Page 39 of The Wallflower Ruse

“Absolutely not,” Dorothea said, when Lucinda poured the whole story into her usually sympathetic ears the next morning. “Cecil will agree.”

Lucinda swallowed her annoyance. “It’s not that I want to risk my life—I don’t, but to finally be involved in something more interesting and important than clothes and parties and marriage, and then be told that I mustn’t participate—it’s infuriating!” She paused. “I can’t help but feel sorry for Mr. Pearce, though. He’s a rather sweet man, naturally kindly, I think, and not inclined to be aggressive. Rather refreshing it its way.”

“Yes, but not much use in some situations. You did very well, you know—stabbing that horrid Mr. Wharton with your scissors was a brilliant notion. How fortunate you had them in your reticule!”

Lucinda stopped herself just in time from mentioning that she’d had a penknife as well. She must find a better way to hide it that allowed for easier access. Not that she anticipated another such emergency; she just didn’t relish being told she was useless, and said so.

“You’re not useless,” Dorothea said. “My father is delighted to have you work for him. He came by last night with a couple of messages he wants put into code. You’ll be using a different book, of course, but the same process, or so I understand.”

That cheered her a little. Unfortunately, she had no sooner sat down to work when her mother came to call. It was far too early for morning callers, so Mother had not come to make a polite visit. In fact, the butler said in offended tones, she denied any wish to see Mrs. Hale, but demanded to see Miss Belair alone. Not only that, she’d ordered him to have Miss Belair’s things packed, as they would be leaving shortly.

“Oh, no,” Lucinda groaned to Dorothea upon hearing the news. “I knew she would come to fetch me, but not so soon! What am I to do? I can’t write secret messages for Sir Frederick while I’m at home.”

“You’ll refuse to go with her,” Dorothea said. “We need you here. I told the servants that on no account should your things be packed.”

Lucinda gave a sigh of relief. “Come with me, then. She disapproves of your progressive views, but she’s less likely to have a tantrum if you are there.”

In the drawing room, Dorothea greeted Lucinda’s mother with her usual charm.

“Mrs. Hale,” Mother said frostily. “So kind of you to take Lucinda in, but we shall not trouble you any longer. She shall leave with me.”

“No, Mother, I’m sorry, but I cannot come home to Sussex just now,” Lucinda said. “Mrs. Hale wishes me to stay as her assistant.”

“We’re not going home, Lucinda, but rather to the house in Curzon Street, where we shall make preparations for the wedding.”

“What wedding? Didn’t Susannah run away to Gretna Green? That’s what I understood from her letter.”

“I neither know nor care where Susannah may be. I’m speaking of your wedding. I am creditably informed that you came to London with Lord Restive—alone and unchaperoned.”

Oh no, you don’t. “In an open curricle, Mother.”

“Therefore, you must wed him.”

“I shall not,” Lucinda said flatly.

“Not only that, a friend tells me you attended a salon at Mrs. Haraldson’s with Lord Restive and behaved most abominably there.”

“I was chaperoned by Lady Alice Turlow,” Lucinda retorted, “and if freely expressing my opinions is abominable, then so be it. I shall not marry Lord Restive.”

“Everyone knows Lady Alice is touched in the head,” Mother said, “and you shall marry Restive.”

Lucinda threw up her hands. “Restive doesn’t wish to marry me.” She gave silent thanks for his lordship’s recurring refusal to be forced into marriage. She couldn’t imagine anything worse.

It occurred to her, but only fleetingly, that this last thought wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t want to marry him—heaven forbid—but she did rather like him from time to time, which was a surprise—although why should it be? Perhaps the real Restive, the one she’d liked years ago, still dwelt within the often unpleasant man.

“His wishes have nothing to do with the matter,” Mother said. “He has ruined you, and therefore he will wed you.”

“He has not ruined me,” Lucinda said. “Any ruining that has been done, I have done to myself.”

“All the more reason to wed, and speedily.” Mother stood. “If you are afraid to confront Lord Restive, I certainly am not. I shall call on him today.”

“Please don’t!” Lucinda cried. “He won’t agree, and—"

Mother ignored her, bade Dorothea a curt goodbye, and stalked out.

“Oh, God,” Lucinda said. “How mortifying! What will Restive think of me? I must write immediately to warn him.”

“If you wish,” Dorothea said, trying not to laugh, “but believe me, Restive can take care of himself.”