She’d been guilty of the odd lie on occasion. Not wishing her friends to know how her father’s gambling affected her, it had been necessary to pretend to her companions that she was interested in their more trivial concerns when she was actually worried about paying the staff wages. And there were the smaller lies. Such as when her friend Alice Grahame had asked her if she’d liked Alice’s new bonnet, which had been positively ghastly, to which Lucy had replied,“It’s lovely.”But this brazen lie was dangerous! What if they found her out? Oh! She would never do so again!
“Have you tried to drink the waters?” the earl inquired.
While these thoughts were rapidly passing through her head, the impossibly good-looking gentleman seemed to wait patiently for some sort of reply. Despite her nerves, she screwed up her nose at recalling it. “I did once. It tasted disgusting.”
The corners of his mouth quirked. “That bad? I wonder why people come from all over the British Isles to drink it.”
“I suppose they believe in its healing properties,” Lucy said. “I am in good health, so I don’t need it.”
His gaze roamed over her, making a flush rush up her neck.Drat, being fair is a curse.Dark-haired girls never shone like a glowing ember.
“You certainly appear to be in glowing good health.”
There. She was right. Her face blazed. She felt the heat. Lucy resisted putting her gloved hand to her cheek and struggled to find something less inane to say. But it proved unnecessary, for he bowed again. She’d barely had time to respond with a low curtsey before he’d left her.
Lucy watched his tall, lean figure as he made his way through the crowd. He carried himself like a soldier, with the confidence of an earl. Guests bowed to him, while others moved back to make way for his passage. What must he have thought of her? Did he know she’d lied? The thought made her hot all over again.The Earl of Dorchester? She’d heard of him. Mellicent Gibson, while in London last year, had mentioned him in her letters. She had considered him a great catch until she’d discovered he was betrothed.
Lucy sighed. She remembered the twitch of his attractive lips. Had he found her amusing? Would he relate this story to thetonin London and make them laugh at her expense? Or even worse, would it amount to a scandal? She cringed at the thought. Surely, it didn’t matter, as she wasn’t to stay in London with her Aunt Mary and attend the Season now. Perhaps that was a blessing after such an embarrassing episode. With her quick temper and strong sense of injustice, she wasn’t fit to mix among the scrupulously polite members of theton. But the disappointment at having her dreams turn to dust still brought hot tears to her eyes.
She swallowed, and, firming her shoulders, went in search of her father. She found him in the games room at the faro table, concentrating on his next play, and her heart sank.
Lucy turned away and walked back toward the ballroom.
“What is it, Lucy?” Her father soon caught up with her.
“I’d like to go home now, Papa.”
He smiled and took her arm. “The game is over, and it’s stopped raining. Why don’t we walk?”
With no gray in his blond hair and a trim physique, her father was still a handsome man at fifty. His smile could charm the birds from the trees, but despite her unfailing loyalty, she’d come to distrust it. Had he spent his last shilling at the table and couldn’t afford a hackney? She couldn’t ask him. He was never happier than when indulging in card play, even though it often put a strain on his finances.
As Lucy and her father walked along the street, Papa put his hand in his pocket and jiggled it. “I had a splendid night at the tables.”
“Oh. Did you?”
“Yes. They were playing for high stakes.” He turned to her, his brown eyes gleeful. “If we’re careful and your Aunt Mary agrees to sponsor you, there’s enough to send you to London for a Season.”
Lucy stopped, her heart thudding. “Oh, no, Papa. I cannot leave you here alone.”
“Nonsense. I have gained my second wind.” He sobered, and with a fond smile, said, “I want you to go, Lucy. It will do my poor old heart good to give you this chance.”
Lucy sighed. She squeezed his arm, and they walked up the street in silence. London beckoned, but it had become a poisoned chalice. If only she could learn to control her tongue.
*
Hugh Fairburn, Earlof Dorchester, had come to Bath to visit his mother and sister, who had rented a house to enjoy society and take the waters. His sister, Sarah, twenty years old and some eight years his junior, drew him aside.
“I saw you talking to a young lady.” Her serious, blue eyes met his, thirsting, no doubt, for any scrap of knowledge. “Who is she? Was she in need of our help?”
“Not at all. I merely made a comment in passing about the stuffiness of the ballroom.”
She tipped her head to the side. “So, it had nothing to do with how pretty she was?”
“Nothing whatsoever,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Beg pardon, Hugh.” Sarah laughed, her fingers ordering the arrangement of her brown curls. “But Mama has expressed a concern about your betrothed. Miss Ashton emerged from the schoolroom well over a year ago but shows little eagerness to come to London.”
“She is still young, Sarah. Surely, there’s no rush.”