Page 73 of A Lady in Name

Lucy had to smile. “I will do my best not to fidget you, ma’am.”

“Good girl. Now then, where’s that chump of a footman? Has he thought to fetch up the decanter?” She looked from Stefan to Lucy and tapped the arm of her chair. “Unless you prefer tea, whatever your name is. Can’t be expected to remember names at my time of life. Forever befouling their insides with tea, these modern young girls.”

“Lucy will be perfectly contented with ratafia, ma’am,” Stefan said reassuringly.

“Well, she won’t get any here. Ratafia? Can’t abide the stuff. Won’t have it in the house.”

“I expect it is port,” Stefan said in an aside to Lucy.

“What’s that? Speak up, man. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“I was surmising you were having port, Aunt,” he said loudly.

“Only decent drink,” stated Lady Dorothea in the tone of one who would brook no argument. “Unless it’s a good French claret. But you can’t get anything drinkable from the Continent since those wretches took to murdering anyone with a title to his name.” The Revolution in France had long since been quelled, giving place to the new republic, but it was plain to Lucy that Lady Dorothea thought of it as happening yesterday.

There being no immediate sign of the footman, Stefan was chivvied into ringing the bell and did so just as the man arrived with a full tray. “Where in the world have you been, fellow?” barked his mistress. “Could have journeyed to China and back in the time it takes you to fetch a couple of glasses and a decanter.”

It was evident from the footman’s placid response that he was inured to this sort of thing. “There’s a plate of biscuits, your ladyship, along with the port.”

“Yes, yes, very well. Set it down and be off with you.”

The footman glanced towards Lucy as he set down the tray upon a nearby table, which looked to be the only one with a relatively clear surface. “And lemonade for the lady, should she prefer it.”

Lady Dorothea wafted an impatient hand. “Take it away, do. She’s an Ankerville. She’ll drink port with the rest of us.”

Reluctant to be drinking alcohol at this hour, Lucy was glad to notice the footman ignore this request. In a bid to avoid the old lady noticing, Lucy stood up and moved to the table.

“May I give you a glass, ma’am?”

“You may, and don’t be stingy. I’ll take a biscuit too.”

In the business of supplying her wants, and handing a glass to Stefan, Lucy was able to manage lemonade for herself without drawing Lady Dorothea’s attention. “Well done,” murmured Stefan, with a swift and intimate smile as she returned to her chair.

Lucy felt the warmth in her cheeks, and fervently hoped her hostess’s failing sight would permit it to go unnoticed. As it chanced, Lady Dorothea’s attention was concentrated upon the biscuit she was nibbling. “Currants? I think they have put currants in. Can you taste currants?”

Neither she nor Stefan had partaken of the biscuits, but it was plain to Lucy any answer was better than none. “I believe there are currants in them, ma’am.”

“Not enough sugar,” stated her ladyship, crunching with evident enjoyment. “They never put enough sugar in.”

Lucy was nearly betrayed into a giggle. She could not forbear a glance at Stefan, whose infinitesimally raised eyebrow spoke volumes. Lucy could well imagine there must be those who found this creature terrifying.

The moment the biscuit had been devoured, Lucy’s attention was reclaimed. “What did you say your name was?”

“Lucy, ma’am.”

Lady Dorothea lifted her eyeglass and through it surveyed Lucy. “How peculiar.”

“The name, Aunt?” asked Stefan. “It is short for Lucinda.”

Her ladyship’s eye, magnified by the glass, continued to bear upon Lucy. “My memory is not what it was. I thought Beves had named you Paulina.”

Lucy gasped and her hand jerked, dribbling lemonade upon her gown. She set down the glass quickly, swabbing the stain with her hand.

“Clumsy,” commented her ladyship, tutting a little. “Hope you’re not one of these girls forever spilling things.”

To Lucy’s relief, Stefan cut in curtly. “She is nothing of the sort. And you have it wrong, Aunt. Paulina is at this moment ensconced at Pennington with her newborn infant.”

Lady Dorothea grunted. “About time. No patience with all the shilly-shally girls get up to these days. What else is a marriage for, if not to produce heirs?”