Page 9 of A Lady in Name

“If you insist. You must hold me excused, Dion. Until I have found out what your brother intends by bringing me here, I prefer to say nothing.”

Dion eyed her in silence for a moment and Lucy felt she was being appraised. She kept her gaze steady. Disconcertingly, a frown appeared on the other’s brow.

“Oh, dear. Yes, I see why now. I could not think how it came about, but there is something — intensity? No, it cannot be that.” The warm smile reappeared. “No matter. I shall find it out.”

Lucy became exasperated. “I am at a loss, Lady Dioni — I mean, Dion. If you mean you will find out my history —”

“Oh, that? Well, I shall, but not now.” She jumped up, and catching hold of Lucy’s hand, dragged her to her feet. “We will beard Corisande in her den. I doubt she will have much to say to it beyond quoting from some obscure poet out of the Middle Ages, but it is faintly possible she may know something.”

Ushered towards the door willy-nilly, Lucy began to wish she had never ventured upon this journey. Just as they reached it, the door opened to admit Lord Pennington. Lucy was chagrined to feel a sense of relief and familiarity at seeing him.

“Whither away?”

“I’m taking Lucy to meet Corisande.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Stefan separated his sister’s hand from the girl’s arm. Trust Dion to nip in ahead of the game. A good thing he had not lingered, hunting through his uncle’s papers. The moment he had sent Miss Graydene off with Turton, it occurred to him there might be something he had overlooked.

He had repaired to his study and dug out the sheaf of aged parchments which he and his secretary had not yet attacked. The cursory glance was just beginning to turn into a concerted hunt when he recalled his injunction to the maid to take the visitor to the Red Saloon. He had arrived not a moment too soon, it appeared.

“Time enough for Miss Graydene to meet with Corisande at a later hour, Dion.” He spied a protest in his sister’s face and nipped it in the bud. “And don’t argue. I am perfectly aware of what you intend, but we will not trouble Miss Graydene with speculation and question at this juncture.”

He caught relief in the girl’s eyes and surprised a rise of warmth in his own breast. Dion allowed him no time to explore it.

“Trust you to spoil sport. I declare, it is too bad of you, Stefan. You present me with this mystery, and then you will not let me pursue it.”

“I won’t let you distress Miss Graydene,” Stefan corrected.

Dion’s gaze turned upon the visitor. “Have I done so? I did not mean it so.”

“You have bewildered me rather,” said the girl, letting one of her rare little smiles escape. “I am unused to be questioned so closely, and I am afraid I find you less than coherent.”

Stefan had to laugh. “There’s for you, Dion. She has you down pat already.”

His sister made a face, but he saw the amusement in her eyes and knew she had taken no offence. Not that Dion pokered up readily, but he had already had occasion to note Miss Graydene’s uncompromising way with words. She would not err on the side of flummery.

“You will become accustomed,” said Dion airily. “And if you find me incoherent, only wait until you encounter Corisande.”

“Who is this Corisande?”

“Our mother,” supplied Stefan. “She is, as you will discover, a law unto herself. And I would much prefer to be further informed myself before you meet her, Miss Graydene.”

“I wish you will stop being so formal, Stefan,” cut in Dion. “It is apparent we call cousins and I do think it ridiculous for you to be addressing her so.” She caught herself up on a gasp. “How stupid. I don’t even know your given name.”

“Lucinda,” Stefan said before the girl could answer. “Miss Lucinda Graydene.”

The girl’s eyes darkened. “Oh no, no. Not Lucinda, I beg of you. I have never been anything but Lucy.”

Stefan found himself smiling. “Lucy it is, then.”

But Dion laughed. “There is not the smallest hope of Corisande calling you so, however. She would thoroughly approve of Lucinda, and she does not care for contractions.”

Stefan was obliged to concede the point. “True. Which reminds me of my mission. Miss Graydene — or rather, Lucy — we have much to discuss. Let us repair to my study.”

Dion’s disgust was patent. “You mean to keep me in the dark. Why can you not have your discussions here?”

“Because I prefer Miss Graydene to be permitted to speak without interruption.”

Lucy’s feelings were mixed as she ensconced herself, at his lordship’s bidding, in a chair in his study.