Page 40 of The Wallflower Ruse

“Yes, but I shan’t be able to bear it if he thinks I planned this—for he will, you know.”

“No, he won’t. But go ahead and write a note, and my footman will run over there with it.”

~ * ~

“Tell her to go away,” Restive told the longsuffering Stokes, and then, to his valet, “What’s that, a note from whom?”

“Mrs. Hale sent it, marked urgent,” the valet said, but the note proved to be from Lucinda Belair, written in untidy haste.

Lord Restive,

My mother is in town and means to force you to marry me. I told her that any ruining of my reputation was done by me without any help from you. Since it’s not a convenient moment for you to flee to the ends of the earth (as I suggested earlier), please refuse to speak to her. Do not hesitate to be as rude as you please.

Gratefully in advance,

Lucinda Belair

He gave a snort of laughter. “On second thought, show Lady Belair in.”

“Here, my lord?” A reasonable question, since he was still at breakfast.

“Yes, here. Bring fresh coffee.” He went on eating, and a few minutes later, Lady Belair marched into the room.

Restive stood, sketched a bow, and indicated a chair, which the footman pulled out for her. “Have you breakfasted, ma’am?”

“I am not here to eat, young man. I am here to discuss an extremely important matter.”

“Coffee, then. My mind bends itself best to important matters when fortified with coffee.” He indicated to the footman to pour for her. “What is it, Lady Belair?”

She glared in the direction of the footman. “My business with you is private.”

Restive waved him away with a grin. The footman was accustomed to irate matchmaking mamas and would no doubt listen on the other side of the door.

“I have been creditably informed that you were seen with my daughter,” she said.

“Your daughter? I understood she had run off to Gretna with Humphrey Ball.”

“Not Susannah,” Lady Belair snapped. “I mean Lucinda, and well you know it.”

“Ah, the lovely Lucinda,” Restive said. “A delightful girl.”

“D-delightful?” Her face lit up with astonishment, or perhaps hope. Or both. What an idiot she was, not to recognize Lucinda’s excellence—not to mention thinking she could force her to do anything.

“Yes, I drove her to town a few days ago. Have you come to thank me?” He essayed an austere expression. “As you should, for it’s not at all the thing for a gently-bred girl to travel to London on the stage. I can’t imagine what you were thinking, ma’am!”

“I wasn’t thinking,” she said. A muffled laugh came from the other side of the door. “Lucinda ran away!”

“Ah. Your daughters do seem to make a habit of that.”

Lady Belair reddened, waving an agitated hand. “She didn’t run away, exactly. She left without a word to me, ostensibly to visit her old governess.”

“To whom I delivered her, as requested. She is now staying with her friend, Mrs. Hale.”

“That does not change the fact that she ran away with you, Lord Restive. If anything, it makes it worse. That woman is a dreadful influence on my hapless daughter.”

“Hapless? You cannot mean Lucinda. I have seldom met a more capable woman. More coffee?” He buttered another piece of toast. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to eat? My cook can whip up some eggs in no time.”

“I’m not hungry! How can I be, when Lucinda’s reputation is ruined!” She withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the corner of her completely dry eye.