When Lucien left in the small hours of the morning it was with Hal.There was a light drizzle, but their greatcoats and beavers were adequateprotection.
“Where’re you staying?” Lucien asked.
“The Guard’s.”
“I could give you a bed at the palace for a couple of nights.” They’dalways referred to Belcraven House as “the palace.” Lucien could rememberwonderfully crazy games with Hal which seemed to involve charging alongendless corridors and hurtling down flight after flight of stairs. Thechance of coming across the duke or actually breaking some preciousornament had given the whole thing a delicious, and real, edge ofdanger.
Hal had found danger even more real since then.
“Just one bed?” teased Hal as they turned off Bentink Street ontoWelbeck. “You’re a bit close with your riches, ain’t you?”
“As many as you want,” said Lucien grandiosely and ran a gloved fingerboyishly along a railing to disturb the beaded drops of rain. He felt likea schoolboy again. When they got home he’d maybe try sliding down thebanister of the main staircase. “You can have your pick of at least ten,all well-equipped with the best down mattresses. You can push them side byside to give you room to stretch. You can stack the mattresses in a pileuntil they’re soft enough for your pampered skin.”
“Like the princess and the pea?” queried Hal with a grin. “I’m far tooplebeian for that. Could your blue blood detect a pea through tenmattresses?”
Lucien was snapped back to reality and maturity and all sorts of otherunpleasant things. “Probably not,” he said briefly. “But I rattle in thepalace like one pea in a pod. Come and take up some space.”
“Are you saying I’m a rattle, too?” Hal demanded lightly but withconcerned and curious eyes. But he went on, “I’d like to. The Guard’s isfull of fogies. There’s too many well-meant commiserations and altogethertoo much talk of war.”
“Come along then. I’ll send someone for your things.”
They turned into Marlborough Square. When the Season began there wouldstill be lit windows and traffic at this hour, but at this time of year itwas quiet. Despite the flambeaux burning in front of each great house, thesquare was rendered eerie by the gray light and the misting rain. Lucienshuddered. “Come to think of it,” he said, “why don’t you come back toBelcraven and support me through the coming ordeal? My mother always had asoft spot for you.”
“Won’t I blight the celebrations?” Hal asked, the first sign he’d shownof awkwardness about his injury.
“Hardly. You’ll be a hero.”
“Heaven forbid.” He looked sideways. “Why is it going to be an ordeal?Anything to do with whatever broke up Nick?”
Lucien wasn’t ready to talk, not even to Hal. He made a business offinding the key to the big front doors. “Of course not,” he said. Heturned the well-oiled lock and let them both into the high, shadowed hall.A lighted lamp stood on a small table but, by his instruction, there wasno staff waiting in case he had need of some service. His and Hal’sfootsteps seemed to echo hollowly on the marble tiles.
He was not used to coming home to a lifeless house. He’d never givensuch instructions before, and he suspected there were some bewildered hurtfeelings below stairs. All Elizabeth Armitage’s fault. Without saying aword she’d made him vividly aware of all the servants who were theconstant fabric of his life.
He suddenly laughed. “Do you need anything else tonight other than anightshirt, Hal? I’ve sent everyone to bed and it seems damned stupid tobe knocking them up at this hour. Apart from the fact that I’ve no ideahow to do it other than ringing the fire bell.”
“Of course not. I’ve slept in my clothes in the mud more often than Icare to remember. And, yes. I’d be happy to visit Belcraven again. Youknow your mother is my first and only love. Why don’t you ask Con andDare, too? They’re merely waiting for orders.”
Which was a very attractive idea, thought Lucien as they went upstairs.Something to do with safety in numbers.
Chapter Nine
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For her part, Beth found her days too full for philosophizing. She wasset numerous tasks to do with the ball, given advanced etiquette lessons,and taken on drives and shopping expeditions. Three times they went toOxford for silk stockings and satin slippers, artificial flowers and kidgloves. She had the feeling that much of the activity was designedexpressly to keep her busy but, if so, she was grateful. Not only did itallow less time to think, it provided an opportunity to learn. Resigned tothe fact that this was to be her life, she observed everything and learnedquickly.
She even began to accept the constant presence of servants and not beawkwardly aware of their every action. But she could not make herselfunaware of them as people.
When one day she came across a young boy crying in the garden, shestopped in concern. She remembered seeing the lad in the stables. Thoughhe had a sharp face and a broken nose, there was something appealing abouthis lively features and bright eyes, and she did not like to see himsad.
“What’s the matter?” she asked gently.
He looked up, alarmed, then leapt to his feet. “Nothing, ma’am,” hesaid, scrubbing at his damp face.
“Don’t run away,” Beth said. “You work in the stables, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Will you be in trouble for not being there?”
