A Lady in Name by Elizabeth Bailey Page B

legends, enumerating names of those mentioned in sagas as well as the poets who had composed them, all apparently concerned with death and funeral rites. Making a polite attempt to follow the byways of her hostess’s discourse, Lucy soon lost track and found her head in a whirl. Dion’s rolling eyes and facial contortions directed at her from across the table so chimed with her state of mind, Lucy at length succumbed to an unseemly fit of stifled giggles, in which Dion soon joined.
    This deplorable state of affairs was brought to an end when Mrs Ankerville trailed off mid-sentence, casting enquiring glances from Lucy to her daughter.
    ‘I fear our guest is not accustomed to our style of living, Mama,’ said Lord Pennington, thankfully saving the day. ‘You will have to excuse her ignorance, for she has not been brought up as we have to appreciate the niceties of medieval folklore.’
    Lucy jumped quickly in as Mrs Ankerville’s large-eyed stare turned upon her. ‘Pray forgive me, ma’am. It was most uncivil of me to laugh, and I can only plead in mitigation that you have set my head in a whirl of confusion.’ Remembering an earlier determination, she seized opportunity before her hostess could open her mouth again. ‘I must also apologise for my attire, ma’am. His lordship surprised me with his…’ She hesitated over the right word. ‘…his invitation, and I was not properly prepared.’
    Mrs Ankerville’s gaze moved down to what she could see of the black gown, and she blinked. ‘Is there something wrong with your gown?’
    ‘She means she has not been able to change for dinner, Mama,’ Dion explained.
    ‘Heavens, is that all? I had not noticed.’
    Dion smiled across at Lucy. ‘Mama frequently forgets to change, you must know. We Ankervilles are not at all formal, as I am sure you have observed.’
    ‘Nonsense, Dionisia,’ reproved her mother. ‘If occasion demands, naturally I approve all necessary formality. In the fourteenth century—’
    ‘Thank you, Mama, I believe we have heard sufficient on that score for tonight,’ broke in Lord Pennington firmly. ‘I think we will spare Lucy any further bewilderment.’
    Before she could stop herself, Lucy flung him a glance of gratitude. A brief conspiratorial smile winged back at her, and struck in so intimate a fashion that Lucy’s heart gave a sudden thud. She turned quickly away, encountering a look of startled question in Dion’s face. Thrown into a confusion as strong as that engendered by Mrs Ankerville’s monologue, Lucy knew not where to look. She was unwittingly rescued by her hostess.
    ‘Lucy, you said? That cannot be right. I abhor contractions. Why spoil a perfectly good name? Is it Lucilla or Lucia? Of the two I prefer the latter. Lucia was a popular saint in the Middle Ages, but Lucilla is very much of the Roman period. There were a number of variants in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, of course, such as Luciana and Lucina, but these are mere diminutives.’
    ‘It is Lucinda,’ Lucy offered, not without a qualm.
    ‘Lucinda?’
    Mrs Ankerville’s tone was not encouraging. Lucy thought quickly, recalling Papa’s words on the subject. ‘I believe it is a more recent but poetic variant.’
    ‘Ah.’ To her relief, there was satisfaction in the monosyllable. ‘I am of course less familiar with later names, but there is the example of Lovelace and Lucasta as a precedent. Lucinda then. Very pretty.’
    Receiving a gracious smile, Lucy presumed she had achieved acceptance and looked over at Dion, who mouthed “very well done” at her. Lucy smiled back, and breathed a little more easily as the covers were removed for the second course.
    Her relief was short-lived. No sooner had Mrs Ankerville been served with her choice from the dishes on offer than she turned her attention back to Lucy.
    ‘Now, Lucinda, tell me all about yourself. Stefanus says we are related. I delight in family trees. Where do you fit in?’
    For a moment,