Love for Lucinda by Gayle Buck

horrified at the very notion of wedding anyone just yet. He is enjoying all the advantages of his new position. It would be too much to expect him to take up the responsibilities of a wife and the inevitable growing nursery!”
    “A pity, indeed,” said Miss Blythe. She sat down in the wing chair that she favored, which was situated in front of the warm fire. She drew her embroidery out of the basket that had been left close to hand. Serenely she began plying her needle. “I should so like to see you settled and happy, Lucinda. The regard of a worthy gentleman goes far in guaranteeing a female’s content.”
    “I do not necessarily need to enter wedlock to acquire contentment in my life, Tibby,” said Lucinda, amused.
    “No, my dear, I suppose not,” said Miss Blythe. Her voice held a faintly dubious note.
    “I can be very happy by myself. The Season is before me, and I shall dissipate myself until I am utterly worn away by diversions,” said Lucinda, mildly stung by her companion’s obvious lack of conviction.
    “What shall you do then?” asked Miss Blythe mildly.
    “What?” Lucinda was taken aback. “How do you mean?”
    “What shall you do when the Season’s amusements come to an end?” asked Miss Blythe.
    Lucinda stared at her companion, not at all certain how to respond. She had not thought beyond the Season. For several months she had thought of nothing but her plans for her own enjoyment. It had never once occurred to her that she would find herself at loose ends when the Season drew to a close. Of course, Carbarry waited for her, but it seemed somehow tame to simply leave London and return to her quiet life.
    Lucinda airily waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, there will be any number of things to do. Perhaps I shall travel. I should like that, I think. The war is over, and it will be possible now to see all the sights.”
    “The sights always appear at their best when they are shared with someone else,” suggested Miss Blythe. “And I do not refer to the company of a paid traveling companion, my dear!” She looked pointedly at her former pupil over the rims of her spectacles.
    “You are an incorrigible romantic,” accused Lucinda.
    Miss Blythe considered the matter for a moment, then nodded. “I do believe that I am,” she agreed. “It was through my offices, really, that your sister Letty was finally able to attract dear Reverend Birchfield’s attention. It was a very pretty wedding and vastly touching. I believe that I had to resort to my handkerchief up to a dozen different times.”
    Lucinda groaned. “Pray do not attempt to play the matchmaker for me this Season, Tibby, I beg of you! I do not wish to attract particular attentions from any gentleman.”
    “How odd of you, to be sure. I had quite made up my mind that that was what you truly hoped to gain from the Season,” said Miss Blythe.
    “I did not come up to London to find myself a second husband,” said Lucinda, throwing up her hands. “Why everyone must instantly leap to that conclusion, I fail to understand!”
    “Oh, has someone else besides Lady Sefton mentioned the possibility?” asked Miss Blythe interestedly.
    “My father,” admitted Lucinda. “He was so gothic as to warn me against competing with the misses who are making their debuts. I would not show to advantage because I am too long in the tooth, if you please!”
    “Quite sound advice,” observed Miss Blythe. “I have always known Sir Thomas to be a gentleman of considerable native intelligence. Most definitely you should not compete with the fresh-faced ingénues. You must exercise a unique style of your own. It is fortunate that you are so lovely and are now a young woman of substance. My advice would be to—”
    “Enough, ma’am!” exclaimed Lucinda. She wagged her finger at her companion. “I warn you, Tibby, if I catch you scheming on my behalf, I shall at once quit London and carry us both off to Carbarry!”
    “Very well, my dear, since you are