Page 27 of To Break the Rules

“Why ever else would I be there?” she said, laughing at him and praying he would believe her. Though it would be wonderful to put her trust in him, to unburden herself, she didn’t dare. She doubted he’d be so sympathetic when he heard the truth. She believed he was a good man, but she’d put her trust in good men before, and been badly burned for her stupidity. No one would protect her. No one but herself.

Besides, she liked him. She liked him too well to involve him in something which would lead to the biggest scandal the ton had seen for years when it came out. No. He was best off out of it.

She watched as he let out a breath, apparently accepting her words. He held out his arm to her and she smiled, taking it as he guided her to the end of the path where Matilda and some of the others were chatting. They joined the group and Lucia tried to take part, to involve herself in the merry conversation, but her eyes were drawn to the other side of the little parterre, where the Earl of Ulceby was speaking with his son. They were having words about something. Edgar flinched as his father’s face darkened, whatever he was saying making the young man pale.

With her heart in her throat, Lucia saw Edgar reach into his waistcoat pocket to retrieve his snuff box and saw the little glint of metal as it fell. Edgar frowned, bending to pick it up, holding it in his palm and turning to his father.

The earl gasped, snatching it from Edgar, his eyes widening as he stared about the gathering. Feeling outside of the event, as though she was witnessing a theatre production, Lucia watched as the man clutched at his chest, his face changing colour as he spluttered and gasped for breath.

“Help!” Edgar shrieked, doing nothing to help himself as his father sank to the ground. “Someone help him!”

Gasps and murmurs of horror carried across the garden, and Lucia’s gaze went unwillingly to Lord Cavendish. He was staring at her, staring at her as though he believed she’d contrived the whole scene.

Lucia stared back, unable to look away.

She watched as he moved, hurrying to the earl and getting down beside him as everyone else just looked on. He undid the man’s cravat, calling sharp commands for help, for someone to fetch a doctor, damn it.

It was inevitable that he should reach for the man’s hand, opening the fingers that curled about the tiny silver token and staring down at it.

Before he could turn back to her, before he could look at her with accusation in his eyes, Lucia moved away.

“Matilda, do you think someone else could bring you home?” she asked in a desperate undertone. “I… I’m feeling a little faint. Too much sun, I think.” Lucia did her best to smile and look tired and hot, rather than as if she wanted to hitch her skirts up and run as far and as fast as she could. “I should like to take the carriage and go home at once.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Matilda said, all solicitousness. “Shall I accompany you, dear? I think the party might be over now anyway.”

“Oh, no, no. I’m quite all right. I just need a lie down in the quiet and I shall be right as ninepence,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.

Matilda frowned, and looked over to where Lord Cavendish and Mr Bindley were helping the earl to his feet. Ulceby looked grey and haggard, but not as if he was ready to breathe his last. Lucia could not decide if she was disappointed or relieved at that fact.

The orchestra—who had stopped when Edgar shrieked for help—picked up where they’d left off, and the party resumed now it seemed the earl was not lying dead at their feet.

“Well,” Matilda said, a little doubtful. “It looks as though no one else is going. Perhaps the earl had too much sun too?”

“I’m sure it was something of the sort,” Lucia said, trying not to sound impatient. “It is dreadfully hot.”

Lucia watched as Matilda’s gaze drifted across the garden, to where the Marquess of Montagu was speaking with the Dowager Countess St Clair. “If you’re sure, then,” Matilda said, looking back at Lucia.

With a sigh of relief, Lucia kissed Matilda’s cheek. “Quite sure,” she said, wondering if perhaps she ought to persuade Matilda to come after all. For her own good. “Have fun, then,” she said, biting her lip against the desire to say and do be careful.

Matilda was a big girl who could make her own decisions, just as Lucia had. She would have to live with them too, just as Lucia would.

Chapter 8

It was a lovely afternoon. The dowager countess is great fun, and St Clair such a handsome fellow. It’s no wonder the women flock to him like flies to honey. Can you imagine being the Countess St Clair, married to such a man and living in such a beautiful place? I can’t wait to see Holbrooke House with Harriet later this summer. It’s going to be wonderful.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Kitty Connolly to Miss Bonnie Campbell.

7th July 1814. The Dowager Countess St Clair’s garden party, St James, London.

Silas looked at the small object in his hand. It was silver, no bigger than a sovereign and carefully wrought. It was shaped like a short, ornate trident and Silas had no idea what it represented. Tucking it into his waistcoat pocket, he felt relief flood through him as the earl took a shaky breath.

The man looked ashen—as if he’d aged a decade in as many seconds—but not, at least, as if he would turn up his toes. Thank God.

There was no doubt in his mind now. Lucia was involved in this. He’d believed her explanation earlier, fool that he was. Deep down he’d known better, but he’d wanted to believe her. No longer. When he’d met her gaze, there had been something terrible there, something defiant and yet full of guilt.

Somehow, she had slipped whatever this was to Edgar during that ridiculous display earlier, where she had pretended to flirt with him. At the time, Silas had admitted to feelings ranging from anger to unfettered jealousy, and a half a dozen other emotions he didn’t dare consider. Now he was terrified. He didn’t know what game Lucia was playing, but she’d almost killed the Earl of Ulceby today. Whatever it was, it was beyond dangerous.

What her motivation was he could not fathom, but he intended to find out. A part of him didn’t want to know, didn’t want to investigate in case he discovered she was cold and ruthless, the vulnerability he’d seen in her eyes an illusion.