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‘I have no idea why I should have been looking at you speculatively, which leads me to assume that you are reading more into my expression than was there.’ Pompous again. He had been trying for authoritative.
‘Very well. If Marguerite mentions Gregory, I will tell her what you say. She has heard my views on the matter already, so my silence now will make little difference.’
As olive branches went that one was decidedly shrivelled, but he decided to accept it. ‘Thank you. A lack of encouragement will have to suffice.’ That appeared to have effectively flattened all conversation. After five minutes, as they entered the lane down from the cliffs into the town, he added, ‘I will take your mare back to the stables.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ When they reached her house she permitted him to help her down, then hesitated with one foot on the lower step up to the front door. ‘There is an early evening concert at the Rooms tonight. Just a short one of light, popular pieces with refreshments afterwards. Marguerite might enjoy it.’
He felt his irritation with her vanish like sea fret in the sunshine. He did not want to be at outs with this woman. He wanted…to be what…to be friends? Surely not. He was never friends with his mistresses. They had a civilised, cordial, passionate business relationship and that was all. ‘Thank you, I am sure she would like that very much. Will you be attending?’
‘I expect so. Until later then, Lucian.’ And her smile was as warm as that sunshine he had been imagining. Sara, it seemed, did not hold grudges.
He found he was looking forward to an evening of undemanding music and tepid tea. His brains were obviously addling in the sea air.
Chapter Eight
‘How well you look.’ Sara tucked Marguerite’s hand into the crook of her elbow and took her off towards the refreshment room. ‘We’ve just time for a cup of tea before the performance starts.’ The younger woman had colour in her cheeks, her languid air had vanished and her eyes were positively sparkling.
‘I had such a lovely walk along the promenade this afternoon. I took my maid, of course,’ she added.
‘I am glad to hear it,’ Sara said, wishing Lucian was within earshot to hear her sounding so respectable. ‘Did you just walk? There are some tempting shops in that direction.’
‘I discovered that little hat shop, just beyond the church, and then I went up to the library to look at La Belle Assemblée so I am completely au fait with the very latest fashions.’ Her smile suggested that she gained more satisfaction from perusing the latest hemlines than Sara did.
‘I wish I was,’ Sara said ruefully. ‘Mata keeps sending me prints from all the journals and pointing out that I must be in the direst need of a smart new crop and the most thorough review of the London shops.’
‘Is that the Indian word for mama?’ When Sara nodded she added, ‘Does she not come and visit you here?’
‘She doesn’t dare let Papa loose on me down here because he’ll try and dragoon me back to town. Besides, the two of them are a trifle noticeable in such a small place, which does not help my attempts to blend in.’
‘And are you perfectly conventional when you are in London?’ Marguerite not only secured a cup of tea, but added two cream scones to her plate.
‘Yes, I suppose I am. I still feel like a fish out of water there. I had such a short Season and then I lived in Cambridge, but I suppose I will soon learn to spend large amounts of money, attend every fashionable event until I am absolutely exhausted, gossip with the best of them and flirt outrageously.’
‘And then escape down here before the bills, the gossip and the flirtations catch up with you?’ Marguerite suggested saucily.
‘Of course.’ Sara smiled, but she was puzzled. Was Lucian’s sister putting on a most convincing front of happiness and recovered spirits or was she more resilient, or perhaps less in love, than Sara had thought? The recovery from the weeping girl on the beach was incredible. ‘Here comes your brother to take you through to find your seats.’
‘Yours as well—you will join us, won’t you?’
‘Thank you.’ Sara smiled when Lucian reached their side and curtsyed and made small talk and did her level best not to think outrageous and improper thoughts lest they show on her face. What with trying not to show any distinguishing attention to Mr Dunton that would stimulate wagging tongues, puzzling over Marguerite’s welcome, but unexpected, cheerfulness and attempting not to fantasise about ripping Lucian’s exceedingly elegant tailcoat off his broad shoulders, she could feel her expression freezing into one of well-bred ennui. And her bruises from her fall were beginning to ache, which did not make sitting elegantly any easier.
If the infuriating man was taking any notice of her at all he should feel thoroughly cold-shouldered, given that she was presenting him with her profile and not a single smile. The trouble was, she thought, listening with half an ear to the slow movement of one of John Field’s piano concertos, he was more than capable of ignoring anything that did not fit in with his determined view of how matters ought to be.
*
‘Marguerite seems in good spirits,’ she remarked low-voiced during the interval, unable to resist talking to him any more.
Lucian’s gaze followed his sister as she went to locate even more scones. ‘Yes. I have to agree with you, talking about things with another young woman has helped her. I feel more confident that she will continue to improve now.’
‘You are?’ Sara had difficulty believing in this sudden improvement. Surely Marguerite was not pinning all her hopes on Sara’s promise to investigate and feeling full of false confidence that Gregory was alive and well?
‘We lost my mother to a virulent fever when she was just ten years old and she is my only sister. I was twenty. I knew nothing about girls and my father coped by handing her over to her governess.’ He smiled fleetingly. ‘Then it was a shock when I found myself the Marquess so suddenly—that was during your first London Season, I think. There was a lot to learn, but I resolved that I was going to raise my sister to be as perfect a young gentlewoman as if her mother was still alive.’
The smile no longer reached his eyes and Sara thought she glimpsed the grieving man pitchforked into awesome responsibility and determined, somehow, to be perfect.
‘My father had years to become used to the fact that he would inherit the marquessate,’ she said, recalling the frank family discussions about what the inheritance would involve. ‘Which was a good thing because Mata was horrified at the thought of it and almost refused to marry him when she found out. We stayed in India until the last possible moment, but he w
as fully prepared when it happened and my brother Ashe was older than you were when you inherited, so he was a great support. Mata said that after an Indian royal court Almack’s and St James’s Palace were simplicity themselves to negotiate. I cannot imagine poor Ashe finding himself responsible for me, though.’
