Page 50 of The Wallflower Ruse

Dorothea and Cecil dropped Lucinda at the house on Curzon Street on their way out of town.

Mother had avoided London for the year of mourning, but now that she had a Grand Plan to marry Lucinda off, she’d had the house cleaned and polished and prepared for a London season. The footman brought Lucinda’s baggage indoors—her own meagre valise and several of Dorothea’s gowns which her maid had altered. What a kind friend Dorothea was, thought Lucinda, thoroughly ashamed of herself for having what amounted to a tantrum while Dorothea’s own mother might be dying.

Mother greeted her from the drawing room sofa with a cat-at-the-cream-pot smirk. “I didn’t expect you to return so soon,” she said, “but evidently you regret your impetuous behavior and made the appropriate choice.”

“It wasn’t a choice,” Lucinda said. “Mrs. Hale’s mother fell ill, so she had to go out of town to nurse her.”

“Ah, poor dear lady,” Mother said. “It’s all for the best, though, as we have much to do.”

“Such as what?” Lucinda asked, envisioning a tedious round of morning calls, evening parties, and balls at which she would make herself a wallflower once again—practically on the shelf, thank God. Soon she would have her own money, and—

“To buy your bride clothes, of course,” Mother said. “I have already asked the solicitor for extra funds for this very purpose, and we must write all the wedding invitations, and—”

“Mother, I’m not marrying Mr. Pearce, or at least not yet. We haven’t even broken the news to his mother.”

“Not Mr. Pearce, silly girl, which reminds me, my carriage must be at the door by now. I am about to pay a call on his mother.” She stood from the sofa, all bustling energy, and hurried into the corridor, calling for her hat and pelisse. “Poor Mrs. Pearce, whoever she is, will be so chagrined if she has boasted that her son will wed the daughter of a knight—and then reads the notice in The Gazette and learns that you are betrothed to Lord Restive instead.”

“Notice in The Gazette?” Lucinda cried.

“Yes indeed, I arranged it all this morning, the wedding to be held at St. George’s, Hanover Square a month from today.” She allowed the maid to help with her pelisse and stood before the mirror, arranging her bonnet to her satisfaction.

“For the last time, Mother, I am not going to marry Restive!”

“Nonsense,” Mother said. “It’s too late to change your mind now.” She hurried out the door and into the waiting carriage.

Lucinda watched her drive away, fuming. Restive would be furious—rightly so—and he would probably think the notice had been her idea. Well, she didn’t care what Restive thought. In fact, it would serve him right to be as angry and upset as she was, although knowing him, he would merely laugh at the folly of yet another matchmaking mother and daughter.

She stormed upstairs to her bedchamber, trying to decide what to do. First things first, she decided. A maid was already there, organizing Lucinda’s belongings. She wasn’t hungry yet, but when Mother returned to find Lucinda still determined not to marry Restive, she might try to enforce the usual bread-and-water punishment. She wouldn’t succeed, but nor did Lucinda wish to make things difficult for the London servants. She soon sent the girl away, verified that the spare key to her bedchamber was in its customary hiding place in the bedpost, made her way down to the drawing room, and rang for tea, bread and butter, and cheese.

And waited for Mother to return. If only there were someone in London to whom she could flee, but Miss Pringle wasn’t due back in town yet, and in any event Lucinda’s presence might endanger her or her sister. Not that there was likely anything to fear, she thought morosely.

If only Mother hadn’t sent that message to The Gazette! It was too late to stop it, she’d said...

Perhaps that was true, but it wasn’t too late for Lucinda to insert her own message to refute it. It would come out a day later. Dear God, what a scandal that would cause! Well, there would be a scandal regardless, but at least she wouldn’t be a helpless victim.

She sped upstairs, donned her bonnet and pelisse, and hastened out the door without telling a soul. She probably had enough money to take a hackney to Fleet Street and back, but how much did it cost to put a notice in The Gazette? She hadn’t the slightest notion, but if she had to walk home afterwards, so be it.

She glanced up and down Curzon Street, but saw no sign of a man sent to keep watch. Good—perhaps horrid Restive hadn’t arranged that yet. She hurried down the pavement to the nearest hackney stand, but paused at the sound of her name.

It was Melrose Pearce, calling to her from a coach. It pulled up beside her. “There you are, Miss Belair! I called at Lady Hale’s, but the servant said you had returned to your mother.”

“Yes, I have,” Lucinda said glumly.

“Will she...will she allow you to come to the masquerade?”

Drat! “Yes, indeed,” Lucinda said. “Of course she will, why not?”

He looked dubious. “I thought she disapproved. That you aren’t allowed to attend masquerades.”

“Not usually,” Lucinda said, scrambling for a response that made sense. “But my mother knows your aunt is respectable. I trust Lady Delworth won’t object if Mother takes Mrs. Hale’s place tonight?”

“Not at all! She’ll be delighted, but where are you off to in such a rush? Might I offer you a ride?” He motioned to the groom, who jumped down to open the door and let down the steps.

She hesitated. A ride was just what she needed, for then she would certainly have enough money to pay for the notice. On the other hand, she wasn’t entirely easy about getting into a carriage alone with a gentleman. She didn’t think Mr. Pearce would make any amorous advances, but one never knew...

“Do please allow me to convey you wherever you wish to go,” he coaxed. Did he fear that Mother might change her mind about the masquerade? That would never do. He must be made to feel absolutely certain of her.

“Thank you, Mr. Pearce, you’re most kind. I need to go into the City and back, and I must hurry in order to have time to prepare for the masquerade.” She put her foot on the bottom step, and the groom took her hand to help her up.