“I shall join the ladies with spillikins,” the gentle voice of Mr Gabriel interjected. “If the ladies allow.”
“Splendid, Mr Gabriel.” Arabella’s face brightened, and Mr Gabriel smiled at her. Lucy made a mental note to investigate this Mr Gabriel. Was he the one Arabella was in love with?
“I see the evening’s entertainment tonight is over for me.” The dowager pulled herself up on her cane. “Neither whist nor spillikins nor heaven forbid, charades, tempt me.” She shuddered. “I will retire.”
The duke got up. “I’ll see you to your room.”
“But you’ll return, will you not, Your Grace?” Lady Louisa’s voice sounded whiny.
“The whist, Your Grace!”
“I’ll return imminently. Gentlemen. Ladies.” He gave a curt nod in their direction. Lucy scrambled up. The ladies curtsied in unison, Lucy missed the moment and tagged on a hasty curtsy, and he left the room with the dowager.
“In other words, he’s off for another hour or two to work and then maybe he’ll remember he has guests. I wouldn’t count on him until tomorrow afternoon,” said Blackmore. “Gentlemen, the cards await.”
Lady Louisa pouted. She got up and joined the ladies by the window.
“Odd girl,” Lucy heard her say. “Excessively odd. Marblesindeed.”
“Yet he talked to her for over half an hour. She undoubtedly tried to flirt with him.” The Stilton girls giggled. Louisa frowned.
It doesn’t matter what the others think;Lucy told herself fiercely. None of it mattered a whit. Least of all him.
Yet, back in her room, she threw herself on the bed and cried her eyes out over a man she’d found and lost.
Chapter 9
Lucy didn’t want to go to a drawn-out supper and face him again. She thought of excusing herself with a headache, but that seemed cowardly. And Lucy Bell was anything but a coward.
She took particular care with her appearance. She put on an ivory taffeta gown with lace trim that the maid had adjusted for her. Her grey eyes glowed and nervousness brought a red tinge to her cheeks.
“How pretty you look, Lucy,” Arabella told her. She looked fetching in a pale lemon-yellow gown.
Lucy’s insides quivered as she descended the stairs and the conversation lulled as all heads turned towards the girls. Lucy flushed. She located the duke who stood, clad in dark blue, beside the fireplace, talking with Lady Louisa. He appeared, Lucy thought with some gratification, bored as usual. Their eyes met, and she looked away quickly. It was too hot in the room even though her dress had short sleeves.
She would try her best to ignore him, which ought not to be too difficult as surely at dinner she would be seated far away from him, being of such minor social significance. If only her heart would stop thudding so violently.
“Charming, how charming,” Lord Finbar drawled, looked from one to the other as if at a loss, then remembered his manners and kissed Arabella’s hand first, before bowing over Lucy’s. His lips were warm and wet.
“Like spring flowers. What a sight for sore eyes.” She pulled her hand away.
“There you are. What a spectacle you two girls make entering together. You are quite outshining the rest of them.” The dowager looked splendid in silver from top to toe. “I daresay the gentlemen are making oaf eyes already. I know at least one lady who will not be pleased. It’ll be an amusing evening. Finbar, I see you have found your table partner already. Fridolin,” she turned to the tall, thin man who hovered behind her, “you will take Miss Bell to dinner.”
Lucy hadn’t expected this. As Mr Fridolin’s partner, she was seated in closer proximity to the head of the table than she felt comfortable. She couldn’t hide behind the flower arrangement but had to converse reasonably coherently, within Ashmore’s earshot.
At the head of the table sat Ashmore, unsmiling, eating rapidly with littleenjoyment. Lucy recalled with what gusto Henry had bitten into the loaf of farmer’s bread, and how he’d held one piece in one hand, and a piece of cheese in the other, leaning both elbows on the table and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. His mussed hair had fallen over his eyes, which had never left her face. The memory tugged at her heart. Ashmore, however, sat stiffly, not touching the chair’s back, and handled his fork and knife with precision.
Lucy watched, fascinated, how his finger ran up and down the stem of his wineglass. He picked the glass up and looked over its rim. Their eyes locked.
Her stomach turned into a buzzing beehive.Heavy eyelids fell over his languid gaze, leaving her hot and shaken.
Lucy gawked at him, the fork dangling from her hand. Possibly, she was drooling.
“Miss Bell?”
Lucy tore her glance away and saw Fridolin look at her with amusement.
“I have been asking twice already whether you like music?”
