“I expect you’ll find more than a few friends under the hatches or in disgrace,” the Baron said. “Best to start fresh, son, and begin as you mean to go on.”
Aunt Pevensey grimaced as though someone were sticking her with pins. “But we cannot think of marrying Trevor off when he has just returned to us. Besides, we are concentrating on Cecilia’s marriage this Season. I daresay your son’s expectations might be raised higher if his sister makes a worthy match, my love. Rudyard meant to take her driving today, before Lucasta pushed her way in.”
“Rudyard?” Trevor frowned. “Do you mean Cadmus?”
“Your friend Cadmus died of fever,” the Baron informed him. “Then his father died of a side of bad beef and passed the title of Earl Payne to his uncle. This new Lord Rudyard is no more than a draper’s son who thinks himself quite a beau, and there are far too many who let him believe it. Worse, he’ll be heir tothe Marquess of Arendale. Sooner rather than later, if his father stays in the West Indies. Hardly a place for civilized men.”
“They were out all day,” Aunt Patience said. “Wherever could you have gone, Lucasta?”
Every Pevensey eye turned to her. The images came in a hot rush. Sunlight on green fields and blooms of color climbing the elegant cottage. Judith, Bertie, and the children chatting with her in a golden pool of light, weaving her into their life, their parlor filled with sweet aromas and enchanting song.
A rich baritone voice that had been imprinted in her memory, never to leave.
If Aunt Patience sabotaged the Baron’s plot to match her with Trevor, Lucasta would find her permission to host the benefit concert withdrawn with the snap of a finger.
“Rudyard means to engage me as a music tutor for his cousin,” she said finally. His name left a soft hum on her lips, like the reed of an hautboy. “I give lessons, you know. That is how I support myself.” Time to remind them all that she labored for a living. No fit match for a gentleman.
“But you won’t need that now, with your Aunt Cornelia determined to make you her heir,” the Baron said with a toothy smile. “She’s sitting on a tidy sum, I wager.”
Lucasta loosened her fingers before she crushed the delicate enamel music box. If the Baron convinced Trevor that she was some prize?—
“I must confess, I do not stand in expectation of any inheritance from Aunt Cornelia. She will likely give away her fortune to one of her favorite charitable institutions. Or bequeath it to the current Viscount Frotheringale.”
“She will!” Aunt Patience cried. “It is as I said, my love.”
“Gale?” Trevor untangled his arm from Cici’s. “He’s plump enough in the pocket. He’s no need for her boodle.”
“A smart man would try anyway,” the Baron replied. “But if there’s expectation of a happy event, why shouldn’t Lady Evers open the purse strings early?”
Cici linked her hands beneath her chin, glancing from Trevor to Lucasta with consideration. Aunt Patience looked as if she’d drunk vinegar. Lucasta didn’t know where she drew the courage to say what she said next.
It had something to do with Jeremiah Falstead’s expression when he introduced his half-siblings to her. With the way his rich baritone had supported and complemented her voice during their duet.
With the way his eyes lit when she practically fell out of his carriage into his arms and they stared at each other for a long moment, both of them, she was certain, feeling that strange sense that though they stood on a public street, the rest of the world had momentarily withdrawn.
She had always been inclined to speak her mind. But something about the golden light of his notice—of Jem’s approval—was making her uncustomarily bold.
“Aunt Cornelia said she approves my being invited to get up a benefit concert for the Foundling Hospital,” Lucasta said. “She adores music. And I expect I will be kept quite busy with that project in the coming weeks.”
“Not too busy to have a bit of fun!” With a wave of his hand, the Baron swept her protestations aside. Lucasta couldn’t recognize this hearty man who had replaced the tight-lipped, sullen Lord Pevensey. He behaved as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders, or a festering splinter taken from his side. “You’ll enjoy squiring your cousin about, won’t you, Trevor?”
It was a warning, one Trevor acknowledged by a tight knot of muscle in his cheek. Lucasta held her breath. If Trevor didn’t want her, she would be free from the Baron’s schemes.Trevor would face his father’s wrath, but Lucasta could continue planning her concert. Or thinking about her concert, at least.
But if he fell in with his father’s plans—she didn’t know what she’d do.
“And Cici?” Lucasta asked. No one ever asked Cici what she wanted. She, too, was expected to fall in with her father’s plans for her without a murmur of complaint. But if Cici wanted something better for her brother, she could be an ally.
“Oh, do marry my brother, Lucasta.” Cici threw her arms around Lucasta’s shoulders, a gesture that took her entirely by surprise. “I would adore having you for a sister.”
Lucasta’s head felt like a chamber orchestra all tuning to different scales, a discordant blur of noise.
“It seems my sister is as eager to welcome you into the family as is my father,” Trevor drawled.
“Cici, why don’t you show your cousin what arrived for her,” the Baron said, narrowing his eyes at his son.
“Oh, you must see,” Cici squealed, tugging at Lucasta’s arm. “The first of your new wardrobe, and I hope you will be very pleased with it! Those awful thingsbelle-mèregave you need never again see the light of day.”
Lucasta followed Cici’s bright chatter to her chamber where the dress box awaited. She wished she could escape to her music room and sort out the blaring riot of music in her head.
