Free Love for Lucinda by Gayle Buck Page A

Ferdie came into the box with three gentlemen in tow. A large smile lit his pale countenance. “Cousin! I bid you a fair evening.” He bowed low over Lucinda’s outstretched hand.
    Lucinda smiled, her eyes twinkling across his pomaded locks at Miss Blythe’s arctic expression. “Hello, Ferdie. Have you come to discuss your impressions of the play with Miss Blythe and myself?”
    Mr. Stassart belatedly acknowledged the older woman. “Miss Blythe, your obedient servant.” He started to turn immediately back to his cousin.
    “Civil of you to say so, Mr. Stassart,” said Miss Blythe primly.
    One of the gentlemen, who appeared considerably older than his companions, gave a rumbling laugh. Ferdie flung a flickering, annoyed smile in Miss Blythe’s direction before he addressed his cousin. “Alas, I am not a learned fellow, so I shall not bore on about the merits or drawbacks of tonight’s performance. I am come, however, to pay homage to the loveliest lady of my acquaintance.” He regained possession of Lucinda’s hand and folded it between his own. Dropping on one knee, he uttered, “Dear cousin, but smile upon me and I shall be satisfied!”
    “Very nice, Ferdie,” said Lucinda admiringly. When his grip slackened with surprise, she managed to free her hand. “I do believe that you could rival tonight’s leading man. I had no notion that you had such a turn for the dramatic. Had you, Tibby?”
    “I have always been of the opinion that Mr. Stassart exhibited a rare flare for playacting,” said Miss Blythe blandly.
    At a snort of appreciative laughter from the same amused gentleman, Mr. Stassart’s fine nostrils flared. With smiling viciousness, he snapped, “Gentlemen, my cousin’s former governess.”
    “And my very good friend,” said Lucinda quietly. She was still smiling, but winter edged her voice. “Pray introduce us to your companions, Ferdie.”
    Mr. Stassart realized that his cousin had been angered, and he silently cursed the Blythe biddy. However, nothing of his inner outrage was betrayed in his manners. “Lord Levine and the Honorable Albert Pepperidge, who are particular friends of mine,” he said.
    The two gentlemen came forward, eager to pay their compliments to Lady Mays. She introduced them at once to Miss Blythe, and they reluctantly but politely greeted her chaperone.
    Ferdie gestured to the third gentleman, a measure of annoyance entering his eyes. It had been this gentleman who had derived amusement at his expense. “And this is—”
    The gentleman, who had stood back watching the vying byplay with a lift of amusement to his mobile mouth, stepped forward and smoothly presented himself. “I am Marcus Weatherby, Lady Mays. Miss Blythe, your servant. What your cousin is too nice to reveal, Lady Mays, is that I attached myself to his coat-tails when I overheard that he was coming to your box. I have used him abominably, for we are the merest acquaintances.”
    Mr. Stassart was emboldened by this confession to give voice to his hidden resentment. “Quite. I have never been on more than nodding terms with you, Weatherby.”
    Lucinda acknowledged Mr. Weatherby’s bow with a cool smile, then turned back to her cousin. “But how well you have handled an awkward situation, Ferdie,” said Lucinda, smiling at him. She really did not understand why she should set herself to soothe his feathers, but that it was advantageous to do so was immediately obvious.
    Mr. Stassart was mollified, even unbending enough toward Mr. Weatherby to volunteer the information that the gentleman had just recently sold his commission in the army and that previously the gentleman had spent some years in India. “Weatherby is considerably older than I or Lord Levine or Albert here,” he finished.
    Mr. Weatherby smilingly agreed to it and sat himself down beside Miss Blythe. He bent his head toward the lady, the silver in his dark hair glinting in the candlelight.
    Lucinda cast a swift thoughtful glance in the