Page 37 of To Break the Rules

Matilda was there, of course, and Lucia knew her story well enough. Kitty, with her Irish heritage, was an odd mixture of insecurity and outrageous courage. Prue’s cousin, Minerva, had seemed a rather vacuous creature at first meeting, but Lucia sensed there was a kind and romantic heart inside her pretty and outwardly shallow exterior. Harriet, with her fierce intelligence and rather prosaic way of looking at the world, had seemed a difficult girl to like. She was something of a loner and held herself a little apart, but her attempts to befriend Kitty had shown a desire to join in and make friends.

Bonnie, by contrast, was a bundle of energy and too vivacious not to open her mouth and put her foot in it with startling regularity. She was capable of shocking lapses in judgement, as well as great warmth and kindness, and was impossible not to like.

Miss Jemima Fernside was here today, and Lucia studied her with interest. She only occasionally came to the meetings and Ruth had confided to her that the young woman’s family were shabby gentility, existing on the fringes of the ton by their fingertips. Her gown was faded, and had quite obviously been made over several times.

What a disparate group they were, yet Lucia saw friendships and attachments all around her that she felt would stand the test of time. If only she could rely on those attachments herself.

She wondered what would happen if she stood up and told them her real name, her true heritage. Would they revile her, or accept her? She just didn’t know. Believing in them and in Silas was too dangerous; it was the road to heartbreak and disappointment, and even ruin.

She was too afraid to take the risk. Not again.

Lucia sighed and tried to take an interest in the conversation. Harriet had become quite animated about a book she’d bought earlier in the week. It was called Waverly and was by a new and anonymous author, writing about a young man caught up in the Jacobite uprising. Although she had only read a little of the novel, Harriet was quite obviously entranced and prepared to wax lyrical about it indefinitely.

“So,” Matilda said to Lucia, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Shall we accept Mrs Manning’s invitation?”

Lucia shrugged. She needed to occupy herself, it was true. It was all well and good avoiding Lord Cavendish wherever possible, but sitting at home only made her miserable and gave her far too much time to dwell. What was the point of avoiding him and then spending hours daydreaming about his kiss, his kindness… his ardent desire to keep her safe?

She sighed.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Matilda grinned. “Well, she’s a rather daring woman, and she’s bound to have an interesting mix of guests. Invitations are quite sort after, so… I think we should go. Better than moping about and sighing over Lord Cavendish,” she added with sympathy.

“I am not moping about over Lord Cavendish,” Lucia muttered, sending Matilda an outraged glare, even though she was quite correct.

“Of course not, dear,” Matilda said, patting her hand so condescendingly it suggested she didn’t believe a word. “So, I’ll accept, then?”

Lucia huffed and reached for a cream scone, one of many such delicacies Ruth always provided for their meetings. “Oh, very well,” she said, knowing she sounded ungracious.

“Excellent.” Matilda beamed at her. “Just the excuse I needed to buy a new gown. That’s the afternoon taken care of, then.”

Looking more than pleased with the arrangements, Matilda surveyed the coffee table, which was laden with cakes and biscuits of every variety, and picked up a jam tart between thumb and forefinger.

“What do you think, Lucia?” Harriet asked, her earnest gaze fixed on her as she pushed her spectacles up her nose.

Lucia froze with the cream scone in her mouth, but didn’t waste another moment to bite into it. She gave an apologetic shrug, gesturing to her full mouth as an excuse not to answer, as she didn’t have the slightest clue what they’d been talking about.

“Oh, well. You, then, Matilda,” Harriet went on.

Lucia almost choked on her scone as Matilda pinched her in retaliation. She smiled nonetheless, knowing how much she would miss this, this sense of belonging—of acceptance—that she had never known before in her life. Except that it was built on an illusion, on the façade that was Lucia de Feria, and she’d do well not to forget that.

***

14th July 1814. The home of Mrs Edwina Manning, Old Burlington Street, London.

Lucia looked across the carriage at Matilda and smiled. “You were perfectly correct about that gown. It looks dazzling on you.”

Matilda beamed at her. “I know,” she said, making Lucia snort with laughter. “Well, it does,” Matilda replied, pretending to look indignant. “I’m not one for hiding my light under a bushel, dear.”

“Indeed not,” Lucia replied, shaking her head and smiling.

She’d had doubts about the gown when she’d seen it. Grey silk was not a colour she would have chosen under any circumstances, but she had to conceded that the pale, ice grey and severe cut suited Matilda’s blonde, blue-eyed beauty to perfection. Although it had not been by design, her own sapphire blue gown complimented it quite nicely, and she thought they would make quite an entrance together.

“Have you ever met Mrs Manning before?” Lucia asked as the carriage turned onto Bruton Street. In fact, Mrs Manning only lived about fifteen minutes’ walk from South Audley Street, but it wouldn’t do to turn up on foot.

“Once,” Matilda said, nodding. “She’s quite a character. I shouldn’t like to be on the wrong side of her, as she’s got a sharp tongue and the wit to wield it to effect.”

Lucia pondered that as the carriage rumbled on. “I wonder who else she’s invited.”