Page 3 of A Lady in Name

Lord Pennington had risen. “Fetch it then, if you please.”

Lucy’s independent spirit had reasserted itself. “But I do not please, sir! I am not staying. I came only for a conference with Lord Pennington, and since he is deceased —”

“He is very much alive, as you see, Miss Graydene.”

“Not you. I am talking of your uncle.”

A faint gleam had entered the grey eyes. “I am aware.”

“Well then, you must see there is no sense in prolonging this interview. What I have to say can be of no consequence to you.”

Lord Pennington had uttered a short laugh, but Lucy felt it to be without mirth. “On the contrary, ma’am. I am only too eager to hear anything you may have to impart concerning my predecessor. I have not been many months in office, but let me assure you, Miss Graydene, you are but one of my trials arising from the past. And it has not been my habit to ignore them. Now, gather your belongings as I told you. I will meet you in the yard in five minutes.”

On the words, he had turned, pausing only to seize up his gloves and hat from the chair where he had left them before striding out of the room.

Lucy had looked after him in considerable dudgeon for at least two of the allotted five minutes, unable to decide whether she was more annoyed at his walking out without giving her time to respond, or at his evident assumption she would do as he had demanded. At length it came to her that the one she relished least of his lordship’s remarks was his reference to her as one of his “trials”. As if it was her fault his abominable uncle had been a libertine!

Almost Lucy would have preferred the alternative interview, the one she had expected to have. At least she would have remained in control of that one. Instead she had been jockeyed into just such a position as she was anxious to avoid — of a supplicant whose wishes were of no account. At least to the present incumbent of the earldom of Pennington. Lucy was rapidly revising her first favourable impression. He was clearly not as kind a man as his having provided her with a handkerchief at an awkward moment would suggest.

To her chagrin, Lucy’s thoughts had carried her unknowing along the corridor to the chamber she had occupied the previous night. She realised she was hurrying, and was the more provoked for finding herself obedient to Lord Pennington’s instructions. Unable to think of any way to avoid joining him in the yard — beyond a foolish and craven notion of hiding under the bed — Lucy had picked up her bandbox and made her resigned way to the Boar’s yard.

She was well ensconced in the open carriage in deserted countryside with a rug over her knees to keep out the cold, before it occurred to her to question the propriety of allowing a gentleman, be he never so much a peer of the realm, to capture her into his curricle and carry her off to his lair.

Lucy sat up straighter suddenly, turning her eyes upon his lordship’s unresponsive profile, a flush of apprehension flooding her bosom.

“Where are you taking me?”

She was dismayed to hear the squeak in her voice, and knew by Lord Pennington’s questioning look that he had divined her unease.

“To Pennington Manor, my home. I told you so at the outset.”

Disquieting questions sprang to Lucy’s tongue, but she withheld them, conscious of the listening ears of his lordship’s groom seated in the perch behind. She began to wish she had held her ground and refused to come. Casting another glance at Lord Pennington, she saw a quick frown pull his brows together as he surveyed her face. Then abruptly, his countenance relaxed and he laughed out.

“My dear Miss Graydene, allow me to allay your alarms. Did you suppose yourself to be en route to a gloomy mansion inhabited by myself and one sinister retainer? Have no fear. The Manor boasts both light and a sufficiency of service. Moreover, both my mother and my sister are in residence. You may be confident of being adequately chaperoned.”

Heat shot into Lucy’s cheeks despite the biting wind and she turned to stare resolutely ahead. How maddening of the man to have so easily read her panic and its cause. Yet the reassurance could not fail to settle her jumping nerves a little, and she was left to ponder the immediate future. An unsatisfactory subject for cogitation, since she had no means of knowing what Lord Pennington intended. To resume their discussion, he had said. Why in the world should he remove from the Boar at Withington village? He did not know her. In his place, Lucy was sure she would not have invited an importunate stranger into her house.

She was still trying to fathom his lordship’s reasoning when the curricle at last turned into a drive lying between two massive wrought-iron gates, which stood open. As the carriage bowled down a long tree-lined avenue, Lucy fluttered with nerves as she glimpsed an extensive dwelling appearing through the trees. Was she about to see the trappings of the life she might have been heir to, had circumstances been otherwise?

Within a few short minutes, a vastness of gleaming stone struck Lucy’s eye, pale gold even in this wintry light. Sheets of windows spread across it, while above she caught the whirl and tumble of parapets and domed turrets. Her awed gaze had barely drunk in this unexpected splendour when the curricle came to a halt below a flight of stone steps leading up to a pillared portico. The groom leapt down from his perch behind and ran to the horses’ heads; Lord Pennington set aside the reins and jumped easily down, and Lucy found she was being offered his hand to assist her to alight.

The memory of her first sight of him came back to her, as she recalled that slender hand. She took it and found it had surprising strength. As he guided her descent, Lucy was conscious of the oddest sensation in her breast, as if a little bird fluttered briefly there.

Confused, she released herself as soon as she was steady on the ground, snatching tingling fingers into her own protective fist. She dared not look to see if Lord Pennington noted this peculiar reaction, and breathed more easily when she saw him striding ahead of her, and beginning to mount the steps. He paused, turning with a frown upon his brow.

“Don’t dawdle, Miss Graydene. Follow me.”

With which he resumed his unconcerned progress, leaving Lucy to regret having allowed herself to become subject to the Earl of Pennington’s whim. There was nothing to be done now but obey, however, and she headed for the steps, albeit with a flitter of reluctance.

He was awaiting her at the top, but Lucy refused to hurry. A pair of heavy doors came gradually into sight, one of them held open by a portly individual dressed as befitted a superior servant.

“Thank you, Hawkesbury.”

Lord Pennington ushered Lucy past him and through the door. She entered a copious hall, filled with light which fell upon pale washed walls and a chequered floor, and dominated by a great staircase leading to galleried upper regions. Huge paintings of classical scenes were to be seen on either side, and a number of doors led off, as it seemed to Lucy’s bewildered eye, in all directions.

“Where is my sister, do you know?”

“Lady Dionisia is in the Red Saloon, I believe, my lord. Lady Sarclet has called.”