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“She is tatting, sir, and doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Tatting? Good God, man, what the devil is that?”
Didier unbent a trifle. “It is something Lady Lucia despises, a form of needlework. She considers it in the nature of a penance.” Realizing he’d spoken too frankly to an absolute stranger, Didier frowned down his nose and added, “Should you like to leave your card?”
“No, tell the lady I am providing a new penance. Whatever sin or sins she’s committed, tell her that this penance will be more than adequate for her needs. That is the new penance in the carriage.” He waved toward Victoria’s face. “It is urgent that I speak with her, as you can see from the rain dripping off the lady’s nose.”
Didier pondered. Her ladyship was growing a bit drawn in the withers. She was punishing herself with the endless irksome tatting because she’d read the entire batch of new gothic tales from Hookham’s all in a week. He’d gently suggested that the tatting could wait for a snowy winter day, and she’d frowned at him and told him to stick his nose back in Cook’s business.
A new penance, was it? He looked toward the carriage through the drizzle and indeed saw a lady’s face.
“Very well, sir. Please come in.”
Lady Lucia was bored. Drat that overbearing Didier anyway. And the tatting looked like no scarf she’d ever before encountered. Lyon and Diana hadn’t yet returned from the West Indies, but the Earl and Countess of Rothermere were du
e in London sometime soon, and the earl’s father, the Marquess of Chandos, as well. Ah, well, not too many more days filled with boredom, baiting Didier, and the ghastly tatting.
When Didier appeared in the doorway, she frowned at him. “Don’t say it, Didier, I’m in no mood for more of your impertinence.”
“A new penance has arrived, my lady.”
“Eh? What the devil are you talking about? Have you finally fallen into your dotage? About time, I say.”
“No. A gentleman is here, a Captain Rafael Carstairs, and a young lady is very nearly here.”
“Not a whit of sense.” But she brightened. “A captain, Didier? A captain of what, pray?”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion of his antecedents, my lady, or of his current affiliations.”
“Dratted academician Show him in.”
Lucia’s eyes widened when the very handsome man came striding into her drawing room, a black greatcoat swirling about his booted ankles. He was somewhat wet—only to be expected, of course, since it had been drizzling for hours now. She quickly stuffed her tatting beneath her chair cushion and rose.
Beautiful eyes, she thought, a pale silver gray. Lovely thick black hair, and a presence to make even old Mrs. Ackerson’s heart do a double beat.
Rafael regarded the proud old woman. She did look a terror with her very straight carriage and her gimlet eyes. “My name is Rafael Carstairs, ma’am. Thank you for seeing me. I married Lyon and Diana.”
Lucia didn’t blink. “You’re really a vicar, then?”
He grinned at the disbelief and disappointment in her voice. “No, ma’am. I am captain of the Seawitch. I sailed Diana and Lyon to the West Indies. Lyon told me all about you. He said that if he were ever in trouble, you were the one to save his hide. I’m in trouble, ma’am, and desperately need your help.”
“All ears, Didier? Fetch some brandy for Captain Carstairs.”
“The penance in the carriage, my lady?”
Rafael laughed aloud. “That is my problem, ma’am. Her name is Victoria Abermarle and she is very young and I don’t know anyone in London to take care of her.”
“Fetch Miss Abermarle, Didier, and see to Captain Carstairs’ horses and carriage.”
“First, madam, the brandy.”
Rafael had but a few minutes to prepare Lady Lucia for her treat. He wondered how much of the truth was in order, and decided to put forth only the skeleton of the situation. It wasn’t even enough for a worthy skeleton, he thought, after telling her inanely that Victoria had run away from her cousin’s home because she’d been unhappy, and although he himself had never met her, he’d saved her from smugglers and brought her with him to London.
“That’s not all of it by any means,” Lucia said comfortably, “but it will suffice for now. Ah, here is my penance. Miss Abermarle? Come here, child, and let me have a look at you.”
Victoria faltered. She swallowed and took three steps forward. “Yes, ma’am.” She dropped a curtsy. Lucia nodded, pleased with her grace.
“Come closer, child, I won’t eat you. Victoria, eh? A nice name, a bit stiff and formal, of course, but it will do. Now, who are your parents?”
