Page 25 of To Break the Rules

“I’m so glad you’re here, Lucia,” she said, picking up her chocolate and then wrinkling her nose as she discovered it had gone cold.

“Me too,” Lucia replied, and then noticed the correspondence Matilda had been reading. The pile in front of her clearly included a half dozen invitations. “Anything of interest?”

“Yes!” Matilda replied, eyes alight with pleasure. She snatched one gilt-edged slip of card from the pile with a grin. “St Clair has invited us to a garden party.”

***

9th July 1814. The Dowager Countess St Clair’s garden party, St James, London.

Built in the previous century, the Earl of St Clair’s London home was a masterpiece of neo-classical design. Designed with pleasure as its purpose, it was synonymous in the ton’s minds for lavish entertainments. The previous earl had been a well-loved figure, something of a benign rogue, a mantle his son had taken on with ease.

Today, however, the magnificent house played second fiddle to the garden, where no expense had been spared on one of the last great parties of the season. Overlooking Green Park, the gardens were not vast, but beautifully laid out in a series of intricate parterres that led around the grounds.

The dowager countess’ white garden was a glorious sight to behold. The scent of roses drifted on the warm air of a perfect English summer day, and Lucia could only sigh with wonder at the glorious picture before her. Ladies in summer gowns added splashes of colour here and there, like silken butterflies flitting between the blooms. Music floated from an elegant marble rotunda that shielded the musicians from the heat of the afternoon sun, and the chatter of pleasant conversation filled the air.

“How beautiful it is,” Matilda said with a sigh, as they made their way along the circuit walk which toured all around the garden, in the earl's and his mother’s company. She took Lucia’s arm and sounded wistful as she added, “One can almost imagine being in the heart of the countryside, rather than in the midst of the city.”

“I can see my mother is thrilled with the compliment, Miss Hunt,” St Clair said with a grin. “As this is her pride and joy, I have often wondered if I’d been better tended as a child if I’d been a rose, or even a gooseberry bush.”

This somewhat wry observation caused his mother to roll her eyes.

“Oh, yes,” she said, her tone dry as she sent her son a look of long-suffering patience. “I can imagine how much you would have enjoyed me poking my nose into your affairs. You enjoyed splendid freedom as a child, always off adventuring and getting into mischief. I always took the view that, as long as you came home in one piece, it had been a successful day.”

Lucia laughed, deciding that she liked the dowager countess.

At that moment, Kitty and Bonnie joined them, tugging a rather reluctant looking Harriet in their wake.

“Harriet, darling, how lovely to see you,” Lady St Clair said, beaming at the young woman as she greeted her with the warmth of a beloved daughter. “I’ve asked St Clair so many times why we never see you. I miss the days when you and your brother used to run about the place like puppies.” She gave a sigh and shook her head. “They were barely tame, you know, but I miss the noise and the laughter… even the squabbling when my wretched son had done something unforgivable, again.”

Harriet blushed and mumbled a reply, looking awkward and as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Harriet still thinks I’m unforgivable, Mother,” St Clair said lightly, though his gaze on Harriet was rather intent. “That’s why she avoids us.”

Lucia watched a troubled look enter his mother’s eyes as Harriet’s jaw tightened and hurried to intervene. She’d seen the animosity Harriet harboured for the earl, and had no desire to see the lovely afternoon spoiled by a row. Turning to the dowager countess, she tried to move the conversation on.

“Was he often in trouble, Lady St Clair?” she asked, earning herself a groan from the earl.

His mother laughed, her concern disappearing as she sent her son a fond look. “When wasn’t he in trouble?” she asked as the earl studied his toes. “It would be easier to pinpoint those times, I fear. I never knew a boy so ripe for kicking up larks and playing pranks.”

“Mother,” St Clair murmured, returning an exasperated expression that implored her to change the subject.

“He was thick as thieves with Harriet’s brother, Henry, of course,” she said with a gleeful tone, ignoring her son’s discomfort. “And the two of them dragged poor Harriet everywhere. She usually ended up bedraggled and covered in mud as they took turns to capture her and hold her prisoner. There’s a lake at Holbrooke House and I lost count of the times she came back sopping wet, shivering, and outraged. Poor girl,” she said, sending the lady in question a look of affectionate warmth. “I wonder that you didn’t murder them both.”

“Oh, it crossed my mind,” Harriet muttered, a tight smile at her lips. “If you would excuse me.”

Lucia and Matilda shared a glance, both a little shocked by Harriet’s abrupt departure. Glancing back at the earl, Lucia saw his gaze follow Harriet as she hurried away from them. She thought there was sorrow there, but perhaps he felt her scrutiny, for he looked up. At once there was a smile on his face and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“Come ladies, let me give you the tour.”

Later in the afternoon, servants moved between the guests bearing silver trays, laden with all manner of finger sized delicacies, from feather light savoury pastries to decadent sweet treats.

Lucia’s interest was not in the food, but the presence of Mr Edgar Bindley. His father, the Earl of Ulceby, was also here, though Lucia had taken pains to keep out of his way. Not that the man would have the slightest clue who she was, but there was no point in tempting fate. Edgar, however, presented a temptation she could not resist.

Her fingers went to the pocket of her gown and the small metal symbol that lay within. She rubbed her thumb back and forth over it, smiling a little. Her smile widened as Mr Bindley looked up and met her gaze.

Though it revolted her to do so, she raised her glass to him and sent him a rather flirtatious expression. He hurried to her side with such alacrity she almost laughed.

“Miss de F-Feria, a delight, as always,” he said, raising her hand to his lips in what she imagined he thought was a romantic and courtly gesture. Perhaps it might have been, had anyone else’s lips been pressed to the back of her hand. Grateful that her gloves kept his touch from her skin, she nonetheless had to repress a shudder as she noticed a slightly damp mark on the pale green silk.