“Mr. Holcombe is an amiable gentleman,” Aunt Mary said, packing away her embroidery after the last of them had departed. Her gaze settled on Lucy’s face. “Didn’t you find him so?”
“Mr. Holcombe?” Lucy searched through the men who had called that afternoon to recall a face. “Wasn’t he the one who has a sister called Florence?”
Aunt Mary frowned. “No. That was Mr. Greenvale.” With a sigh, she left her chair. “Do try to pay attention, Lucy.” She shook her head. “You might make an effort to talk to them. It appears you don’twantto be married. If that is true, why come to London?”
Lucy bit her lip as they left the drawing room. “I want to marry and have children, Aunt. It is my most fervent wish. But a relationship must begin on solid ground. And how can it when…”
“Not that business again. You made an error in judgement when faced with gossip about your father. Please put it behind you. The rumors will die down soon.” She turned on the stairs with a frown. “I blame your father.”
“No, Aunt, it is entirely my…” Lucy firmed her lips and followed her up the stairs.
“All is not lost, my dear.” Aunt Mary’s voice grew more enthused as they reached the landing. “Mr. Nash has not lost interest, and Mr. Douglas Rattray—you must remember the red-haired gentleman who danced with you at the Forster’s ball—is a very engaging fellow, and much liked by theton.”
“Oh, yes. I remember him.” The Scottish gentleman of some thirty-five years had sat talking to her aunt after he and Lucy had danced a Scotch reel, and he’d remained when she’d danced again with Mr. Greenvale. Mr. Rattray was unfailingly polite, but Lucy could not warm to him. It wasn’t his appearance, exactly, although she thought him rather old, but something in his gray eyes. “He sat with you a long time, Aunt. What did you talk about?”
“I told him how difficult you have found it to fit in to London life since you came from Bath. He was most sympathetic.” She slipped her arm through Lucy’s as they walked to Lucy’s bedchamber to change her gown. “You must admit, he is an attractive man. I was quite impressed with his interest in your welfare. I do miss your Uncle Peter’s wise counsel.”
Lucy regretted troubling her aunt. A prickle of unease passed down her spine. “But we don’t know Mr. Rattray well. Perhaps it’s best not to confide in him.”
“Well, why ever not? What harm can it do, foolish girl?” She patted Lucy on the back and walked ahead of her into the bedchamber. “For a debutante from the country to have a man with such exemplary family connections interested in you is a tour de force. He tells me his brother is Baron Maitland, of Scotland.”
Lucy decided she was probably being unduly cautious. And as Aunt Mary seemed confident with her judgement, she let the subject go and listened politely as her aunt spoke about their next engagement at a garden party.
“How lovely. I enjoy wandering around gardens. I used to visit the park in Bath quite often,” Lucy said, trying to show some enthusiasm.
“Yes, Lord and Lady Kemp have a magnificent estate at Hampton. Wear your muslin with the lavender-blue butterfliesand the bonnet with the matching ribbons. The color suits your fair complexion. Put on a spencer too if it’s cool.”
After luncheon two days hence, they set out in the coach for Hampton, which, with the roads so busy, proved over an hour’s drive from London.
Upon arrival on the perfect spring day, they found the grounds filled with guests wandering about, enjoying the sunshine. Footmen roamed among them with trays of champagne and lemonade, and a maid followed them with platters of hors d’oeuvres.
Lucy followed Aunt Mary as she introduced her around. The reception wasn’t as warm as she would have wished. She noticed the murmuring from onlookers and prayed it wasn’t about her. What was it they said? That she was a fake heiress, or an heiress of some note? Worry dried her throat, so she took a good sip of the lemonade a footman had offered her.
Lucy’s gaze roamed over the guests while her aunt talked to a woman in purple lace. She drew a deep breath. Lord Dorchester strolled through the gardens with an older lady on one arm, and a tall, brown-haired young woman in white muslin with a flower-decked straw bonnet on the other. It was the same young woman Lucy had seen with him in the landau at Hyde Park. She spoke to him in a familiar manner and bent to smell a red rose on a bush laden with blooms. He leaned over and plucked it, holding it out to her. She giggled and her presumed mother reprimanded him, but with a smile on her face.
Lucy told herself it didn’t matter. That she had always known he wasn’t free, but the thought seemed hollow and gave her no relief.
“There’s Lord Dorchester,” Aunt Mary said. “That must be the lady it’s said he is to marry.”
As usual, he was elegantly dressed. Lucy wanted to turn away before he caught her watching, but the sight of him held hercaptive. In that moment, he looked up and saw her. He bowed his head, his eyes meeting hers.
Her heart squeezed. Castigating herself, Lucy bobbed, then turned back to her aunt.
“And here is Mr. Rattray, who promised to join us,” Aunt Mary said merrily as the smiling, red-haired gentleman strode across the lawn to them.
Lucy swallowed a groan.
He smiled at Lucy. “My, Miss Kershaw, your aunt said you were out of sorts, and you still look a little pale. I wonder what I can do to cheer you.”
“It’s entirely unnecessary, thank you, sir,” Lucy said.
Undaunted, Mr. Rattray addressed her aunt. “Shall we view the rose arbor and then have a cup of tea?”
“Oh, yes,” said Aunt Mary, “a splendid idea.”
As Lucy trailed behind them, she allowed herself one more glimpse of the earl, who appeared to watch her while the two women talked together. When the young woman put a hand on his arm to gain his attention, he bent his head to listen, and he glanced back at Mr. Rattray. Might he have knowledge of Mr. Rattray her aunt should know about? Lucy wished she could ask him.
“Lucy, do keep up,” Aunt Mary said. “I am growing parched in this hot sun.”