not,” Fletcher said. “Lady Lydia is a beautiful young woman. Such a contrast to her sister, though, don’t you think? It would take a special eye to see her quiet beauty when matched up against the fire and flash of Lady Nicole.”
“And you have a special eye?”
“Hardly,” Fletcher said as they settled into the coach. “As you well know, I can’t afford one. Although I have observed that your mood has improved by more than half since our encounter with Lady Nicole. I thought you said you weren’t chafing about that business at White’s.”
“I’m sorry. Although I will admit that I am rather disappointed in my fellow man at the moment. Nobody wants to hear anything but good news. We’d rather close our ears and eyes and go on repeating the same mistakes over and over again.”
“Well, I agree with you there, I suppose, at least with that business about making the same mistakes. For instance, m’father might have thought to learn that a Faro bank in a gaming hell is a harlot’s tease. We all could have benefited if he’d taken that particular lesson to heart. But that’s not what you mean, is it? You’re angry with the way we’re treating the populace.”
“More than I thought I could be, yes. An iron fist is never a good ruler, Fletcher, when a helping hand benefits us all in the end. Why can’t our fellows in the House of Lords see that?”
Fletcher shrugged. “Perhaps because they’re in the House of Lords, and not scratching out a meager existence on the fringes of Society? Still, perhaps you should drop the subject now? You’ve said what you felt needed saying, and nobody seems to care.”
Lucas considered this for a moment, and then shook his head, deciding not to tell his friend about his early morning visit from Lord Nigel Frayne, a contemporary of his late father, and what that encounter might mean if Lucas chose to throw in his lot with the man.
“You’re probably right. But I wish I could do more,” was all he said.
Fletcher was silent for some moments, until the coach slowed and finally stopped outside his rented rooms in Upper Brook Street. He had his hand on the inside latch of the door before he turned to his friend and said, “If you’re set on finding ways to help the downtrodden, and much as I’m certain I shouldn’t tell you, you probably want to hear this.”
Lucas, suddenly lost in thoughts of his dead father, merely lifted an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
Fletcher sank back against the squabs. “I didn’t think so, to tell you the truth, not when I heard it. Perhaps you’ve softened my heart? At any rate, I happened to overhear something about our dear friend Lord Sidmouth at my club last week.”
“Our illustrious Home Secretary is no one’s dear friend, Fletcher. I doubt his own mother enjoyed him.”
“True enough. Do you want to know what I heard, or not? Because after you surprised me with that passionate defense of the common man yesterday, I haven’t been all that hot to tell you. After all, it was only rumor, and I overheard no more than snatches, at that.”
Lucas gave a small wave of his hand. “Go on. I promise not to launch into another hot-blooded speech anytime soon.”
“And thank God for that. What I heard was that, between them, lords Liverpool and Sidmouth are determined to introduce new punitive laws and sanctions against those unhappy with the government. You know, those persons you were so staunchly defending in your magnificent but probably ill-timed comments.”
“I see. And did you happen to hear how they plan to get the whole of Parliament to agree to these new laws, considering that we’ve been introducing reforms this term, not new sanctions?”
Fletcher shook his head. “No, sadly, I did not, but I suppose they know. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” He took hold of the latch once more. “Should I be ready by six, do you think? Or is that too early?”
Lucas was once again deep in thought, lightly tapping the side of his fist against his mouth. “Excuse me? Oh, yes. Too early by half. I doubt the duke sits down much before eight.”
“Then seven it is. Perhaps the lovely Lady Nicole can serve to take your mind off what I’ve just told you?”
“Fletcher, that young woman could take a man’s mind, period.”
Fletcher laughed and exited the coach, at which time Lucas’s smile disappeared as he thought about his strange encounter with Lady Nicole.
She had knocked him off balance, not physically, as a result of their small collision, but mentally, muddling his brain in a way that had never happened to him before that moment.
She was astonishingly beautiful. She was astoundingly forward and impertinent.
She possessed the most kissable mouth he’d ever seen. And clearly she knew that, or else why would she have affected that quick, enticing bite of her full bottom lip, if not to drive a man insane?
She was also a distraction. With what Lord Frayne had just asked of him, with the information the man had just that morning dangled in front of him so unexpectedly, did he need a distraction at this moment in his life?
No. No, he did not.
CHAPTER TWO
NICOLE TOOK HER TIME combing through her thick black hair, carefully working out a few tangles caused by having it all anchored up and off her neck. She could allow her new maid, the estimable Renée, the chore. But, since Renée seemed to be of the opinion that a woman should suffer for her beauty, Nicole had set her to pressing the hem of her peach gown instead.
Looking into the mirror of her dressing table, she studied her sister as Lydia sat in a slipper chair, her head buried in a book. There was nothing unusual about that. Depressing, certainly, as they were in the middle of the most exciting city on earth, but most definitely not unusual.
Nicole loved her twin more than she did anyone else in the world, but this past year had been very difficult. And so terribly sad.
When their brother, Rafe, had returned from the war to take over the reins of the dukedom, he had brought with him his good friend Captain Swain Fitzgerald.
And Lydia, quiet, levelheaded, studious Lydia, had tumbled head over heels into love with the man, only to lose him when Bonaparte escaped his prison and forced one last battle on the Allies.
Even now, Nicole could see occasional hints of sadness in her sister’s huge blue eyes during quiet moments.
Some might argue that Lydia, at seventeen, had been too young to really know her own mind, and that Captain Fitzgerald had been years too old for her. But Nicole would never say any such thing. Not when she’d held her sister in her grief, fearful that Lydia’s very heart would break inside her and she’d lose her best friend, the other half of herself.
That terrible day, when the Duke of Malvern had come to this very house to inform them all of the captain’s death, Nicole had promised herself that she would never open herself to such devastating heartbreak. Life was to be enjoyed, gloried in, celebrated. Allowing one’s happiness to depend on someone else was to invite not only a chaotic mind but a vulnerability to pain that Nicole refused to consider.
No, Nicole
