a choice about such . . . such things . . . whereas other women may not . . . and I will never judge such a thing again . . . I confess it troubles me a little.”
He rubbed his brow. It occurred to her that she’d never seen him indulge in a fidget. Unlike Delacorte, who probably didn’t realize it, but fingered one of the silver buttons on his waistcoat when he had a good hand in Whist, or Mr. Farraday, who was all fidgets. Women could not be said to be fidgeting when their hands were nearly always busy with work.
“Clearly the solution lies in not watching your ceiling at night.”
She smiled. “And they say you’re not amusing.”
“They say so many things about me.”
His expression remained abstracted, however.
Odd to think that he might not have the answers to everything.
And then he took a sip of brandy.
“Good evening, friends.” Farraday strode into the drawing room, bringing the scent of rain and tar and cigar smoke with him. He’d already whipped off his gloves and was making straight for the fire as though he’d lived there all his life and was perfectly at home. Then again, in all likelihood, he felt at home in the world, at home, anywhere, really, because the world had been kind to him.
“Devil of an evening!” he declared. “Delacorte, break out the chessboard, I know precisely how to beat AHHHHHHHH!”
It was a cry of horror worthy of any musicale. And it was quite genuine.
He’d fixed his eyes upon Lucinda Bevan-Clark.
“Andrew!” she gasped with a hand clapped to her clavicle.
She leaped to her feet and her head pivoted wildly to and fro. She darted a few feet to the left and a few feet to the right and then came to a stop right where she’d begun, in front of the settee.
Her maid, Miss Wright, sighed and rolled her eyes.
All of which rather answered lingering questions regarding coincidences.
The rest of the room was frozen in absolute fascination.
“What are you doing here?” they said at once, unanimously accusatory.
“Did my mother send you?” they said next, simultaneously.
Andrew took a breath. “Lucinda, why don’t you tell me why you’re here, when you were meant to be at a house party, just as I was.”
“I’m here quite on my own, thank you very much.”
“Without Miss Wright?”
“Of course with Miss Wright! She’s right over there!” As if Miss Wright were an accessory akin to a muff or a pelisse and it would be unthinkable to make a move without her.
“Ho there, Miss Wright,” he said.
“Good evening, Mr. Farraday,” she said, with great irony.
“But that must mean . . .” Mr. Farraday was working things out.
“We were on our way too the House Party, which is where I expected you to be, but I decided to escape from the coaching inn on the South Road in the dead of night and paid a driver to take us to a boardinghouse and this was the first place we came to.”
“You could have come to harm, Lucinda!” He seemed genuinely distressed. “You ought not to have gone by yourself, even if Miss Wright was with you.” It was rather sweet that he thought of her welfare before questioning why on earth she should want to escape.
“That’s precisely what Miss Wright told her,” Miss Wright muttered.
“Oh, Andrew, you’re a dear to care.” It was all desperate warmth mingled with agitation. Andrew’s face visibly brightened. “That is, you’re not like Captain Hardy, you’re still young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, but you’re dear in your way.”
Poor dear had no idea that flattery beaded up and rolled right off Captain Hardy.
Andrew cast a startled glance at Captain Hardy, as if it had never occurred to him that someone so elderly could hold any appeal for Lucinda.
“But . . . you’re a very good sort.” She bit her lip. “Oh, Andrew. It’s just that I . . . I don’t want to . . . I don’t think . . .”
Every breath in the room was held.
But she didn’t say the words.
“Lucinda, you’re a topping girl,” he said urgently, hardly poetry, but he said it so fervently and sincerely every older person in the room melted ever so slightly. “A bit prone to speaking before you’ve given it any thought, which can be a bit wounding,” he said, looking a trifle wounded himself. “But you’re so . . . funny and game, as well.” He said this with a sort of tender exasperation.
She beamed