The guests at the supper and ball dissipated themselves until the small hours of the morning. The last guest finally departed. Miss Blythe and Lucinda exchanged tired good nights before retiring to their separate bedchambers.
Lucinda’s last thought as her head nestled into the pillow was that her supper and ball had indeed been a smashing success. Her return to the inner circles of society was on the way to being assured.
Chapter Thirteen
As was the butler’s invariable custom, he brought a silver salver holding the morning’s invitations and letters into the ladies’ private sitting room. “My lady,” said Church, bowing, as he set the salver down on the occasional table beside her ladyship’s chair.
“Thank you, Church. That will be all for the moment.” The butler left the sitting room while Lucinda began to sort out the disorganized stack. She handed to Miss Blythe several letters before picking up her own. Her glance fell upon a familiar script, and she smiled as she said, “I have received another letter from my mother.”
“Lady Stassart is a formidable correspondent,” observed Miss Blythe.
That made Lucinda laugh, for not a week had passed since she had taken up residence in London that she had not gotten a letter from her fond parent.
The series of letters had been equally divided into reproaches for going up to London at all and sage tidbits of advice on how best to make her way in society. There had also been numerous fond allusions to Lord Potherby, Lucinda’s neighbor and persistent admirer. It seemed that Lady Stassart was in regular correspondence with the gentleman. Her ladyship liked Lord Potherby very well. His was a sensible mind, and he could be counted upon to take heed for a lady’s least comfort.
Lucinda took great care in all of her replies not to encourage by any word of hers these patent hints and comments. She had not mentioned how high Lord Potherby was in her parent’s estimation, or indeed his very existence, to Miss Blythe. She knew the lady’s romantic disposition too well. Miss Blythe would at once see in Lord Potherby just the sort of steady gentleman that Lucinda should wed to make her quite comfortable.
“And I certainly do not need to draw double fire,” she murmured as she perused her mother’s latest offering.
“What was that, my dear?”
Lucinda looked up quickly, realizing at once that she had spoken some of her thoughts aloud. “Oh, I was thinking of something that my mother says in her letter. Mama does have a way of crossing her lines and her topics,” she said.
Lucinda proceeded to read out loud Lady Stassart’s latest advice, which was an encouraging word on how to use fresh crushed strawberries to whiten one’s complexion. She looked up to say humorously, “I trust that my mirror did not deceive me this morning, Tibby. Have I become the least brown or freckled since last I looked?”
“Oh, I think not,” said Miss Blythe, chuckling. “However, one must not lay aside Lady Stassart’s admonition so lightly, Lucinda. One never knows when one might not become burned brown by the positive blaze of candles at all of these functions that we have been attending!”
“I shall be certain to keep her recipe close beside me,” promised Lucinda, laughing. She glanced at her other correspondence. There was one letter addressed to her whose legend caused her to draw her fine brows together. She took the letter knife and slit the missive open at once. Spreading the thin sheet, she started to read. At length she exclaimed in surprise.
Miss Blythe looked up from her own correspondence to direct an inquisitive glance in Lucinda’s direction. “Have you had bad news, my dear?”
“Not that, no. But Tibby, I have received the most unexpected and extraordinary letter from my sister-in-law, Miss Agnes Mays,” said Lucinda, looking up from the scant sheet.
“What is so extraordinary about it?” asked Miss Blythe, placidly folding away her own opened letters. She retrieved her most recent embroidery project and began stitching the design for the pillow cover.
“Why, only that I have not met Miss Mays above twice in my life. She is a shrinking sort of female, rather pretty but in a mousey sort of way. Agnes was somewhat younger than her brother, Lord Mays, but she is still some years older than myself. I believe she may be all of nine-and-twenty,” said Lucinda, frowning at her memories. “Upon those two occasions that I mentioned, I recall that his lordship completely ignored his sister. I am certain that she felt it.”
“It is difficult when a sibling behaves so unfeelingly toward one,” said Miss Blythe.
“You will understand better the rejection that she has labored under when I tell you that Miss Mays spent her life dutifully nursing first her father until his death, then her invalid mother. When I met her, she had just become the companion of an elderly aunt,” said Lucinda, frowning down at the sheet in her hand.
“Poor thing. How perfectly beastly for the young woman. One must feel for her,” said Miss Blythe, entering into ready sympathy. None knew better than did she the wounds and slights that could be inflicted upon one whose life was at the beck and call of others. Some of her posts had been made hideous in that respect, where she had not only been an educator of the children but she had also been treated as an unpaid menial.
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Lucinda, quite unaware of her companion’s depth of feeling. Her thoughts were all for the letter in her hand. “Tibby, she has written to beg me to allow her to join my household for a visit. She has heard that I have set up housekeeping in London, and having never been to town to speak of and never having been brought out into society. Miss Mays has set her heart on at least once ‘tasting the forbidden fruit’!”
“Forbidden fruit!” repeated Miss Blythe. Disbelievingly, she looked over the rims of her spectacles at Lucinda. “What an odd statement!”
Lucinda shook her head, smiling suddenly. “I promise you, I do not jest, Tibby. That is precisely how she has phrased it. Listen to this now. ‘And so I throw myself upon your benevolence, dear Lady Mays, even knowing nothing of your character or circumstances. I do assure you that I know how to make myself useful, and I would be most happy to fill whatever capacity that you may see fit.’ “
Lucinda looked up from her letter. “Oh, Tibby! Have you ever heard anything more pitiful?”
“It is indeed a most touching plea,” agreed Miss Blythe. She neatly snipped her thread. “The young woman is obviously desperate for a change in her circumstances. What shall you do?”
“Why, I shall invite her to come at once for the Season, for my heart positively goes out to her. Miss Mays sounds to me to be very much a kindred spirit,” said Lucinda. “Tibby, will you mind chaperoning yet another damsel pining after frolic and fun? I should very much like to introduce Miss Mays to all of the ‘forbidden fruit’ that London has to offer!”
Miss Blythe smiled. Her hazel eyes twinkled when she looked up from rethreading her needle with a new shade of yam. “My dear! Why do you ask? You know me well enough, I hope. I should enjoy it of all things. Why, it is something quite out of a fairy tale, is it not? The downtrodden heroine is rescued by a fairy godmother. All that is lacking is a convenient prince, but surely here in London there are any number of likely candidates. Therefore let us determine between us to marry off Miss Mays in the best of romantic tradition. I should like that.”
Lucinda laughed. “I can scarcely figure as a fairy godmother. Nevertheless, perhaps you and I
can
make Miss Mays’s visit a memorable one.”
“It will be most memorable for her if we are able to bring some handsome blade up to scratch,” said Miss Blythe, plying her needle again with some energy.
“You are incorrigible, Tibby,” said Lucinda, laughing. She rose from her chair. “I shall go write an invitation this moment. It will be pleasant to have someone staying with us, will it not? This house is such a great echoing place.”
“It will not seem so when you begin entertaining on a larger scale,” said Miss Blythe.
Lucinda agreed, and on that note she withdrew from the sitting room to go to the library. Seating herself at the library desk, she drew paper and ink to her and penned a cordial reply to Miss Mays’s letter.
After sanding and sealing her letter, Lucinda rang for a servant to post it. As she emerged from the library, she wondered when she could best expect her guest. It would be nice to be able to plan a few festivities in honor of Miss Mays’s arrival.
Several days passed, and there was not a return post from Miss Mays advising when she would travel up to London. Lucinda began to wonder whether her own post had gone astray, for certainly the tone of Miss Mays’s letter had led her to expect that lady’s immediate acceptance of her invitation. She thought that if she had not heard from Miss Mays in a few more days, she would write again.
However, that expediency became unnecessary after all. The lady herself arrived one evening without warning or notice.
Lucinda and Miss Blythe had come out of the town house and descended the front steps to where their carriage awaited them. A wall sconce was blazing beside the front door, but they entered into relative shadow on the walkway as they went a few steps beyond the town house steps. The coachman had not wanted to park his carriage over a large muddy puddle, in the event that one of the ladies might not be able to easily traverse it, and so he had deferentially advised his passengers. Lucinda and Miss Blythe were wrapped in excellent cloaks, and so they did not notice the chill as they conversed quietly and approached the carriage.
The coachman stood beside the open carriage door, ready to hand them in. Lucinda and Miss Blythe were about to step up into the vehicle when a rundown hackney drew up to the curb directly in front of Mays House. The front wheel rolled through the puddle, splashing a quantity of mud and water onto the walkway. The coachman muttered under his breath at such careless driving.
In mutual accord, Lucinda and Miss Blythe paused in their ascent. They were curious to see who had arrived, for surely the hackney had not gotten the correct address. Whomever it was would probably require direction to a neighboring house.
The jarvey jumped down from his box and pulled open the door of the hackney. In a moment a young woman descended from the vehicle, clutching a bandbox and a small portmanteau in her hands. By the lamplight, it could be discerned that the young woman was attired modestly, even severely, in a dull gray pelisse and bonnet. She traversed the edges of the puddle and stepped up onto the walkway.
The young woman peered anxiously up at the front of the town house. Then she turned to ask a timid question of the hackney driver. The man answered brusquely, scarcely pausing in his task of setting down a meager amount of baggage from the vehicle.
The young woman flushed at the driver’s rudeness, but she did not rebuke him. Instead, she glanced once more, rather helplessly, up at the town house.
The jarvey quickly finished unloading the young woman’s belongings. At his demand for payment, the young woman set down her bandbox and portmanteau. She fumbled for a time with the strings of her reticule before she was able to open the bag. At last she counted out the proper amount into the impatient jarvey’s rough hand.
The driver pocketed the fare and climbed back up onto his box. Without a backward glance or departing word for his former passenger, he plied his whip to his horse and pulled away from the curb.
The young woman was left standing on the flagway, her few belongings scattered about her feet. She stared after the hackney as it disappeared down the street. Then she turned to gaze again at the imposing facade of the town house. Her manner was obviously forlorn.
The young woman drew the collar of her pelisse close as a chill gust stirred her skirt. It was full dark and growing colder. Obviously a decision had to be made. But still she seemed to hesitate, as though she was completely uncertain of what to do.
“Though I cannot quite make out her face, I am persuaded that this must be Miss Mays,” whispered Lucinda.
“Are you quite certain?” asked Miss Blythe dubiously. “The young woman does not at all have the manner nor the dress of a noblewoman born. Even if she has been ill treated of late years, surely she would still exhibit some sign of her birth.”
Lucinda gave a low, dry laugh. “Can you not conceive how that could be, Tibby? I have told you that Miss Mays was the object of her brother’s scorn and rejection. I am certain that those were not the only occasions upon which she was ever made to feel his displeasure. I experienced some measure of that. It was not pleasant. However, my situation was a bit more fortunate. Whereas I suffered but a short while, I imagine that Miss Mays was made quite acutely aware of her worthlessness. She was considered to be only a useful drudge and nurse for her elderly relations. Miss Mays is accustomed to ill-usage, and it is apparent. Is it any wonder that even a lowly hackney driver treats her with disrespect?”
“I had not thought of it just like that,” said Miss Blythe. “Poor child. How she must have suffered.”
“Come, we shall see soon enough whether I am right.”
Lucinda left the shadows thrown by her own carriage and, followed by her companion, she walked down the flagway to the solitary figure. “Miss Mays?”
The young woman gasped and whirled. She had been so intent on her study of the town house that she had not noticed that there was anyone else about. A hand crept up to her throat. “Yes. I... I am Agnes Mays.”
Lucinda held out her hand. “I am sorry that I startled you so. I saw you arrive just now. I am your sister-in-law, Lady Lucinda Mays. This is Miss Tibby Blythe, my companion. We were about to leave for an evening engagement when we saw the hackney set you down.”
Miss Mays shook hands. Her gloved fingers trembled in Lucinda’s firm grasp.
“I am so honored, my lady.” Miss Mays gulped, obviously nervous. She played with the strings of her reticule. “I apologize for... for arriving at such an odd hour, my lady. I did not realize that... At least, I never thought...”
Miss Blythe stepped forward to rescue Miss Mays from her foundering words. She put her arm about the young woman’s thin shoulders. “Pray do come inside. It is quite chilly standing about and you must be fatigued after your journey. I have always found traveling to be so tiring.”