Lady Lucy's Lover by M.C. Beaton

parents bailed you out,” sighed Lucy. “I lied to them. I told them I needed a vast amount of money for a court dress. Oh, Guy, I
cannot
ask them again. But I am so happy that it was only gambling that kept you away at nights. We have become so estranged.” She held out her arms. “But of course I forgive you. All we need to do is retrench. We can move to Standish.…”
    â€œDon’t talk fustian,” said the Marquess, turning his back on her. Lucy’s arms fell to her side. “I would die of boredom in the country. Look, ask your papa to sport some more blunt.
He
won’t miss it.” He turned back and his voice became coaxing. “I know we have made a false start in this arranged marriage of ours.…”
    â€œArranged!” Lucy’s hand felt for a chair back to steady herself.
    â€œOh, you know your parents’ ambitions. Mr. Hyde-Benton paid quite a lot for my title as well you know so…”
    His voice faltered and died at the look of blind shock on Lucy’s face.
    â€œWell, you
did
know,” he said with false joviality.
    Lucy dumbly shook her head.
    â€œWell, I mean, by George, you must have
guessed
. I mean, that a man of my standing would… Oh, don’t look
so
, Lucy. Arranged marriages happen all the time.” He was all of a sudden desperate to placate her. Nothing must prevent his returning to Li. “We rub along very well, don’t we? I don’t interfere with your pleasures. What you need is a brat to take your mind off things.”
    â€œAnd how is that to be achieved, sirrah?” said his wife icily. “Another immaculate conception?”
    â€œYou funny little thing.” He laughed. “You’re jealous and I have not had you in my bed for a long time. Come to me!”
    He held out his arms.
    Lucy looked at his flushed, swollen face, at his hair damp with sweat which fell about his collar, at the wine stains on his cravat, and took two steps back and stood with her hand on the handle of the door.
    â€œDon’t
touch
me!” she spat. “Don’t
ever
touch me again, Guy. If you had told me at the beginning that it was to be an arranged marriage, I would never have married you. Now I know I need no longer be faithful to you. I shall take a lover.”
    â€œYou!” laughed her husband. “Miss Prunes and Prisms. That’s rich, that is!”
    Lucy turned and slammed the door on his jeering face.
    The savage ringing of the bell from my lady’s rooms sounded only minutes later. Wilson, the butler, wearily climbed back into his livery. He would need to change his bet in the betting books at the Three Feathers tavern, where the odds on the Standishes’ divorce were running fifty to one before word of this night’s happenings got abroad. The odds would drop to five to one in no time at all.
    My lady, attired in a walking gown of severe gray wool merino, called out the carriage again and demanded to be taken to the home of the Duke of Habard. The well-trained servants murmured, “Very good, my lady,” as if it was all the most ordinary thing in the world, and then returned to the kitchens to mull over the latest gossip and administer sal volatile to the cook who had gone into strong hysterics, being of a Delicate Constitution and not so hardened to the vices of high society as some she could mention.
    The Duke of Habard received the intelligence that Lady Standish was awaiting him belowstairs with his usual imperturbable calm, although it was five in the morning and he had only just fallen asleep.
    He did not immediately leap from bed but lay with his hands clasped behind his head, staring at the canopy and debating whether to call an end to the farce.
    He had been sure when he had left her that that would be the end of the matter. It was, he realized wryly, because he could not imagine any man turning his back on Lucy Standish.
    After some time, he rang for his Swiss