Page 33 of The Wallflower Ruse

There was something decidedly off about Lady Tollister’s, although Lucinda couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Their hostess, an angular lady with a smirk, greeted Lady Alice and looked Lucinda up and down with a sly smile, but all her attention was for Restive, which was only to be expected. The décor was neither shabby nor in the latest mode. There was a great deal of wine.

Not that Restive intended her to have any. “You will drink no wine tonight,” he had ordered as they neared Lady Tollister’s house. “Lemonade only.”

Lucinda huffed. “I’m not a child, Lord Restive.”

“You are to me,” he said.

She made a furious huff. That was far, far worse than her telling him he was like a brother to her. She’d been astonished to find that he had changed his mind about allowing her to go, without any persuasion on her or Dorothea’s part. She would never admit this to anyone, but she was a little disappointed, as she’d spent half the night working out a way to confound him—to get a little revenge—by going to Lady Tollister’s on her own. Not that she would really have done so, because it would upset Dorothea and Cecil, but it was fun to imagine.

He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Yes, you’re of age, but you’re too young for this place.”

“I’m only four years younger than you!”

“And too innocent. I wish I hadn’t brought you to Mrs. Haraldson’s, but now we are stuck on this path.”

“Luckily for you!” she retorted. “If you hadn’t brought me there, Mr. Pearce would have had to pretend to fall in love with Alfreda Wallace, who probably would have sneaked away from home to come here and behaved like a witless ninny.”

“I rather wondered if you would do just that.” He put up a hand. “Not the witless ninny part, but I wouldn’t put it past you to ignore my wishes.”

“If they don’t make sense to me, of course I will ignore them. And if you must know, I already planned on abstaining this evening, in order to remain as alert as possible.”

Lady Alice, who seemed amused by this discussion, now said with asperity, “I hope you don’t expect me to abstain as well, Algy. It would be most strange were I to do so—and one of the advantages of age is that no one will try to get me intoxicated and seduce me.”

Was that why Restive wanted her to avoid wine? “Hopefully, Mr. Pearce will protect me from unwanted advances,” Lucinda said.

Restive snorted. “He can try. But don’t fret, I’ll see that you’re safe. Just don’t play piquet.”

“What? Why not?” It was her favorite card game, and she played it well.

“Because a game with only two players may be seen as a signal that intimacy is desired,” Lady Alice said. “And the stakes can therefore become extremely improper.”

Lucinda made a sound of disgust.

“I know, dear, it’s horrid—unless one is seeking said intimacy, in which case it can be rather stimulating.” She chuckled. “No, I’ve never done it, because just think of the hazards! Not only that, carnal intimacy without love is sorely lacking. I dearly loved my husband, and no one can ever replace him.”

“How wonderful it must be to love a man so very much,” Lucinda said.

“It is, my dear. I hope you will find such a man.” They pulled up at the door, and Lucinda prepared herself to remain alert, to observe, and to pretend to encourage Mr. Pearce.

“Well now,” Lady Alice said once they had shed their outerwear, “what shall it be?” Restive had wandered away on his own. She led the way through several rooms—first a drawing room, where several ladies—including Mrs. Spence and Mrs. Haraldson—chatted and drank tea. Then into a noisy room where faro was the attraction.

“Although it’s fun, the stakes are much too high,” Lady Alice said. Restive was watching the game and didn’t so much as glance at them.

Next came a room with tables set up for parties of four. “Whist, perhaps? A little too serious, I think.”

“Where would one play piquet?” Lucinda murmured, intrigued despite herself.

“Anywhere there’s a small table in a corner,” Lady Alice continued onward. “Ah, how about loo—that’s such fun!”

With her easy charm, she gathered several other players who didn’t object to low stakes. “For the sake of my little protegée, Miss Belair, you understand,” she said. “Not that I enjoy high stakes myself, for I don’t, so I’m happy to have an excuse.”

Soon a lively game was in progress. Lucinda took stock of the other players: a couple of ladies of uncertain years, and Monsieur Beaudry, one of the Frenchmen she’d met a Mrs. Haraldon’s. His gaze kept straying to Lucinda. She did her best to ignore him and played slightly more recklessly than usual. Betting on a mediocre hand was the closest she could get to foolishness.

Unfortunately, she did well with both good and not-so-good hands. “Very nicely done, Mademoiselle Belair,” Monsieur Beaudry said. “I would not dare risk a game of piquet with you.”

One of the ladies tittered. The other hid her smile behind her fan. Lady Alice straightened, sending an austere frown the gentleman’s way.

“I am forbidden to play to piquet,” Lucinda said primly, “so you need have no fear, monsieur.”