Drawn to Lord Ravenscar

Her mother smiled and looked pleased. ‘I think the earl likes you very well, Lucy. He is perhaps a little older than I should like in a husband for you, but, if you liked him, his age would not matter.’

‘He is but three and thirty,’ Lucy said seriously, for she had on short acquaintance found nothing to dislike in the gentleman. ‘I do not think that too old, Mama. Mark would have been eight and twenty this year, had he lived. Five more years is not so very much different in a husband—and I have grown up since then.’

‘Yes, you have,’ her mother agreed and nodded with approval. ‘Am I to think that you would welcome an offer from the earl?’

‘It is too soon to be certain,’ Lucy said, wrinkling her brow. ‘I like him very well. I think he would be a comfortable companion, but I am not sure I wish to marry him.’

Her mother could only agree, ‘As you say, it is too early to be sure, but I am glad to see that you are beginning to think of marriage, dearest. For a while I thought you would never recover from your grief.’

‘I am much better now,’ Lucy told her. ‘I think that if I continue to like the earl...I should be ready to marry him in a few months.’

‘I am so pleased,’ her mother said. ‘I would not push you into a marriage you did not like, but I cannot help wanting to see you well settled—and Daventry is a perfect gentleman.’

‘Yes, I believe he may be,’ Lucy replied. ‘I imagine he may have been a flirt in the past, but many gentlemen have their flirts... If he is looking for a wife, he will no doubt behave just as he ought. Of course, he is an accomplished flirt and his attention may mean nothing.’

Lucy left her mother to go upstairs and change her gown for the evening when the dressing gong sounded. A maid had set out a pale-grey gown for her and Lucy allowed her to help her into it, but shook her head when she looked in the mirror.

‘I shall not change again this evening, Marie, but after this I wish you to put my grey gowns away. I shall wear colours all the time now. I have finished with my mourning.’

‘Yes, miss. I’ll have them packed away into trunks with lavender, Miss Lucy.’

‘Thank you,’ Lucy said. ‘And I will have my hair dressed in ringlets again this evening...the way you used to do it for me.’

‘I am glad, miss,’ her maid said. ‘I think a softer style suits you much better.’

Lucy nodded. She looked at her image in the mirror as Marie finished dressing her hair. For too long she’d worn the severe styles caught into the nape of her neck, which she’d adopted in her grief, but she knew this way of wearing her hair was prettier and suited her well.

Fastening a string of seed pearls about her throat and pearl drops to her earlobes, Lucy reflected on the time she’d spent talking to Lord Daventry. He had teased her and flattered her, paying her far too many compliments, but he had also been able to talk to her of poetry and music...and their tastes seemed much in accord. Lucy knew that she was not in love with the earl; his touch did not make her heart race, but she felt no revulsion when he kissed her hand. She liked him very well and...if she could not marry the man she still cared for...she might as well marry for comfort. Daventry would be kind to her and she would be the wife of a wealthy man...if he asked for her, of course.

Suddenly, Lucy was taken by a fit of the giggles. She had no idea whether the earl was truly interested in making her an offer. His charm might be just his natural manner with a lady and he might just be amusing himself, flirting with a pretty girl. Indeed, that was more than likely the case.

The thought caused her no pain. She would not break her heart over him if he did not come up to scratch...but if he should ask she thought she might be able to find contentment as his wife.

All the months of breaking her heart over Paul Ravenscar, all the waiting for him to come to her in Italy, seemed far away. It was as if a dark cloud had been banished. She was recovering at last, Lucy thought. Everyone believed that the change in her was due to Mark’s death, and it had played its part, for she had mourned a friend...but it was Paul who had broken her heart.

She would not allow him to do it again. Lucy lifted her head, determined now that the next time they met she would do so with indifference. If he looked through her as though she did not exist, she would give as much in return.

She was not going to waste her life in regret.

Chapter Four

‘I rode over with the invitations to my dance,’ Lucy said as she was shown into the elegant parlour. Jenny was sitting at a very pretty lady’s writing table, made of a pale satinwood strung with ebony, preparing what appeared to be a letter. She sanded it and applied a wax wafer, impressing the Ravenscar seal. ‘I hope I do not disturb you?’

‘Of course not. You are always welcome,’ Jenny told her and rose, approaching her with outstretched hands. ‘Please do sit down. You are not disturbing me in the least. I was writing to my aunt. She asked that I visit her in London, but I do not feel able to get away and have told her she may come here for a few days if she wishes.’

‘How is your patient?’ Lucy asked, sitting down on an elbow chair, which was close to Jenny and by the long window that overlooked a lawn and rose beds. It was a restful room, its colours pale blue with touches of green and white in the long curtains and the light came from two aspects, making it seem bright and airy.

‘He is a great deal better,’ Jenny said, her face lighting up with real pleasure. ‘This morning he apologised to me for giving us all a fright...but he was very ill. His doctor is calling it a little miracle. I think having Paul home has made all the difference—given him something to live for again.’

‘How fortunate that is for you all,’ Lucy said. ‘You do not think of returning home now?’

‘Paul has begged me to stay for a few more weeks and I have agreed. Adam left this morning and will be gone for some days. He had business to attend, as he often does—but Ravenscar is well situated for him and he does not mind living here for the time being. I can be happy anywhere that I have my family.’ She reached out and rang the bell. ‘We shall have some tea, Lucy. Will you stay for nuncheon today?’

‘I wish that I might,’ Lucy said, ‘but my cousin and uncle are arriving this afternoon and I must be back in time to change and greet them.’

‘Your uncle?’

‘Sir John Gresham,’ Lucy said. ‘He is Mama’s brother, of course—and his daughter is a widow. Her name is Judith Sparrow. She is older than you and I, Jenny—but only a year or two.’

‘How unfortunate for her that she has lost her husband so young,’ Jenny said.

‘Yes, I feel for her. I wondered if you might come to tea tomorrow and meet her—if you can be spared?’

‘I am certain I could spare an hour or so. I shall have someone drive me to your house, Lucy. With Adam away I sometimes feel a little at a loss.’

Lucy was about to reply when someone entered the room. Glancing towards the door, she saw that Paul was standing just inside the threshold, looking at them.

‘Do I intrude?’ he asked and smiled in a way that took Lucy’s breath. How long was it since she’d seen that smile? For a moment it was as if he had never been away, never cut himself off from them all. ‘I was told refreshments were to be served here and I came to keep you company, Jenny—but I can go away if you prefer to be alone with your friend?’

Did he no longer think of her as his friend? A slashing pain cut through Lucy, but she kept her smile in place.

‘Of course not,’ Jenny said. ‘Please come and join us. Lucy has brought invitations to her dance, which is just a few days away now. I am hoping Adam will be back in time, but I shall certainly go...and I am sure Lady Dawlish would be happy to see you, Paul.’

‘Yes, I have not been to visit your mama yet, Miss Dawlish,’ Paul said and sat down in a comfortable wing chair near the fireplace, stretching out his long legs. The large hearth was empty since no fire was needed in the sunny parlour that day. ‘It is remiss of me, but I have been riding about the estate most days... There is much to do, for I fear my father has made no important decisions for years and some of the housing has been neglected. However, it was remiss of me. I must find time to visit my neighbours.’

‘I am sure everyone will be pleased to see you. I know that both my mother and father would welcome you at any time, sir.’

‘Then I must certainly come—but you understand these properties must come first.’

‘Yes, I noticed that some of the houses in Little Mallows were in poor condition as I rode by, sir. Papa always says that it is unwise to neglect one’s tenants, because it causes resentment.’

‘Yes, I think I agree with him,’ Paul said and frowned at his own thoughts. ‘However, I shall visit your mama tomorrow, Miss Dawlish—if that is convenient?’ He smiled at her and for a brief moment she glimpsed the man she’d known and loved.

‘I was telling Jenny that my cousin and uncle arrive later today,’ Lucy said. ‘She has promised to come to tea—perhaps you might escort her?’

‘Yes, why not?’ he replied. ‘That will suit me well, for I may see to business in the morning, as usual. You will be pleased to hear that my father is much recovered, Miss Dawlish. He is sitting up in bed, reading the latest newssheet at the moment.’

‘I am very glad to hear it,’ Lucy said. She glanced at him again and saw a thoughtful look in his eyes; the half-smile on his lips made her wish that he would truly talk to her, laugh with her as he had when they were children. She told herself not to expect too much and by the time a maid had brought in tea and little sweet almond macaroons, she had recovered her equilibrium and was able to speak without feeling breathless. Paul was looking at her attentively, as he might a guest he had just met—but there was none of their old intimacy, the shared jests that had struck them both as being funny when others could not see it.

‘How did you enjoy your trip to Italy, Miss Dawlish?’

‘I found it interesting and the lakes were wonderful,’ Lucy said. ‘I loved the sunshine, which was more reliable than our own, for we never know here from one day to the next how it will be. In Italy, day after day passed without so much as a cloud—here we cannot have two days without a hint of rain.’

‘Yes, I fear that is the truth,’ he agreed. ‘Though for myself I love the changing seasons and would not wish for everlasting sunshine.’

‘I am sure we should all tire of it in time,’ Lucy replied and sipped the tea Jenny had poured for her.

‘However, I should not care for the rain if my roof leaked,’ Paul went on. ‘I must make sure that the inhabitants of Little Mallows do not suffer when the next downpour comes.’