and the spectre of the gallows wavered in the shadows of her mind. She shuddered as she thought of Black Jack’s fate. She had risked that same terrifying destiny, but only to fail. Her beloved twin was still imprisoned, still liable to succumb to illness or worse.
But she tried to school her face to one of complacence, for her uncle must not suspect for one minute what she had been at. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Francis, you must have spoken of this some time ago and it has completely gone from my memory.’
She must humour him sufficiently that he would go away. Reaction to her wild adventure was setting in and every limb felt leaden. Her wrist was throbbing ever more painfully and her whole being felt as though weighted by iron. All she wanted was sleep.
Her guardian shifted impatiently and when he spoke his tone was part irritation and part indulgence. ‘I shall never understand how women can remember the precise shade of a ribbon, but ask them to remember something of importance and it is all hay with them.’
She felt indignation rising. Long ago she had come to the conclusion that her uncle was one of the most tiresome men she would ever meet: a combination of foolish pride and moral rectitude was not a happy one. But she needed to be rid of him and she forced herself to sound agreeable. ‘Please remind me, Uncle.’
‘The Earl of Frensham is to visit us!’ Francis Devereux said this with the air of a ringmaster about to produce his most celebrated lion.
‘I see.’ She knew her response was inadequate, but her uncle appeared too absorbed by his own cleverness to remark on it.
He had resumed his pacing, the squeak of new boots now joining with the creaking floorboards in rampant disharmony. ‘I did not mention earlier that a message had come from the earl, for I had no wish to unsettle you unnecessarily.’
You thought it best not to put me on my guard, she translated inwardly, but why he had been so reticent, she had no idea.
‘The Earl of Frensham!’ Sir Francis exclaimed again. ‘Think of that. Such a splendid prize! It has taken a deal of time and persuasion to get him here, you know.’
Her head was buzzing; her uncle’s self-satisfaction was hardly new, but what had this earl to do with her?
Sir Francis stopped walking and drew near. ‘I won’t hide the fact, Lucinda, that on occasions I have not been entirely certain that it was the right path to pursue. I’ve had my doubts. Disquieting rumours from time to time, but they have turned out to be nothing but spiteful gossip—the usual scurrilous talk of the ton—and I was right to dismiss it. All froth and no substance, my girl!’ he finished triumphantly.
‘So the earl is coming,’ she ventured, hoping that he would get off his chest what he needed to say, and leave her in peace.
‘He is. He is coming to meet you, my dear.’
‘But he does not even know me.’
Her uncle looked at her as if she were slightly feeble minded. ‘Naturally he does not. That is why he is coming to Verney Towers, to make your acquaintance.’
‘I am most flattered,’ she managed, ‘but why me?’
‘Surely, Lucinda, you remember that much. His grandfather and my father made a promise to one another.’
She recalled hearing some such nonsense at the breakfast table one morning of late, but she had dismissed it as unworthy of notice. Her uncle was not of the same mind.
‘If the old Earl of Frensham—that is the second earl—if he were to have a grandson and my father a granddaughter, they were to make a match of it.’
She stared in astonishment. ‘But why?’
‘It was their dearest wish that the two families should be joined. They were the very best of friends for all their lives.’
‘It seems a little odd to be making plans for your grandchildren.’ More than a little odd, she thought. ‘What about their own children—surely they would have fulfilled the family wishes much sooner?’
Her uncle looked fixedly at the floor. ‘It pains me, as you well know, to talk of your mother. I believe the old earl’s son proved similarly unreliable.’
‘I’m sorry, Uncle Francis, but I still don’t see what this has to do with me.’
Her uncle lifted his gaze. ‘You are the granddaughter, of course.’ He spoke slowly and emphatically, as though by intensifying every word, any objections would be blown away. ‘I hope very much to see you marry into the Frensham family.’
‘You wish me to marry an unknown man, years older than myself?’ Truly her uncle had run mad.
‘He is not old, foolish girl. He is the third earl and inherited the title and considerable estates when he was a very young man. He can be little more than thirty.’
‘But I do not know him.’ She realised that she was repeating herself but felt too dazed to argue coherently.
‘This is your opportunity to become acquainted. I consider it a blessing that you have not previously met. Your unspoilt charm will come as a delightful surprise, for he has been on the town for many years and has suffered every kind of lure.’
She was too appalled to respond, but it hardly mattered. Francis was in full flow. ‘The earl is a very wealthy man,’ he sounded inordinately proud of the fact, ‘and has been much courted. I understand that he has grown tired of the attentions shown him. You have never mixed in high society and so will be the perfect antidote. His sisters—all three of them charming creatures—are as convinced as I that you will make an ideal couple.’
And what about me, she wanted to scream. I have no wish to marry; indeed, I loathe the very notion. But if I am to be forced into wedding, how ideal will a man ten years older than me, one I have never met, a man who has scandal trailing his coat tails, exactly how ideal will he be for me? But she knew it would be useless to argue: when Francis Devereux alighted on an idea, it would not be dislodged by even the mightiest earthquake.
Her uncle took her bowed head as acquiescence. ‘I will not force you into any marriage you do not wish to make, Lucinda,’ he said more amenably, ‘but I will expect that you treat with courtesy a man who has travelled here to make your acquaintance.’
The door shut behind him and she sunk on to the bed, numbed by the disasters that had befallen her. Cherished hopes had been shattered, a terrifying escape endured, and now the threat of a husband had appeared out of nowhere, filling the air with a black poison. Her uncle had said that he would not force her into an arranged marriage, but she was not stupid. She would be pressured, that was for sure, in all kinds of subtle ways. A man did not travel from London to be given a polite brush off. He would expect an answer and in the affirmative.
‘Is everything all right, Miss Lucy?’ Molly had returned from the stables and was peering anxiously around the bedroom door.
‘No,’ she answered bluntly. ‘My uncle wishes me to know that he has a guest arriving very shortly, a man I have never met, but one I am forced to greet with complaisance.’
‘Does he come as a suitor?’ the maid ventured.
‘He may choose to call himself such. I do not. The idea is preposterous.’
‘You may like him,’ Molly said hopefully.
Lucinda was well aware of the romantic notions embedded in her maid’s breast and tried to let her down gently. ‘That is most unlikely. He will be as the rest of his tribe—wealthy, idle and overindulged. From what Uncle Francis let slip, he may even be immoral.’
‘Sir Francis would never ask you to meet anyone disreputable.’
‘No, you’re right. My uncle is a puritan and if he has vetted and approved this man, he will be whiter than white and no doubt tedious beyond words. He will be prosy and dull. I shall probably fall asleep even as he talks to me.’
Before her mistress