“I hope you let Miss Beaudoin choose your designs,” Rudyard said. “I gave her very specific instructions.”
“Why?” Lucasta turned to face him. It was her curse, being unable to hold her tongue But it was inconceivable that a man adored for his exquisitetonshould take the least notice of a Lucasta Lithwick. “Why should Lord Rudyard curry favor from the Gorgons?” She twisted her fingers to the point of pain. “Do you not think it will reflect poorly on you if my concert is a disaster?”
It would certainly prove the Baron correct. And Aunt Pevensey. And everyone else who assumed that a plain vicar’s daughter, of no birth and no fortune, had no value all on her own.
All she had was her music. It was her one gift, the solace she clung to, the one beautiful thing in her life that no one couldtake away. But if she proved rubbish at it, in front of a hundred people, and showed she had no business on the stage after all—what would be left for her? It was almost better to dream in the dark, in unseen corners, and not know the truth. Not have her shortcomings exposed in a way she could not deny.
Rudyard appeared to be choosing his words, his sculpted features set in an expression of studied indifference. “I do not believe any enterprise you undertake would be a disaster, Miss Lithwick.”
A warm, dangerous glow sprang to life within her, like a candle flickering to life in a dark room. Rudyard, of all people, could not think well of her. Not when he judged people on their style, and she had none.
She clung to the side of the conveyance as the carriage stopped and Rudyard paid the toll for Hyde Park Gate. “Why are we leaving London?” she wondered as the gate opened for them. “Need we fear highwaymen?”
“I rarely encounter gentlemen of the road here,” Rudyard answered, which was not at all reassuring. “It is not far, and a pleasant drive, is it not, Bertie?”
“Jem, I think you could tell her a little something,” Miss Falstead said. “Miss Lithwick must feel as if we are spiriting her away.”
“I’ve never yet kidnapped a lady, and do not spoil the surprise, if you please.”
They passed through Knightsbridge, and Lucasta looked about with great curiosity. She had come to London from Bath on the Great Western Road and had seen little else. It surprised her how quickly the city ended and the land turned to gentle pasture, with here and there a church spire or the façade of a great house rising in the distance. Knightsbridge was a small cluster of shops and houses lining the road, and when the lane branched, Rudyard turned southeast.
The road was decently paved, the turnpike tolls clearly being put to their intended use, but the bustle and stink of the city fell away. The scene was abruptly rustic, the shops and occasional villa hugging the road while fields and pastures stretched behind, and the air was considerably clearer and more wholesome. Lucasta drew a deep, nourishing breath as the horses picked up their pace, glad to be free of the traffic. She felt liberated from something as well.
She had no reason to trust Rudyard, but she wanted to.
They passed Queen’s Elm gate and came to another cluster of buildings, many of them neat homes, and new. “Little Chelsea,” Rudyard explained. “I keep a villa here, away from town. Many tradesmen are putting up some rather grand houses. I hope you will not find our little cottage too quaint.”
He paused before a wooden gate set into a hawthorn hedge, and the horses snorted with approval. While Rudyard extracted his cousin from the carriage, Lucasta studied the building he had called a cottage. It rose in a neat neoclassical rectangle of yellow-gray stone, with green vines climbing the walls between evenly spaced windows. Tall shrubs flowered in soft profusion along the path leading to the front door, where Rudyard knocked briefly, then entered with a shout.
“Danny boy! There are horses at the gate that need tending, but mind you don’t give them so many oats they can’t move. Mrs. Cadogan, I’ve guests in need of refreshment. Judith, I hope you’re decent—I’ve brought the company I promised you.”
“Jem, dearest,” called a gentle voice from the nearest room, “you needn’t raise such a ruckus. We heard you at the gate, great stomping oaf that you are.”
Rudyard led them into a front parlor filled with light, where a young woman sat on a dainty settee. She rose as they entered and held out a set of pale white hands, lady’s hands. She wore a pretty gown of a light lilac hue and no wig. Lucasta stared amoment at the perfect symmetry of her face, the lustrous dark brown hair bound into a chignon, and the shade covering her eyes. She was unmistakably a Falstead relation.
Jem strode forward and took her outstretched hands, dropping a kiss on the cheek the girl turned up to him. “You brought Bertie with you?” she murmured, turning her face toward the door. “It’s been an age.”
Bertie advanced and kissed her other cheek. “Hullo, Judith. That frock becomes you. You’ve been well?”
“We’ve been grand,” Judith confirmed. “But you did not bring Aunt Payne.” She waited, still facing the door. “This is someone unknown to me. Welcome to Rose Hollow,” she said politely.
“This is Miss Lucasta Lithwick, the musical acquaintance I made at the Foundling Hospital,” Rudyard said. “Miss Lithwick, this is my sister, Judith.”
Lucasta cleared her throat. Not his intended. Not his mistress. A sister.
Rudyard—Smart Jeremy—Jem—had brought her to meet hissister.
“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Falstead.” Lucasta moved forward and took the girl’s outstretched hand in both of hers. “I hope you do not mind that Rudyard brought me. I have only met your cousin today as well.”
Rudyard watched them, his posture tense. He had told her nothing so as to test her. Lucasta resented that, and understood at the same time.
Judith smiled and waved a slight hand, as if shooing away her brother’s concern. “You must sit next to me, Miss Lithwick. I am always eager to meet my brother’s friends. We live very quietly here. I hope he warned you?” She slipped a finger beneath the ribbon that tied the shade about her temples and scratched.
“You may take it off if you wish, Jude,” Rudyard remarked. “Miss Lithwick isn’t squeamish.”
Lucasta shot him a quick glance. Not a test, she realized. Another gift. He was trusting her with the person he loved most in the world.
“Oh, that’s a relief. It squeezes my head.” Judith untied the shade and set it aside. Her eyes, like the foundling Eliza’s, were a cloudy blue beneath a white web of scar tissue.
