“No, Lucasta.” This accompanied by a fearsome frown.
“Lady Cranbury has a Cristofori pianoforte,” Lucasta said in desperation.
Aunt Pevensey turned to her last and greatest defense, her husband. “You will make a spectacle of yourself and this family. You have begun already, with this attention, and it will end with us all looking foolish. Tell her, milord.”
The baron looked up from the lampoons, for which he had put asideThe Morning Post, and his scowl was mightier than his lady’s. “How on earth did you interest Rudyard, gel?”
Why, by composing satirical verses about him, which he overheard and took exception to. Excellent way to attract a man’s notice. Every overlooked maid ought to try the same.
Crumbs of toast scraped Lucasta’s throat as she swallowed. “Er. He remembered you commended Cici to him, sir. He spoke of it during our dance.”
“Well, take care you don’t scotch her chances. Draper’s son he might be, but Arendale is a fat plum.” The baron reached for theGazette.“My son sent a note that he is leaving Paris soon.”
The lace over her ladyship’s bosom fluttered with her quick, indrawn breath. “Trevor?”
“At last!” Cici cried, dropping her spoon with a clatter. “How soon might we expect him? It is long past time he came home.”
“I am sure he will wish for his own quarters, Cecilia.” Her ladyship forced a smile as the baron lowered his paper to stare. “I only mean, a young man of his age and—er, habits—I can’t think but that he will find us too tame for his liking.”
“He will put up here and save me the expense of separate lodgings.” The baron snapped his paper into place. “And I expect he will be your escort to all your little functions. I do hope the other young men finding your nieceinterestingwill not prove too much an obstruction.”
Lucasta paused in pouring her tea. Trevor Pevensey, the baron’s spoiled son and heir, had been enjoying an extended Grand Tour on the Continent. “Does that mean Cici will not require me as chaperone, sir? If her brother is home?”
If she were liberated from her duties, Lucasta could make free with London’s music scene. Run riot through the symphony halls, theaters, and pleasure gardens. She could spend this last sweet season with her dearest friends until Aunt Pevensey packed her back to Bath, where Lucasta would scrape together what funds she could find and commence with her plans for a music studio.
She could duck her head, and whatever Fury Lord Rudyard had unleashed would blow past, leaving her family moored in their pride, unscathed.
The baron threw Lucasta a cold glare. “And Rudyard found you clever.”
Lucasta splashed a bit of tea as she replaced the teapot. Aunt had permitted the use of fresh leaves this morning, on account of the baron’s presence, though she customarily reused old leaves when it was just the three women. But her ladyship was stingy with the sugar, and if Lucasta tried to sweeten the bitter brew, there would be nothing of the brown lump left for Cici.
Lady Pevensey fiddled with her cup of cooling chocolate. “I have said before, I cannot think they would suit, milord. Lucasta is so rustic—she lacks polish. And your Trevor is such a dashing young blade. I should not wish him to be disappointed, for we both know, Pevensey, what it means when two people can deal well together in their marriage.”
The baron put down his paper. “Patience, my dim pet. You told me you expect Lucasta to inherit a sizeable inheritance from your aunt.”
Aunt winced. “So she has been saying, but I hardly credit it. Aunt Cornelia enjoys wielding threats about her inheritance like a bludgeon to keep us all in heel.”
The baron pushed back his chair. “She seems to have settled matters now, for I heard the gossip at my club last night. Everything that is not entailed to the Frotheringale estate, and what Lady Evers has gained from her marriages. All to Lucasta, in due time.”
Lucasta froze with her teacup halfway to her mouth. This was news to her.
Her ladyship tried again. “But that does not mean she will be a fit wife for Trevor, my dear.”
“If your aunt is as rich as hinted, then Lucasta is exactly the kind of wife Trevor will require. I bid you good day, my lady.” The baron rose and sauntered out the door of the dining parlor, summoning the butler to bring his hat and coat and order the carriage to take him to his club.
Lucasta closed her mouth so she did not shriek. Or allow the toast to come soaring back up.
Trevor Pevensey to marry Lucasta? No. The baron could not mean it.
Her aunt’s stabbing stare told Lucasta she had spoken this aloud. “It would be just like Aunt Cornelia to overlook everyone deserving and endow you with her fortune.”
“But she has said nothing to me.”
“Because it is vulgar for young ladies to discuss their means, and it is hardly your affair anyway.” Aunt Pevensey rose from the table. “A woman’s assets are for fathers and husbands to manage. Cecilia, we shall make calls this morning, and perhaps step into Lord Rudyard’s shop. It will not do to let his interest in you fade, for the affections of men are all too capricious.”
As Lucasta rose also, her ladyship leveled a stare full of fury.
“You shall remain home. Whatever mischief you were making last night, I won’t have you continue it. Cecilia has this one Season to make a brilliant match, and I won’t have you pushing your way your way in, trying to make everyone notice you. You will remain here, you will not be at home to callers, and you will, I hope, recall yourself to the duty to which you owe to this family.”
