Page 72 of A Lady in Name

He rose on the words and headed for the door, turning there to glance at each of them in turn.

“I will be closeted with Barnsley for a space. Dion, I wish you will help Lucy to pack, for I mean to leave immediately after luncheon. Now, you may scheme and plan to your heart’s content in my absence, but mark this: my mind is made up.”

With which parting shot, he left the breakfast parlour. Lucy looked from Dion’s dumbfounded face to Mrs Ankerville’s raised brows. An idiotic desire to giggle came over her. How in the world had she come to fall hopelessly in love with an autocrat?

The Dower House was a matter of ten miles to the south of Pennington Manor. It stood in its own pleasant grounds, a yellow and decorative building after the fashion popular in the time of Queen Anne.

“My great-grandfather built it,” Stefan told her, “but both his wife and my grandmother predeceased their spouses, so it has always been occupied by maiden aunts. I believe my Uncle Beves considered Great-Aunt Dorothea in the light of a surrogate mother. My father claimed to be terrified of her, and pretended to deplore the fact that her welfare must devolve upon me.”

“Is she very aged?” Lucy felt it incumbent upon her to cultivate an interest in her prospective employer. Especially if she meant, as she did, to withstand Stefan’s persuasions.

“She must be nearing her eightieth year. She was the eldest of her siblings and seems like to live forever.”

The curricle bowled up to the entrance portico and came to a stop. Cobbold ran to the horses’ heads, and Lucy was soon being handed down. Stefan’s grip upon her hand was stronger than necessary, and he put an arm quickly about her shoulders to steady her as she landed, giving her a quick hug as he did so. Lucy tried not to be glad of these telltale attentions, but could not gainsay the warmth they engendered inside her.

Aside from this, Stefan had behaved towards her as if there had been no impassioned words between them last night. Lucy could only admire his sangfroid, recalling how she had been rendered acutely temperamental with him after she had discovered her own feelings. She was not sure she liked the return to a semblance of normality, but it undoubtedly made it easier to suppress her desolation.

Lady Dorothea Ankerville was found in an upstairs parlour, gently slumbering. Stefan prevented the footman from announcing them, preferring to let his great-aunt wake in a natural way, which gave Lucy an opportunity to examine her new surroundings.

The parlour was not nearly as large as the favoured Red Saloon at Pennington Manor, but it was so full of knick-knacks set upon a variety of whatnots and little tables all about the room that it appeared a good deal smaller. An elderly dame occupied a massive deep chair, fully upholstered with a high back and wide arms. She looked relatively unlined in sleep for a creature of so great an age. Lucy wondered at the elaborate detail of her old-fashioned gown, and the lappets to her cap that fell about her cheeks.

“She is not very large, is she?” Lucy whispered to Stefan, who had seated himself a little to one side of her in the two chairs set opposite Lady Dorothea.

“She is not tall, I agree, but you may consider her a trifle stout when she stands up.”

It was hard to tell, for the full skirts of her low-waisted gown were bunched up either side of her.

All at once, the old lady took a snorting breath which woke her up. Her head jerked, and she blinked owlishly as she noticed the occupied chairs. “What? What? Who is that?”

“It is Stefan, Aunt Dorothea.”

She sat up, setting a hand to one ear. “Who? Who?”

Stefan rose and made his bow. “Pennington, ma’am.”

She peered short-sightedly, groping at her waist. Bringing up a gold-rimmed eyeglass on a stick, she held it to one eye. “Ah, Pennington, it is you. I thought as much. Have you come to stay, boy?”

Stefan raised his voice a notch. “No, Aunt. I have come to bring you a companion — temporarily.”

The eyeglass swivelled, following Stefan’s arm as he gestured towards Lucy. Feeling compelled, she stood up and dropped a curtsy. “How do you do, ma’am?”

“Eh? Who is that, Pennington?”

Stefan threw a comical glance at Lucy, throwing up his eyes. “It is Miss Lucy Graydene, Aunt.”

The eyeglass continued to stare, light glancing off it as the old lady turned it this way and that. “Is she an Ankerville?”

Stefan hesitated. Lucy held her breath. If she was exposed, would this odd elderly woman turn her out?

“Of a sort.”

The eyeglass was directed at him again, and Lucy breathed more easily.

“What d’ye mean, boy? Either she’s an Ankerville or she ain’t.”

Stefan cast an apologetic look at Lucy. “She is an Ankerville.”

Lady Dorothea dropped the eyeglass, nodding. “That’s right. I won’t have strangers about me. You’ll do, girl. Only don’t fidget me. They always fidget me.”