Alice did know, and it was her fault Gerald was looking into Lucy’s father’s background. Guiltily, she wondered whether she ought to confess to Lucy what she’d asked Gerald to do.
“He’s trying to implicate me in Papa’s actions.”
Alice gave her a sharp look. “But he can’t. You’re not complicit in your father’s actions—are you?”
“No, of course I’m not.” Lucy gave her a hurt look. “Though I doubt your nephew, with his nasty, suspicious mind, believed me. He’s doing his best to paint me as some kind of an adventuress, which, to be fair, I suppose I am, though not”—she kicked at a stone on the path—“by myown choice. And then he had the cheek to lecture me about family!”
“What about fam—?”
Lucy rushed on, “You would have been proud of me Alice. I so wanted to hit him and knock that stupid, smug, superior expression off his face, but I managed to control myself. I was a lady—on the outside, at least. Luckily Mr.Frinton came past just then. He invited me to take a turn in his phaeton, so I went off with him, and I don’t care if it was rude to change carriages like that. He deserved it—Lord Thornton, I mean.”
“I see. And how did you get on with Mr.Frinton?”
“He was quite sweet. It was much pleasanter driving with him than it was with your horrid nephew—oh, I’m sorry, Alice. I know I shouldn’t say such things about your nephew, but honestly, he can be so infuriating.”
Alice nodded. Men often were, in her experience. Promising a nice, safe friendship when really they were planning on marriage.
“And it’s so much easier talking to Mr.Frinton than with that arrog—er, than to Lord Thornton.”
“You mean Mr.Frinton actually spoke?”
“At least twenty-eight words,” Lucy said. “And after spending fifteen minutes in a curricle with your nephew, I’m inclined to think I’d be better off with a man whoneverspoke.”
They strolled on, heading for the gates now. “Did you tell Lord Tarrant about Lady Beatrice’s kittens?”
“Yes. He’s probably gone straight there.”
“Debo will be thrilled.”
“Mmm.” She was going to have to break the news to Lucy. Those little girls, he’d used them to entice Alice into his so-called friendship. And all the time, he’d just wanted a mother for his daughters—it was clear to her now. Men! Why could they not simply say what they wanted? Why did they have to lie?
She was going to miss those girls. Lucy would, too. She’d opened up so much more with them. The role of big sister suited her. She was going to make a lovely mother one day.
“I doubt we’ll see much of Lord Tarrant and the girls in the future,” she told Lucy.
Lucy turned to her in surprise. “Why? Are they going away?”
“No, but...” Alice swallowed. “Lord Tarrant and I have had a... a disagreement. I fear we’ve reached a parting of the ways.”
Lucy gave her a searching look, but all she said was, “What a pity. I liked him and his daughters.” There was no reproach in her voice. After a moment she sighed and added, “What a day, eh? I quarrel with your nephew, and you quarrel with Lord Tarrant. Men! Why are the wretches so impossible?” She linked her arm with Alice’s and they crossed the road into Mayfair.
***
Lord Tarrant had said he would come at eleven. Alice had been restless and pacing all morning. She’d slept badly and had woken in the wee small hours and lain in the dark, waiting for the dawn to show through the crack in the curtains, going over the speech she would make to him.
She would be calm and quietly resolute. She would explain her reasons—no, she wasn’t required to justify herself. A simple yes or no would do, and there was no question about which it would be: no. She wasn’t playing coy or hard to get. She meant it.
She would never marry again.
Oh, why had he gone and ruined everything? It wasn’t fair, making her feel safe with friendship when all the time he was plotting marriage. She was halfway to loving his daughters already, thinking perhaps she could be like an aunt or a godmother to them, or simply an older friend, as she was now with Lucy.
She recalled the feeling when little Lina had slipped her hand into Alice’s and skipped along beside her. She’d never had a child hold her hand like that before. Such a simple thing, unthinking childish trust, but it had moved her unexpectedly.
She would miss him as well, more than she could say. His presence in her life—and that of Lucy—had dispelled some of the loneliness she’d lived with most of her life. He’d given her the kind of adult companionship, understanding and acceptance that she’d never really experienced.
But as she’d feared, there was simply no way a single woman could be friends with an unmarried man. Oh, why did men always want more than she could give?
The front door bell jangled. Lord Tarrant had arrived on the dot, as usual.
