“She mentioned something,” her mother admitted, on the defensive.
“He would have killed me within a year,” she said. “Was it worth it, just to get your hands on my fortune?”
“I
beg
your pardon.”
Lucy smiled when she realised that suddenly her mother didn’t intimidate her any more. She felt stronger, able to cope. “Mr. Chumleigh showed me the books. You’ve been living on my fortune since my father died. You never spent any of your jointure, did you? Well now you’re going to have to, mother.” She watched with unholy joy as her mother’s expression froze, a sure sign she was agitated. “And your debts are your own. If you try to shame me into paying them, I’ll send a letter to the papers denying any responsibility for them. I believe that is the usual course?” The freezing look she bestowed upon her mother was worthy of that lady herself.
Lady Royston sat bolt upright in her chair and gave her daughter a Look. “You would not dare.”
The door opened while she was speaking, and unannounced, Philip entered the room. “Yes she would,” he said. He came across the room and bowed to the dowager punctiliously, and then took Lucy’s hand and kissed it. He had a greatcoat on over his other clothes, and didn’t look as though he meant to stay. “Whatever it is,” he said. “She will dare, and I will support her in it.”
“What has this to do with you?” Lady Royston demanded.
“In case you have forgotten,” Philip replied smoothly, “I am the head of this branch of the family. And I have also the privilege of speaking as her affianced husband.” He exchanged a warm glance with Lucy.
“No. Sir Geoffrey has that right.”
“Not after tomorrow,” Philip reminded her. “Have you sent that notice to the papers, my love?”
Lady Royston winced at the endearment. Exactly why he had used it. Lucy smiled and nodded. “First thing,” she said. “That the marriage of the Lady Lucy Moore and Sir Geoffrey Sanders will not now take place.”
“Good,” Philip said. “That takes care of that.” They exchanged another intimate smile.
“I think I’ve heard enough,” Lady Royston said. She stood up magnificently in one graceful movement, and looked down at her daughter. But she had to look up to Philip. “You, Lucy, may wallow in your own pig-sty. But don’t expect me to join you there.”
Without another word, she left the room.
Lucy immediately stood up and went to Philip. He held her quietly for a moment, until she looked up and then he kissed her gently. “Come on,” he said, “You need some air. I’ve come to take you to the park, I have my curricle outside.”
“I should like that,” she said.
“Edward’s come as well. Guess who he’s going to ask to go with him.”
“Christina,” she said, without hesitation.
“She told you?”
“No, she didn’t have to. I saw it in both of them. Perhaps when you’re in love yourself, you notice it in others.”
He laughed. “Perhaps. He came here with me at first because he was stunned by
Frances
, as most people are. But she hadn’t enough wit for him – a beautiful pea-goose. - and Christina’s good sense and pleasant nature eventually won through.”
“She feels very strongly for him,” she said. “Do you think there’ll be an announcement?”
“I don’t know, but it’s going along very nicely.”
Then,” she said, “I should like to ask her to stay in
Grosvenor Square
. With one of her sisters, so I can attend more to you than to chaperon duties.”
“That,” he said warmly, “Would be most acceptable. But not immediately.” He kissed her again, but then released her, firmly putting her from him. “Go and get your pelisse and hat. I’ll wait for you in the hall.”
Lucy found a becoming green pelisse, and a shallow brimmed hat decorated with green striped ribbon and dyed feathers. She remembered wearing the outfit once before, on another drive in the park, but she determinedly shrugged the thought aside. She had to admit Curtis had made a difference already. The bedroom was perfectly arranged, her delicate porcelain watchstand back where it should be on the night stand and the usual array of bottles and jars reposed on the dressing table. She really should sort through them some time, she thought guiltily, thinking of the expensive jars she had bought and only used once.
She met Christina on the stairs, and wreathed in smiles, they made their way downstairs to where their beaux waited.
Philip’s carriage lacked its tiger. One of the Carmichael’s footmen stood on the pavement at the heads of the pair of
Moore
horses, champing at the bit and prancing a little in their impatience to be off. Philip climbed up and took the reins, holding them in one gloved hand in the approved way, looped up. He wasn’t a member of the Four-Horse Club, but he was quite a whip in his understated way. Lucy felt quite safe with him, even in the lightly built, two wheeled curricle.
Lord Wenlock, on the other hand, prided himself on his horsemanship, and this morning, had turned out in all the glory of the club. Blue and yellow striped waistcoat, greatcoat with an enormous number of capes and buttons the size of half crowns all marked him as a notable whip. He only drove a pair today, not wanting to detract himself from the company of the lady, but his tiger, experienced though he was, found it difficult to hold the spirited chestnuts steady.
Lord Wenlock’s air when he took the reins made controlling such a fresh pair look easy. He must have wrists of steel, Lucy reflected. Christina allowed herself to be helped up to the curricle, but looked a little nervous. The tiger swung himself up to the little seat behind. “You should try his high perch phaeton.” Philip called to her.
Lord Wenlock exchanged a few words with Christina, who shook her head determinedly.
Several people had turned out from other houses in the Square to see such bang-up equipages, and several windows had faces at them. Lucy saw Christina smile and wave at one or two, and guessed that this was part of her triumph. She was flushed, her brown eyes shone with happiness, and she looked pretty. Lucy could find no fault with the arrangement.
Since they were at the far end of
Oxford Street
, the park took a little longer to reach than usual. This gave Lucy and Philip the opportunity to exchange a few fond words, and for Philip to ascertain that his love was recovered from her most recent ordeal, and truly ready to take her place at his side. “You are a resilient woman,” he commented.
“I’m well trained at appearing that way,” she told him. “But it isn’t always so. I’m having bad dreams, so vivid it’s as though it’s happening all over again. I want them to stop.”
“I can help,” he said. “And I can be there when you wake.”
“I know,” she replied. It was one of the reasons she longed for Saturday. But only one.
Lucy had forgotten how much she enjoyed circling the Park, nodding at her friends, exchanging the occasional word. Many expressed frank surprise at seeing her back in town, and with Philip, not least Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, who was able to recognise Lucy this time. The lady was ensconced in an open barouche upholstered in a delicate shade of lilac.
Lord Royston obligingly stopped his curricle so she could address them. “I saw the notice before I came out today,” she informed Lucy. “I cannot be surprised; I didn’t think he was the man for you. I’m only sorry it went as far as it did.”
“So am I ma’am,” Lucy replied. She didn’t like to mention that it was none of the lady’s business because Mrs. Drummond-Burrell considered everything was her business. If Lucy was rude to her, she was capable of spreading the worst gossip about her. “But I have done my best to rectify the error.”
“What if I called you a jilt?” asked the lady. She watched Lucy through half closed eyes, waiting for her response.
Lucy knew this was a test, and she reacted accordingly. “I tried to break the engagement as soon as I discovered my error, and I was prevented from doing so.”
This made Mrs. Drummond-Burrell’s eyes open in delighted speculation. “I collect you are not at present living at your mother’s house?”
“No, ma’am,” Lucy replied steadily. “I’m staying with some cousins of Lord Royston’s. They are in business and they live in
Red Lion Square
.” The bad news first, she calculated.
Mrs. Drummond-Burrell’s eyebrows went up. “Quite a distance from the fashionable world.”
“Indeed, ma’am but a very respectable address. They are very kind to me.” She leant forward a little and lowered her voice. The gesture was practically redundant; no-one but Philip could hear them, and he was busying himself attending to his frisky horses. “They are also astonishingly rich. The lady in the carriage in front of us - Lord Wenlock’ vehicle - is Miss Carmichael. They own a great deal of property in the North.” That the property was in the form of manufactories she must somehow have forgotten to mention. She leant back.
Mrs. Drummond-Burrell thought, the handle of her unopened parasol to her lips. “Should I enjoy making their acquaintance?” she asked.
“I think so, ma’am,” Lucy replied. “But I have to leave them on Saturday. I hope to introduce the girls to some friends of mine.”
The older lady wasn’t looking at Lucy any more, but her gaze followed the progress of Lord Wenlock’ carriage around the Park. Slowly, she looked back to Lucy. “Don’t take too much on yourself,” she said in a warning tone.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” she replied. “I look to you for guidance.”
They smiled, bowed and moved on. “A job well done,” said Philip, his voice full of laughter but his face grave.
“I thought so,” said his beloved serenely. “Now they’ll want to know why I’m not at Mother’s. That mystery will be resolved on Saturday. And they’ll be agog to meet the new heiresses.”
This was too much for him and he let out a crack of laughter. “Oh my sweet, you’ll end up a patroness of Almack’s.”
“I sincerely hope not,” she replied.
On the day before her wedding, Lucy had the confrontation she didn’t wish for but knew she should face. She asked Janet if she could talk to her privately. Mrs. Carmichael knew what it was about; she had been decidedly cool to her daughter since the previous Tuesday, but she didn’t prevent Lucy and Janet going up to the room Janet shared with Christina. Lucy knew Mrs. Carmichael would keep Christina away. She watched Lucy and Janet leave the dining room, and would know the subject under discussion.
Christina and Janet shared a room on the same floor as Lucy’s, but larger. Lucy briefly wondered how they managed to share a dressing table, then castigated herself for her foolishness. Both girls dressed simply, and would probably do each other’s hair in the morning. She felt vaguely guilty that she had two maids when they only had the use of one on special occasions.
But that wasn’t what she was there for. She waited until Janet sat down, on the chair before the dressing table, then, without preamble, said, “Did you go and tell my mother I was here?”
Janet turned a dull brick-red and stared down at her hands. The pock marks on her face stood out lividly against the red. She looked up again, and her beautiful brown eyes stared out at Lucy. “I thought she might be worried.”
“What did your mother tell you? About my being here?”
She answered readily enough. “She said she feared you might be in danger if you went home immediately.” Then she paused, but Lucy said nothing, waiting for her to speak again. Janet wasn’t used to such tactics. As a member of a voluble family, it was difficult to be heard sometimes, and silence was rare, except in the dead of night. “But it wasn’t immediately, it was weeks later. You couldn’t be in danger for that long?”
“Yes I could,” Lucy said. “You saw it when you came to fetch me.”
Janet dropped her gaze again. “Yes. I’m sorry about that.”
Lucy supposed it was an apology of a sort. “Did you see Sir Geoffrey?”
“Yes, he was there. He was very kind.”
Lucy sighed. She knew Geoffrey’s ‘kind.’ “And he persuaded you?”
She looked up again, eager to explain. “Yes, he said he just wanted to be sure you were safe. He had no more desire to force you to do something against your will than your mother did.”
“That,” said Lucy, “Isn’t saying much.”
Janet looked disturbed, troubled. Her thin mouth went down at the corners and a deep crease appeared above her brows. “I’m sure you’re wronging Sir Geoffrey. What your mother did to you was shocking, but he would never do such a thing.”
Lucy felt disinclined to explain what he did do to her. She found it painful to explain to anyone, and after Janet’s betrayal, she felt she didn’t want her to say any more. She merely said; “You should have left the decision to me.”
“And I had no idea he would take you like that. I thought your mother would pay you a visit.” Lucy began to think that Janet was more foolish than designing. She had seen Janet’s attentions to Philip, and had not minded them. Secure in his love, she was content to allow him to attend to someone else from time to time. Supposing that Janet’s actions had sprung from some kind of jealousy when she finally realised the true direction of Philip’s emotions, Lucy had assumed her visit to Lady Royston had been spiteful. Now she was not so sure. She knew - who better? - how Sir Geoffrey could cajole and tease, how charming he could be when he wanted to, and Janet was inexperienced in the ways of Lucy’s world, not realising how dangerous a man in a Stultz coat could be. The fashion was only a veneer, veiling the selfish animal beneath.