“Well, I think Lord Elliott was delightful, and very witty.” From the drawing room window seat, Lucinda met her mother’s scowl with an innocent smile. Mama was being vastly unfair to poor Lord Elliott.
“He may be as witty as he likes,” Mama said in an austere tone, “but, unlike Lord Quorndon, he has nothing to recommend him. His title is not even a hundred years old.”
“He has a personality.” Her brother’s tone was so dry, Lucinda almost burst into whoops. “And he is wealthier than Quorndon.”
That did not appear to impress her mother at all. What it did do was make Mama turn her sour look at Rothwell.
“No one is suggesting that Lucinda marry Elliott,” Louisa said. “Quite the opposite. He was invited because he is a friend of Rothwell’s and mine. In fact, no one should be trying to match her with anyone. It should be her decision.” Mama opened her mouth, and Louisa hurried on. “Please feel free to invite Quorndon to drink tea with us, if you like.”
As long as Louisa did not object to Lucinda finding out if she would like to wed Lord Elliott, she was perfectly willing to meet Lord Quorndon.
“I believe I shall.” Mama rose regally from her wide, French, cane-backed chair. “I will see you at dinner.”
Rothwell closed the door behind her and pulled a face. “I wonder how long this is going to last.”
Lucinda was confused. “Has she not already invited Lord Quorndon and his mother to tea?”
Louisa nodded her answer before looking at Rothwell. “I expect it will last until she finds her way forward to rejoin the rest of Polite Society.” She sighed. “I also think she is trying to protect Lucinda, much as my mother attempted to protect me from you. She was mistaken in you, and I firmly believe your mother is mistaken in her beliefs as well. The important thing is that you”—she glanced at Lucinda—“have a good time.”
“Indeed. Do not allow this match to spoil your fun,” her brother said.
“Yes.” Her sister-in-law smiled. “Take the time to form friendships with the other ladies you will meet at Lady Bellamny’s soirée.”
That was exactly what Lucinda would do. For her mother’s sake, she would give Lord Quorndon an opportunity engage her affections. That was the least a dutiful daughter should do. If she found he was not for her, she would cross that bridge when she came to it. “Thank you.”
* * * *
The next morning, Rothwell and Louisa went to Worthington House to visit her family, leaving word that they would not return until after dinner. Lucinda wished she could have gone with them, but her mother had invited Lord Quorndon and his mother for tea that afternoon and required her company that evening. She suspected it was most likely her mother’s way to keep her from meeting Lord Elliott again. Mama really had taken him into dislike, and for no good reason at all.
Instead, she went shopping with her mother for stockings, handkerchiefs, gloves, and other items that one tended to need in abundance.
A lady hailed her mother in front of Hatchards bookstore. “If you do not mind, I would like to see if there are any new books that would interest me,” Lucinda said.
“Not at all, my dear.” Mama glanced at the fashionable lady coming toward her in a Pomona green walking gown. “I shall meet you inside.”
“Thank you.” As Lucinda entered the store, her mother said, “Minerva, I did not expect to see you in Town.” At least Mama sounded happy to see the lady.
Lucinda stopped to breathe in the smell of new books and leather before making her way to the shelves. She could happily remain here for hours if her mother would allow it.
She hated being at odds with her mother. They had always been close, but all the to-do about the Season seemed to be pulling them apart. Perhaps if her mother met enough of her old friends here, and there was no gossip about Papa, Mama would not focus so much on Lucinda finding a husband so quickly.
She had been absently looking at the books when she found herself in the exact place she wished to be. Unfortunately, the book she wanted was not within an easy reach. She stood on her toes and held on to one of the shelves, trying to be careful not to topple it over onto her.
As she stretched her arm up, another arm, this one covered in fine, Prussian blue Bath coating, reached from behind her. “Is it Em ma you desire?”
Lord Elliott! How perceptive of him. Glancing back over her shoulder, she smiled at him. “Yes, please. It is just out of my reach. How did you know?”
He pulled out the volume. “I wondered if you would have had a chance to read it while you were in the country. My mother and sisters raved over it.”
“No, I have not had an opportunity, but I am quite fond of all the books I have read by this author.”
“I do not think you will be disappointed.” He grinned at her. “I liked it. She has a way of peeling back the layers of society, which I enjoy.”
“I agree.” She found her cheeks had grown warm. Why did he have this effect on her? “Do you come here often?”
“Whenever I get word of new books that might interest me.” His lordship placed the book in her hands.
“I am not so spoiled for choice. We do not have a bookstore near us at home. I have been indulging myself as often as I am able.”
“When I’m home, I have Hatchards send me a list of their new books. Then I order what I think I might like.”
“What a clever idea.” Lucinda wondered if she could do something like that when she returned to The Roses—if she returned at all. She might marry. In that case, she would have to wed a gentleman who was as fond of reading as she was. And who would not attempt to control what she read.
“Lucinda.” Mama came up to them. “What are you doing?”
“I was attempting to reach this book”—she pointed to the empty space—“but his lordship very kindly got it down for me. Was that not well done of him?”
“Yes. It was,” her mother replied. Then again, there really was not anything else she could say and remain polite.
“Thank you, my lord.” Lucinda slid a look at him, and the dimple was there. “I believe my mother wishes to return to Rothwell House.”
“My pleasure, my lady.” Lord Elliott bowed. “Your grace, very nice to see you again.”
“Thank you for assisting my daughter.” Mama inclined her head and took Lucinda by the arm. “We must be on our way.”
She glanced back briefly at his lordship, but he was looking at a book.
Once she and her mother were in the carriage on the way to Grosvenor Square, she considered saying something to Mama about her attitude toward Lord Elliott. Yet it would not do any good, and might cause another disagreement. Amazingly, he did not appear to care at all what Mama thought or how she behaved toward him. Was it simply that he had excellent manners, or did he simply not value her opinion? Either way, Lucinda admired his sangfroid.
Once again, she dressed carefully for tea. This time she wore a blue muslin gown embroidered with yellow flowers. As before, her mother was in the drawing room when she arrived. Yet the atmosphere was different. Tenser.
“Another lovely gown,” Mama said. “There is no reason for you to be nervous. You are beautiful, and I am certain Lord Quorndon will think so as well.”
Perhaps the problem was that Lucinda did not know if she wanted him to think she was beautiful. “Thank you, Mama.”
“They should be here at any moment.” She patted the sofa next to her. “Come, sit with me. You shall pour the tea, and I will hand out the cups.”
In other words, Lucinda was to show the marquis how graceful and accomplished she was. Would she be required to play the piano for him as well?
Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. Her mother might think it was for Lord Quordon to approve of her, yet Lucinda knew it was equally important that she approve of him. And his looks would have very little to do with her opinion.
A light knock came on the door before it opened. “Your grace. Lord and Lady Quorndon.”
Lady Quorndon floated into the room, followed by her son. Both had curling blond hair, blue eyes, and reminded Lucinda strongly of porcelain dolls. Where the lady was small and slight, the gentleman was larger, though not greatly so. He was slender, but not skinny. He definitely did not have Lord Elliott’s broad shoulders.
Her ladyship wore a Celestial blue silk gown, embroidered at the hem, and a spencer of the same color, with embroidery at the cuffs to match the hem.
Instead of the darker colors worn by her brother and Lord Elliott, Lord Quorndon wore a jacket of Aethereal blue and a heavily embroidered yellow waistcoat. The points of his collar were so high they almost touched his cheek bones.
“Judith.” Smiling, Mama rose, and Lucinda followed suit. “How delightful to see you again.”
“Madeline.” The lady held out her arms as they kissed the air next to each other’s cheeks. “I am thrilled to see you.” Lady Quorndon rapped her son’s arm with her fan. “Surely you remember Quorndon?”
“Of course, my lord.” Mama inclined her head.
“Your grace.” Lord Quorndon’s bow was the most elegant gesture Lucinda had ever seen a gentleman make. “It is a great pleasure to see you again. Although my memory is faint, I recall that we met several times when I was a scrubby brat.”
“I do not believe I—or anyone else, for that matter—ever called you ‘scrubby.’” Mama laughed lightly.
“Quite right. I do not suppose they did.” Lord Quorndon smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.
Nor could Lucinda imagine him as a grubby child. A point that was not in his lordship’s favor. From the tip of his perfectly arranged hair to his highly polished boots with gold tassels, the man looked as if he had never engaged in anything more strenuous than lifting a tea-cup. No wonder her sister-in-law had not been impressed.
She pasted a polite smile on her lips, strolled forward, and dipped a slight curtsey.
“And this must be Lady Lucinda!” the marchioness exclaimed. “The last time I saw you, you were in a cradle.”
“A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”
“I suppose you have guessed that this is Quorndon?” his mother said proudly.
“I did, indeed, make that assumption.” Lucinda held out her hand to his lordship. Fortunately, he did nothing more than bow and kiss the air above her fingers.
Fredericks cleared his throat, and Mama ushered Lucinda to the sofa. The Quorndons took seats on the opposite sofa. Soon afterward, the tea service and plates of small tarts and biscuits were set on the low table between the sofas.
“My lady,” Lucinda asked. “How do you prefer your tea?”
Once everyone had a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits—the Quorndons having eschewed tarts—the conversation turned to the upcoming Season. An hour later, two things were perfectly clear: Politics would not be discussed, and Lucinda had very little in common with Lord Quorndon.
Despite their apparent inability to find anything upon which to agree, she decided to take a more direct approach, one that her mother could not avoid noticing. “I have become very fond of early morning rides. Do you ride in Town, my lord?”
“At home I will take my hack out when necessary. But in Town I only ride if there has been a party got up to Richmond, or some such place, and the other gentlemen are riding. Generally, I prefer a carriage. I find the aroma of the horse, not matter how clean the beast is, lingers.”
She stifled a sigh and tried again. “I love picnics. We go on them quite a bit during the summer.” Before he became ill, her father used to take them in the spring and summer. She would always have fond memories of their picnics.
“Unfortunately, so do the ants.” Lucinda could have sworn his lordship shuddered. “I much prefer to take my meals at a table.”
No horses, no picnics. She wondered if he liked the same books she did. “Have you read the latest novel by the author A Lady?”
Lord Quorndon flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his jacket. “No, I much prefer Byron. I find him much superior to any female author.”
Lucinda clamped her mouth shut. How dare he? Not only did he deride an excellent lady author, but he preferred a male author whose excesses were scandalous. She, for one, could not bring herself to separate Byron’s life from his work. “What of Shakespeare? I do love his comedies.”
“I suppose one must at least pretend to be interested,” his lordship drawled.
Their mothers exchanged glances, and Lady Quorndon said, “I propose we attend the theater next week. I have been told there is an excellent comedy playing at the Theater Royal.”
Lucinda waited for his lordship to say he was not fond of comedy. Instead, he smiled at her. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. What think you, my lady? Do you have a taste for the theater?”
“I do, my lord. Or at least, I enjoy our Christmas pantomimes. I have not yet been to a real theater.”
“Perfect. My mother shall arrange it.” He leaned back against the cushions, appearing very proud of himself.
Was it usual for a gentleman to leave arrangements like that to his mother? If she married Quorndon, what part would his mother play in their lives? These were questions to which she needed answers. “I look forward to the evening, my lord, my lady.”
“Well, then.” Lord Quorndon rose. “I believe it is time for us to depart.” He assisted his mother to rise, then bowed to her and her mother. “Your grace, my lady. It has been a pleasure.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mama said, relieving Lucinda of crafting a response. She could merely smile and curtsey. “Judith, I look forward to hearing from you about the theater.”
“I shall ensure it does not interfere with any of the important entertainments.” Lady Quorndon gave Mama a significant look. “We cannot have Lady Lucinda miss any essential events.”
Lucinda’s smile almost faltered. If her ladyship wanted Quorndon to marry her, why, then, would Lady Quorndon encourage her to attend events? This was all very confusing, and she daren’t ask her mother.
They accompanied Lord and Lady Quorndon to the front door, bid them farewell, then strolled back to the morning room. Mama took the same seat she had before and picked up a cream tart. “I think that went well. Do you not agree?”
Lucinda’s jaw dropped, but she quickly snapped it shut. She could either agree with her mother, or tell her the truth: that Quorndon and she were unlikely to make a match.
“Naturally, today was a little stilted. It is difficult to meet the person your parent has decided you should wed.” A little stilted? Could Mama not see that a match would be close to impossible? “I think he is a perfect gentleman, and very much like he was as a child.”
The conversation between her mother and sister-in-law came rushing back to Lucinda.
Quorndon was never dirt y, as I recall.
Now, that does not surp rise me at all.
Lucinda had not understood it at the time, but she did now. How could anyone imagine Lord Quorndon being anything other than a perfect porcelain figure? His mother as well. The thought that Lady Quorndon could live with them if he and Lucinda married was not to be thought of.
His mother wanted this match as much as her mother did. The question was why was it so important, and what could she do to stop her mother from pursuing this match?