Edith Layton (17 page)

Jamie bowed.

“But he’s charming,” her mother said. She peered at Jamie, her head to the side, looking like a curious robin. “But
so
like Francis,” she sighed. “There’s hardly a trace of us in him.”

“He has my freckles,” Lucy tried to jest, “and my nose, as well.”

“Your father’s nose,” her mama corrected her, eyes narrowed as she stared at Jamie. “He hasn’t Francis’s height, though. He’s not very large for his age, is he?”

Lucy remembered her mother’s habit of talking about children as though they were deaf. She’d never cared for them much, and didn’t regret not having had more, apart from an occasional com
ment lamenting the fact that she hadn’t borne a boy to see to her old age. Lucy hoped her mama would see Jamie as the boy she’d always wanted. Now she realized Jamie’s looks reminded his grandmother too keenly of the son-in-law she’d disapproved of.

“He’s going to grow late, as his father did,” Lucy said defensely, putting an arm around Jamie’s thin shoulders. “But Mama, why are you here?”

“A fine question coming from one’s daughter, isn’t it, Rupert?” her mother said, turning to the portly gentleman at her side.

“Oh, Uncle, I didn’t see you there,” Lucy said, bowing her head to him. “How have you been?”

“Well enough,” her uncle said, and rocked back, hands behind his back, watching.

Lucy nodded. He’d always been a man of few words.

“You sent us a letter saying you’d be coming, and staying here, didn’t you?” her mother asked. “As it happened, your uncle had business in town, so we decided to stay the extra day. I must say, you’re looking very well.”

Lucy smiled.

“Far better than I would have guessed—considering,” her mother went on. “But I see you haven’t had time to get to a proper dressmaker yet.” She eyed her gown critically. “I suppose they don’t care about such things in the colonies, but you’re home now, remember. Where is the baron?” she asked, before Lucy could answer. “Francis’s brother? You said he’d sent for you?”

“He did,” Lucy said eagerly, “and said for us to let him know when we arrived. We did, but haven’t heard from him yet.”

“Ah, too bad. I did so want to meet him again. I was hoping he’d be here. We cannot stay, you see. We must hurry home, it’s lambing time and your uncle needs to be there to oversee all. A prosperous estate doesn’t get that way by itself, you know. And there are my appointments,” she said vaguely. “But your uncle does feel a bit sharp set. He likes to have a morsel before he sets out on a journey, so at least we can have luncheon together.”

“At least,” Lucy said, her heart sinking. So she hadn’t been forgiven. She’d forgotten more than the luxury of England. She’d forgotten the reason she’d left her parents’ home so early. She’d never been able to really please her mama, less so when she’d married against her wishes. Time and wishful thinking on her part had blurred that cold reality. She accepted it now. She hid her hurt, trying it see it only as one less option available to her.

“Luncheon would be grand,” she said, and linked arms with her mother. “What news of home, Mama?” she asked. She prepared to hear gossip, which at least would be criticism of others.

They dined at the hotel, and Lucy was again glad she was staying there, because it seemed to be the only thing her mama approved. She asked Lucy a dozen questions, and sighed at every answer. Every compliment was followed by a veiled criticism,
every mention of the past was another opportunity to show her ungrateful daughter how she’d erred. “Mr. Thompson married a whey-faced chit,” she reported, telling Lucy of her spurned suitor, “but she gave him three strapping sons. They live in fine state, and rent a townhouse in London every season.”

“How nice for them,” Lucy said, and changed the subject. She kept doing it until she felt as though she were trapped in a whirlygig. But at least she was successful in diverting attention from Jamie, who sat watching as quietly as his great-uncle, but with wider eyes.

When the luncheon was over, her mama said good-bye in a flurry of perfumed embraces, made Lucy promise to write, and left her standing in the lobby, wondering how someone who spoke such warm sentiments could make her feel so cold.

Jamie’s hand crept into her own. “She’s very nice, I’m sure,” he said, gazing up at her. “I’m very glad we’re not staying on with her.”

“So is she,” Lucy sighed. “Shall we go for that walk now?”

They passed some time exploring nearby avenues, lingering at shop windows, goggling at the traffic and sights of London. But Lucy didn’t know where to take Jamie, and felt awkward as a gosling among swans in the elegant district. She promised him she’d get a guide book, hire a coach, and take him further next time, and headed back to the hotel.

“Oh, Mrs. Stone, there you are!” the hotel clerk
said, hurrying to her as soon as she and Jamie entered the lobby. “Your maid’s arrived. I’ve taken the liberty of sending her up to your rooms.”

“There must be some mistake,” Lucy said. “I mean…” She drew herself up. “My maid was delayed, I don’t expect her for a few more days. Perhaps you have another Mrs. Stone?”

“Indeed not, madam. She showed me the paper with your name on it, and the direction of this hotel. There can be no mistake.”

Lucy grinned. Of course! Her mama! In spite of her coldness, she wouldn’t want to see her daughter look no-account. She must have nipped around to an employment agency as soon as she’d left, and demanded a maidservant be sent immediately. Lucy’s heart soared. She’d write to thank her, effusively.

“Maid?” Jamie asked as they went back up the stair.

“Your grandmama’s been very considerate. A lady needs a maidservant in London, and she’s seen to it. This way we can go everywhere without fear of insult. Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, her heart filled with pride and gratitude.

Sukey Steevens was young, neat as a pin, and proper as a parson. She introduced herself, curtsied to Lucy and Jamie, and folding her hands at her waist, waited for instructions. She answered Lucy’s question readily.

“As to who sent me here, madam,” she said calmly, “I can’t say. The agency gave me your direc
tion and told me I should wait upon you until further notice. Here are my letters of recommendation. I worked for Lady Ardsley until my lady went to join her husband in Vienna. I’d no wish to leave England. The agency felt I’d be suited to your purposes. I hope to be.”

“I hope so, too,” Lucy said, smiling. “You can start right now. We just arrived and I don’t recognize London after so long an absence. You might be able to point out some of the sights to us.”

“So I might, ma’am, and I’d be happy to. But I’ve been told your modiste is arriving shortly.”

“
My modiste
?” Lucy asked, eyes widening.

Madame Celeste, a small, dark, and dumpy whirlwind of a female, and her helper, arrived at the door ten minutes later. They were armed with patterns and bolts of fabric, tapes, papers of pins, and a few sample gowns.

“There must be some mistake,” Lucy said, belatedly remembering she’d said the same thing when told about Sukey.

“No, no,” Madame Celeste muttered, holding a swatch of fabric up to Lucy’s face, “I do not visit a client on a mistake, I assure you. I was sent to you. And here I am.”

“Nor is it Madame’s habit to visit clients at their homes or hotels,” the assistant added. “But in this case, of course, she makes the exception.”

“Of course,” Lucy said weakly.

“
Et voila
!” Madame Celeste said a half hour later. “We are done. To begin we have two gowns for
morning, three for afternoon, and five for ze evening. We have some ready made, needing only a touch here and zere.” Her assistant nodded, checking off items on a list. “And, of course, fans, shawls, slippairs and undair sings. You shall have zem soon as may be. We will have two gowns sent to you by tea time, for it is of the imperative that you should have zem
immediatement
. And for the
garcon
? Mathilde! You are finished with the measuring?
Bon
. Three new suits of clothes for him.”

“Ten gowns?” Lucy gasped.

“Of course, to begin,” Madame Celeste said. Something in Lucy’s face made her pause. She touched her cheek. “Buck up! Ah—That is what the English say,
non
? It will be fine, you shall see. You have a guardian angel. Adieu, Madame.”

Ten new gowns?
Lucy thought dazedly as they left. What would she do with such an elegant wardrobe deep in the countryside at Lord Hunt’s estate?

Well, but why quibble? Mama must feel more remorse than I thought, and Uncle’s pockets are deep—she said so herself. She wants you to have them, so accept them with grace, my dear
, she thought, and grinned—until she realized she’d thought it just as Wycoff would have said it.

She might see him. And he might see her in her new finery, mightn’t he? Ten new gowns, and a whole new world with all kinds of new possibilities. Lucy smiled. She had a guardian angel? She hoped so, and for more than a new wardrobe.

But she needed the gowns more than she knew. Moments later, as she was explaining to Jamie—in a low voice so Sukey wouldn’t hear—that they didn’t actually
have
to have tea after so big a luncheon, a message came to her door. She read the note once and then again aloud, trying to make sense of it.

“An invitation to tea at Mrs. Ryder’s house tomorrow? She says she’s anxious to see me, and hopes we can come. But who in the world is she? Do you remember any guests at the Ames named Ryder?” she asked Jamie on a sudden inspiration.

He shook his head.

Lucy sighed. It would be lovely to visit. But she couldn’t accept an invitation to a stranger’s home.

“If I may, madam,” Sukey said. “But you did say you’d like me to tell you about London. Mrs. Ryder is known to me. She’s married to Mr. Damon Ryder, a handsome and well thought of young gentleman from a fine old family. She’s exceptionally beautiful, I’m sure if you’d met her you’d remember. She’s blonde—fair as the dawn, the fashionable gentlemen say. Much good it does them. She’s devoted to her husband and to good works.”

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t remember her.”

“There can be no harm in accepting the invitation,” Sukey said.

Why yes, why not?
Lucy thought gladly—and then remembered her tendency to rash decisions.

“It is a bit hasty,” Sukey added, “but she’s known to be informal. It is said to be one of her charms.”

I can be charming, too
, Lucy thought gleefully, and said, “Well, I suppose I can—if my new gowns arrive in time.”

L
ucy was wearing the celestial blue gown Madame Celeste had just delivered as she went up the stair to the Ryders’ townhouse. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever owned, finer even than her wedding dress. Embellished with tiny embroidered yellow rosebuds, it made her feel privileged just seeing the matching slippers that peeped out from her hem with every step. She smoothed new kid gloves over her hands. They’d hide any roughness that lingered from the work she’d done at the Ameses’. Bless Mama, she was being more than generous.

Sukey had done her hair in a arrangement of soft curls pinned up at her crown. No one had done her hair for over a decade. Lucy held her head high as though it were an actual crown she wore. Jamie, looking fine in his new clothes, was at her side. Her
maid stood behind him, respectful and silent. After years of scrabbling for every spare cent, Lucy felt like a queen recalled from exile.

When the door opened, she felt as though she’d paid a call on a princess.

“My dear Mrs. Stone,” the angelic apparition said, taking both of Lucy’s hands before the butler was even done announcing her. The lady’s strangely lovely golden eyes looked Lucy up and down, from her slippers to her curls.

Lucy suddenly felt her new gown was inadequate to the occasion. She was sure every freckle on her face had popped out in bold relief. Mrs. Ryder was more than beautiful. Fair, and with perfect features, she was astonishingly lovely, and looked fragile as a fairy tale princess. She must have seen the surprise and apprehension in Lucy’s eyes.

“Do come in,” she said more softly. “I’m Gilly Ryder—and this must be Jamie! Good afternoon to you, sir. Damon, have you ever seen such a taking fellow?”

Belatedly, Lucy looked at her host. She was shocked she hadn’t stared at him first. Damon Ryder was as handsome as his wife was beautiful. What had these two exquisite people to do with her? “Good afternoon,” she said, and nodded a tiny bow. “We received your kind invitation—but to tell you the truth,” she said in a rush, “I can’t account for it. We’ve never met, have we?”

Mrs. Ryder bit her lip, and looked up at her husband.

“Forgive my boldness,” Lucy said a little desperately, realizing her rash tongue had done it again, “but I’m not one to beat around the bush. It must be the influence of all those years in America.” She added a shaken laugh. The Ryders were staring at each other in silent communion.

“Come in, come in,” Damon Ryder said gently. “We can discuss it over tea, can’t we? I’ve visited America on business,” he said as he led her into his salon. “You’re from Virginia?”

She motioned Jamie to a chair, and took a seat herself, relaxing in relief. “So that’s it. We have a friend in common?”

“So we do,” he said.

“The Ameses? No—William!” Lucy guessed, smiling again. “William Bellows, he does a lot of business with England. It’s him, is it? No? Then—maybe my brother-in-law, Lord Hunt? Or my mama?—That’s it!” she said in relief when her host and hostess looked at each other again. “She’s been so generous to us since we set foot here in England. I ought to have known. She had to leave London and couldn’t stay on with me. She must know how lonely we’d feel by ourselves here. Oh, her kindness has no limits!”

“We don’t know your mama,” Gilly said quickly, “but we do know Lord Hunt.”

“Indeed,” Damon said, “we do.”

“Oh. I see. How kind of him to tell you I was here,” Lucy said, relaxing. “My mama had to leave after only one day in town, and I confess, London’s
overwhelming after all my years away from England. But it seems everyone is looking out for my welfare.”

“Be sure they are,” Gilly Ryder said, visibly relaxing, too.

“Then let us count ourselves among them,” Damon Ryder said. “Gilly, my dear,” he teased his wife, “is that teapot just for show?”

“Aye! Where are my wits? And
teapot
, indeed,” she told him with mock offense, “It’s silver clear through, and a
tea service
, I’ll have you know. Why, it has so many hallmarks, it has a longer pedigree than I do! A wedding present,” she confided to Lucy with a grin, “I’m not in the habit of squandering a fortune on a teapot, I can tell you.”

It was curious. Lucy had just met these two beautiful people, but Gilly Ryder’s unusual free and open, breezy manner and her husband’s calm air of certainty made her feel comfortable again.

Lucy laughed. “I am impressed. Well, the truth with no bark on it—as I guess you already know, is that Jamie and I…The thing of it is that I saved up for years to come home, and hadn’t quite made it when Lord Hunt sent for us. We’d nothing to bring to England half so fine as what we’ve gotten since we arrived here. My maid herself was a gift from my mama…” she began and caught herself.

She paused and looked around the elegant salon. Sukey had been told to wait in the servant’s hall, as was customary. Lucy relaxed. She wasn’t eager to let Sukey know how poor her new mistress was. “My
maid,” she went on, lowering her voice, “was a gift who just came to me yesterday. No sooner did I get over that shock, then who should arrive but Madame Celeste—who Sukey tells me is the most celebrated dressmaker in all London! And what does she do but measure me up for a whole new wardrobe, fit for visiting such people as you.”

She saw their expressions. Her own froze as much as theirs had. She drew herself up. “I’m not a peasant. My father was Squire Hutchins, from Littlevale. My mama lives with her brother now, he has a prosperous estate, and she’s his hostess. But when my husband died all those years ago, he left me in America, far from my home and friends, and funds, you see. I’ve worked for my livelihood since, and won’t deny it.”

“Nor should you!” her hostess cried.

“Nor would anyone in America. We do understand,” Damon said. “Now, where, exactly, did you say you were living there? I might know the town.”

He didn’t, but he’d been to Richmond. They talked about it, about America, and England, and London. Jamie had been staring at Gilly worshipfully, but soon her bright good humor and easygoing ways had him giggling like the boy he was. Damon had him talking about America with the wisdom of the man he would be. Lucy sat back and watched, delighting in this new world and new life her brother-in-law had restored her to. For the first time since she’d left America, she felt totally at ease, and secure. And infinitely grateful.

She didn’t know how the time flew by so fast.

Her hostess thought so, too. “We must see each other again, and soon,” Gilly said when she rose to say good-bye. “Ices at Gunter’s, an afternoon at Astley’s amphitheater to see the horses perform. We shall have such fun, Jamie. And you and I,” she told Lucy with a boyish grin that oddly suited her, “we’ll have Damon take us to the theater, if you like. Tomorrow night? No, I won’t rush you. What about the night after? There’s a wonderful play at Drury Lane. Don’t laugh, Damon, I’m trying to be proper, but she would so love that play. What do you say, Lucy?”

“I’d love to,” Lucy said sincerely. “I thank you for today and look forward to it.” She took Gilly’s hand in farewell. “How good of Lord Hunt to bring us together,” she sighed. “All the generosity Jamie and I received since we arrived is appreciated, but I think our meeting was the best part of it.”

Lucy had tears in her eyes as she waved good-bye to Damon and Gilly Ryder. They stood in their doorway as she got into the hackney cab their footman called for her. “What good people,” she said to Jamie. “How glad I am we went.”

It was as well that she couldn’t hear what that radiant couple said to each other as they watched her leave.

“Damn and blast,” Gilly Ryder said. “Now he’s done it! Her mama’s left town, so she’s sure to send a letter thanking her. And then what’s to do? Worse, she’ll thank that wretched snob Hunt for introducing us, and he’ll take the credit for it.”

“No, he won’t,” her husband said with a troubled frown. “He’ll investigate who should take the credit, though.”

“So we should send for Hathaway and tell him the jig’s up?”

“So we’ll send for Wycoff, yes,” Damon said, touching a finger to the tip of her nose, “and tell him he’s got some explaining to do—and fast.”

“Well, he’s good at that,” his wife said.

“He’d better be,” Damon said ruefully, “If she’s as good as she is bright. But why the devil do we dance to his tune?”

“She’s proud as the devil, he says, and wary of him,” Gilly answered.

“I said she was bright.”

“Oh, pooh,” his wife said inelegantly, “you know he means her no harm.”

“I hope so,” he answered slowly. “Now that I’ve met her, even more so.”

“I just hope she does
him
no harm,” Gilly said, and silenced his retort by standing on her toes and aiming a kiss at the tip of his nose, which wandered somewhat, to their mutual satisfaction.

“Madam,” Wycoff said, bowing low over his mother’s hand.

“Hathaway,” she said, “you may rise, I’m not the Queen, you know. Not that I’d even wish to be compared to her. A dreadful thing, that. Poor lady, to have to such troubles. Losing her dear granddaughter and the infant she bore. And the continual diffi
culties with her eldest son and that creature he wed! You were out of the country, I believe, but it was all anyone spoke about.”

“Indeed, I was,” he said evenly, “but they knew about it even in America. They do have newspapers there, although they aren’t as interested in reading about poor Prinny’s troubles. I’m glad to see you looking so well, Mama.”

“I suffer most dreadfully from the headache, as ever, but Doctor Morse gave me some new powders which may be working. I will not even discuss my poor bones. Do sit down, my neck hurts when I look up for too long. That must be a sign of age, I fear.”

He sat and crossed his long legs. He’d ridden here in brilliant sunshine. It was dim now because his mother’s chambers admitted the sun only after it had been filtered by curtains.

“You don’t look a day older than when I left,” he said smoothly.

“Indeed?” she said with a hint of a smile.

He hadn’t lied. She was a handsome woman still, tall and slender, with white skin and pale hair. Long ago she’d been told such alabaster complexions were fragile and that smiles and frowns would wreck her looks. She’d taken the advice to heart. It might have preserved her skin. She had few wrinkles. But she expressed few emotions. He’d always wondered if she had any to suppress.

“How have you been keeping?” he asked.

She told him, for a long time. He listened, making appropriate comments when he could. She was
being charming. It was the most she’d ever been with him, and the best she could be with anyone.

“Have you seen Crispin or Candice?” he asked when she ended an amusing story about her maid and her hair.

She paused, thinking. “Last Christmas, yes. Their mother brought them—no, that couldn’t be, she was gone by then. Pity, that. She was most amusing. It was the Christmas before. Time goes by so quickly. But I do not forget my grandchildren’s birthdays, they always get a greeting from me. I invited them here for their spring holidays, as well.”

“Excessively kind of you,” he said dryly.

The merest tint of color may have reached her cheeks; it was too dim for him to be sure. “They were not overwhelmed by my gesture in any event,” she retorted. “They both chose to go to their friends’ homes instead. Children have no sense of responsibility to their elders these days.”

“So they don’t, but I believe that’s the way of children and has always been.” He stood. “I dislike proving my own words in this manner, but I must be going, Mama. I hope to see you again soon. It’s been too long, I know.”

“Over a year,” she said. “I am old, but not in my dotage. It was well over a year past, was it not?”

“So it was, Mama,” he said, bowing over her proffered hand.

“Oh—Hathaway,” she asked as he reached the door, “are you leaving the country again?”

“No, Mama,” he said. “I think I’m staying awhile.”

“Then do come back to visit. It has been most entertaining.”

He nodded, and left her.

It was foolish to feel ice around his heart and that hollowness in his gut again, he told himself as he strode down the hall. So she didn’t ask him anything about himself. It was what she was and he’d always known it. It was what fashion and society approved, after all. Harriet had been the same. But then, neither woman had ever had much emotion about him to show.

Maybe being with people who embraced life and reveled in every emotion had changed his own perceptions. One thing he knew: Being with a woman who showed every thought on her face and whose face showed every longing in her heart had made him long for more. That thought had brought him here today.

His father was waiting for him in his study, the butler said. When Wycoff was a small boy he’d thought his father actually lived there, because he so seldom saw him elsewhere. He smiled now at the concept. He strode through the long halls, remembering how he’d felt then when he was sent for by his father. He remembered being taken by his nurse’s hand, coming down from the heights of this great house, down all the winding stairs, being led to the door of his father’s study. The man had always been
at his desk, he’d always looked up as though surprised, had studied his son and then said…

“Hathaway, come in.”

But this time his father came out from behind the desk and took his hand. He gestured him to a seat. Here, the sunlight was permitted entry. Hathaway saw the year he’d been gone hadn’t treated his father well. The tall frame looked leaner, the hand he’d taken was thinner and colder. It was eerie to see what might have been his own face, so lined and tired. Wycoff’s mouth was his mother’s but looking at his father was like looking into the eyes he saw in his own mirror. He saw the same nose, too, only now it looked larger because the cheeks seemed to have sunk in. The same hair was there, but thinned and gray.

But the voice was as deep and commanding. “Wilson,” the earl told the fair young man who had come to his feet when Wycoff entered the room, “we’re done for now. I’ll see you later. Hathaway, you remember Wilson? Now he’s finished his schooling, he’s my secretary.”