my life after all, not Richard’s.”

  “You are right, my child, and I will not let your brother spoil it, you may be sure. Only you must be a little patient, dearest. Richard has troubles of his own, which make it hard for him to see yours clearly. If he should send your major away, will you forgive him and wait until he can be reasonable? You are very young, and a few months’ wait would prove your love. Can you not count on Charles to remain faithful?”

  “Of course I can! And if Richard should do such an odious thing, I should try to forgive him, but I do hope he will not. It would be very hard not to see Charles for months.”

  “I will do what I can and we must hope for the rest. God bless you, dearest, and make you as happy with your Charles as I was with your papa.”

  Lucy hugged and kissed her, and went to her own chamber to dream of wedding bells.

  Lady Annabel had no opportunity to speak to Richard the next day, as he went out soon after breakfast and did not return until late at night, when he was carried home in a hackney and had to be helped up the stairs again.

  “Gettin’ to be a reg’lar ‘abit,” was Bell’s censorious comment.

  Miss Fell was also unavailable. She sent word that she had the headache and would prefer to be left alone.

  So, as no other engagements superseded, Lady Annabel was taken to meet the major. She had met him extremely briefly before and was now charmed by his courteous manner to herself and his obvious worship of Lucy. Nor did her watchful eye overlook the way Major Bowen’s slightest frown could correct behaviour in Lucy that must have drawn a reprimand from herself or Richard.

  The major had business in the afternoon, but was to meet them at Almack’s in the evening. He sent bouquets to both ladies, a delightful gesture that pleased Lady Annabel enormously. However, when they arrived at the Rooms he was not yet there.

  Lucy, with newfound philosophy, accepted his absence with a sigh and went to dance. She looked more and more frequently at the door as the hour wore on toward eleven, when the doors would inexorably close. Just as she was beginning to fear that he must have met with an accident, he appeared, scraping through by the skin of his teeth. Lucy saw him approach her mother with a grave face. Lady Annabel excused herself to her companions and gave him her full attention.