Page 42 of The Wallflower Ruse

“It should do,” Lucinda said.

“I never liked your father, but we got on well enough,” Mother said. Lucinda didn’t bother to protest. Papa had simply spent most of his time wherever Mother wasn’t.

“And it’s all your fault,” Mother said. “Restive said the only obstacle to your marriage is that you don’t like him. Are you a complete idiot? He’s a peer. He’s young, handsome, virile, and yes, a libertine, but what does that matter? He can surely fit getting an heir on you between one doxy and another!”

Lucinda found she had no words. How could her mother think in such a way? Not to mention how mortifying it was to hear her say it in front of Dorothea.

“I’ll tell the entire beau monde what he has done,” Mother said.

Panic suffused Lucinda. With Papa dead and Matthew on the continent, there was no stopping her. There must be some way to prevent such a catastrophe—but what?

“I’d advise against that, Lady Belair,” Dorothea said calmly. “It will only make you look like a fool.”

Mother ignored her and rose. “Lucinda, come with me.”

The solution descended upon Lucinda like a gift from the gods. But like all gifts thus bestowed, there might well be an unforeseen consequence.

She didn’t have time to think it through. She sat back in her chair. “Please sit down again, Mother. I didn’t mean to tell you this yet, but you give me no choice.”

Her mother turned, arms akimbo. “Tell me what?”

“I cannot marry Lord Restive because I have fallen in love with another man.”

~ * ~

Doggedly, Lord Restive finished his last piece of toast and swallowed what remained of his coffee. He waved away the footman’s offer of more. He stood, assuming a cheerful air, and headed for his bedchamber, then changed his mind. His valet might be there, and he needed to be alone. To think.

He changed course and made his way, whistling softly, to his library. It was the one room where he could count on remaining undisturbed. The maids were under orders to clean it only when he was out.

He shut the door, poured himself an inch of brandy, and swigged it down.

Then he threw himself into a chair and buried his head in his hands. What in the name of all that was idiotic had he just done?

You broke your cardinal rule, Aunt Alice’s voice said in his mind. Again!

“I didn’t tell the lady in question,” he muttered. “I told her godforsaken mother.”

And whom do you suppose her mother will tell?

Lucinda, of course, but he’d said nothing but the truth—she was beautiful, intelligent, forward-thinking, et cetera, et cetera. It wasn’t a compliment as such.

Aunt Alice laughed, or would have if she’d really been there in the room, teasing him.

He banished the thought of Aunt Alice. She was just a way of postponing what he really had to think about. The real question he had to ask himself—and answer truthfully—was, Why did I break my rule?

~ * ~

Lucinda ignored Dorothea’s muffled squeak and assumed what she hoped was a confident air. A girlishly confident one. The air of a giddy young lady who thought she knew her own mind.

“What other man?” Mother huffed. “You’re making this up. I can aways tell when you’re lying, Lucinda—not to mention Mrs. Hale’s shocked expression, which serves as proof.”

“Because it was supposed to be a secret,” Dorothea improvised helpfully. “It was a case of love at first sight, so he must speak to his parents first.”

“Love at first sight?” Mother threw up her hands. “Sheer twaddle. No one falls in love at first sight.”

“I did,” said Cecil Hale from the doorway. He bowed to Lucinda’s mother. “Good day, Lady Belair. I fell desperately in love with Dorothea the first time I saw her.”

“As did I, when I first saw Cecil, that is. It was at a wedding,” Dorothea said, which Lucinda knew wasn’t quite true, but it was the perfect lie. “Cecil had been shot by a smuggler only a few days earlier. He was wounded, and so devilishly handsome and romantic-looking that I toppled like a tree.”