Free Love for Lucinda by Gayle Buck Page B

gentleman’s direction. Mr. Weatherby was almost certainly all of forty years of age. He was an attractive man, well set up despite his obvious handicap. His left sleeve was empty and was neatly pinned up to the shoulder. His entire demeanor and dress proclaimed him to be a gentleman of quiet means. There was nothing of the fop or dandy about his person. He was as unlike her cousin and those others as a raven was to a songbird, she thought.
    She wondered why Mr. Weatherby had chosen to thrust himself into her notice, for he did not in the least act like a man who was anxious to pay court to a lady that he admired. He had quite willingly left the field open to those with whom he had entered the box.
    Lucinda’s attention was reclaimed by Lord Levine, who offered his assessment of that evening’s entertainment. “Dashed dull play, what?” he asked with a superior air. Mr. Pepperidge was quick to interject his own opinion. Lucinda smilingly allowed the two gentlemen to vie for her favor, all the while wondering what Mr. Weatherby could possibly be saying that was keeping her chaperone so riveted.
    Mr. Stassart and his friends stayed a few minutes more. They left eventually, casting somewhat jealous eyes over Mr. Weatherby, for he had not yet been given a gracious cachet by Lady Mays. But they consoled themselves with the reflection that he had been relegated to talking to Miss Blythe while they had monopolized Lady Mays’s attention. In any event, his age and his infirmity surely put him outside the interest of any lady. So the trio left in fairly high spirits, convinced that they had acquitted themselves well.
    Mr. Weatherby looked up when the door closed and inquired, “Are those prosing pups gone at last?”
    Miss Blythe chuckled while Lucinda actually laughed. “For shame, Mr. Weatherby! One must protest such incivility, however appropriate the sentiment.”
    “I say what I think, my lady. I am not one of your London exquisites who mouths pretty flatteries. Paugh!”
    “Then what are you, Mr. Weatherby?” asked Lucinda, curious to hear what he might say.
    Mr. Weatherby smiled. “I am a nabob, an old soldier, a thistle in the wind, my lady!”
    “Lucinda, Mr. Weatherby has been recounting to me the most interesting tales of his travels. Only fancy, he has actually been to Greece,” said Miss Blythe. “Oh, how I should like to tour the country of Homer and the Iliad!”
    “It is a hot, dirty place, but nevertheless there is much of interest. But I would recommend that your travels wait until this civil war with the Turks is quite settled,” said Mr. Weatherby. He rose from his chair. “I see that the curtain is about to rise. I shall take leave of you now, my lady, Miss Blythe. Your servant.”
    When he had gone, Lucinda turned to Miss Blythe. “Well! I believe that to be the most intriguing gentleman that I have yet met in London.”
    “Is he, my dear? I own, I found Mr. Weatherby to be a fascinating conversationalist. But do you not think that the gentleman is a trifle old for you?” said Miss Blythe.
    “Oh, I have no notions in that direction, I assure you,” said Lucinda. “However, I do like his odd manners, and he seems to irritate my cousin. Is that reason enough to invite Mr. Weatherby to our supper and ball, do you think?”
    “Really, Lucinda!” said Miss Blythe, her lips twitching. Though she shared her ladyship’s sentiments, she would not say so. She had never liked Mr. Stassart above half, but it would be most improper in her to encourage such flippancy. She determinedly turned her attention to the performance on the stage.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    Lucinda and Miss Blythe left the theater. It was a very damp night. While the ladies waited for the carriage to come up to the curb, they hugged their cloaks close about them against the cold. The sky had been overcast all day, and dark had fallen early. The ladies, both pleasantly tired, reflected on the evening.
    “It was a wonderful