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‘Yes, I thought it sensible to let her try her wings before her Season. It always seems cruel pitching the girls straight from the schoolroom into society and the bear pit of Almack’s.’ Time, he thought, to change the subject away from Marguerite. ‘That racehorse of yours did well at Wincanton.’
Sara came in and began to circulate, her expression when they met decidedly cool and collected. Was she play-acting for her family’s benefit or had he upset her in the study? he wondered, schooling his own face. Hell, this could be a long week.
Something white fluttered to his feet as she passed. ‘Your handkerchief, Lady Sara.’ He stooped to pick it up and, as she took it from him, her fingers curled into his palm for a moment, the nails gently raking the sensitive flesh. ‘Stop it, you tease,’ he murmured and she chuckled, a low, wicked sound, as she moved on.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucian conjured up thoughts of cold porridge, icicles and Latin verbs. A very long week. He looked around for his sister and saw Marguerite was talking to the Dowager Countess of Thale, a notoriously outspoken old besom, and her companion, the bluestocking Miss Croft. He moved across the room so he was within earshot of the conversation.
‘Oh, good, poor Mr Farnsworth has come down,’ Marguerite said. ‘He is my brother’s confidential secretary, you know, and he has been in the most horrible accident and it is so brave of him to come back to help Lucian even though he is still recovering. I tell my brother he must not work him too hard, but you know what men are like.’
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‘Indeed I do,’ Miss Croft said darkly. ‘He looks a scholarly type, though.’
‘My brother?’ Marguerite asked innocently. Lucian’s lips twitched. He must warn her not to overdo the sweet naivety.
‘The secretary.’
‘Oh, yes, I believe he is. Rather serious, you know, even though the eyepatch makes him look most piratical.’ She laughed and Lucian relaxed. Marguerite would do.
‘Lord Cannock.’
He turned and saw a tall brunette by his side, regarding him with wide brown eyes full of curiosity. He recognised her, but had never met her. ‘Lady Clere.’ An attractive lady and expecting a child, if he was not mistaken. Sara’s brother had good taste, he would give him that. The child, he remembered Sara saying, would be their first.
‘I suspect I know where that bruise came from,’ she murmured. ‘Ashe can be exceedingly protective, which is very commendable, but sometimes…infuriating. I must congratulate you on not retaliating. But by the look of her I think you are making Sara happy, so I approve. But if I find you have hurt her I will disembowel you myself, Lord Cannock.’ She smiled brightly as if she had just made a joke. He suspected it was not. ‘Luncheon is ready, do make yourself at home.’
She passed on to the next group of guests with a warm smile, leaving Lucian wondering just what sort of bloodthirsty family Sara belonged to. She was skilled with a knife, as was, apparently, her mother. Her brother hit first and asked questions afterwards, her father positively exuded controlled menace and her sister-in-law uttered unladylike threats with relish.
He filled a plate with cold meats and salads and went to an unoccupied table on the terrace in the hope of finding some peace to think. He had no sooner settled and sent a footman off for ale than he had to rise as his hostess approached.
‘Please, do not stand, Lord Cannock.’ Lady Eldonstone settled beside him in a flurry of elegant green skirts and he thought what a truly beautiful woman she was, with her glossy dark brown hair and her gilded skin and those wide, expressive green eyes. She and Eldonstone had created handsome children between them, he thought, eyeing her warily. What threats would she utter? he wondered, knowing he could not bring himself to speak to his hostess as he had to her husband and son if she attacked him.
‘You may relax, Lord Cannock, I trust my daughter’s judgement,’ she said without further preliminaries as she tore a bread roll apart with one quick twist.
‘Thank you.’ It was a novel experience, to be talking to the mother of a lover, and it went against all his instincts as a gentleman. The ladies with whom he normally formed liaisons were as old as he was, sophisticated widows living independent lives far detached from the bonds of family. Sara was sophisticated enough in her own way, but he had not counted on this close proximity to the rest of the Herriards, her unconventional, exceedingly frank, family.
‘And I like your sister, a charming girl. All will be well,’ Lady Eldonstone added serenely.
‘I sincerely hope so.’ Lucian had the distinct impression that if anything was not well, she would give it a severe talking-to.
‘Now, tell me your impressions of Sandbay,’ she said as two more guests, a middle-aged couple, approached their table. ‘Dr Galway, Mrs Galway, do join us.’ She made the introductions when she discovered they knew each other only by sight and, when they had settled, told them that Lord Cannock and his sister had been staying at the resort where they had met Sara.
‘It sounds a charming place,’ Mrs Galway remarked eagerly. ‘I keep telling my husband we should go and stay. What is your impression of it, Lord Cannock? One would hope for rational entertainment without the sort of thing one hears about at Brighton.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Immorality and vice. Shocking. One shudders to think what the tone of society will be once That Man becomes king.’
‘I certainly did not observe any immorality,’ Lucian said. Which was true enough. The only immorality he was aware of had been perpetuated by him and he had hardly observed it. His body stirred at the memory of it though and he focused resolutely on Mrs Galway’s earnest face. ‘It is a small town still, but exceedingly pleasant. It was just what my sister, who has been unwell, needed. Good air, relaxation, some unexceptional diversions.’
He continued to talk platitudes and eat cold ham under the amused gaze of his hostess. Lucian gritted his teeth. If this polite boredom was the price of making all secure for Marguerite, then he would pay it.
Sara, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with Gregory who was doing an excellent job of not looking at Marguerite who had escaped Lady Fitzhugh and had been rejoined by Peterson and Hitchin. Lucian knew he should probably show some disapproval of his sister sitting with two lively young gentlemen. They had found her a table and were plying her with refreshments, squabbling in the most flattering manner over which of them would fetch her lemonade. But if they were guests here they would be trustworthy and it seemed to him they were too young to be any danger to her affections for Farnsworth. Besides, a little flirtation with them would divert attention from any attention she paid to her brother’s secretary.
Peals of laughter made him glance across the terrace to where four young ladies, barely older than Marguerite, were clustered around a table, heads together as they chattered. Their charmingly fashionable, obviously expensive, morning dresses marked them as being out, probably part of this Season’s crop of young ladies launched on to the Marriage Mart.
Lord, but they are young, he thought as he watched them giggle and tease and cast lingering glances at the two young men who were talking to Marguerite. He had always managed to avoid the innocents, he realised. His London social life revolved around his clubs and invitations to dinner parties, balls, receptions and entertainments where he could mingle with men his own age or older, married couples, the dashing widows—anyone, in fact, rather than the pastel-clad girls so fiercely chaperoned by their anxious and ambitious mamas.
And these were the young ladies from whom he would choose his bride. His wife. He looked at the pretty faces unmarked by life’s experiences—or even much thought, he suspected. How did you choose, how could you know which would mature into a woman of character and intelligence, a woman he would want to spend the rest of his life with, the mother of his children?
A ripple of rich, amused laughter reached him through the chatter. He found he was smiling as he looked across at Sara, who was still talking to Farnsworth. What his somewhat solemn secretary had said to her to make her laugh he could not guess, but as Lucian watched Farnsworth said something else and she was immediately serious, listening with her chin cupped in her hand.
