Page 29 of A Lady in Name

“I said you did not know me,” Lucy retorted, not without a touch of satisfaction.

He put up both hands in a gesture of peace. “I make every allowance for the agitation of mind attendant upon a state of bereavement.” A new thought seemed to occur. “Is it that, perhaps? Have I been too precipitate? I would not have broached the matter thus early were it not for the invidious nature of your situation.”

Lucy felt as if a hole suddenly opened in her chest, preventing her from breathing. Her mind blanked of all but the dreadful possibility that Papa had betrayed her.

“You know.” A mere whisper on her breath.

Mr Waley coloured and fidgeted, reaching to push his spectacles back up his nose and sniffing in the process.

“He told you,” Lucy pursued. “Papa told you it all.”

One of his hands flew up and he shook his head, jiggling the spectacles. “No, indeed, it was not Mr Graydene.”

“Aunt Harriet!”

Lucy knew by his face it was true. Her flesh crawled. Behind her back, an arrangement had been made. He had been told the truth, but without her knowledge or consent. She gazed at the curate with a new eye.

“You knew, and yet you persisted in this determination to marry me. Was there a bribe, Mr Waley? What do you get out of it?”

She knew he was both angry and shocked by the way he drew back, his thin features pinching in so tightly he might have had parchment for skin. “I had not thought to hear you speak with so little moderation or thought for what you say. I am dismayed, Miss Graydene.”

“But I am not Miss Graydene, am I? And yet you were willing to accept me for your wife. You will forgive me if I suppose there must have been some strong inducement held out to you.”

He shook his head. “None whatsoever, I do assure you.”

“Then you are sorry for me, is that it?”

“Miss Lucy, you mistake me utterly,” he said, a note of ill-usage creeping into his voice. “My attachment to your dear father might be reason enough, but —”

“You will marry me for my father’s sake, then?” interpolated Lucy, too upset to be rational. “Even though he is not my father?”

“Not at all. My regard for you is sincere. If you require proof, pray understand I would never have brought up this matter had you not divined I had knowledge of it.”

“And I would never have agreed to marry you if I had not told you of it —” Lucy caught herself up in mid-career, suddenly recognising the incongruity of her words.

Mr Waley appeared fully aware of the anomaly. “You will not marry me without telling me, yet you are angry that I have been told?”

“By my aunt. Can you not see the difference?” Remorse gnawed at Lucy. She had treated the curate abominably. On impulse, she reached out and seized his hands. “You are a good man, Mr Waley, and you do me great honour. But I am not the creature you think me.” She released his fingers. “We would not suit, believe me. And I must find my own way out of this dreadful predicament.”

“But what will you do?”

Lucy shrugged. “That I don’t yet know.”

Mr Waley leaned closer. “You have been taken by surprise. I must beg you not to make too hasty a decision. A little time to reflect, and your mind may alter.”

“I do not think so.”

He held up a hand. “Say no more. I will say only this. Let my offer remain upon the table. I could not reconcile it with my promise to our poor dear Mr Graydene to have it otherwise. If you find yourself in want of a suitable situation, you have only to apprise me of it. I will marry you, Miss Lucy, whatever your circumstances.”

There was virtual silence in the curricle for the first mile or so. Since her interview with the curate, Lucy had been edgy and evasive. Stefan had no difficulty in recognising the signs of her upset, as if he had known the girl for an age. He felt acutely attuned to her moods, a state of affairs he found less than comfortable.

She had refused to allow Dion to draw her on the subject of her conversation with the wretched Mr Waley, and Stefan had — not without a stretch of resolution — refrained from putting in his oar. Not that he meant to let the matter lie. Instead, he wove a careful plan to the end of holding Lucy captive where he might question her with impunity. She could do little to avoid the issue perched upon the seat of his carriage, and with no listening ears up behind. Dispensing with his groom had not been accomplished without challenge.

“We are going alone?” Lucy had eyed him with suspicion. Stefan maintained, he hoped, his bland expression.

“Have you any objection? I cannot think it much matters for so short a journey.”

She had looked frowningly at the empty perch behind. Stefan had made a deliberate business of throwing up his eyes. “Pray use a little sense, Lucy, do. It is by far more improper to be leaving Dion alone in a public inn, and as we cannot seat three abreast, I have no choice but to leave Cobbold here.”