‘I don’t know that there is so much to tell.’
‘Aha, you have found something out. I knew it.’
‘Gammon!’ burst from the captain, who had just tossed off a glass of Madeira. ‘How could you possibly know it?’
‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. Like a trollop in heat.’
‘Lucilla,’ gasped Hilary, his cheeks reddening with wrath.
‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’
Gerald held up his hands. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff.’
Lucilla let out a peal of laughter. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed.’ She threw a melting look at Roding. ‘Poor Hilary. I’m behaving shockingly, I know. Never mind. There is only Gerald to see me, after all.’
‘That has put “only Gerald” very firmly in his place,’ mourned Gerald. ‘I wonder why the females of my acquaintance have absolutely no respect whatsoever for male authority?’
‘Ha!’ came from Hilary. ‘Seen her again, have you? Well, if she’s been giving you as much saucy impudence as I’ve had to contend with, I can only say I’m glad of it.’
‘Then you will not be disappointed. I have been insulted, and cursed at, and threatened with both pistol and dagger. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me.’
Lucilla burst into laughter and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, famous. How I wish I might meet this delightful mystery lady of yours.’
‘She is no longer a mystery,’ Gerald said.
‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. ‘You’ve found her out?’
‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield.
‘Give me an opportunity to open my mouth, and I will.’
‘Sit down, Hilary,’ ordered Lucilla, and to Gerald’s amusement, her betrothed did so, perching on the desk close by and staring fixedly at the major.
‘Her name is Melusine Charvill,’ Gerald began.
‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. ‘You mean—’
‘Hilary!’ Lucy turned excited eyes back to Alderley. ‘Go on, Gerald.’
‘Miss Melusine Charvill,’ he repeated, ‘is a convent-bred genteel girl, who is in all probability the granddaughter of General Lord Charvill.’
‘What? But—’
‘Precisely, Hilary. That was supposed to be Madame Valade. Only she is not Madame Valade at all. Who she is I have not discovered, but she is masquerading as Melusine, and for all I know, is not even married to the man who calls himself Valade.’
‘But what a perfectly famous adventure. And so your Melusine is busy trying to prove that she is the real one.’ Lucilla frowned. ‘But what in the world was she doing at Remenham House?’
‘Your quickness is astounding, Lucy,’ Gerald told her admiringly. ‘It is precisely that point over which Melusine and I fell out.’ Reminiscence made him smile. ‘Because she, naturally enough, does not consider that it is in any way my affair.’
‘What about this Leonardo fellow?’ Hilary asked, still frowning heavily.
Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. ‘That,’ he said stonily, ‘is yet another point over which we fell out.’
Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret.
‘But who was he, Gerald?’
‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company.
‘Good God!’ uttered Roding.
‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield.
‘Italian adventurer,’ explained her fiance briefly. ‘Soldier of fortune. You know the sort of thing. Lives by his wits and gambling. Likely as not outside the law, too.’
Lucilla gaped. ‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’
‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth. ‘Thanks to him, Hilary and I nearly had our heads blown off. I might forgive him that, for he obviously taught her a good deal that she has found useful. But what else he saw fit to teach her I do not care to stipulate.’
Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. He turned just in time to see Lucilla exchange an amused look with Hilary. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him.
‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’
He sipped his wine and shrugged. ‘There is little I can do at present. I’ve made an ally of her champion.’
Hilary’s brows shot up. ‘Champion?’
‘The lad you saw following her. Jack Kimble. He’s a footman who works for the nuns and has taken up the cudgels on her behalf.’ He glanced at the captain. ‘By the by, get Trodger to send up one of our best men, will you? Someone discreet. I want him immediately, so you can send Frith with my phaeton if you like. And I want him out of uniform.’
