Minnie drew a crashing chord from the harp. “Trevor Pevensey is the worst ne’er-do-well you can imagine. He gambles, he drinks, he consorts with common women?—”
“Yes, I know all that. He conducts himself exactly as a son of the nobility is expected to do. And my supposed inheritance is desired to fund this lifestyle, I presume.” Lucasta rubbed her sore fingertips.
“Fustian,” Annis announced. “You simply decline the honor. They can’t force you. You are three-and-twenty, well past the age of consent.”
“Can they not? Force me?” Lucasta’s laugh sounded shaky to her own ears. “I can imagine all manner of threats they might make.”
A silence prevailed in the room for a moment, beyond which the traffic from the street outside could be heard: peddlers crying their wares, cart wheels and horse hooves, pedestrians hailing one another, the busy industry of the city. If she married Trevor Pevensey, Lucasta would be trapped in this room, or one just like it, for the rest of her life.
“What shall we do?” Selina whispered.
Lucasta forced a smile. “I have failed to generate any adequate ideas. Nor have Bach, Mozart, Handel, or Scarlatti, though I’ve been consulting them all day.”
“We know what you need.” Annis clapped her hands together and struck an operatic pose. “Signor Marchesi.”
“But you all have invitations to the rout, and besides that, my aunt has forbidden me…” Lucasta trailed off, hearing how feeble her excuse sounded.
Minnie looked around with lifted brows. “Is her ladyship here? I see no sign of her.”
Annis pulled a handbill from an interior pocket. “To be performed this evening at the King’s Theatre in Haymarket:Ifigenia in Aulide, a serious opera, with music by Signor Bertoni, and Signor Marchesi to sing at the end a few Italian words set to music by himself.” She gave Lucasta a pointed look. “Now will you dress?”
Lucasta’s heart dashed against her ribs. Her aunt would be furious if Lucasta disobeyed her.
Furious enough to entomb her within the house for the remainder of the Season.
Perhaps furious enough to convince the baron that the last thing Trevor Pevensey needed was a disobedient wife.
“I’ve nothing suitable,” Lucasta warned. Among milady’s outmoded cast-offs, the only frocks fit for the opera were a muslin robe with narrow stripes of alternating yellow and lime green or a sack back of grey silk that made her look like a plague victim. The stripes occasioned much hilarity when Lucasta remarked for certain no one would accuse her of being fascinating inthose. But without much loss of time she was robed, her hair dressed, and grinning at her three friends in her tiny handheld mirror.
“Miss Gregoire’s girls,” Minnie proclaimed. “We shall be a toast.”
“Gorgons,” Annis said grandly. “We shall terrify everyone. I confess I look forward to the prospect.”
They squeezed their skirts into the Luneburg town coach and headed to Haymarket. Selina leaned over and whispered in Lucasta’s ear.
“Are you certain Smart Jeremy is teasing you? For I do not think his remarks were meant to be unkind.”
Lucasta’s heart gave that odd patter again, and it was more than simple guilt. Shedidwant to see Smart Jeremy again. For all his faults, the man had fascinated her in return. His voice, his looks, his dry wit and unfathomable expressions, all combined to make an impression that no man yet had made on Lucasta Lithwick.
All the more reason to stay as far away from him as possible.
CHAPTER FIVE
As he dressed the morning after Clara’sconversazione,Jem debated calling on Miss Lucasta Lithwick that day. But there was no reason to be hasty. Presenting himself in Caroline Street two days following would do quite as well.
It would only take a call or two, perhaps a drive in the park, a dance and a conversation at another society event later in the week, and he would know if the power she’d attributed to him was real. If, indeed, he had the ability to raise a vicar’s daughter from obscurity by his notice alone.
And she, too, would know what it was to be the cynosure of curious eyes. To have her face, her figure, her conduct, and her conversation ruthlessly evaluated by persons who had no acquaintance with her. She would know the burden of being fashionable, the wearying and unstinting scrutiny, the desperate game of holding on to every scrap of favor.
She would understand what he faced, daily being held to standards that would never be possible for him because of his birth. Then, perhaps, she would not disdain him quite so much for being no better than he was.
Why he should long for the approval of Miss Lucasta Lithwick was a motive Jem chose not to explore. Instead heenvisioned her, with her new reputation and the Frotheringale fortune, being seen in his shops, wearing his fabrics. He would be glad to advise her on matters of dress. Indeed it would be an agreeable challenge to find the gowns and styles that would bring to light Lucasta Lithwick’s beauty, for he sensed it was there. She had a certain elegance in her manner that would do justice to the designs he would select for her. And if he outfitted one sudden new heiress beautifully, who else might be inclined to place themselves in his hands?
With enough success in his business, his wealth and prospects would finally outweigh any sneers he earned for being born a draper’s son and a draper himself. His stature would be so great that no one would dare offer insult to anyone who stood within his protection. His siblings would be provided for. Would be safe.
Jem stood respectfully still while his valet arranged his neckcloth, wearing his customary unruffled expression. “They are saying you took it upon you to dance last night, milord,” Church remarked.
“And so I did.” Jem’s heart gave a curious kick when he recalled the moment Miss Lithwick stumbled during the allemande, when he caught her to him.
