Lady Libertine by Kate Harper Page B

country home of the Landons that had now, sadly, passed to the new heir.
    Lucy knew that, to her Mama, this hulking great house would more than compensate for the loss of Kensmere. Twin turreted, four stories tall, the driveway swept around to a central courtyard where their coach presently drew up before.
    Lady Landon turned to smile at Phoebe happily. ‘Is it not magnificent?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ Phoebe returned dubiously, ‘although it looks a little grim, don’t you think?’
    ‘Nonsense!’ Lady Landon said firmly, ‘Fendleton Hall is a most remarkable place. Lord Billingsworth has every reason to be proud of it.’
    Lucy remained silent. If she were romantically inclined, then it would be all too easy to imagine that this was the kind of place some poor heroine would be held captive, probably in one of those towers. The lowering skies did not help lighten the picture for the pleasant August day had capriciously turned dull, leaden clouds promising rain, while a chill wind had sprung up. All they really needed was some lightening and thunder and Horace Walpole or dear Mrs. Radcliffe could produce something delightfully gothic with which to thrill their readers.
    ‘Now remember, Lucy,’ Lady Landon eyed her eldest child coolly, ‘you are to be polite and civil at all times. Especially to Lord Billingsworth.’
    Lucy arched an eyebrow. ‘But, Mama, when am I not?’
    Her mother frowned. ‘You can have a very nasty tongue on you. I have noticed it most particularly in the past few weeks. Mind that you hold it!’ And with that, she stepped down from the carriage.
    Phoebe and Lucy shared a look, Phoebe leaning over to touch her sister’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, Mouse. I do not know why she is so mean to you.’
    Lucy shrugged and smiled. She knew, but she had no intention of telling her sister that it was jealousy, pure and simple. She had always been her father’s favorite and he had spent more time with her than anybody else in the household. It was something her mother could not forgive, even though it was hardly Lucy’s fault. ‘It does not matter. I promise you it does not.’
    Climbing down, they followed Lady Landon into the dim interior of the house.
    As the honored guests, they had arrived the night before anybody else and so dinner was a fairly intimate affair. Lucy watched her mother looking around, assessing the worth of everything, mentally redecorating parlors and sitting rooms as she went. She would, Lucy allowed, make a very good Lady Billingsworth for she would play the part to the hilt, welcoming guests, cooing appreciatively to Billingsworth, and generally having a marvelous time of it. If Lucy had not had her own plans for escape, she would have found the entire thing dreadfully depressing, but as things stood, she found she was indifferent to the situation. Even Lord Billingsworth, a fat, balding man with rubbery lips and hands like ham hocks could be viewed dispassionately. She did not care for the ‘fatherly’ way he kissed Phoebe’s cheek, but, as her sister would undoubtedly make an alliance this Season and be off their mother’s hands and in her own establishment before many more months had passed, Lucy did not let it trouble her too much.
    It was a long, tedious evening and she retired to bed as soon as she was able, with a book, pleading fatigue.
    The next morning she was up early and took the opportunity to wander the extensive gardens before breakfast. The gardens, she quickly decided, were far nicer than the house and led onto fields that rolled delightfully. It had rained heavily during the night and the hem of her skirt attracted a great deal of mud, but she had had a most satisfactory ramble and arrived back ready for breakfast. She liked the country; the fresh air, the rustic vistas, so much nicer than dirty London. The small cottage she had been left had sea views. Sea views, Lucy reflected happily as she climbed back over a stile, would be marvelous!
    She had assumed that