Read Online A Lady in Name by Elizabeth Bailey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Bailey
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reminder of my condition. Most of all, I cannot usurp a position for which I am wholly ineligible. I may be your cousin, but I am not worthy to be called so.’
To her shocked surprise, Dion’s eyes filled and tears chased one another down her cheeks. She rose and in a moment was beside Lucy, who felt her hands seized in a convulsive grip.
‘I am so ve ry sorry. Oh, Lucy, forgive me. I had not thought how dreadful it must be for you. Here I have been positively enjoying the situation, without paying the slightest attention to your feelings. It is too bad of me. And so typical, I am afraid. Can you forgive me?’
Thoroughly taken aback, and yet moved by the note of appeal and the falling tears, Lucy found herself returning the pressure of Dion’s fingers.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she uttered. ‘Pray don’t cry, Dion. I had far rather have you giggling than weeping on my account.’
Dion smiled through her tears. ‘You had best take full advantage of my penitence, dear Lucy. Stefan will tell you it is a rare event.’
Lucy could not forbear an answering smile. ‘In that case, I will confess myself relieved.’
‘I won’t press you any more, I promise, but I do so wish you might change your mind. You will never be made to feel your unenviable position in this house.’
Except, thought Lucy, she was made to feel it in every way, if only by default. She longed suddenly for the vicarage, the old days when her evenings were spent in ever interesting talks with Papa, or in reading if he were out upon his duties. Unknowing, she spoke aloud, and from the heart.
‘I just want to go home .’
* * *
In the open doorway, Stefan lingered briefly, the echo of Lucy’s utterance haunting in his mind. He stepped quietly back into the hall, gently closing the door, sure that neither of the women had noticed him.
He had sat long over his port, for some unfathomable reason unwilling to resume battle. Stefan knew he had badly mishandled the girl. Misjudged her character? He was not in the habit of examining his own methods. Over the years he had found ways of dealing with Corisande that invariably succeeded. As for Dion, she might be a minx but in general she accepted his dictum, even if she debated with him. His servants naturally did just as he instructed. Never before had he been obliged to quell outright rebellion. Lucy Graydene was a novel experience.
It struck Stefan he had spoken nothing but the truth when he compared her temperament to his uncle’s. She had come back at him in fury, and the loss of control merely strengthened the similarity. His uncle Beves had been a man of intemperate passions, quickly roused, and as rapidly doused. Paulina shared something of his character, but in her it led to sulks rather than tantrums. A tendency she might have learned at her father’s knee.
Paulina’s mother had died young from the scarlet fever, and she had been brought up largely by servants and her governess. His uncle had made but a poor fist of parenting. Her putative half-sister had been luckier perhaps, for the loss of Lucy’s mother had gained her an excellent father. There was no knowing what sort of a woman had given birth to Lucy, and Stefan could not but wonder what inherited traits might be lurking in Lucy’s armoury.
Meanwhile, he must find a better way to deal with her. If she had professed herself determined on going, Stefan was equally so on her remaining. But he had no desire to engage in a pitched battle to ensure her obedience.
The port had sunk considerably in the decanter by the time he decided upon his best approach. If Lucy were requested to name all her objections, she must, Stefan reasoned, argue herself out of them. What else could she do then but give in with a good grace. He had entered the Red Saloon with the intention of putting this admirable plan into action. But the note of despair in Lucy’s words went straight to an untouched nerve, causing him to make a precipitate
To her shocked surprise, Dion’s eyes filled and tears chased one another down her cheeks. She rose and in a moment was beside Lucy, who felt her hands seized in a convulsive grip.
‘I am so ve ry sorry. Oh, Lucy, forgive me. I had not thought how dreadful it must be for you. Here I have been positively enjoying the situation, without paying the slightest attention to your feelings. It is too bad of me. And so typical, I am afraid. Can you forgive me?’
Thoroughly taken aback, and yet moved by the note of appeal and the falling tears, Lucy found herself returning the pressure of Dion’s fingers.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she uttered. ‘Pray don’t cry, Dion. I had far rather have you giggling than weeping on my account.’
Dion smiled through her tears. ‘You had best take full advantage of my penitence, dear Lucy. Stefan will tell you it is a rare event.’
Lucy could not forbear an answering smile. ‘In that case, I will confess myself relieved.’
‘I won’t press you any more, I promise, but I do so wish you might change your mind. You will never be made to feel your unenviable position in this house.’
Except, thought Lucy, she was made to feel it in every way, if only by default. She longed suddenly for the vicarage, the old days when her evenings were spent in ever interesting talks with Papa, or in reading if he were out upon his duties. Unknowing, she spoke aloud, and from the heart.
‘I just want to go home .’
* * *
In the open doorway, Stefan lingered briefly, the echo of Lucy’s utterance haunting in his mind. He stepped quietly back into the hall, gently closing the door, sure that neither of the women had noticed him.
He had sat long over his port, for some unfathomable reason unwilling to resume battle. Stefan knew he had badly mishandled the girl. Misjudged her character? He was not in the habit of examining his own methods. Over the years he had found ways of dealing with Corisande that invariably succeeded. As for Dion, she might be a minx but in general she accepted his dictum, even if she debated with him. His servants naturally did just as he instructed. Never before had he been obliged to quell outright rebellion. Lucy Graydene was a novel experience.
It struck Stefan he had spoken nothing but the truth when he compared her temperament to his uncle’s. She had come back at him in fury, and the loss of control merely strengthened the similarity. His uncle Beves had been a man of intemperate passions, quickly roused, and as rapidly doused. Paulina shared something of his character, but in her it led to sulks rather than tantrums. A tendency she might have learned at her father’s knee.
Paulina’s mother had died young from the scarlet fever, and she had been brought up largely by servants and her governess. His uncle had made but a poor fist of parenting. Her putative half-sister had been luckier perhaps, for the loss of Lucy’s mother had gained her an excellent father. There was no knowing what sort of a woman had given birth to Lucy, and Stefan could not but wonder what inherited traits might be lurking in Lucy’s armoury.
Meanwhile, he must find a better way to deal with her. If she had professed herself determined on going, Stefan was equally so on her remaining. But he had no desire to engage in a pitched battle to ensure her obedience.
The port had sunk considerably in the decanter by the time he decided upon his best approach. If Lucy were requested to name all her objections, she must, Stefan reasoned, argue herself out of them. What else could she do then but give in with a good grace. He had entered the Red Saloon with the intention of putting this admirable plan into action. But the note of despair in Lucy’s words went straight to an untouched nerve, causing him to make a precipitate
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