"Of course," Lucy said. "It was lovely, probably because Betty and James are so much in love. They glowed."

Clara clasped her hands. "I hope I'm like that on my wedding day!" But then she asked, "Was she not a little nervous?"

"No. Why should she be?"

Clara dragged Lucy up to their bedroom. "The wedding night!"

"Oh, that. She and James have known each other for years."

"You mean . . . ?"

Lucy laughed. "Not in the Biblical sense! Really, Clara."

Clara was red. "I'm sorry. I just thought . . . in the country, you know, some betrothed couples do, you know. Before the wedding."

"Truly? Why?"

"Because the farming life is hard for a childless couple. Generally, if there are no children, they adopt some from families with too many, but it's better to have plenty of their own. I thought it might be like that in the City. After all, your father must want a son. That's doubtless why he's marrying again."

It still hurt.

Lucy took off her bonnet. "Tell me, what news of Town?" Speak to me of Wyvern.

"t.i.ttle-tattle. Nothing of importance. Except Stevenhope has offered for Lady Iphigenia and been accepted. So the poor Peasant Earl has lost his love. I teased him about it."

"Stevenhope?"

"Wyvern! He danced with me at Lady Galloway's ball, but only because he wanted to know why you weren't there."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Of course it was! At least . . . I don't think he asked me to elope with him."

Lucy turned to her. "What?"

"I don't think so. It was such an odd thing to say."

"What did he say?"

"That it would be exciting to elope."

Pure rage sizzled through her. "You must have been mistaken."

"I wasn't! The exact words. More or less. Then I teased him about Lady Iphigenia, because Stevenhope was leading her out for the first dance, which can have significance, as you know. Do you think that's why Wyvern sort of proposed? Because I agreed to the first dance with him? But I have only a modest dowry, so I'm sure not, and there was nothing of that in his manner, though he was a little odd. Do you think madness can be concealed?"

I think a short time with you could derange anyone.

"So he didn't actually propose?" Lucy asked.

"No. But why else mention elopement?"

Lucy had no idea, but equilibrium had returned. There were a host of reasons Wyvern wouldn't want to marry Clara and scarcely a one that he should. She dragged talk back to a firm point.

"Stevenhope and Lady Iphigenia. Is she the type to enjoy being described as a wilting bloom?"

Clara giggled. "I fear so, because she does wilt. As if her bones were soft. Even her curls droop. And he's quite well-to-do, so she'll be a comfortable wilt as long as she can humor his mother."

"His mother?"

"Sour and eagle-eyed."

Lucy sat down. "I never even considered mothers. Never say she lives nearby."

"Not merely nearby-in his house! Not even in the dower house, though a mother-in-law can be formidable from there. I shall attempt to find a husband with a dead or absent mother."

"Wyvern's mother is as far away as a mother could be."

Lucy immediately regretted saying that, but Clara merely giggled. "A point in his favor!"

It was indeed. As was him needing to know why she was absent. He must have missed her. . . .

"Don't you think?"

Lucy had been far away. "About what?"

"Lord Darien! Is he a murderer like his brother?"

"Who's Lord Darien?"

Lucy listened to the latest scandal-a story gory enough to be in a novel. Lord Darien's brother had murdered an innocent young lady, and now suspicion hung over him, too, because bad blood ran in the family.

"Poor man," Lucy said.

"You have such a soft heart!" Clara protested. "Darien looks a thorough villain. He scowls and is scarred."

"That surely isn't to be counted against him. Didn't you say he'd been a soldier?"

"Oh, very well, but he certainly wouldn't be a comfortable husband."

"Is that what you want?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"I'm not sure," Lucy said, but it was another deceit. A comfortable husband sounded like a feather bed-good for sleep, but not for the waking hours. And perhaps not for pa.s.sion, either.

Wyvern would not be an entirely comfortable husband. He'd shown her that.

When would she meet him again?

She had his address now and could write to him. So tempting, but she had enough sense left not to show her hand so clearly. She'd wait for him to make the move.

She was sure he would.

The Caldrosses were so bold as to stroll in the park in the late afternoon, for Aunt Mary declared that admiration of G.o.d's work was suitable for His day. Conveniently, this meant encounters with others of the same devout purpose, charitably intent on sharing gossip. Stevenhope and Lady Iphigenia were mentioned, as was the Darien scandal, but there was a bounty of more trivial news.

Lucy was struck by the fact that she now knew most of the people mentioned, at least by name, and could understand much of the innuendo. w.i.l.l.y-nilly, she'd become part of this. But the princ.i.p.al person on her mind, Lord Wyvern, did not appear.

Devout obligation to family took them out of the house in the evening to dine with Lord Caldross's younger brother, a naval captain. Aunt Mary traveled with the manner of a Christian martyr approaching the Coliseum, and Lucy could share her feelings, for of a certainty Wyvern wouldn't be there, either.

She a.s.sumed her aunt expected tedium, but she soon understood why red-nosed Captain Fytch was landlocked with a position at the Admiralty. She certainly wouldn't trust him with a ship. He was on the go when they arrived, and rollicking drunk by the time they left. He tried to pinch her cheek, with a look in his eye that suggested other desires. She made a startled movement that "accidentally" struck him just below his bulbous nose.

He staggered back, cursing.

Lucy gushed apologies while allowing Aunt Mary to drag her away.

To think she'd sometimes regretted her lack of close relatives. Wyvern's strange parentage and lack of family was more delightful by the moment. But where the devil was he, as suitor or as employee demanding wages owed? Sunday propriety shouldn't present an insuperable problem.

Perhaps he'd tired of the game. Was she out of sight, out of mind? Was he back in attendance on Miss Florence? Her heart wouldn't believe it, but her mind preached the inconstancy of men.

When they arrived home, Lucy expected even her aunt and cousin to have drained the well of chatter, but they were finding new words to wrap around Captain Fytch's flaws. From that they spun on to other sad cases of drunkenness.

When the clock struck ten Lucy used the excuse of poetry to escape to her room and be miserable. She went to the window to look out at the night sky, stewing over Wyvern's perfidy. Sunday presented challenges, but challenges existed to be overcome. He could easily have been in the park.

She took out her journal and sharpened her pencil to a particularly fine point.

Wyvern, she wrote, and underlined it.

The wretch. The inconstant slime.

We had a bargain!

Just because I left Mayfair for a while Gives him no excuse for inconstancy.

I should turn my back on him.

But where then would I go?

Is . . .

She paused to glance at the window. Rain? It had seemed a clear night. The gla.s.s showed no droplets. That splattering again.

Not water.

Soil?

She went to look and down below, in the small moonlit yard, stood Wyvern, looking up.

She raised the sash window. "What are you doing there?" she whispered.

"Collecting my debts. Come down."

He hadn't abandoned the game, but he was all silver and darkness down there.

She shook her head. "I don't know the way. There are servants down there."

"Are you truly so feeble?"

"Hush! Someone will hear."

"Then come down."

He wasn't trying to soften his voice at all!

"No. I'll pay you tomorrow."

She shut the window and turned away, but she bit her lip on delight. He'd not tired of the game and he'd not slipped into the attractions of Natalie Florence!

She remembered how he'd looked, all mysterious, masterful man, and for a moment she considered his mad invitation. Perhaps there was a way out. Perhaps the servants were all in bed. If any were still awake and in the kitchen area, wouldn't they have heard the foolhardy man?

No. She wouldn't be teased into folly like that, but she sat down at the desk to record the incident.

Dark and light. Tempting into folly.

But there. Daring. Wanting?

She seemed to have lost the ability to use sentences!

She collected herself and wrote: This night, Lord Wyvern ventured Into the yard at the back of the house.

He tried to persuade me to go down to him, The outrageous man. Yet I was tempted.

Kisses are owed and I . . .

What was that? A thump above. She looked up. He couldn't be up on the roof. Could he?

She hurried to the door and opened it to listen. Had her aunt and cousin been alarmed? They were at the front of the house, however, far from this back room, and still talking. She closed the door and looked toward the window-to see Wyvern looking in at her.

She ran over and opened it again. "What are you doing? How . . . ?"

He was holding onto a double rope. A rope that went up above him and dangled to the ground. One booted foot was in a loop, the other braced against the brick wall.

"Grappling iron. I came prepared for a lady too feeble to escape her house. Move aside."

She obeyed before she thought not to and he swung through the window. He was in country clothes again.

David.

"You can't come in here! My cousin sleeps with me."