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“Sir Roger Abermarle and Lady Beatrice, ma’am.”
“There are Abermarles in Sussex. Your kin?”
“No, ma’am. My parents lived in Dorset. I have no relatives except for a cousin in Cornwall.”
“Ah, well, no matter. Sit down, child. You need something invigorating. Didier, some Madeira. Where the devil is that cursed man?”
Rafael met Victoria’s startled eyes and smiled.
“You’re a beauty,” Lucia said suddenly. “I trust your nature is as lovely as your countenance.”
“I will vouch for her good nature, my lady,” Rafael said. “As I told you, I have been her escort.”
“Very improper, of course, but it can’t be helped now. Hmmm.”
Didier appeared, and his impassive features softened. Her ladyship was primed and ready for a new adventure, he saw. This Carstairs fellow seemed honest enough, and the young lady . . . well, a bit travel worn and . . . “I shall bring in some tea and cakes directly,” he said, and left.
“Well, I say,” Lady Lucia said. “He left before I could tell him to bring some Madeira.”
“Tea would be wonderful and I am terribly hungry,” Victoria said, then skittered to a halt, her eyes going to Lady Lucia’s face.
I shall have the truth, all of it, out of her in no time at all, Lucia thought, pleased. The girl had about as much guile as Diana Savarol. No, she thought, grinning broadly, not Savarol. The Countess of Saint Leven. She rubbed her hands together. No need to probe now. Captain Carstairs was smooth as a pebble underwater, and likely wouldn’t give away much, but the girl . . . She couldn’t wait. She trusted that the very handsome Captain Carstairs wasn’t married.
After generalities over tea and delicious lemon cakes, Lucia said abruptly, “Captain Carstairs, you will return here for dinner. Eight o’clock, mind, no later. As for Miss Abermarle, I will see that she’s made comfortable. You may go now.”
Rafael, stifling a grin at the agonized, very frightened look from Victoria, nodded and took Lady Lucia’s hand. “Thank you, ma’am. Very much.”
Of Didier he asked quietly in the entranceway, “I need some rooms. What can you recommend?”
Within an hour Rafael was possessed of rooms on Courtney Street, only fifteen minutes from Lady Lucia’s town house.
As for Victoria, she was looking wide-eyed at the lovely bedchamber. “Ah,” said Lucia, “this is Grumber. She sees to all my needs, doesn’t talk much, and always screws her mouth up like she’s just eaten a lemon. Don’t mind her. She’s not a bad sort at all. Grumber, this is Miss Abermarle.”
“Hello, Grumber.”
“Miss.”
“Now, Grumber,” said Lucia, “don’t turn your nose up at Miss Abermarle’s clothing. We shall improve on those silly girlish muslins in no time at all. My dear, you shall take a rest now, and Grumber will come for you in good time to change for dinner.”
Lucia made her way to the door, only to stop abruptly and say over her shoulder, “My dear, is the good captain married?”
“No, ma’am. He has just come home from the sea, I gather.”
“For good, I trust,” said Lucia. “Rest now, my dear.”
With that command, Victoria was soon left to her own devices. She stood in the middle of the room thinking vaguely of the unexpectedness of fate. “Well,” she said aloud to the empty chamber, “this can’t be worse than Damien or that Bishop smuggler person.”
She removed her shoes and stretched out on the very comfortable bed. Very quickly she was enjoying the sleep of the innocent.
Lucia, a strategist of the first order, carried the gown to Victoria’s bedchamber. She heard the splashing of the bathwater and grinned. She knocked lightly, then opened the door and entered.
Victoria gasped until she saw Lady Lucia.
“Oh, ma’am!”
“Don’t drown yourself, my dear. I’m not Captain Carstairs. Now, just finish your washing. I’ve brought you a gown left by my niece, Diana Savarol. Did Captain Carstairs tell you about her?”
Victoria, routed utterly, nodded even as she continued with the bathing sponge on her left knee. “Yes. ma’am.”
