Page 4 of The Wallflower Ruse

“I tried, but she tricked me. She sent me a note saying she was going to Lord Restive’s house to compromise him, but it wasn’t true. When I got to Restive’s, all I found was this letter addressed to me.” She thrust it at her mother, exchanging it for the vinaigrette, and plumped herself down on the sofa. “I should have known.”

Mother read the letter and tossed it down. “This is a disaster. Her reputation—ruined. Our family’s honor—besmirched. Your chances of marriage—gone.” Her cheeks grew red with rage, and her cap fell askew, exposing wisps of faded hair. “I wash my hands of her. I want never to see her again.”

“It’s not quite that bad, Mother. Mr. Ball may not be a prize, but he’s a respectable gentleman, and Susannah will be safely wed. If there is talk, it won’t last long. As for me, I’m not likely to marry anyway. I never did take.”

“Because you didn’t try,” Mother said. “Despite being quite a pretty girl, you were awkward and shy, when with a little effort you could have been charming. You deliberately avoided eligible men, and when you were obliged to dance, you made no attempt to appeal to your partners. Where is my vinaigrette?”

“I didn’t try because I shouldn’t have to.” Lucinda passed her the little bottle. “A woman shouldn’t have to flirt and simper and—and try to catch an eligible man.” It had taken quite an effort to pretend to be shy—which she wasn’t, not at all—and she’d endured the balls because she had to, apologizing to any gentleman who was forced to ask her to dance. ‘I’m not interested in marriage,’ she would say, which was rather fun, as it astonished or embarrassed some, whilst others laughed and jested with her.

“What other way is there?” Mother uncorked the vinaigrette and sniffed. “Don’t start prosing about mutual affection or any such nonsense.”

“I shan’t, Mother, because I prefer not to marry at all.”

In fury, Mother threw the vinaigrette in Lucinda’s direction. She caught it before it broke, and only a little of its contents dripped onto the floor. She set it on a table well out of Mother’s reach.

“Stupid, unnatural girl!” Mother cried. “I wash my hands of you as well.”

Good, thought Lucinda, and then Mother sat up, light dawning in her narrowed eyes. “Unless...” What she said next was no surprise. “Did you say you were at Lord Restive’s house?”

~ * ~

Restive got rid of his unwanted guests with a curt refusal to allow them to search his house. “No smuggler would try to hide in here.” He shook his head. “I hesitate to insult you, Mr. Huber, but are you intoxicated? For I don’t see any other explanation for such an outrageous demand.”

Wharton let out a long bray of a laugh. “Spoiled your little tryst, did we?”

“That was no tryst, Wharton. The lady is far too straightlaced—and she doesn’t even like me.” For some absurd reason, that rankled. He’d been rude to her, perhaps undeservedly so, although he wasn’t convinced of that—but then she’d made that remark about already disliking him.

Pah! Why would she? She’d liked him well enough in childhood, and in the last several years, they hadn’t exchanged more than polite greetings. Not only that, he’d done her a favor by taking those books. She’d claimed she was saving them from the fire for her brother’s sake, but Matthew Belair didn’t care much about books, and judging by the titles, they weren’t a girl’s sort of reading matter, either.

She was just another lovesick female, trying one ruse after another. For some reason, that disappointed him, although he couldn’t say why.

Not only that, she’d behaved with unexpected aplomb today, giving a plausible reason for being there while at the same time distracting the unwelcome callers, thereby helping Davis to escape.

Why would she give a damn about Davis? And yet she’d kept their attention a bit longer by feigning shock—a ploy he recognized from long experience with foolish women. If Restive hadn’t been so anxious for Davis, he would have laughed at her ‘Mercy me!’

Most likely, she didn’t care a jot about anyone but herself...but if so, why hadn’t she pretended to swoon from fright? Any other woman would have tried to collapse into his arms. Maybe she’d known she wouldn’t succeed.

Huber and Wharton rode away. A couple of hours after dark, Davis slipped in through the library window. “Just come to fetch my valise. Mmm, that smells good.”

Restive had only moments ago sat down to a solitary meal. It did smell good, but the lad needed the food more urgently than he did. “Help yourself,” he said, pouring another glass of wine.

Davis wasn’t one to make empty protests. He ate with gusto, while Restive drank and pondered how to get the damned book back.

“How d’you manage to evade them?” he asked at last.

“Rode in the girl’s carriage. Big old coaches like that have enough room under the seat.”

Restive laughed. “Damned uncomfortable, even for a smallish chap. The girl never knew?”

“She did once I came out,” Davis said. “She took it in stride, and when Wharton and the other fellow held us up, she routed them in fine style. Didn’t much like my gun, though.”

“You threatened her with your gun?”

“What do you take me for?” Davis rolled his eyes. “When I hid under the seat again, I told her to stay out of the way in case I had to shoot. But as I said, she got rid of them.”

Restive ran his hands through his hair, imagining the uproar if Davis had used his gun. The groom fumbling for his blunderbuss, the coachman trying to control the frightened horses, the lady shrieking...

Maybe she wouldn’t shriek. She seemed unusually poised. But there was no point in remonstrating with Davis. He was a bit of a loose cannon, but excellent at what he did. “Good thing you didn’t have to shoot. My neighbor Huber is a decent man, and Wharton is an ass, but he has his uses.”