Drawn to Lord Ravenscar. Anne Herries
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a pale-grey gown for her and Lucy allowed her to help her into it, but shook her head when she looked in the mirror.
‘I shall not change again this evening, Marie, but after this I wish you to put my grey gowns away. I shall wear colours all the time now. I have finished with my mourning.’
‘Yes, miss. I’ll have them packed away into trunks with lavender, Miss Lucy.’
‘Thank you,’ Lucy said. ‘And I will have my hair dressed in ringlets again this evening...the way you used to do it for me.’
‘I am glad, miss,’ her maid said. ‘I think a softer style suits you much better.’
Lucy nodded. She looked at her image in the mirror as Marie finished dressing her hair. For too long she’d worn the severe styles caught into the nape of her neck, which she’d adopted in her grief, but she knew this way of wearing her hair was prettier and suited her well.
Fastening a string of seed pearls about her throat and pearl drops to her earlobes, Lucy reflected on the time she’d spent talking to Lord Daventry. He had teased her and flattered her, paying her far too many compliments, but he had also been able to talk to her of poetry and music...and their tastes seemed much in accord. Lucy knew that she was not in love with the earl; his touch did not make her heart race, but she felt no revulsion when he kissed her hand. She liked him very well and...if she could not marry the man she still cared for...she might as well marry for comfort. Daventry would be kind to her and she would be the wife of a wealthy man...if he asked for her, of course.
Suddenly, Lucy was taken by a fit of the giggles. She had no idea whether the earl was truly interested in making her an offer. His charm might be just his natural manner with a lady and he might just be amusing himself, flirting with a pretty girl. Indeed, that was more than likely the case.
The thought caused her no pain. She would not break her heart over him if he did not come up to scratch...but if he should ask she thought she might be able to find contentment as his wife.
All the months of breaking her heart over Paul Ravenscar, all the waiting for him to come to her in Italy, seemed far away. It was as if a dark cloud had been banished. She was recovering at last, Lucy thought. Everyone believed that the change in her was due to Mark’s death, and it had played its part, for she had mourned a friend...but it was Paul who had broken her heart.
She would not allow him to do it again. Lucy lifted her head, determined now that the next time they met she would do so with indifference. If he looked through her as though she did not exist, she would give as much in return.
She was not going to waste her life in regret.
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