Lucy Read Online Free PDF Page B

empty fireplace. “Gawd! Forgot to tell you,” he roared. “Know what happened to young Cartwright? No? Well, I’ll tell you. Damned bad show, what!”
    The other guests showed a marked lack of interest. The countess pushed a crochet needle down the front of her dress and gave herself a vigorous scratch, her eyes closing into slits of pleasure.
    The military man pushed on regardless. “Well, it was like this. He was out on maneuvers with the yeomanry and he had this splendid idea of disguising himself as a stag. You know, the full army bit. Blacked his face and stuck a great pair of antlers on his head. Brilliant man, Cartwright.”
    There was a long bored silence broken only by the ticking of the clocks and the steady scratching of the countess. The earl politely surfaced from behind his newspaper and asked, “What happened?”
    “Well, Cartwright’s disguise was so good that some damned chappie took him for a real stag.”
    “So?” queried the earl, clutching the edge of his paper and preparing to submerge.
    “He shot him. Dead. Lifeless. Dead as a doornail. Damned shame.”
    There was a stifled sound from the corner of the room. Lucy saw MacGregor’s shoulders shaking and realized with horror that he was laughing. Terrible old man!
    “There’s a lot of that about,” said the earl vaguely.
    “Lot of what?” said the military man, ruffled because his story had not even made a ripple in the pool of boredom.
    “I dunno,” said the earl, looking trapped. “Shooting people … er … shootin’ ‘em dead all over the place, what.”
    “Gaw,” said the countess, removing her crochet hook and examining it with interest.
    “Exactly, my dear,” said the earl and plunged down into his newspaper.
    Despite her fatigue, Lucy began to notice that Lady Angela was becoming increasingly nervous. Her large eyes kept flicking toward the doorway and her embroidery stitches were becoming increasingly crooked.
    There were faint sounds of carriage wheels crunching on the gravel drive and Lady Angela dropped her embroidery frame. Lucy dutifully bent to pick it up. Fatigue roared and pounded in her ears like the sea and she had a longing to keel over onto the carpet and sleep and sleep and sleep. She had missed the announcement of the latest guest.
    When she raised her head, she found herself looking up at Andrew Harvey. She stared, mesmerized, as he bowed and chatted to Lady Angela. She remembered him vividly. How he had looked as he had stood at the bend of the road with the sights and smells of autumn whirling around him.
    “You see, I managed to arrive anyway, Angela,” he was saying in a light, teasing voice. “Sorry I missed the rest of your house party.”
    Lady Angela’s face was suffused with a delicate pink and her eyes sparkled. “Sit beside me, Andrew. You may go, Lucy.”
    Andrew Harvey stood aside to let Lucy pass. His eyes brushed across her with complete indifference. He did not recognize her.
    Lucy fled to the Pug’s Parlor with her heart pounding.
    She looked in the old greenish mirror over the fireplace. A pale, wan, pinched face stared back at her.
    No wonder he had not known her. “Who notices a maid anyway?” whispered some little devil in her ear.
    How could she ever have thought him too old, she mused. He was dressed in a biscuit-colored coat and trousers, tailored to perfection. He looked grander and more remote than the man of the hacking jacket and jodhpurs. And he seemed infinitely more handsome than she had remembered. She realized the reason for Angela’s agitation and felt a spasm of pure jealousy twist through her.
    “Aye, he’s a fine looking man, is Viscount Harvey,” said MacGregor’s voice from the doorway.
    “Really?” said Lucy breathlessly. “I had not noticed.”
    “Aye, is that a fact?” said the butler cynically. “It’s just as well,” he added cruelly, “seeing as how there’s nothing a little lady’s maid can do about it when her mistress is setting her cap