Chapter TWENTY
“We’re going to Bath,” Lucy announced with another bright smile on her face two hours later. This time she was speaking to the Duke of Claringdon, who sat in a chair across from Cass in the Monroes’ drawing room.
He appeared to be avoiding all eye contact with Lucy, which only served to make her more relentlessly cheerful. Without bothering to look at her, he said, “Bath, eh?” He sat back in his chair and crossed his booted feet at the ankles.
“Yes, Bath.” Lucy punctuated it this time with a resolute nod of her head. She’d assumed she’d find it a bit difficult to look at him, too, after the kiss they’d shared. But she was actually enjoying delivering this particular bit of news. And the more he refused to give her the satisfaction of looking at her, the farther she leaned forward in her seat and glared at him.
“Just decided to take a trip?” he pressed, tugging on his snowy white cuff as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Lucy braced both hands on her knees and eyed him. She’d foiled him and he didn’t appear to like it one bit. And of course he couldn’t just allow them to share the news and wish them well; he had to pry for details. She wrinkled her nose. If he had an ounce of chivalry, he’d already realize that part of the reason they were fleeing west was to evade his unwelcome presence. He must suspect that. Ugh. No doubt that was why he was asking.
“Papa thinks the waters will be good for me,” Cass added, offering a delicate teacup to the duke. Of course, she hadn’t mentioned how her Mama had railed against the idea, convinced that any journey that took Cass away from the duke’s company was quite a bad idea indeed. But Cass’s papa had intervened and insisted she go. He knew how upset Cass had been at the news of Julian, and he thought the change of scenery would do her good. Thank goodness for Cass’s papa.
The duke leaned forward to accept the teacup that Cass offered. Lucy watched their interchange with the hint of a smile playing around her lips. The man didn’t drink tea and never would. She’d noticed that about him on the first day he’d visited, but Cass never seemed to pick up on this bit of information pertaining to their esteemed guest. She insisted upon presenting him with the drink as if he’d somehow change his mind (and personality) suddenly. Lucy lifted her own cup to her lips. Why, Cass would do better to offer him a brandy. He’d be more likely to drink it. Lucy hid her smile behind her own teacup.
“I’ve never been to Bath,” the duke replied. He paused to set the unwanted drink on the side table before pushing out his legs again.
Lucy swallowed and tried to avert her eyes. Oh, my, but he did have long legs. Long and fit. And he was wearing dark gray breeches and an emerald-green waistcoat that brought out the color of his eyes. She glanced away. His eyes? Now she was waxing poetic about his eyes? Oh, this had to stop and immediately. She set down her teacup and folded her hands in her lap. “Never been to Bath? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
His gaze barely flickered over her. “Yes, well, there’s not much occasion to go to a holiday town when one is in the army, is there?” He gave her a tight smile, and Lucy tried to pretend that she wasn’t remembering what it felt like to kiss him. She would not blush. By God. Would not. She was not a blusher!
“Oh, of course not, Your Grace,” Cass rushed to assure him. “But Bath is an absolutely lovely town. All rolling hillsides and so green and pretty. And the Assembly Rooms and Pump Room and the Roman ruins. Why, it’s quite breathtaking.” Lucy’s heart wrenched for her friend. Cass was doing so well pretending to be happy and cheerful in the duke’s company. As if she hadn’t spent the entire night sobbing. She looked as fresh as a flower, too. If Lucy had cried all night, she’d look like a puffed-up pigeon.
The door to the drawing room cracked open just then and Cass’s mother came bustling inside. “Oh, forgive me, Your Grace, for being late for your visit but I only just learned you were here.” She gave Lucy a narrowed-eyed glare that caused Lucy to wonder if the matron had somehow discovered that she’d bribed the footman to keep the news from Lady Moreland as long as possible. That blasted Shakespierre must have cracked.
After exchanging pleasantries with Lady Moreland, the duke resumed his seat. He always looked like a giant trying to fit into the tiny rosewood chairs of the Monroes’ drawing room. “I was just telling your daughter that Bath sounds like a place I should visit,” he said to Lady Moreland.
A warning bell tolled somewhere in the back of Lucy’s mind. She watched in silent, slowly dawning horror as Lady Moreland’s mouth opened and the words came chirping out, “Oh, you should. It’s an absolute must.”
“It’s settled then,” the duke responded quickly without allowing Lucy or Cass to speak. “I’ll visit Bath as well. See what all the fuss is about. I may even buy property there. Sounds like a splendid place.”
Cass’s mouth formed an O and she blinked in obvious surprise. Then she smiled at the duke and nodded before glancing away and taking a shaky sip of tea.
Lady Moreland’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “Excellent. I’m certain you young people will have a splendid time.”
Lucy set down her cup, plunked her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes at the duke. “You were not planning to go to Bath!”
He slowly turned to face her and gave her a long-suffering stare. “First of all, how could you possibly know that, Lady Lucy? And second, after Lady Cassandra here has just spent several minutes extolling the town’s virtue, I am entirely certain that I do indeed want to visit the place.”
“But you— But we—” Lucy couldn’t form a thought. She was livid. How had that man managed to thwart her again in the span of a mere fifteen minutes? And while she’d been keeping vigil? Very close vigil. Why, he’d snuck in and made his move right in front of her even. They called him the Duke of Decisive. He should be called the Duke of Deviousness.
“Lady Lucy, please,” Lady Moreland said, giving her a curt nod. “I believe the duke has made up his mind.”
“Indeed I have, madam,” he replied. “Do you have any objections, Lady Cassandra?”
Cass glanced at Lucy, then at her mother who gave her a stern stare. “No, of course not, Your Grace,” she said softly, tugging at the collar of her gown.
The next half an hour rattled by as the duke managed to wheedle every bit of relevant information out of a far-too-accommodating Lady Moreland. His questions rang out like a barrage, making Lucy shake with a combination of growing frustration and complete futility as Lady Moreland set about cheerfully answering them one by one. Where were they staying? With whom? What street did the house sit upon? How long did they intend to visit? It was utterly ridiculous. And every attempt Lucy made to circumvent the answers was met with a direct repeated question by the duke that either Cass or her mother somehow seemed compelled to answer.
By the end of the interview, Lucy was seething with anger. Cass’s eyes were cloudy with confusion. And the duke and Lady Moreland looked like cats with bellies full of cream.
Finally the duke stood to take his leave. He made a sweeping bow. “I look forward to seeing you in Bath, Lady Cassandra.”
Cass nodded weakly and attempted to manage nearly half a smile. “Yes, Your Grace.” Lady Moreland smiled and patted her daughter’s shoulder.
“You, too, Lady Lucy,” the duke added with a devilish wink as he strolled out the door.