“Yes, we all heard you trumpeting your way in here like a green schoolboy,” Cornelia answered, a smile playing around her carmine-red lips. “You suppose you’re good enough for my Lucasta?”
“Son and heir to the marquessate of Arendale?” Lady Payne gasped. “Good enough for the daughter of a vicar?” She laid a hand over her heart, truly shocked.
Jem gave a short bow. “I will endeavor every day of my life hereafter to be worthy of her esteem, your ladyship.”
“Aunt Cornelia to you, Payne,” the lady answered. “I knew your mother, you know. Constance had her season in Bath before your father lured her away. I always hoped he’d prove worthy of her.” She inspected Jem from head to toe. Her smile grew broader as she progressed.
“Too handsome by half, lad, just like your father, but not a dirty dish like he is, I’d guess.” She tucked her glasses away and gave a decisive nod. “I mean to leave everything to Lucasta, you know. Have your solicitors get in touch with me when you draw up the settlement.”
“Aunt Cornelia—” Lucasta faltered. Then, looking around the room, she realized that everyone else here knew her secret, for she doubted Cici had wasted a moment in informing Bertie of the dramatic scenes at Pevensey house yesterday. Only Lady Payne was unaware, and frankly she didn’t care a ha’penny for Lady Payne’s opinion. But Jem might.
“Aunt Patience said you know the full story of my parentage,” she said instead.
“Eh, what’s that?” Aunt Cornelia’s voice grew booming once again. “My Felicity doted on her daughter, and you were the best thing Laurence Lithwick ever gave her. I never had a thing against the man myself, foreigner that he was. You’ve his coloring, no doubt about it, no one will mistake you for an English rose! But you’re not as dark as these ‘uns,” she said, looking curiously at the younger Falstead siblings.
Fascinated, they lined up for introductions.
“Children of my father’s second…wife,” Jem said. “Er—common-law wife, as it were.”
Lucasta held her breath. This was what he most feared: his siblings being exposed to the judgment and ridicule of the arbiters of society. Aunt Cornelia might live in Bath, and in her final marriage might have condescended to wed a mere knight, but she possessed a formidable network of contacts and a great deal of influence. Jem’s face tightened as he awaited the blow, and Lucasta took his arm for support.
Cornelia applied her glasses again. “I’ve never seen more beautiful children,” she announced. “If you ask me, mixing the races makes for more robust blood. Look what William theBastard did for our isle when he infused our Saxon blood with some good staunch Norman stock! I told m’brother so when he had fits about Felicity marrying your father, and I’ll stand by it. Look at our dear Selina, here—that skin will never freckle in the sun! You ought to consider marrying dark, for the sake of your children, dear,” she addressed Cici, whose blue eyes were round as marbles and standing out against her pale skin. “Maybe a Turk for you, or a nice sturdy Greek? I’ve always had a taste for the Greek Isles, m’self.”
Lucasta only barely managed to stifle a half-laugh, half-groan at this lecture, and the look on her friends’ faces as they choked back their own reactions nearly did her in. Lady Payne’s mouth moved in wordless protest. But Aunt Cornelia hadn’t finished her assessment.
“Lambertina, is it?” she addressed Bertie next. “You’re a good stout girl, and I like that. It never stopped me catching a husband that I couldn’t cinch my waist in, and I’ve had four so far. But I don’t know this little blind girl.” She turned her glasses in Judith’s direction. “Scarletina, was it, or smallpox?”
“Measles,” Judith answered serenely, though her mouth twitched with a smile. “Lady Evers, Bertie tells me you are wearing the most astonishing headdress.”
“Aunt Cornelia to you, too, if you’re a Falstead,” her ladyship answered, “and come over here and see for yourself, girl. I must say, you played beautifully tonight.”
Lucasta gasped. “Aunt Cornelia! Were you at the concert?”
“Indeed I was. Demanded Frotheringale get me a ticket at the last minute, and he had a devil of a time doing it. Sold out, they were, and I think he had to wheedle one out of a governor.”
Lucasta shot Jem a quick look. He was watching Judith’s expression of absorbed rapture as she explored Cornelia’s elaborate headpiece. “Then you heard me sing. In public. In front of a great many people,” Lucasta said.
She caught the eyes of her friends, who looked as worried as Lucasta felt. She’d sobbed to all three of them many a time about Aunt Cornelia’s strictures about performing. Cornelia straightened and gave Lucasta a level look.
“Indeed you did, and I don’t see any reason why you can’t sing or play wherever you wish, from here on.”
“But—” Lucasta floundered for words. “You said it was vulgar. An embarrassment. That no member of our family would perform on public stage, before common crowds.”
Cornelia snorted again. “A vulgar display for a vicar’s daughter, lass. But you’re to marry the heir to Arendale. There’s less than two dozen dukes in these blessed isles, and what, half a dozen marquesses? Won’t be many below the royals who can tellyouwhat to do. And our sanctimonious Queen Charlotte might not let her girls step a toe in public, but I don’t see whyIshould be so small-minded,” Cornelia said loftily. “Though you’d best beware how you let men like that Marchesi fawn over you. Castrato or no, people will talk.”
Lucasta bit her lip on a swift defense of Signor Marchesi. Aunt Cornelia would allow her to perform, and so would Jem. She scarcely dared breathe for wonder.
“What’s a castrato?” Starria asked.
“A type of singer,” Jem said quickly, and no one else dared elaborate.
Minnie spoke. “It seems to me we must acknowledge that Queen Lucasta is the first among us to accept an offer of marriage. She has already paid her forfeit, but it remains to be settled where the wedding breakfast shall be, and what colors she will make her maids of honor wear.”
“I do hope you’ll ask Mademoiselle Beaudoin to design them,” Cici said hopefully. “And one for me as well?”
A shadow moved across Lucasta’s happiness as she turned to face Jem. She didn’t know how long a voyage to the West Indiesmight take, nor how much time he might require to collect his errant father. It might be a year or more before they could wed, and what would she do with herself in the meantime? The last day and a night without him, after his declaration and her refusal, had been a needle thrust through her heart. Would she ache this much each day without him, for months, perhaps a year?
“The matter of the town coach, milord?” The butler inserted himself into the group, making a desperate appeal to Jem.
