Page 43 of A Lady in Name

CHAPTER SEVEN

A shred of pride alone enabled Lucy to withstand the near overwhelming urge to give way to a passionate desire to weep her heart out. That and the horrid tense silence in the curricle. Then Dion’s hand slipped covertly into hers, and squeezed.

Lucy dared a peek, and the speaking look of compassion in Dion’s eyes nearly overset her. Lucy could only return the proffered squeeze and turn her gaze back upon the road, blinking hard and swallowing on the lump in her throat.

By and by she became aware she could still feel the hardness of Stefan’s knee against her own, the muscles of his thigh working as he controlled the horses round the bends of the road, and the rub of his rein arm against her side. A faint echo of the heat she had earlier felt returned, but the present circumstances so militated against such feelings Lucy could not endure them. She inched carefully towards Dion, and managed to shift just enough to lessen the rub. Next instant, she was mortified to feel Stefan had noted the change, for the muscles stiffened all along his thigh. Lucy saw his legs turning a little to the other side in a manner which managed to pull away sufficiently so she could only feel his body at the hip.

Her stomach seemed as if it hollowed out suddenly, but it took Lucy a few moments to recognise the feeling. She was bereft. How could this be? Surely his conduct must rather have alienated her? Such intimacy was last thing she wished for, after the manner of his reprimand. Yet the sense of loss persisted and Lucy could do nothing but endure.

No further word was exchanged throughout the remainder of the journey back to the Half Moon, Stefan maintaining a silence fraught with heavy disapprobation. Lucy dared not address him, though she longed to dissipate the dreadful atmosphere. What could she say, even if her tongue would obey her command?

The words that had so angered him filtered into her head, and she wondered at her own stupidity. She had not meant them. She was merely expressing her distress. Should he not have known it? Could he not have seen it?

By the time the curricle arrived at the Half Moon, a creeping sense of ill-usage had begun to infect Lucy’s mind. When Stefan, tight-lipped, had handed down his sister, Lucy found herself wishing she might reject his proffered help. Reflecting that it would only serve to make her look the more foolish, lowering her further in his eyes, she managed to refrain from so petty a revenge.

But the instant she laid her hand in his, it was as if a snake leapt from his fingers and raced up her arm. Lucy could not forbear snatching her hand away, shocked by the effect his touch had on her.

Stefan glanced up sharply, a frown drawing his brows together. His lip curled. “I will not bite. Come.”

He held up his hand again. Lucy took it, this time feeling only a sliver of warmth. She was strongly aware of his grip as she descended, but the instant she was safe upon her feet, Stefan released her. There was nothing for it but to hold her head up high and follow Dion into the inn.

During dinner, Lucy was grateful for Dion’s valiant attempts to return the three of them to normality, although she signally failed. For the most part, Stefan’s responses to her sallies were delivered in monosyllables, while Lucy felt unequal to participate beyond a word or two, so conscious was she.

There was no trace in Stefan of the fury that had provoked him into lashing out at her, but there could be little doubt the gulf between them was felt as keenly on his side as on Lucy’s.

A very brief lull occurred when Dion made a point Lucy could not but find pertinent. “What I can’t understand, Lucy, is how your papa failed to find the Oades when we located them so very easily.”

Lucy frowned, diverted from her clouded thoughts. “I had not thought, in the press of events, but you are right, Dion.”

“Perhaps Oade turned him away,” Stefan suggested.

“Only too likely, I should think.”

“But Papa would not have flinched, even from a blunderbuss,” Lucy objected.

She found Stefan’s grey gaze upon her and her chest tightened at the lack of warmth therein. But his words were mild.

“Then let us suppose, assuming he did locate the Oades, that he chose to bring you up himself rather than thrust you into a family who could be depended upon to treat you with contempt, even could they be induced to take you in.”

“Gracious, yes,” Dion chimed in. “Especially if his approach to Uncle Beves had met with so little success.”

Such a decision would indeed have been typical of the vicar, Lucy reflected. But one aspect troubled her. “I cannot think Papa would have made pretence to me of not knowing who my mother was when he told me the truth.”

“Not even to spare you pain?”

Lucy looked quickly towards Stefan, struck by an odd note in his voice that reminded her horribly of the contretemps earlier in the day. Her throat ached and she could barely summon words. “Yes, perhaps,” she managed.

“Added to that, assuming as we must that he knew your character through and through, Mr Graydene must surely have preferred that you would seek out your father’s family, should you do precisely what you have done.”

“How right you are, Stefan,” Dion put in. “Having given you such an upbringing, your papa could not have wished for you to sink below your own worth.”

“Such as it is.” The words slipped out. Instantly conscious, Lucy felt a stupid rise of apprehension and cast a glance at Stefan. He did not speak, but a faint frown creased his brow and she became uncomfortable all over again.

Relief came from Dion: “Lucy, you look utterly exhausted, and no wonder.”

This provided just the excuse she needed to retire early to bed. She was hastened on her way by an admonition from his lordship to be ready to leave for Pennington in the morning. Lucy made him no answer, but slipped quietly out of the parlour and made her way upstairs. Scarcely had she changed into her nightgown than there was a scratch at the door. It opened and Dion’s head poked around it.

“May I come in?”