Page 48 of A Lady in Name

Stefan laughed. “She will be crosser now, I don’t doubt, at being excluded from this conference.”

A faint frown creased Lucy’s brow. “Is it a conference?”

Was she a trifle wary? He had felt a little distanced this morning, although she had been easy enough in her manner towards him. It was scarcely surprising she should be conscious after his behaviour last night. Let him get that out of the way first.

“Lucy, I cannot sufficiently apologise for my conduct. I took an unfair advantage of you.”

He thought a spasm crossed her face, but the light filtering through the trees into the dimness of the coach cast shadows across her so he could not be sure.

“On the contrary, you specifically did not take advantage of me.” She spoke lightly, but something in her tone rankled.

“You may say so if you choose, but we both know I was manifestly in the wrong.” He leaned a little towards her, but did not make the mistake of attempting to touch her. “I have not been able to get it out of my mind that I caused you to make an odious comparison of yourself with your unfortunate mother. You would not have done so had I not given you cause.”

She looked away, and back again, and Stefan cursed the flittering shadows that would not let him properly read her expression.

“That was silly of me. Perhaps I was thinking of an old saying.”

“What is bred in the bone comes out in the flesh?”

“Yes. But in the cool light of day, I see it for the nonsense it is.”

Stefan was not sure he believed her, but he refrained from questioning her words. “I am glad of that.”

“After all,” she pursued, “I was brought up by a vicar, as Alice was not. I have been taught the refinements of genteel behaviour, though I am of humble stock.”

“On one side only,” Stefan put in sharply, unreasonably irritated to hear her speak so of herself.

“And in my upbringing,” she said, a note of insistence in her voice. “Papa never encouraged me to imagine myself destined for anything but a moderate milieu.”

“Of course he did not,” Stefan said acidly. “He did not tell you of your origins until he was dying. And then he withheld the truth of your mother’s background.”

She was silent, her lips compressed tightly together. Too late Stefan recalled her sensitivity to any remark she might consider detrimental to the vicar’s memory. He threw out a hand.

“Don’t rip up at me. I beg your pardon. I meant no disrespect to Mr Graydene.”

She bit her lip, appearing to struggle with herself. Then her eyes lifted to meet his. “You blame him for not telling me. You think he would have done better to have told me the truth at the outset.”

Stefan did not hesitate. “Yes, I do. I am sorry if it distresses you, Lucy, but I cannot think your papa, as you think of him, did you any favours.”

“Why not?” The words jerked from her. “He gave me more than twenty happy years of affection and freedom from the stigma that dogs me now. I would not have it otherwise.”

“Because you honour his memory. For which you are to be commended.”

To his immediate dismay, Lucy threw her hands over her face. Acting on instinct, Stefan moved across to seat himself beside her. She felt his movement for her hands came down, and she pushed herself away from him along the cushioned seat.

“Lucy —”

She flung up a hand. “You do not understand. I loved him! He was all the world to me.”

He tried to capture her hand, but she thrust it behind her. Stefan felt riven, as if her rejection tore him in half. “Lucy, I’m not trying to take that away from you. You are grieving and that is natural.”

“But? There is a but, I presume?”

She had thrown the words at him, like a challenge. Stefan let out a laugh of sheer frustration. “Lucy, this is madness. What are we quarrelling about? If I seem to you to criticise your father, I can only say I did not intend it.”

“Only you think he acted wrongly by me, and I will not endure to hear that.”

She was shaking, her breath coming short and fast. Stefan felt utterly confused. What had he said? How had a chance remark thrown her into such a distressing condition?