Page 51 of A Lady in Name

“I am half an Ankerville.”

“Even Corisande accepts you without question.” Mrs Ankerville had welcomed Lucy back into the household without a blink, entirely failing to enquire into her mission, instead embarking upon a dissertation on the probable whereabouts of the writings of a medieval troubadour that happened to be of current interest.

“She has been very kind. But she does not know about Mr Oade.”

“Your mad uncle?” Dion laughed. “I am persuaded Corisande would not turn a hair. She would probably unearth an anecdote about some insane Ankerville to cap our story and render it second rate.”

But at dinner that evening, Lucy discovered Dion was less cognisant of her mother’s character than she supposed.

“Has it occurred to any of you,” she said over the entrée of asparagus dipped in a cheese sauce, “to think how you are to present Lucinda to Paulina? She was here during your absence, you know, Stefanus, and I was obliged to tell her something of your purpose.”

“Oh, Mama, why?” came fretfully from Dion.

Mrs Ankerville was not in the least put out. “Because she expressed surprise at your having gone along, Dionisia.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you were chaperoning Miss Graydene.”

Stefan glanced at Lucy, inwardly cursing his cousin’s inconvenient curiosity. It was another of the matters niggling at him, and he should have brought it up before this. Except that Lucy had been both aloof and snappy since the return, and he was loath to invite another outburst. It was like dealing with a cat of uncertain temperament. One never knew when she might lash out and scratch.

She was avoiding his eye as usual. Stefan could not believe her attention was wholly taken up by the contents of her plate as it appeared to be, particularly in view of her obvious lack of appetite. She was industriously digging with her fork, but the implement made few journeys to her mouth. Regretfully rejecting the notion of taking up the fork and feeding her himself, Stefan turned to his mother.

“We do need to address it, Mama, you are perfectly right.”

He caught a flashing look from Lucy before she lowered her gaze to her plate again, but Dion was all eyes and question. “Gracious, I had thought you would have had it all sewn up already, Stefan!”

He could not forbear a grin, though he cast a wary glance at Lucy. She did not look up. “I have, as it happens.”

Not much to his surprise, Lucy flung up her head, throwing him an ireful look which boded ill for the barrowful of schemes he had in his head.

“For my part,” said his sister, before Lucy could edge in a word, “I think we should stick to Mama’s notion and tell her Lucy is an indigent relative. Did you not tell Paulina so when she asked after us, Mama?”

“Do you take me for a fool?” demanded Corisande. “Of course not, when it is perfectly obvious —”

Hawkesbury coughed, and Stefan looked towards him. A discreet jerk of the butler’s head drew his attention to the footman, just re-entering the room bearing a heavy tray.

“Ah, here is James with the next course,” Stefan said loudly, giving his mother a warning look. There was no need to remind Dion of the necessity for discretion. Hawkesbury could be relied upon to keep his tongue, but he did not need rumour of Lucy’s true identity to become rife in the servants’ hall.

“I am surprised Paulina is able to make the journey,” Dion uttered by way of changing the trend of the conversation. “She must be nearly at her time.”

“She has a week or two yet.” Corisande laid down her utensils. “I do trust she will content herself with this one. I cannot think what she wants with so many babies.”

“It is only her third, Mama,” Stefan pointed out. “Admittedly, they have come in quick succession.”

Lucy was looking at Corisande. “I saw her the first day. She appeared to be very well, despite being so close to her confinement.”

“Yes, I forgot you had met her,” said Stefan, and was satisfied to have drawn Lucy’s eyes in his direction.

“It was hardly a meeting. She took me for a servant. She thought I had come to be interviewed for an appointment.”

Stefan found it typical, but Dion was up in arms. “How rude. Not but what it is just what one would expect.”

“I can scarcely blame her,” Lucy said. “My dress is plain, if respectable, and my mourning may make me appear less than I am.”

“Yes, like the housekeeper or something of the sort,” agreed Corisande. “But we can remedy that.”

Stefan found his mother’s eyes upon him, expectation in them. She wished him to substantiate it? And risk Lucy’s wrath? So be it. But Lucy forestalled him.