“But your cousin is getting married soon,” said Lucy.
He shot her a startled glance, and then saw the mischief in her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t have too much to do with that side of the family; all I have to do is attend the wedding.”
“Is she pretty?” asked his youngest cousin.
“Yes, very.”
“And her groom; is he handsome?”
“Some would think so.” Lucy wasn’t sure whom he meant by that enigmatic answer; himself or Geoffrey. She knew which one she preferred. “It seems a shame,” said Miss
Frances
, “to have such a breach in a family. Don’t they know you, sir? I can’t see how anyone would have an objection to you.”
“Less me than my mother,” he said. His mouth hardened slightly. “And the fact that my brother wanted to combine the family fortune with the estate. I have no quarrel with the distribution of the estate; I’m not a real cousin, our fathers were cousins, and it must be natural for a father to wish his daughter to be well settled. The estate is a perfectly good one, and will keep me and - whoever I might marry in total comfort.” He deliberately avoided looking at Lucy when he said this.
“Your mother was a lovely lady.” protested Miss
Frances
. She put down her tea cup with a slight rattle, betraying her mild agitation on her cousin’s behalf. “So she was,” said Mrs. Carmichael in a soft tone, and with a shock Lucy realised that this lady must be the sister of Philip’s mother. “I don’t think I ever attended a wedding where the partners were so deeply in love.”
Philip smiled a little. He had lost both his parents in a coach accident when he was twelve. Lucy still remembered the shock of the news. She hadn’t seen him or Bernard that year at the Grange. “They were better dying together,” he commented. “If one had outlived the other I think whoever was left would have been unhappy.”
Lucy was a little taken aback. Love was not a common topic of conversation in her world, unless one discounted the kind of romantic love which led to
affaires du coeur
and unrequited passion. But everyone knew that kind of love was for books and recreation, not for ordinary life. With a jolt she realised this could be for her. She might have love every day, if she took care to preserve it.
“It seems senseless,” Mrs. Carmichael continued.
Philip shrugged. “It’s not my choice,” he said. “Besides, a reconciliation might be effected with this wedding. We shall have to wait and see.”
He left soon after that, promising to return to dine with them, and Miss Carmichael took Lucy up to show her the room she was to occupy during her visit.
One of her worries was relieved then. She was to have a room of her own. If she had been asked to share, someone was bound to see her wounds. The ones on her shoulders were still red, low enough to be hidden by a gown, but they would show over a chemise and stays. The ones lower down, where Geoffrey had been more brutal, were crusting now, and would soon be no more than marks. Lucy felt them as stiff sore points, but easily bearable.
The room was small and excessively pretty. There were flowers everywhere; from the wallpaper to the chintz drapes at the window and the bed. The basin and jug were of flowered pottery, and there was a posy of violets on the small dressing table. Lucy cried out with pleasure when she saw them, and lifted them to smell the sweet perfume. “So thoughtful.” she said, turning a glowing face to Miss Carmichael.
The lady blushed, her florid countenance going a deeper shade of crimson, and Lucy knew the violets had been her idea. Lucy smiled at her and put the violets back. “I felt so awkward coming here, especially at such short notice, but Phil - Lord Royston was insistent that you would not mind.”
“I think we’ll enjoy your visit,” Miss Carmichael assured her. “It gives us the excuse to visit so many places we’ve been putting off for a long time. When you live in a place, it’s easy to take the sights for granted.” They laughed together.
Lucy saw her trunk in the middle of the floor. “I had better unpack,” she said.
“Have you no maid? Would you like one of ours to do it for you?”
“My maid went back with Mama,” she replied, remembering her story, “It’s not an arduous task - it’s not as though I have twenty gowns or more, is it?”
She lifted the lid of the trunk. “Then may I help you?”
“That’s very kind, Miss Carmichael, thank you.”
Miss Carmichael said, a little hesitantly; “I hope - I hope you will call me Christina.”
Lucy stood up and put out her hand. “Then you must call me Fiona,” she said. She liked the name Fiona, but she wished she could tell this friendly girl the truth. She hoped they wouldn’t mind too much when the truth came out, as it must do.
They turned back to the trunk and began to lift out the clothes. “I noticed,” said Christina, “That you nearly called Lord Royston Philip. Do you know him well?”
Lucy cursed her slip. “I used to,” she replied, “When we were children. He came to
Scotland
during the school holidays sometimes, but when he and his brother were named heirs, they had to go to Royston Grange instead, to learn how to be earls.”
They laughed. “So you knew him when he was Philip Moore?” Christina said. “Yes, I see.” she paused, biting her lip and then she said; “To be truthful, I just assumed that all the
Moores
were aristocratic and wealthy. And superior.”
Lucy laughed. “A lot of them are,” she said. “But there are younger sons in every family, and my father is one of those. Believe me, I have no money worth speaking of - “ she broke off as she remembered she had no money at all. The thought was vaguely amusing - and frightening. She knew money cushioned a lot of life’s problems. Now there was nothing between her and ruin except Philip - until her fortune was restored to her. She presumed that her mother could do nothing about that.
She smiled at Christina. “If you really don’t mind me being here,” she said. “I think I’ll enjoy my visit very much.”
***
Mrs. Carmichael was perturbed to hear Lucy had no maid. “We shall find you one, my dear,” she said.
“It really is of little concern,” insisted Lucy, although she wondered how she would manage.
She had dressed for dinner in a gown of heavy green silk, fastened at the back with hooks that had been the devil to manage. She did most of them on her own, and then, when she was sure none of her marks would show, went to Christina’s room for help.
She found that Christina shared her room with
Frances
, and they helped each other to dress. They were only too glad to help her too. “A pretty gown.” said
Frances
. “Did you buy it in
Scotland
?”
“Yes; in
Edinburgh
,” said Lucy, improvising wildly. “But I think the waist is a little low for current fashion, is it not?” she knew it was, but a slightly old fashioned gown would help to disguise the wildly fashionable Lady Lucy Moore. Recently the waistline of gowns had migrated up from the centre of the rib cage to just under the bosom, and this gown had that slightly lower waistline which would mean little to most people, but everything to the ton.
“I don’t think it matters,” said
Frances
. She looked at Lucy critically. “You look very pretty.”
“Thank you.” Lucy was surprised, as she had pulled her hair back into a tight chignon, only allowing a few curls to drop out behind. She wore the gold chain Philip had bought for her and carried a simple fan, reticule and evening gloves, which reached, well below her elbows. Her gown was decorated with three rows of braid at the hem and the waistline, but that was all.
She could almost believe it when she saw the warm look of admiration in her lover’s eyes when she went into the drawing room, but she knew he’d seen her in a lot less. He bowed over her hand and took her over to introduce her to the men of the house; Mr. Carmichael and his son and heir, Mr. Rodney Carmichael. She dropped a graceful curtsey and thanked them for their hospitality. Mr. Carmichael smiled his welcome. He was a man of moderate height, but a comfortable figure, probably in his mid fifties or perhaps a little older. His face was as round as his second daughter’s, but his colouring was fair; fine hair mixed with
Moore
fringed the tonsure Nature had given him, and his eyes, too, were
Moore
.
The younger Mr. Carmichael was also possessed of fine, fair hair, and blue eyes. Although he was taller than his father his figure also tended towards the generous. He seemed to bear a stern look most of the time, as there were lines prematurely engraved between his nose and his mouth, and two furrowed lines above his brow. His bow was punctilious.
“I’m pleased to find such pleasant young company for my daughters,” said the father.
“It’s very kind of you to say so,” Lucy replied. She had the uncomfortable feeling of being stared at and she looked over to see Mr. Rodney Carmichael gazing at her. She wasn’t used to being stared at in such a way, so she stared back. He looked away. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Moore,” he mumbled.
Philip covered what might have been an awkward silence. “I have some news for you, Miss Moore. First, you forgot to collect your funds from me, so I had better restore them to you.” He drew out of his pocket a roll of notes, which he presented to her. She had no compunction in taking them and put them in her reticule with a smile. “Secondly - your mother has restored your maid to you.”
Startled, she looked at his face. “My maid?” she thought of the dour faced Curtis from home. “Your Mama thinks Potter can serve you better here, so she sent her down on the stage,” Philip said smoothly.
Potter. How clever of him. Lucy thought, but she said; “That will help me a great deal. Thank you sir.”
She wondered how it came about, but realised she would have to wait to find out, so let it be.
Mrs. Carmichael was very pleased that Lucy’s maid was here. “My girls usually help each other, but when we go out the maids do their hair and suchlike, and it can be very difficult, when each one wants her attention.”
“Well you can be sure I won’t keep Potter for myself,” Lucy said warmly. She hoped a chambermaid would be able to perform the duties of a ladies’ maid, but then she realised she wouldn’t need quite such a skilled handmaiden here.
Dinner was entirely
en famille
, and convivial. It didn’t compare to the meals she had shared with Philip in the inn, but that was an idyll, and best forgotten for a while. This was a comfortable, well served meal taken informally. Lucy was overwhelmed by the kindness of her hosts. Always before her fortune had trailed along with her, she was never sure which of them the welcome was extended to, but here she could be sure. She was a girl of modest fortune, here to see the town, amongst people she liked, who seemed to like her. She might be able to carry it off, after all.
When Lucy awoke in the little flowered bedroom the next morning, Potter was waiting for her. She smiled and sat up. “Good morning, Potter.”
“Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes thank you. Potter - why have you come here, to me? It must be a step down for you, surely.” Lucy knew enough about servants to know their hierarchy was as strict as that above stairs. Head chambermaid in a great household was above ladies’ maid in a modest City one.
Potter brought a tray and put it on the bed. It contained Lucy’s usual cup of hot chocolate and a slice of bread and butter, her invariable first meal at home. She smiled to see it, and looked up at the maid. She stood by the bed; hands folded in front of her. “I was turned off, my lady.”
“Because of me?” now fear gripped Lucy.
“No, not directly my lady. It was the next day, when I took a pan of hot water up to her ladyship’s bedchamber. I dropped the jug, broke it, and woke her ladyship up. She dismissed me on the spot.”
“Oh Potter, how unfair.” Lucy cried. “What happened after - after I left?”
“Your absence wasn’t discovered until the next morning, my lady. Then all hell broke loose. It was easy for me to slip back in all that chaos. They called Sir Geoffrey, and he was as angry as they were, blaming everybody he was.” she smiled slightly. Lucy watched her and sipped her chocolate. “He says he’ll find you, you can’t have gone far. Your mother went out - I heard she’d visited Lord Royston - and she came back worse than ever. They were supposed to go out that evening, and that seemed to help her pull herself together, because she wrote a letter to the papers saying you were taken ill and gone into the country to recover - “ she looked at Lucy who said briefly; “We saw that.”
Then the maid continued. “People are curious, my lady. If you’re ill, why hasn’t she gone with you, and why is Sir Geoffrey still in town? But she’s told them it’s only a slight chill and exhaustion, so she’s sent you away for a rest.”
“That won’t hold for long,” Lucy commented. “So she was looking for a victim?”
“It’s not my place to say, my lady,” Potter said stoically, but it was easy to see what she thought. “But when I broke that jug she was on me like a ton of bricks. She ordered me out of the house that very day. His lordship was kind enough to say I could go to him so I went. He asked me if I would look after you while you were here and keep my own counsel. I reckon I can do that.” She looked quite smug, pleased with herself.