Читать книгу Unmasking Miss Lacey - Isabelle Goddard - Страница 8

Lucinda woke early the next morning to the sound of creaks and rustlings as the old house settled itself to endure the coming winter. A sliver of bright light encircled the window frame and she threw back the curtains to a perfect autumn day. The sky was a blue sphere, untarnished by even a wisp of cloud. The air was still, the trees motionless, standing tall and proud, clothed in their last glowing leaves. It was a morning to be out, out and away from these musty walls and from the memory of yesterday’s disasters.

She dared not think about Jack Beaufort and what he might do. If he were to recognise the figure that had ambushed him, she was powerless to save herself. He might have recognised her already—she felt a spark of terror pinch at her heart. He had certainly looked at her closely enough, but that might have been simple curiosity. He would wish to inspect the woman his sisters were proposing he make his wife. He must have suffered a gross disappointment. Even in her present dire situation, Lucinda had to chuckle at the likely effect of that hideous brown gown and the even more hideous shawl. If they had not completely repelled him, then her air of cold boredom should have completed the task. She wished now that she hadn’t acted quite so badly and not just because of her uncle’s inevitable scolding. She had to confess that the earl fascinated. He was quite different from any man she had met: he was fashionable, elegant, beautifully mannered, but so were others. He was a rascal, she thought, that was what marked him out—the scar, those eyes, the wicked enjoyment of seeing Sir Francis and his pomposity deflate with fear. But she must tread warily: she must never forget that he could undo her at any moment. Her future was in his hands.

But that of Rupert was in hers. She knew that she must plead with her uncle to change his mind, to pay the money that would liberate her brother. It would be a final appeal to his affections, though in truth he had none. Once he had issued a decree, this soft and flaccid man was granite. Rupert had to be punished and more brutally than ever. Francis had failed to bring him to heel, to inculcate in him the imperative of family honour, and for that there could be no mitigation. It was terrifying to feel that she alone stood between her brother and an early death, but today was a morning to shake off such black thoughts. She would ride far and away and consign Francis, his house and his guest to oblivion.

In half an hour she was in the saddle and urging her mount along one of the chalk cart tracks which led to the Downs. The horse was in no mood to hurry and she had constantly to spur him forward. After her whirlwind ride last night, it felt unbearably slow. Once on the Downs, though, her mount grudgingly picked up speed until she was riding at full gallop along one of the highest ridges. In the translucent light of early morning, she could see in the far distance the smudge of coast and the sea, calm as a fathomless mirror.

She galloped on until her breath was all but spent. Slowing to manoeuvre her way around a thicket of bushes, she heard hooves coming from the opposite direction. It was unusual to meet another rider on this vast expanse of downland, and particularly so early in the day. She dropped to a walk and rounded the bushes cautiously. Not cautiously enough, for almost before she knew it, she had met the other rider head-on. She began to apologise for her clumsiness but then found herself looking into the sardonic face of Jack Beaufort. Her apologies stuttered to a close.

‘You,’ she exclaimed ungraciously. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Good morning, Miss Lacey. How delightful to meet you once more.’ The irony was unmistakable. ‘You must forgive me for not realising that I was trespassing. I apologise for my ignorance.’

Her face turned red. ‘I am sure you know, Lord Frensham, that downland is rarely private. You startled me—I had not expected to see you here and so early.’

He sat back on his horse, perfectly at ease. Arrogantly at ease, she thought. The firm chin and the set mouth spoke of a man who would not easily yield.

‘There is a simple explanation for my early ride. I could not sleep. I trust this is not an indelicate question, but does Verney Towers by chance play host to the spirit world?’

‘There are no ghosts, if that is what you mean.’

‘No murdered husbands or wives for ever immured within its walls?’

‘The house has led a blameless life.’

‘Then the noises …?’

‘It creaks and groans with changes in the weather.’

‘How very disappointing! I have been imagining a hundred different tales, each of them more bloodcurdling than the one before.’

‘The only death at the Towers is like to be from boredom,’ she said tartly.

He could not prevent a grin lighting his face. ‘And is that your opinion of Sussex society in general?’

‘I imagine that society is much the same everywhere.’ Her tone was dismissive.

‘Where else have you known?’ It was a sly question.

‘I have lived a narrow and entirely parochial life, your lordship, as I am sure you are aware. But I doubt that I would go on in London any differently than I do here.’

His eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘But if you have never partaken of London’s attractions, how can you be sure that you do not undervalue them?’

‘I cannot be sure, of course, but it is inevitable that given time they would pall.’

‘In that case, let us do our small best to keep life’s boredom at bay. I wonder if you would care to walk. The day is splendid and we ought not to waste it.’

She should ride on. Walking with him was dangerous, the last thing she should do, but the grin had metamorphosed into the sweetest of smiles and she found herself acquiescing. He slid from his saddle and in seconds was at her side, helping her dismount. She was aware of the strong arm beneath her elbow, the strong fingers on hers, but she winced as his hand brushed against her wrist.

‘You are hurt, Miss Lacey?’

There was a momentary pause before she replied. ‘I was in the garden yesterday and foolishly attempted to unearth a small bush without tools.’

‘And what had the bush done to earn your displeasure?’

‘It was in the wrong place,’ she said shortly.

He gave a mock sigh. ‘So often our troubles are down to that one small fact, don’t you find—being in the wrong place?’

She gazed sharply towards him, but his face was innocent of suspicion. She was tense, agitated: that was the trouble, she chided herself, jumping at words that meant nothing.

They tethered the horses to the largest of the bushes and began to stroll towards the sun. She kept a clear distance from him, following a separate but parallel path.

He ignored her deliberate aloofness, but his words when he spoke sounded a challenge. ‘I hope that my visit has not incommoded you.’

‘My uncle’s guests rarely disturb me,’ she hit back. That was true since visitors were unknown at Verney Towers, but she had not meant to speak so rudely; she felt flustered and uncomfortable and had no idea why.

‘I am greatly relieved,’ he was saying, the wry pull of his mouth undermining the sentiment. ‘My stay is to be brief, but I would not wish you to be inconvenienced.’

‘How brief?’

The bald question left him unfazed. ‘If I had not had the misfortune to meet with some desperado on the road, I would even now be in the next county, enjoying the company of Lord Merrington and his friends.’

Was his mention of a desperado a tease? Had he guessed? Her heart was in her mouth and she dared not look at him, dared not speak, for she knew she would be unable to keep the tremble from her voice. The only sound was the soft swishing of her skirts against the tufted grass. If only she had not chosen him of all people to rob … but she must give nothing away.

‘I am sorry your plans have gone awry,’ she managed at last, ‘but if your intention was to stay only one night with us, it seems hardly worth your while to call.’ Once more she was sounding ungracious, she thought, little better than a badly brought-up schoolgirl.

‘I would not be so harsh, Miss Lacey. If I had not found my way to Verney Towers, I would never have had the pleasure of meeting you or your esteemed uncle.’ His voice was bland, but when she shot a glance at him she saw that his eyes sparkled with enjoyment.

He continued to talk, as smooth as caramel. ‘My sisters will be delighted, too, for I came at their behest. They wished me to make your acquaintance and, since I planned to travel to Hampshire, it needed only a small diversion to find my way here.’

‘I do not know your sisters, Lord Frensham, and cannot imagine why they were so eager that you should meet me.’

‘It is hard to credit, is it not, but their eagerness sprang from some ridiculous story they were told. They got it from a very old aunt who died quite recently. I wonder if you have heard the same tale.’

‘Are you referring to our grandfathers and the promise they made each other?’

‘Precisely. It is a fantasy and maudlin beyond belief. But for some reason the story has taken hold of their imaginations and they will not let it go.’

The story was maudlin and should be buried as quickly as possible. For the first time since they met, she felt in charity with him. ‘I fear that Uncle Francis is as enthusiastic as your sisters,’ she was moved to confess.

He pushed the stray lock of hair from his forehead in an impatient gesture and she saw that he was frowning. ‘It is amazing, is it not, that otherwise sensible people should concern themselves with such flummery. Such a proposition belongs to the last century—two people who have not a thought in common, to be pushed together, only because their families wish to be united!’

‘I believe that many people still find arranged marriages acceptable.’ She did not intend to be too much in charity with him.

‘That may be so, but I am not one of them.’

‘Then you did not come as a suitor?’

‘No, I did not,’ he said gently. ‘I hope that does not disappoint, but from our brief acquaintance, I imagine not.’ There was the shadow of a smile on his face.

It did not disappoint, of course it did not. The last thing she wanted was to be forced into allying herself with a stranger—allying herself with anyone. If she were ever tempted to consider matrimony, she had only to remember her mother’s history for the temptation to vanish as swiftly as morning dew. But still, in the back of her mind there was a small wistful thought: Jack Beaufort would make a handsome husband. She felt unbearably confused.

‘So why did you come—if you consider the story nonsense?’ she blurted out.

‘I confess that my visit was simply to stop my sisters’ infernal nagging.’

‘And will it?’

‘I doubt that. Their mission is to find a wife for me and they seem unable to resist any opportunity. But by calling on you, I have done as they asked and that surely must count for something.’

They had left the pathway and were strolling freely across the cropped grass, the sun warm on their faces. He was walking closer now and she was sharply aware of his proximity: the powerful athleticism of his figure, the lean, tanned face, the mocking dark eyes. She wished that she wasn’t enjoying his company quite so much. Then she sensed he was watching her intently and the spell was broken. He was assessing her, appraising her, she thought indignantly. It was time to cause him discomfort if she could.

‘I am beholden to my uncle for a home, your lordship, but you are free and independent. I cannot imagine why you would bend so easily to your sisters’ demands.’

‘That is because you have never met them.’ The slur on his manhood was brushed aside. ‘Georgina, the eldest, is overbearing and not easily gainsaid. Hester’s ceaseless complaining drives me to distraction and now Maria has joined forces with them and in the gentlest way possible has indicated that she wishes very much that I will soon bring a wife into the family. Together they are a formidable army.’

‘Would it not be easier therefore to settle on a bride of your own choosing? I understand from my uncle that you have the pick of London beauties.’

‘Surely Sir Francis could not be guilty of such vulgarity!’

Her unguarded remark had met the derision it deserved and she was left feeling gauche. But after several minutes he appeared to relent and, stopping close, he fixed on her a pair of candid brown eyes.

‘I see I must make a full confession. The truth is, Miss Lacey, I have no intention of ever marrying. My sole hope in coming here was to secure a breathing space before the next onslaught.’

She looked up at him, wrinkling her nose in disbelief. ‘It sounds as though you are fighting a battle.’

‘It feels so. You have not experienced the full ferocity of a London Season, I believe, or you would understand.’

‘I am grateful to my uncle for sparing me that at least. But I think you protest too much. I understand that you are a grand matrimonial prize and courted avidly. It seems to me that you cannot be so averse to ton circles.’

The earl shrugged his shoulders impatiently. ‘You have that from your uncle, too, I imagine. What other morsels has he seen fit to communicate?’

‘He implied that your name is often linked to others. Would it not be sensible to marry one of your devotees as soon as possible?’

The grin was back, but he schooled his voice to sound reproving. ‘You should not listen to gossip. Come, we must walk on. The sun is warm enough, but it does not do to be standing too long.’

They turned their steps and began heading back the way they had come. An unspoken accord had been reached and this time they walked together along the same path. It was rough and uneven in places where small clusters of broken chalk were scattered at random and Lucinda unbent sufficiently to let him take her arm and steer her expertly over the crumbling stones.

‘I could ask you the same question, you know.’ Her brows rose enquiringly. ‘Why do you not simply choose a beau and marry him? That would stop your uncle importuning you further.’

‘I have no beau, Lord Frensham, nor do I wish for one.’

‘Forgive me, but does that not augur a lonely life to come?’

‘I shall not be lonely.’ Her tone was defiant. ‘I intend to live with someone dear to me.’

She had not meant to say so much and he immediately pounced. ‘If he is not to be a husband, who is this mysterious person? I am intrigued.’

Her answer was as brief as she could make it. ‘My brother, Rupert.’

‘I see.’ But it was evident that he did not, for he looked genuinely puzzled. ‘And where is brother Rupert?’

She could not answer him directly, but said in a confident voice, ‘He will be home very soon. And when he comes, we will make our plans for the future.’

‘Will not your brother have his own plans for marriage?’

‘No,’ she said decidedly. ‘Rupert and I are twins. We have always shared our lives and always will.’

‘Then Rupert is a lucky man.’

They had reached the tethered horses and she knew that she had stayed too long. Jack Beaufort was an attractive man, she acknowledged, but that was all. His confession that he was not about to make her an offer of marriage was a huge relief, one concern less, but he could still prove dangerous. She was sure that he had not recognised her as his attacker, but at any moment she might give herself away without realising. Her safest path was to keep well clear of him. Safest for all kinds of reasons: the unexpected pleasure she’d felt in his company was a warning and she should heed it.

‘I must return to the house and speak with my uncle,’ she said quickly, ‘but I wish you enjoyment of your ride.’ She glanced across at Sir Francis’s stolid beast. ‘Though you might find it something of a struggle, I fear.’

The pirate’s grin was back. ‘You speak truly, Miss Lacey. A bigger sluggard you could not find.’

The encounter had given Jack much to ponder. He could hardly believe the girl he’d met this morning was the one who had stood dumb and drab at her uncle’s side last night. He did not know what game she was playing, but when he’d literally bumped into her, he’d been staggered at the transformation. A shapely figure was shown to perfection by the close-fitting riding costume she wore. The dress of sapphire velvet made a perfect foil for the cornflower blue of her eyes while her complexion, untouched by any trick of the hand, was smooth and clear, delicately flushed from the morning ride. Wisps of golden hair escaped from a Glengary cap of blue satin. She was quite lovely—what a revelation!

Lovely and spirited, he thought, as he rode slowly back to the house. She was no simpering miss, for sure: her eyes could dance with mischief and she was capable of the sharpest retort. When she’d thought herself being forced into an unwanted liaison, she had fought hard and he could not blame her; he knew how it felt to do battle with an intransigent family. Once she’d realised that she was safe from the threat of matrimony, she had relaxed into a different girl. He had enjoyed her company and found himself wanting more. But he should nip in the bud any interest she aroused, for, spirited though she was, she was also young and inexperienced and no match for a worn lover such as he.

He wondered where the years had gone since Julia had left him humiliated. Years spent in every kind of sport, in travelling, drinking, gambling, in careless affairs. Not one of those so-called friendships had had meaning. And here he was at thirty, still escaping the noose his sisters intended, still unable to put the past behind him. He shook himself, trying to banish the invisible shroud that had settled around his shoulders. He must make for Merry’s as soon as he was able. He was missing all the fun.

Or was he? The gathering would be like every other exclusive house party he had attended in the past eight years: he would play the congenial guest among the men, the attentive swain with the ladies, and return to London as bored as he’d arrived. The attraction of Hampshire did not seem quite so strong now and he fell to wondering why. Was it the girl? Had she got under his skin without his realising it? She was a beauty beneath that nonsense of last night, and she intrigued him. This business about living with her brother—but that would die a natural death when either or both decided on marriage. There was more, though. He sensed an unease that lay just below the surface of life at Verney Towers. The house was spartan, lacking all comfort, lonely, too. Lucinda appeared to live a solitary life, her uncle enclosed in his own small world and her brother nowhere to be seen. There had been something in her manner when she spoke of her twin that suggested trouble. That made him curious.

The horses in the stable block whinnied softly as they picked up the sound of his approach. Only a single lad was at work, busily washing down the cobbled yard.

‘Did you enjoy your ride, my lord?’ he asked cheekily.

‘No, I did not. There was never a more stubborn beast.’ He slipped from the saddle.

‘He has his notions, like his master.’

Jack thought it best not to enquire too closely of the boy’s meaning. He pulled a stray cigarillo from his inside pocket and lit it with a sigh of contentment. The smoke curled upwards in the clear air and he stood smoking for a while, leaning against the warm wood of the stable shutter. As always, it helped him think. What had possessed Francis Devereux to invite him when he must have known that his niece would react with animosity? Did the man genuinely believe in a foolish promise made years ago, or was his invitation more practical than that?

Lucinda Lacey had never been to London, it seemed, never enjoyed a Season or had the chance of finding a suitable husband. Was the baronet hoping to marry his niece off with the least amount of trouble? If so, the man must have been delighted to receive Georgina’s letter. Jack cursed his elder sister for her interference. She had always been too keen on minding other people’s business and Hester had happily joined forces with her, chorusing together that their brother must marry, and marry soon, to ensure the succession. As very young women they had dutifully agreed to the liaisons arranged for them and had little understanding of their brother’s revulsion at being bound to a woman he hardly knew. Now Maria had joined the fray. She had taxed him for showing no interest in the young women he’d met or at least not the kind of interest that led to wedlock. What could be better, she had said in her soft, die-away voice, than to bring two old families together by choosing this young, unspoilt girl who had known nothing but a quiet country life? What indeed!

The lad had almost finished rubbing down Sir Francis’s mount and Jack sauntered towards him, gesturing at the row of partitions. ‘You run a small stable.’

‘Three horses, sir. Enough for me.’

‘Three? Where is the third?’

‘She’s a little shy.’

Jack craned his neck and glimpsed a half-hidden stable at the far end of the long building. He walked towards it. An odd circular wooden door appeared to have been cut into its farthest whitewashed wall.

‘Where does that strange-shaped door lead?’

‘I don’t rightly know, sir. It’s been locked since I started here.’

But it was the horse that interested Jack. He would have liked a choice of mount this morning, but had been given none. ‘What’s her name?’

‘That’ll be Red. She’s a chestnut, a real beauty. Belongs to Mr Rupert.’

Rupert Lacey’s name seemed inseparable from this morning’s conversations.

‘Mr Rupert is Miss Lucinda’s brother, I collect.’

‘Yessir.’

‘He lives here?’

‘Not at the moment ‘e don’t,’ the boy said carefully.

Jack knew better than to press a servant who clearly did not wish to talk, so he said nothing, but walked slowly towards the far stable and leaned over its open door.

The boy was right. The horse was a beauty. A tall chestnut mare, coat gleaming even in the weak October sun, and a soft white blaze down the centre of her forehead lending her the look of a magical creature.

A white blaze. Something rattled his memory. A clearing, a white diamond-shape blaze on a chestnut horse, moonlight silvering horse and rider. Surely not! This could not be the highwayman’s mount! Yet when he looked closer, he was almost certain that she was. His mind began to race, searching for an explanation. Had the mare been stolen in order to perpetrate the crime? But how do you steal a horse from private land, ride her like the wind, then restore her to the stables without anyone being the wiser? It was hardly possible; it was more likely a member of the household—a servant, a groom, perhaps? But who would have been so audacious and why?

He turned to the boy. ‘How many grooms work here?’

‘Jus’ me, sir, with these horses. Dexter’s the coachman, but the carriage horses are kept in a different block t’other side of the house and ‘e sleeps above their stable.’

So if a servant had staged a brazen attack, it would have had to be this boy and that seemed impossible. He gave the lad a small coin for his time and began to walk towards the house, eager to regain his room and think through the conundrum. As he walked, he extinguished his cigarillo and buried the butt in his pocket. His fingers touched something soft, a handkerchief, no—he brought the article into the light—a piece of lace torn from the ruffle of a shirt.

He stood stock still, his brain once more churning. It was a man’s shirt, but a gentleman’s, not a stable boy’s. A gentleman from Verney Towers. Apart from Francis Devereux, there wasn’t one. Did Lucinda have a secret admirer who took to the road for fun? He’d said to Fielding that he thought their ambush had been a jape gone wrong. But she had been adamant that no lover existed and, truth to tell, he could not imagine a swashbuckling youth as her admirer. She was too considered, too restrained, in her dealings with men. He remembered the way she had pulled away when he had touched her. Her wrist, her left wrist! She had winced from an injury, from pulling a recalcitrant bush from the ground, she’d said. But was that a cock-and-bull story? What if it had been her wrist that he had grasped last night? If so, it would explain the fleeting sense of familiarity he’d experienced at their first meeting. The thought sent shock waves through him. He refused to believe it. What possible reason could she have to run such an appalling risk?

Once in his room, he spread his long form on the bed, thinking hard. Lucinda Lacey as his assailant! It was a ridiculous proposition: she was a lady. Ladies of his acquaintance might do many questionable things, but holding up a coach wasn’t one of them. He sat upright—there was a way to find out. It wasn’t only the scrap of lace that he’d picked up after his unknown attacker had disappeared into the night. He’d retrieved the gun and he had it still. He had been curious about it from the start, certain that it was a duelling pistol. If it was, it would be part of a pair, belonging to—not her, for sure, but this brother? Quite possibly. He drew the weapon from the pocket of his travelling cape and took it to the light. It was as he’d remembered: the pistol sported a most intricate decoration, a crown in the shape of acanthus leaves. It looked like a family crest, though not the Devereux emblem which was blazoned on every spare surface of the house. Did it perhaps belong to the Lacey family? In any case, it was not a gun that was easily replicated. If he found its companion here in this house, he would know almost certainly that the incredible was true. But then what would he do?

Lucinda changed rapidly out of her riding dress; she was intent on seeking an interview with her uncle before luncheon. The darkest of clouds remained in her life, but one threat at least had been removed: Jack Beaufort had no intention of pressuring her into marriage. In fact, he had no wish to marry at all. He had been candid and honest and she liked that in him. She wondered if he would be as direct with her uncle or simply depart the Towers, thanking his host for a pleasant stay. Either way Sir Francis would be furious: he did not easily accept having his schemes frustrated.

The door to the library stood ajar and Lucinda slipped quietly into the room. Her uncle was dozing fitfully by a roaring fire, but looked up as he heard her footsteps.

‘What is it?’ He sounded querulous and she feared she had chosen the wrong moment to make her appeal. ‘I am about to write letters before lunch, Lucinda. You must come back later.’

There seemed little sign of this activity and she decided that she would not be shrugged aside. Taking one of the room’s least comfortable chairs, she sat ramrod straight, facing her guardian.

‘Uncle Francis, I wish to speak with you.’

His small blue eyes cast a baleful look. ‘Indeed? Do you not think that my interests should come first? I have been wishing to speak to you on a matter of grave concern.’

She felt a murmur of unease, but counselled herself to wait patiently for her uncle to continue. He glowered at her for some minutes, fidgeting restlessly with the rings on his plump fingers, but at last he announced, ‘I desire an explanation.’

‘An explanation of what?’

‘You dare to ask! After your disgraceful conduct last night!’

She was taken aback for she had erased from her mind her first meeting with Jack Beaufort. In retrospect, it appeared horribly childish and she must have wanted to blot it from her mind.

Her uncle’s voice took on a cold anger. ‘Did I not request that you look your very best when our guest arrived? Did I not ask you to meet him with courtesy and make him welcome? And what did you do but dress yourself quite deliberately in the most appalling gown you could find and then follow that outrage by treating him with unfeigned rudeness.’

Her uncle was prone to exaggeration, but she could not deny his accusations. Every word he said was true and all she could do was keep silent and hope the storm would pass. But Sir Francis had more complaints. ‘Not content with your shameful behaviour last night, you appear this morning to have abandoned Lord Frensham to his own devices.’

‘I think you will find that the earl is as comfortable with his company as I am with mine,’ she said levelly.

But her guardian was not listening. ‘You made up your mind to dislike the man before he ever set foot in the door and you have conducted yourself towards him most shabbily. I did not expect it from you.’

She felt a stab of guilt. ‘I am sorry to have upset you, Uncle. I may have behaved stupidly, but the truth is that Lord Frensham and I would never suit.’

‘How can you decide such a thing when you hardly know the man?’

‘I do not need to know him. I am sufficiently aware of the circles he moves in to recognise that I could never be happy with such a life. I do not accuse his lordship of personal involvement, but his peers are the very people who helped Rupert to his ruin and I cannot imagine, Uncle, why you should wish me to make a match with such a one.’

Sir Francis had risen from his chair and was stomping around the library, pacing to the window and back, shuffling papers on his desk and moving books from one shelf to another. Finally he stopped and faced her once more, his face mottled with vexation.

‘You will have to marry somewhere, Lucinda. Is it not better that you secure for yourself a life of ease than be doomed to penury by wedding a half-pay soldier?’

She knew his thoughts were with his dead sister, Lucinda’s mother, that once-beloved girl, who had abandoned everything to marry Eliot Lacey against her family’s wishes.

‘I understand your concern for me,’ she said as mildly as she could, ‘but I have no wish to marry, Uncle, no wish at all.’

His face grew even redder. ‘You must marry! You must forget this nonsense of setting up home with your brother. Rupert is a wastrel and always will be.’

His words stung, but they also stiffened her resolve. She would live with Rupert one day and try in whatever way she could to compensate him for the unkindness he’d suffered at the hands of his family. But right now she could not allow herself to be deflected: she must voice her plea even though she knew it to be futile. ‘I know you consider Rupert to be a lost cause, Uncle Francis, and I know that in the past he has given you reason to believe that, but—’

‘He has—in full—and there is no more to be said.’

‘I think there is. I must talk to you about him.’

‘I will say only this, Lucinda, and then we will never speak of it again. While Rupert was a minor, I did all in my power to save the honour of the family—and to save his honour. Unhappily I failed. Now I consider my task at an end and I refuse to be troubled further.’

‘You have been very good, Uncle, more than good,’ she soothed, well aware that for years he had treated her brother harshly and any benevolence sprang from inflated family pride rather than affection. ‘You have done all you possibly could to keep Rupert on the right path.’

‘And received scant gratitude! He has reached the age of majority and must now be responsible for his actions. It is quite simple.’

Lucinda’s eyes were wide and pleading. She took a step towards her guardian, her hands raised in supplication. ‘I am sorry that I disobeyed you in going to London against your wishes, but I had to see my brother. He is my twin and whatever he has done, I love him dearly. What I saw broke my heart. The prison is cold and dank and the treatment he receives severe. The stark loneliness of his life is more than any gently born soul can bear. If you would but see him, you would understand.’

‘He has a lesson to learn and that is that he must live within his means.’

‘I am sure he has learned it. Will you not reconsider your decision? If he needs further punishment, there must be other ways—but please, please, allow him to come home.’

‘If he suffers, it is right that he should do so. He will be released in due time.’

‘His release may come too late. Think how you will feel if that is so.’

‘You have an unfortunate tendency to dramatise, my dear. Rupert Lacey is where he should be. Decency has not worked to make him an honourable man. Incarceration might.’

‘But, Uncle …’

‘No more! I have no wish to continue this conversation and no wish to speak of your brother again. While you live under my roof, Lucinda, you will observe my prohibition.’

Her uncle was immovable. As so often in the past she marvelled at the strange mix that was Francis Devereux: on the one hand a man willing to spend his fortune on the pleasures of life, fastidious in his choice of dress and food, on the other, a stiff and unyielding moralist, a man steeped in tradition for whom family honour was paramount. Rupert had transgressed and was beyond forgiveness. Not that he would care. The Devereux family meant nothing to Rupert—he had said often enough that as Laceys they did not belong. Without a doubt he had been made to feel so from a very young age, punished for every small infraction of the rules, unjustly accused of every misdemeanour. She had tried very hard to protect him from their guardians’ punitive regime, but rarely succeeded. Realistically in a world of powerful adults how could one young child protect another? But the knowledge that she had failed him was always with her.

She must not fail him now in the greatest crisis of his life. He had escaped Verney Towers and its petty rules and inflexible laws as soon as he was able, but it was an escape to disaster. Their grandparents had suffered a pathological fear that Rupert would follow in his father’s footsteps and had tried to beat the Lacey out of him. By all accounts Eliot Lacey rarely had a feather to fly with and was more than happy to bleed anyone who came his way. The beatings had not worked. Rupert had become as big a gambler as ever Captain Lacey was, but, unlike his father, she knew that he took little real pleasure in the turn of the dice. He had gravitated to the tables because they represented rebellion, freedom, rather than easy money. Yet there was enough of his father in him to keep him playing even in the face of abject failure. Despite brutal punishment Rupert, it seemed, had remained stubbornly a Lacey.