Lady Libertine
Kate Harper
Copyright Kate Harper 2011
Published by Kate Harper at Smashwords
www.kate-harper.com
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Chapter One
‘Well!’
The word, ejected with all the force of a pistol shot, caused Lucy Landon to pause in the act of buttering her toast. Raising her eyes, she looked at her mother. As often happened when Lady Landon was displeased, she appeared to have swollen in size, as if her fury somehow puffed her up from the inside.
‘Well I never!’
A frisson of mingled anticipation and alarm rippled through the girl. ‘Why, whatever is the matter, Mama?’
‘I am never going to buy this… this rubbish again. I shall tell Deavers to have it canceled. Oh, I am utterly mortified!’
Lucy sighed inwardly. She was well used to her mother’s fits of fury, but, just occasionally, she wished that they would not happen at the breakfast table. Perhaps, Lucy thought hopefully, her mother would be so upset that she would be unable to remain at the table. On a good day (from Lucy’s point of view) Mama would retire to her room with hartshorn and her maid, taking to her bed and the comforts of medicinal brandy. Mentally, Lucy calculated what the chances were of her mother storming from the room, if she were provoked in just the right manner. It was worth a try; especially if she was going to have a hope of eating the rest of her breakfast in peace.
‘Has something in the paper upset you?’
Lady Landon turned her gimlet gaze upon her eldest, and least loved, daughter. ‘Of course something has upset me, you idiot! That absurd piece of rubbish has printed that woman again.’
Those two words, Lucy reflected, really ought to have been capitalized, such was the portent of her mother’s words – That Woman. ‘Lady Libertine?’
‘Lady Libertine!’ The loathing in Lady Landon’s voice was almost tangible. ‘A scurrilous, infuriating, perfidious liar! I am going to get Billingsworth to have that… that creature dismissed. I will make sure that she never writes another word again!’
Lucy looked at the paper thoughtfully, determined, at the first opportunity, to read whatever had enraged her mother so. Although she thought she might have a good idea already.
Lady Libertine had been publishing a – well, the term would probably be gossip column – for the past eight weeks in the London Times under the banner of On Dit. In it were thinly disguised reports of the ton, including the less public liaisons that happened when the hour advanced and people made advances. Not that names were actually disclosed; they did not have to be as the writer had a knack of describing the people involved. Nobody ever doubted the identity of anybody unfortunate enough to be targeted.
Of course, it had created a huge uproar and the paper had been petitioned to stop printing the column on numerous occasions. The editor, however, denied knowing the identity of the writer. As the circulation of his newspaper had gone up quite amazingly since the column's inception and he was flourishing, that was hardly surprising. Why kill off a gold mine? Nobody could resist buying – or reading – the Times these days. Not only was everybody desperate to know if they were mentioned, but the days when the column was not featured, everybody wrote in to protest about it how it was featured.
From the London Times point of view, it was all most satisfactory.
‘Surely it is all just gossip. Nobody actually believes anything she writes.’
Lady Landon looked at her daughter with incredulous fury. ‘What a complete ninny you are, Lucy. Of course everybody believes what she writes. How could they not when so much of it proves to be true? Which just means,’ her mother added viciously, ‘that whatever gross fabrications she mixes in are taken as gospel.’
‘But what is it she wrote that is so very bad?’
For a moment, Lady Landon hesitated. ‘It does not signify. Sufficient to say, it is complete nonsense.’
Before Lucy could reply to this (thereby exciting her mother even more), Phoebe, the youngest of the Landon girls, trailed into the room and smiled around vaguely. Exquisitely fair and with a face like an angel, she was her mother’s favorite child by far, with Judith, the second born, following on and Lucy herself trailing behind in a very considerable third place.
‘Hello, Mummy. Are you cross? I could hear you from the hallway.’
This artless utterance had the happy effect of immediately diminishing Lady Landon’s anger – although Lucy knew that it still simmered below the surface –and her face softened as she looked at the pretty vision that was her youngest child. ‘Good morning, darling. You have your new blue crepe on,’ her eyes swept the over the gown critically, ‘and yes, I think Madam Francine did a fair job. Not that she is worth the ridiculous amount she tries to charge, but it will do very well on you. The color is certainly becoming.’
Phoebe, Lucy reflected, would look delightful in a sack. Unlike herself, who looked sadly sallow in the wrong shades.
Phoebe smiled at Lucy, taking a chair. ‘Good morning, Mouse.’
‘Good morning, yourself.’ Only Phoebe still used the childhood name bestowed by their father. Her mother hated it, but never did she scold her daughter, other than to occasionally give a gentle reproof. Just as she remained silent about Phoebe coming late to the breakfast table every morning. If Lucy had been tardy, her mother would have given her a lecture about the importance of punctuality, but there were no lectures for Phoebe, even when Phoebe did not make it to the breakfast table at all.
‘She’s such a fragile little thing,’ Mama would croon. ‘It does not hurt to let her have a tray in her room.’
Such duality had been part of Lucy’s life for as long as she could remember. Not that Lucy minded, not really. It was hardly Phoebe’s fault that their mother had such decided partialities. And at least Phoebe’s presence distracted their mother on to other topics, for she was in the process of coming out and there was an endless amount of things that must be done, must be discussed, must be dissected at length. Lady Landon was determined to catch an excellent husband for her youngest child; Judith had married a baronet, but Phoebe, Lady Landon opined, would probably be able to manage a duke or at the very least, an earl.
Lucy thought that her mother was aiming rather high, but she did not argue. She would not dare! It was all rather tedious, really.
When she had finished her toast, she rose from the table and moved quietly from the room, collecting the newspaper on the way. There was a reason her father had named her mouse; she had a talent for slipping about the place unnoticed. That, along with her unremarkable brown hair and her quiet brown eyes made the name mouse seem very apt. Lucy carried the newspaper up to her bedchamber and went across to the desk in front of the window. Her mother had rumpled it, clenched hands scrunching the print, but Lucy smoothed it out, turned to page three, and started to read the column entitled On Dit.
A slow smile curved her lips.
Poor Mama; how would she face her morning callers? And there would be so many callers. Such scandalous allegations usually brought the gossipmongers out of the woodwork. Already, Lucy could feel a disturbance in the house as Deavers went to let the first of them in. Her mother would not dare to say that she was not receiving. That would look too odd, too suspicious.
Lucy read the words out loud, the very words that would prompt a flurry of callers to Smith Street at such an hour.
And who was the middle-aged matron who was caught in a compromising position with a certain portly lord at Lady Jersey’s rout on Saturday night? Naming no names, but nobody could say that color green was becoming, not on a woman of her years. And those feathers, trailing after her like a wounded bird! Were they ostrich or grouse? Not that our Lord B. seemed to care. Apparently the rumors are true; the Widow is planning on bagging another kind of bird. Good hunting, my lady…
It was, Lucy knew, dreadfully written and quite ridiculously salacious; no wonder her mother had been livid. For who else but Lady Landon had been wearing a rather virulent shade of green at the rout, along with some peculiar, trailing ostrich feathers in her headpiece? As for Lord B; well, the entire world knew Lord Billingsworth - who was decidedly portly – was dreadfully keen on Lady Landon.
Lady Libertine had struck again.
And, once again, her arrow had met its mark.
Lucius Ransom, the twelfth Earl of Hamersley (more commonly known as Rand, to friends and family) did not read the less well-regarded morning papers. He was strictly a London Gazette man when he bothered to read them at all. So it fell to his brother-in-law, Mr. Edward Challender, to come and tell him of the contents of On Dit at the unseasonable time – for the earl – of eleven in the morning. Julia, Edward’s wife, had asked him to go. She would have done it herself, for she did love to tease her elder sibling, but getting about in the mornings was a tedious thing, now that her confinement was advancing.
Hamersley had not been in bed for more than four hours, having enjoyed a rather wild night around the town. To make matters uncomfortable, from Edward’s point of view, he was not alone. His lordship’s valet, Chance, warned him that the earl had arrived home with a delightful little high stepper in tow and, to Chance’s knowledge, she had spent the night. Both his butler and his valet had suggested that Mr. Challender might like to wait in the library for his lordship, but he was having none of it.
He had better things to do than kick his heels, awaiting his brother-in-law’s pleasure.
So it was he walked straight into Hamersley’s bedroom. Crossing to the windows, he pulled open the curtains, allowing shafts of feeble sunlight into the room. Nothing moved in the bed. Edward raised an eyebrow when he saw the two figures in the enormous four-poster. It seemed that the earl’s nocturnal entertainment really had remained and he shook his head. At six and twenty, it might be expected that Hamersley would have grown up. There were responsibilities involved in his exalted title, but Rand managed to sidestep most of them neatly, focusing on the more pleasurable aspects of life. His lordship had hundreds of acres of lands in Sussex that were farmed extensively. He had dozens of tenants, no less than five houses, and a large granary, but did he oversee any of it? The hell he did.
Edward walked across to the bed and jabbed a finger into the earl’s ribs. Rand, twelfth Earl of Hamersley stirred, opening one eye to peer blearily at his brother-in-law. Apparently, the sight did not please him for he immediately closed it again and turned his face away. Undaunted, Edward dug the finger in again.
‘Wake up! We need to talk.’
Beside Rand, the girl raised her head and squinted at the person who was intent on causing mayhem. Sleep rumpled as she was, Edward could still see that she was extremely pretty and, as she rolled over to bury her face in the pillow, severely underdressed as she did not appear to have a stitch on. At least, not on any of the parts that he could see. He turned his eyes away hastily, thinking of his wife Julia. Not that Julia would object. She was a little too like her brother for that.
‘Rand,’ Edward said, striving for patience, ‘I am not going away so you might as well wake up and talk to me.’
The earl groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows. Like the girl, he was naked, olive skin gleaming faintly in the morning light. ‘Edward, what a loathsome creature you are! Why the devil did my man allow you in here?’
‘I gave him no choice in the matter. Get up. I want to talk to you.’
‘So talk. Under the circumstances, I suppose I have no choice but to listen.’
‘Alone!’ Edward said, exasperated.
Rand glanced at the sleeping figure beside him and grinned. Disheveled, with his dark hair half hanging over his face and the shadow of stubble on his chin, he looked more like a feckless gypsy than a nobleman, but, Edward reflected sourly, he acted more like a feckless gypsy so perhaps it was apt. Rand did not behave like a man with any maturity. In fact, he went out of his way to shock Polite Society with his careless ways.
He was a Hamersley, after all. That was what they did. Shock. Cajole. Appall. Beguile.
His lordship shot Edward a look. Dark as he was, the light green eyes were a little startling in that they were such a contrast. He blew out a breath. ‘You are not going to go away, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Well at least go and wait for me in the dining room. And tell Markham that I am ready for breakfast.’ He glanced at the girl sleeping next to him and grinned. ‘More than ready!’
Edward rolled his eyes and left the room.
Thirty minutes later, Rand joined him. He was dressed, although more casually than Edward considered proper for a man in Hamersley’s position. The black trousers and waistcoat were acceptable, but the white shirt was worn open, with no neckcloth, and he had omitted a jacket completely. He had washed, apparently, but his hair was still free of any restraints and hung, a shaggy black mass, a little past his shoulders. To his neat, impeccably tailored brother-in-law, he looked like a disreputable rogue. Or like a privateer, he thought sourly. The image was not helped by the knowledge that Rand would probably thoroughly enjoy the life of a privateer. A little thievery on the high seas would suit him admirably.
Breakfast had been laid out on the table in silver warming dishes. Edward had already helped himself to coffee. Rand sat and began to pile food on a plate, but eschewed the coffee, instead pouring himself a glass of ale, something the fastidious Edward winced at. As far as he was concerned, no man should drink before noon.
‘I’m starving.’
‘Late night?’
His lordship shrugged. ‘Early morning. What the devil do you mean, waking me at this time? If you were not married to my favorite sister, then I would have had Chance throw you out.’ The earl’s valet was a large and useful man whose first career had been in the boxing ring.
Edward was unimpressed. ‘Eleven is not exactly the crack of dawn.’
‘It feels like the crack of dawn. Why are you here, anyway? Is Julia all right?’
As ever, when his wife’s name was mentioned, Edward Challoner’s face softened. ‘She is very well. A little more tired than usual, but that is only to be expected.’
Julia was expecting their first baby in November.
‘Then, much as I delight in your company…’ Rand arched an interrogative eyebrow.
Edward slipped the paper he had brought across to Rand, open at the relevant page. The duke glanced at it without interest. ‘What is it?’
‘That column that has everybody so perturbed.’
‘What column?’
‘It is called On Dit. It’s nonsense, really, but has proved to be extraordinarily popular. It features tidbits about who was seen where with whom. Unfortunately, it has enough truth in it to make a great many people very nervous.’
Rand frowned. ‘Sounds like so much twaddle. And I should care because?’
‘Read it. About half way down the page.’ His lordship stared at Edward for a few moments longer then impatiently pulled the newspaper towards him. There was a small silence and then he raised a thunderous face and stared at Edward, who met his look blandly. ‘That is correct. You. With Lady Astor. In the conservatory. Can we expect a posting of the banns any time soon? Oh no, I suppose not. As she is already affianced to the Duke of Gatton.’
Rand was reading the piece again. Really, despite the fact that the author had named no names, it could not be anybody but him and Caroline Astor. Damn.
‘How is this rubbish allowed to be published?' The earl demanded, throwing down the offending article. ‘Why do we allow it?’
Edward shrugged. ‘No names are named. The paper allows it for that very reason. And because it sells. I believe their circulation has risen considerably.’
Rand scowled down at his eggs. Damn it all, Gatton was going to be furious. He was already irked, thanks to the fact that Rand had beaten him in that race they had set up between the Cranford-Maidenhead turnpikes, Rand beating Gatton’s prized chestnuts with the new pair of grey’s he’d bought at Newmarket. Now, if he thought for a moment that Rand was making free with his fiancé…
‘I don’t suppose it matters. Who reads that rubbish, anyway?’
‘Why, all of London reads it. It appears in the Tuesday and Friday editions. What on earth possessed you to make love to Caroline Astor?’
‘What do you think? The girl is a stunner and she was rather keen that I did make love to her.’
‘Right back to the fiancé issue, Rand.’
The earl grimaced. ‘Believe me, I was not the one doing the chasing and it was just a little harmless flirtation. It is not as if I sullied the girl.’ He had not sullied her much. Her maidenhead was still waiting to be taken by poor old Gatton.
Edward studied his brother-in-law for a moment, then shook his head. ‘When are you going to settle down with a wife? These hedonistic ways are going to keep landing you into trouble.’
His lordship leaned back in his chair, loose limbed, but with the peculiar grace that characterized all of the Hamersley’s. They were an attractive lot, with their dark, almost exotic looks and a casual joie de vive about life that was at once appealing and yet immensely frustrating. ‘My dear Edward, why should marriage necessarily equate with settling down? Just because you and Julia are besotted does not mean that is the usual way of things. In my experience, marriage spices up ones love life, not the other way around.’
He was, of course, talking about the women who married well, produced an heir (along with a spare) and then discreetly – most of the time – took lovers to compensate for their worthy husbands lack of attractions. To Edward, who had been lucky enough to marry for love, it seemed utterly mad, but then, his loving wife had assured him that his views on the topic were quite ridiculous. Adorable, but ridiculous. It had been the ‘adorable’ part that had stung the most.
‘Just the same, even by your rules, Caroline Astor should have been out of bounds. I just came from Whites where they were discussing the matter at length.’
Rand swore and took another gulp of ale. ‘Damned nonsense! That paper is libelous.’
‘There is talk of a free press.’
‘The hell there is. People cannot simply wander around spying on other people. Good God, Edward. It’s just not done.’
‘But you were in the conservatory with Lady Astor.’
The duke glared at Edward. ‘Yes, but the entire world need not know it!’
‘Well, it’s likely that Gatton will,’ Edward said, rising to his feet, ‘and you need to work out how you are going to manage it. Unless you really are going to cut him out with Lady Astor?’
Rand looked horrified at the very thought. ‘Good God, no!’
‘I thought not.’
‘Are you ever going to come back to bed, Duckie?’ The light, feminine voice brought both men’s heads around. The girl who had been sharing Rand’s bed had woken and was now standing in the doorway, more or less covered in a bed sheet. A little less than more, actually, as there was a deal of flesh exposed. She spied the food on the table and her face lit up. ‘Oooo, grub. I’m starved!’ And she hurried forward, almost tripping on her sheet, which fell to reveal one round, creamy breast.
Edward averted his eyes hastily. ‘I will see you tomorrow night. You are coming?’
For a moment Rand look completely blank, then he nodded quickly. ‘Julia’s party. Of course. I had not forgotten.’
Edward nodded dryly. ‘Until tomorrow then.’
‘I am perfectly serious about that damned newspaper nonsense, Edward. What was the name? Lady Libertine? I am going to stop her. If it really is a her. I find it hard to believe that a female would think of something like that.’ He paused, considered that, then shook his head. ‘Strike that last comment. That column is exactly the kind of thing a female would come up with!’
‘You may try, but you might also try acting with some restraint for a change. Then you would not be the subject of some scandalmongers pen.’
Rand stared at his brother-in-law in exasperation. ‘Oh, go to the devil you cloth-headed, beef-brained idiot! How Julia can stand your preaching ways I will never know.’
To which Edward was left with no reply, but a dignified retreat.
Thomas Beaufort sat at his desk in the offices of the London Times and eyed Lucy Landon with amusement.
‘Do you sometimes think you go a step to far?’
Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘You have met my mama, have you not?’
He did not flinch at the memory, but it was a close thing. Lady Landon was what was commonly known as a termagant. Thomas had been Lord Landon’s secretary and he had not had cause to see a great deal of the gentleman’s wife, but from the occasions when their paths crossed, Thomas had reason to be grateful that their contact was minimal. Even so…
‘She is your mother, just the same.’
‘She is,’ Lucy agreed glumly. ‘She most assuredly is.’
Thomas smiled and rose to his feet. Opening a locked cashbox, he removed thirty guineas and handed them to Lucy. She stared at the notes, wide-eyed. ‘So much!’
‘Oh, we’re doing very well. Circulation has more than tripled since your column became the rage. Take it, Lucy. It’s all down to you, after all.’
Lucy took the money, folding it neatly and stowing it away in her reticule. She smiled at him. ‘Thank-you!’
‘It must be adding up by now.’
‘Oh it is, but I need more if I am going to survive for any length of time. I do believe I can be quite comfortable on around one hundred pounds a year. But one never knows. It is costly to run a household, even a small one. Dreary things like eating come into it and, while I aim to be frugal, there are some things that I cannot do without.’
‘You are still determined to retire to Cornwall, then?’
‘More determined than ever. I am sure Mama will marry Lord Billingsworth, although he is a most unappealing man. Looks rather like a frog. Judith is married and I daresay Phoebe will make an eligible match of it this Season. Which just leaves me. I have no wish to join Lord Billingsworth's household and end up as some kind of unpaid housekeeper. My dear Thomas, the tales I could tell you about the life of a spinster! They would make your toes curl.’
Thomas shook his head. In many ways it really was a man’s world, which seemed a little unfair under the circumstances, especially when right good ‘uns like Lucy were in danger of being crushed by life and circumstance. They had been good friends since their first meeting four years ago in her father’s library. Having come down with a first in economics from Oxford, he had spent seven months in Lord Landon’s service before his untimely death. Thomas had always liked Lucy, who was smart and had a wicked sense of humor. It was a pity there was not a skerrick of attraction between them, for she would have made an excellent wife. And Thomas knew that, even if he asked her, she would say no.
Lucy Landon had always known her own mind.
‘It sounds ghastly, but perhaps she will say no if he proposes?’
‘Oh, she will say yes, you can be sure of that. She will say yes because Billingsworth has a large house on Vine Street and an impressive family seat in Dorset and our cousin has been waiting for his inheritance forever, or so it must seem to him. He would have had it by now if Father had not had the foresight to put something in his will.’
It had been providential that William Landon had placed a condition on his estate that would allow his wife and daughter’s the use of their house in London for five years. With no male heir, the title had gone to a cousin, but that cousin could not yet take their house in Smith Street. Not for another three years, at least. Fortunately, Lucy’s circumstances were not as grim as they could have been. She had been left a small cottage in Cornwall by her grandmother (on her father’s side), which would come to her at the age of five and twenty; four months away. Her mother – incensed that her daughter had been left such a prize while her other two daughters had been ignored - had determined that it be sold and Lucy had not argued about it. But she had no intention of selling up.
Life in a small, rustic cottage might not be everybody’s choice, but having spent all her life in her mother’s household, it was certainly Lucy’s!
Rising to her feet, she smiled at her friend. ‘I will be perfectly happy in my little house in Cornwall, and all the more so because it is a long way from Dorset. And you, you have been very good to me, Thomas.’
‘I am just sorry I cannot do more.’
‘Oh nonsense.’ It had been a providential chance meeting that had seen her form her new – if temporary - career. After leaving the Landon household, Thomas had fallen into the newspaper business. After a year, he had taken on the job as editor to the London Times. Over ices one day some months before, they had been discussing various things, not least of which was the scandalous goings on of the ton, in particular, the affairs of Lady Cardwell, who had been discovered in a compromising position with one of her lovers. Gossip had run around town like wildfire. Thomas had made a casual comment about how such snippets would be very popular in a newspaper and, suddenly, Lucy had had the most marvelous flash of inspiration. Having been wracking her brain for weeks on how best to make money, suddenly it had seemed stunningly clear.
She had to attend endless parties with her sister and mother and, after seven long Seasons on the shelf she was practically invisible. Retreating to her room after dinner one evening with quill and ink and paper, On Dit had been born. The result had been startling, to say the least.
She hesitated for a moment. ‘They are still pressuring you to reveal my identity?
‘But of course. I receive at least four enquires a day.’
Lucy looked at him with dismay. ‘How dreadful for you!’
Thomas chuckled. ‘Not at all. I tell them that I do not know Lady Libertine’s identity. That it is all done anonymously. And if it all gets too difficult, I just slip out the back door!’
‘I am relieved. Friday’s offering should be interesting, incidentally. I am invited to Julia Challener’s ball tonight.’
‘Ah, the Earl of Hamersley. Might he be there?’
‘He usually is, if his sister is presiding.’
Thomas grinned. ‘Nothing sells papers faster than a wicked earl or a naughty duke! I shall look forward to reading it tomorrow.’
Lucy collected her maid Jenny from the outer office, where the girl had been waiting, and made her way down the narrow wooden stairs that led to the street. Somewhere below a door slammed and they heard booted feet ascending. A tall man appeared and, for a moment, Lucy’s heart did a nervous flip in her chest. The good-looking man coming up the stairs was immediately recognizable. Speak of the devil! The Earl of Hamersley stomped upwards and, by the look on his face, he was extremely disgruntled. He stood aside to allow her to descend – bending his head in acknowledgement - but those legendary green eyes of his barely looked at her as she passed – too intent on his business to focus on anything else.
She caught a whiff of him as he passed; smoky, musky, and with a hint of wine on his breathe. Totally male and, somehow, totally disturbing. She hurried down the stairs, surprised that their brief closeness could bring such an unfamiliar flush.
Nothing more than nerves, she assured herself and wondered how many other ladies in London had thought exactly the same thing!
Lucy did not have to think too hard to know what that business was with the London Times; her brief summation of his meeting with Lady Caroline Astor in the conservatory had been quite masterly. Even she thought so. She hurried out the door, keen to remove herself, reluctant to be seen there, although there was really no reason for anybody to remark upon her presence. There were advantages to having the coloring and persona of a mouse; most people did not take the slightest bit of notice of her.
She pitied poor Thomas, however. She would not fancy facing down an angry earl intent on having his own way. The likes of his lordship were all too common in Lucy’s world; creatures intent on demanding things, sure that they would get them because, in one way or another, they ruled the world.
She thought of the money in her purse and smiled to herself, a secret smile of satisfaction.
Before another four months had passed, she would not have to worry about creatures like the Earl of Hamersley – or her mother – ever again. She would be free to pursue whatever she wished, in whatever way she wished.
Within reason, as whatever she wished would be dependant on funds.
Still, it was a very satisfying thought.
Chapter Two
Generally, occasions orchestrated by Julia Challender had a reputation for being unusual, but that just made them all the more popular. The Hamersley’s were eccentric, but their charm usually saw them through almost anything.
The sister of an earl and feted as the Season’s star debutante three years before, Julia had, against all reason, selected Mr. Edward Challender to marry. At the time, it had caused quite a stir. While Challender was thought to be a sound man, with a decent career ahead of him in politics, he was hardly scintillating. Julia, on the other hand, was an extraordinary beauty with thirty thousand a year and so could expect to marry more or less whomever she liked.
She had liked Edward and had gone after him with the single-minded enthusiasm of a lady who was determined to have her own way. Others could say what they would, but Julia did not care any more for the good opinion of Society than her sibling and married the thoroughly bemused – and extraordinarily grateful – Edward, in the event of the Season.
While her events were lavish, Julia tended to invite anybody who caught her eye, which was why Lucy Landon was going. They had shared a table three days before at an alfresco party at the Gardens and Julia had decided – based on nothing more than a casual conversation in passing, or so it seemed to Lucy – that she liked little Miss. Landon. An invitation to the ball had arrived the next day; most peculiarly, it was addressed only to Lucy and only Lucy was included.
Lady Landon had not liked that at all, but fortunately she had been asked to act as hostess for Lord Billingsworth that evening at a small soiree and so did not object too much. Lucy knew it would be a different matter if she had not been busy. An earl’s sister was an earl’s sister, after all, and such rarified circles were the ones Lady Landon intended her youngest child to move in. Lucy would not have been at all surprised if her mother thought Hamersley himself would be a suitable husband for Phoebe. She might have forbidden her eldest daughter to attend if she had not thought that her eldest daughter’s acquaintance with Mrs. Julia Challender might not come in handy.
Lucy had been avoiding her mother as much as possible since she had read the paper the morning before. Actually, she avoided her mother as much as possible on a daily basis, but she had been a little more absent than usual, finding things that would take her out of the house. Her surmise on that Tuesday morning had proved correct; there had been a lot of callers throughout the day and Lady Landon’s mood had been bordering on the volcanic as she tried for nonchalance and a ladylike demeanor. She had insisted to one and all that the entire thing was just so much fustian, but nobody had believed her, of course.
Everybody knew of the lady’s designs on being the future Lady Billingsworth.
Lucy dressed with a light heart; it felt almost daring to be going out alone, but it was a delicious feeling, just the same. She did not usually get to attend many things by herself. Tonight she was wearing a new gown, one that she had managed to slip by her mother when she had been buying new items for Phoebe. Madam Francine had been more than happy to deal with the eldest Miss. Landon and between them they had settled on brocaded silk in a deep blue with bows of worked Italian lace around the hem and sleeves. Pastels were not considered necessary for a spinster of four and twenty and Lucy was relieved that she had reached a stage in her life that meant she could abandon them.
She even had the coach tonight for Lord Billingsworth had sent his own for her mother and sister.
Perfect!
The Challender house on Portman Close was large and spacious and dazzlingly lit. Lucy climbed the steps with a happy sense of anticipation. She did not care if nobody asked her to dance (although someone invariably did out of sheer politeness – it was really rather annoying), or that she was destined sit next to some dreary creature who would likely blather on about their pugs or their vast array of ailments. She did not even care that she had been doing this for seven long years. This was the last year she would be doing it and the knowledge sometimes made her quite dizzy with delight. Especially now that she was actually earning an income. The money she received from penning the Lady Libertine column was a godsend for there had been no annuity bestowed with the cottage and she very much doubted her mother would make one over to her. The best that could be hoped for was that Lucy would be allowed to take the second best sheets and tablecloths for surely, as the new Lady Billingsworth, her mother would have linen to spare.
So it was that Lucy walked lightly through the front door, anticipating a pleasant night of doing what she did best; people watching. Blending into the background was one of the reasons she was so successful in her discovery of the indiscreet, most of which usually became a great deal more indiscreet after the magic hour of ten. She supposed it was the food and wine that had generally been consumed by that stage. It had the effect of undermining the usual inhibitions that kept Polite Society polite. Why, some of the things that Lucy had witnessed had been downright impolite, to the point of scandalous.
She might have been shocked, if it weren’t for the fact that, happily, very little shocked her and a great many things amused her.
Julia Challender greeted her arrival with pleasure, a brilliant smile lighting up her lovely face. She was younger than the duke, but with the same midnight hair and those strange, light green eyes. Her skin was not olive, but a pearlescent white that seemed to glow. She was dressed in deep red, cut to minimize her growing belly. ‘Why, Miss. Landon! How delightful that you could come.’
Lucy was flattered; how could she not be in the face of such obvious sincerity? Julia Challender was either an extraordinarily good actress or she meant every word she said. Lucy was inclined to believe the later; Julia did not seem to be much of a dissembler.
‘Thank you for inviting me. It was very kind.’
Julia gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Oh my dear, if you only knew. I am very unkind, just ask my poor husband. But I always go with my instincts and they told me that you are an interesting person and I do love interesting people.’
As Lucy felt she – a twenty-four year old spinster with a great many unsuccessful seasons behind her – was possibly the least interesting person in the room, there did not seem to be a great deal to say to that. Instead, Julia threaded an arm through hers and wandered the room, introducing her in the delightfully vague way that seemed to characterize most of what she did. She seemed to know a great many unattached men and it was towards these creatures that they seemed to gravitate the most. While Lucy might reasonably expect most to have been blinded by her hostess’ beauty, Julia had this remarkable trick of including Lucy in the conversation. Not only that, but she made Lucy feel positively brilliant. It was the most extraordinary thing.
Her unaccustomed enjoyment was interrupted after a time by the arrival of the Earl of Hamersley. He strolled up to his sister, nodding to the two gentlemen they had been engaged with, Mr. Forsythe and Mr. Enderby, as he bent to kiss her on the cheek.
‘Julia. You are positively blooming.’
Lucy’s pleasure dimmed, then died a natural death with the arrival of the earl. Of course, she had wanted him to turn up. As Thomas had said, earls and dukes were very popular in On Dit, but she had intended to watch him from afar and being in such close proximity made her squirm with discomfort. She knew it would be most unlikely that he would remember seeing her the previous day. Men like Hamersley did not remember nonentities such as she, but she felt awkward just the same. Especially when, unbidden, a picture of him and Lady Caroline Aster, as she had seen them on Tuesday night, arose in her mind’s eye. She could remember, very clearly how he had had his hand up the lady’s dress and his face buried in her cleavage. More particularly, she could remember the satisfied little squeaks and sighs that Lady Astor had been making, as if whatever his lordship was doing was extremely pleasant.