Page 49 of The Wallflower Ruse

“It is,” Lucinda said. “He knows what my mother is like. I made one little mistake—an honest attempt to save a good man—and this is my punishment.”

“It’s not a punishment,’ Restive said, “and you know it.”

“That’s what is seems like to me,” she retorted.

“I daresay, but if you calm down and think for a second or two, Miss Belair, you will realize that your safety is my priority, and if sending you to your mother is the best way to accomplish that, then that is what I must do.”

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to shriek at the top of her lungs. But she wasn’t her mother, so she controlled herself. “I see I have no choice—but I shall never forgive you for this, Lord Restive. Never.”

She stalked away to pack her clothes, muttering under her breath as she went. “And I will see that you regret it, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Almost immediately, Lucinda regretted this dramatic exit. It was unkind to poor Dorothea, particularly when her mother was ill, and it had no effect at all on Restive, who simply didn’t care. What was the chance of his being sorry about imprisoning her? None!

After he left the house, she apologized to Dorothea—but put up a hand to stop her when she attempted to plead Restive’s case.

“I’m sure you think he means well, but I don’t see it that way,” Lucinda said. “I have tried to appreciate his good qualities, but his behavior today puts the cap on my dislike of him, and that’s that.” She could have said loathing instead of dislike, but again, that would be unkind to Dorothea. And excessive. He wasn’t worth such a powerful emotion as loathing.

At least she hadn’t thrown anything at him, but it had been a near thing.

“What a shame,” Dorothea said. “I rather thought—I quite hoped that you and he might make a match of it.”

Lucinda stared. Thank heavens she hadn’t told Dorothea how much she’d softened toward him, even begun to find him appealing in some ways. “I don’t know what gave you that idea, but it’s absurd. We’re completely unsuited.”

“If you say so,” Dorothea sighed, “but Restive is different with you than with any other lady. He meant everything he said about you. He really does value you, very much. He’s being overly cautious because he truly cares for you.”

Lucinda hunched an indifferent shoulder, unwilling to discuss whatever, if anything, Restive felt for her. She was barely managing her roiling anger as it was.

“Anyone but my mother would have been preferable,” she retorted, “but did he give it another thought? Did he allow me a few moments to think of a better scheme? No.” She got a hold of herself, just barely. She couldn’t afford to start shouting at Dorothea. It was bad enough that she’d lost her temper with Restive. She was not her mother and never would be.

She took a deep breath. “Dot, I’d better not talk about him right now. I’m full of the most horrid, evil desires for revenge.”

“Understood, darling, but those feelings will pass once you calm down,” Dorothea said. “You’re not really a vengeful sort of person.”

In the past, Lucinda would have agreed with this, but this time she was overcome with rage, filled with burning emotions, harsh desires to show him, to prove to him that she’d done the right thing, that she wasn’t a hindrance. That she wasn’t as stupid and useless as he clearly believed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” she said. “Go take care of your poor mama, and don’t fret about me. I’ve lived with my mother all my life. I know how to manage her.”

Unfortunately, Lucinda had underestimated her mother.