Page 6 of A Lady in Name

“I hope nothing too disturbing?”

He shrugged. “That is yet to be seen.” Now why was she eyeing him? Suspicion?

“Not to do with…”

Stefan frowned as her lips clamped shut and she turned to follow Dion to the door. A brief glance back, and a mutter which might have been farewell, and she was gone. Stefan was abruptly suspicious that she was not as ignorant of her father’s activities as he had supposed.

Dion closed the door and turned to look at him. Stefan raised his brows. “A dark horse, do you think?”

His sister gave her characteristic little gurgle of a laugh. “Paulina? I’m afraid not, brother dear. Why, do you think she suspects anything of Uncle Beves’s naughtiness?”

“If she does not, I’m afraid she’s in for a shock,” he responded grimly.

Dion’s expressive face registered instant comprehension. “Then you did find out something to his detriment.” She came quickly towards him, a frown creasing her brow. “What was it sent you out, then? You wouldn’t tell me at breakfast.”

Stefan threw himself into the sofa vacated by his cousin. “Because I hoped it would prove to be a hum.”

“And it didn’t?”

He sighed. “Far from it, I suspect.”

“Oh, dear,” said Dion, perching opposite him in an attitude of birdlike attention, her bright eyes fixed upon his face. “Tell, brother dear. I can see you want to.”

“I don’t, but since I’ve brought the girl with me, I don’t see I have an option.”

Dion’s eyes widened. “A girl? And you’ve brought her here? Gracious, Stefan, have you run mad? Who is she?”

He blew out an unquiet breath. “A Miss Lucinda Graydene. It appears she is our uncle’s illegitimate daughter.”

The repast set before Lucy ought to have whetted her appetite, but she was too anxious to partake of more than a mouthful of cold meat, half a slice of buttered bread and a tempting portion of plum cake, though its moist crumbs stuck in her throat. But the tea was welcome and revivifying, and she absently took a second cup as the minutes ticked by.

Had she been forgotten? Or, if remembered, was she the subject of altercation and alarm in the household? A lowering thought, and one that set her to thinking of escape. But the prospect of setting out on a lonely path to trudge miles back to Withington village made her shudder. Better to wait for Lord Pennington and insist upon his returning her there forthwith.

His lordship, however, did not arrive, and the call of nature began to impinge upon Lucy’s senses. In a bid to take her mind off it, she rose and went to the window, inspecting the grounds beyond the glass. An expanse of lawn ended in a border of hedging, cutting off the view at the corner of the house, which offered a narrowed vista of distant trees and a gleam of water. The nearer prospect boasted a round bed of winter greenery with a still fountain at its centre. Scarcely enough to hold her interest.

Was she to wait upon Lord Pennington’s convenience forever? Turning to face the room, her glance swept the door and found it unresponsive. A fleeting image of his lordship’s entrance into the parlour at the inn pricked Lucy into action. She would not be subject to the creature’s arrogant whim for one moment longer.

Marching to the door, she opened it and thrust through into the long room beyond. No sound penetrated from the further door, so she pressed on and emerged on to the chequered floor. Breathing a sigh of relief, Lucy looked around in hopes of seeing some menial who might direct her steps. Instead she caught sight of a woman of obvious gentility slowly descending the stairs, and accompanied by a maid upon whom she leaned for support. The reason for her caution was at once evident in the protrusion below the bosom of her black silk gown, but Lucy had barely taken in her condition when the woman saw her and halted midway down the flight.

“Who in the world are you?”

Her stare combined surprise and curiosity, and Lucy instinctively stiffened, but could think of no immediate reason not to respond. “My name is Graydene — ma’am.”

The added courtesy seemed warranted for an interloper in Lucy’s invidious position, especially as she could not guess whom she was addressing. Mother or sister? She had no look of Lord Pennington that Lucy could discern, though she appeared to be in deep mourning. Beneath a bonnet beribboned in black, her hair was dark. She resumed her descent as she spoke again.

“I suppose you are applying for some post or other? My cousins appear determined to change everything, including the staff. Fetch my cloak, Bannock.”

The disgruntled tone was not lost on Lucy, and she was grateful for the crumb of information that placed the woman among Lord Pennington’s more distant relations. She did not feel it incumbent upon her to correct the misapprehension, instead maintaining a prudent silence as the maid scurried into the dark regions of the stairwell and emerged with a voluminous garment, in which she tenderly enwrapped her mistress.

“That’ll do, that’ll do,” said the woman testily, as the girl fussed about with the folds of cloth. “Make haste and get your own coat, and then open the door and see if Dawson has yet brought the carriage round.”

As the girl darted back behind the stairs, the woman’s eyes chanced upon Lucy once more. Idly at first, and then, as if she noticed something, she suddenly frowned and her gaze became intent. A horrid wriggle of apprehension snaked down Lucy’s back, and she was unable to drag her own eyes off the woman’s face. An eerie sensation entered her, as if they had met before, although she knew it to be impossible.

It could not have been more than an instant, but time appeared to Lucy to stand still. At last the woman broke silence, her tone harsh with suspicion.

“What did you say your name was?”