Read Online Lady Lucy's Lover by M.C. Beaton - Free Book Online

horses’ manes decorated with scarlet ribbons and the Prince’s plumes on their crests, the carriage itself lined with rose-colored satin and festoons of rich gold braid.
    Then there was Lord Rodney, driving his nag-tailed horses, and Lord Petersham driving his brown carriage and brown horses and dressed from head to foot in brown and all for the love of a Mrs. Brown, and Mr. Tommy Onslow, the T.O. of the cartoonists, and Mr. Charles Finch wearing a servant’s livery. And…
    The Duke broke off for a second and then said, “These carriages kick up so much dust. Let us find a quieter part of the Park.”
    To his relief, Lucy agreed without demur and he was able to swing his phaeton round and away from the fascinating spectacle presented by a very tipsy Marquess of Standish, driving Harriet Comfort, before his fair companion managed to see it.
    The Duke drove at a very slow pace until they were away from the fashionable crowd and then reined in his horses.
    â€œYou must be wondering what I was doing in Mr. Barrington’s office,” began Lucy.
    â€œNo,” he said quietly. “What you were doing was easily understandable. But I do feel compelled to offer you a word of advice.”
    â€œWhich is?” asked Lucy nervously.
    â€œIt is this. You cannot prevent your husband from the consequences of his folly forever.”
    â€œBut he will be so relieved, so overjoyed to find I have taken the load of debt from his shoulders that he will… will be more prudent in future.”
    Poor thing, poor silly little thing, thought the Duke angrily.
She was about to say, “so that he will take me in his arms and say he loves me.”
    â€œIt is very hard to be prudent when one is a hardened gamester,” he said. “London abounds in hells, all capable of taking the estates away from the best families in England. There’s the House with the Red Baize Door in Bennet Street, the Pigeon Hole at Ten St. James’s Square, Mrs. Leache’s and Mr. Davis’s in King Street, and hundreds of others. I have witnessed the frenzy of the losers. I have seen proud men, weeping like statues without moving a muscle of their faces, and with nothing to show they were alive but the tears running down their cheeks.
    â€œThere is a record of a ruined man seizing the edge of the table in his teeth and dying in the act. The company fled horrified and he was found by the watch, dead, with his eyes open, his face distorted, and his teeth driven far into the wood of the table. A Frenchman was seen to ram a billiard ball down his throat, whence it was removed by a surgeon; an Irishman put a lighted candle into his mouth. A gamester, whose nonchalance at repeated losses was remarked upon, opened his shirt and showed his chest all lacerated by his own fingernails.
    â€œMy dear Lady Standish, your only solution is to persuade your husband to return to the country. He is very young, not much older than yourself, I believe.”
    â€œBut… but it is not fashionable in the country,” said Lucy weakly.
    â€œNo,” he agreed with an edge to his voice. “There are all those unfashionable tenants who rely on us for a livelihood and decent housing. If our estates go on the gambling table, what becomes of them?”
    â€œI will try,” said Lucy like a patient child responding to the severe lecturing of a stern parent.
    He turned and looked at her in sudden compassion. He wanted to tell her that he would do everything in the world to help her be happy. And then he remembered that Lady Standish was married and that her marital troubles were none of his business. His mind clamped down on these strange new emotions, and he gently set his horses in motion.
    â€œHow solemn we have become!” he said lightly. “I gather you are to attend the Ruthfords’ masked ball tonight?”
    â€œYes,” said Lucy, “but you, Your Grace, have other plans?”
    â€œPerhaps