“Thank you,” Miss Simonson said, but quelled by a look from her employer, sank down into a chair just behind her without another word. “So you chose not to eat here?” Lucy said coolly. “Would you like some tea?”
“No thank you; we will have a light luncheon when we return home.” Lady Royston’s tones were clipped and didn’t invite comment.
Lucy felt strangely liberated. This was her house, her domain; she had never felt superior to her mother in her life before. “Yes, we were rather late to bed last night,” she said, “And Philip insists that I have enough rest after my recent ordeals.”
“Which are nothing compared to mine.” declared the dowager. “How could you call him ‘Philip’ in that odiously familiar way? You should call him Royston or my lord.”
“We have been using each other’s Christian names since we were children,” Lucy said mildly. “I see no reason to change now.”
“You have a position to keep up.”
“Which I shall do in the way I see fit,” said her undutiful daughter. She could see her mother was, as her housekeeper would put it, ‘in a right bate,’ but she didn’t see why that should concern her. She guessed the reason, but wouldn’t broach the subject until her mother did.
Her mother looked so contained Lucy feared she might burst, like an overfilled balloon. “Lucy, how could you?” demanded Lady Royston suddenly. “You know he only wants your fortune. Now he has it he won’t treat you with any great degree of courtesy. Look at this letter. Just look what he has sent me.”
And with a shaking hand she stood and thrust a paper at Lucy. She took it without taking her gaze from the dowager’s face, and, glancing down, only perused it lightly before she refolded it and gave it back.
“Yes, I was there when it was drafted,” she said. “I should tell you it was my idea.”
“What?” her ladyship was lost for words for a moment. Her mouth clamped shut, her eyes narrowed and gleamed with fury. “Why should you want to do such a thing to your mother?”
“Revenge, and justice,” Lucy said calmly, delighted she could stay so steady under the wrath of her mother. Previously, she would have been sure to succumb, to promise her mother anything she wanted, so long as she didn’t shout at her and continue to do so for days. It happened rarely, which was why it used to frighten her so much.
She continued to explain, deliberately keeping her voice calm and steady. “When you sent me upstairs with Sir Geoffrey that night, it was an outrageous thing to do. I can’t think of another mother who would have done such a thing, openly condoned it.” The dowager glared back at her, but said nothing. “But I didn’t know then that he’d promised to settle all your debts and then invest a considerable sum from my fortune on you.” She paused, and despite her best efforts a note of despair entered her voice. “You sold me to him.”
She glanced at her aunt, just for somewhere else to look. Miss Simonson sat quite still, her head bowed, staring at her hands. Lady Royston now sat rigidly in her chair, her chin up, glaring arrogantly at her daughter. “You seemed quite willing.”
“It isn’t something a mother usually allows,” Lucy said coolly. “And then, when you didn’t come in response to my screams – “
“What screams?” her mother said quickly.
Lucy stared. “You must have heard them. Potter heard them, Aunt Honoria heard them, but both were too afraid to investigate until he’d gone. You could have put a stop to it, but you chose not to.”
“That particular act,” said her mother carefully, “Is distasteful and undesirable. But it bound you to him. You were unwise to go elsewhere.”
“I didn’t,” Lucy replied. “I was taken away because it was thought I might not survive another assault.”
“Lucy you exaggerate.”
“No indeed. Ask Aunt Honoria. She tended to me afterwards – something you should have done – but she had no hand in my leaving. She didn’t know where I had gone.”
“How did you know these people, the Carmichaels?” demanded her mother. “I wasn’t aware you had their acquaintance.”
“I didn’t,” said Lucy. “Potter took me to Philip, who took me to the
Carmichael
’s. They cared for me, as you never did. I realised then what it was to have a real mother.”
Lady Royston bridled. “But I always cared for you. Ungrateful child.”
Lucy felt her choler rise, but deliberately kept her anger under control. “You looked after me like a piece of porcelain. You decided I was your property, just as an inanimate piece of china would have been. You decided what I wore, where I went, who I became betrothed to – there wasn’t one time I was allowed to make my own decisions, not once.”
“It was a mother’s duty.”
Lucy shook her head slightly. “I hope I’m kinder to my children.” She paused, then said; “When did you know that Philip loved me? Is that why you forced us apart?”
Lady Royston shrugged. “What has that to do with anything? Love has nothing to do with marriage.”
Lucy looked sadly at her surviving parent. “But affection does. You didn’t answer my question. When did you know he loved me?”
“Boys aren’t very good at hiding sentiment of that kind,” Lady Royston told her. Her superior expression showed her contempt. “He told me when he was sixteen. I noticed his attentions, and taxed him on it. At that time there was no eventuality of his marrying you; I was not disturbed by his revelation. He knew he would have to look elsewhere for a wife. I can only think you have lost all your judgement, Lucy. I thought I had brought you up better than that.”
Lucy took a deep breath. For the first time in this interview she felt angry. “Surely you could see that Philip was a far different prospect to his brother. Bernard wouldn’t have done for me, but Philip was what I wanted, what I needed.”
Her mother’s eyebrows went up in haughty disbelief. “I think you will come to regret your hasty marriage, Lucy. You have married into a very coming, ramshackle branch of the family, and I wish you joy of it.”
Lucy let a silence fall before she spoke again. “Every day,” she said, deliberately, not taking her gaze off her mother’s carefully made up, arrogant face; “I see what a good decision I have made. Even if I didn’t love him – and I do, mother, I do – I would have married a kind, considerate gentleman who takes every care of me.”
“Then he must be very different to his brother.”
“He’s very different,” said Lucy. “But now you’re talking of my husband’s dead brother, and I cannot allow you to be disrespectful.”
“I shall leave,” said Lady Royston. “There is no point in remaining here. You are sunk in your own depravity, Lucy, and there is nothing I can do to help. Come, Honoria.” she gathered her skirts about her, ready to stand up, but Lucy put up a restraining hand. “No, mother, if you please. I have a few more things I must say. If you don’t hear them now you will hear from Mr. Chumleigh.”
Lady Royston’s finely plucked eyebrows shot up, but she remained seated. She looked at Lucy haughtily.
Before Lucy could say anything, the door opened and her husband came in. Lucy smiled warmly and after he had bowed punctiliously over his mother-in-law’s hand, and then Miss Simonson’s, Lord Royston sat next to his wife on the sofa, stretching his arm across the back of the seat in an unconsciously protective gesture. “I hope I find you well.”
“I’ve been better,” replied her ladyship, glaring at him.
He smiled slightly and turned to look at Lucy. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt?”
She smiled back. “Not really. I was just about to remind my mother of the letter.”
Lady Royston snorted. “That thing? I threw it in the fire. I cannot believe you wrote that of your own free will, Lucy.”
“It was my idea,” she said softly. She became aware of being stared at. Miss Simonson had lifted her head and transfixed Lucy with a cool,
Moore
stare. There was a slight smile on her lips. Lady Royston couldn’t see this, because Miss Simonson was sitting just behind her, but Lucy was emboldened to carry on. “I wasn’t aware that you were using my money to buy the houses, and keep us. You must have a pretty tidy sum laid away from your jointure, so I propose that you put it to use. I want the price of the houses, or rent for them. That only seems fair to me. Philip thought I should make a present of the houses to you, but I don’t want to.”
Philip must have heard the rising anger in her voice, because he brought his arm down from the back of the sofa and laid it gently on hers. She waited, and he carried on. “We went to see Mr. Chumleigh in the City yesterday, ma’am. I hope I can prevail upon Lucy to settle on a compromise. The two houses you now use, the leased one in town and the other in the country, will be yours to use in your lifetime, but after that will revert to the estate.” He paused, studying the rigid features in front of him. “Whatever you think of me you’ve always been most concerned to preserve the estate, and you must see that this makes sense.”
Reluctantly, Lady Royston nodded. “It would be acceptable.”
“But Aunt Honoria.” Lucy said suddenly.
“Your aunt need never concern herself about a home or a comfortable income while I’m alive,” Philip said firmly. “She’s been a true and loving friend to you, and I shall never cease to be grateful for it.” He smiled at Miss Simonson who dropped her gaze and reddened in confusion. Lady Royston shot her a contemptuous glance before turning back to address Philip. “Your proposal, sir, makes some sense,” she said, having finally regained control of her voice. “Was there anything else?”
“You must realise,” Philip continued smoothly, his voice hardening, “That any income Lucy brought into your house now reverts to me. Mr. Chumleigh informs me that the jointure settled on you by your late husband is more than adequate for your needs, so I need not concern myself with that side of things.”
“I will lose a great deal,” Lady Royston said firmly. “I can hardly be expected to live on a widow’s jointure.”
“I think,” said Philip, “that without the expense of a daughter to present creditably to the world, and with the use of the houses, you should manage very well. The carriages and horses you may keep as a gift.”
Lady Royston was obliged to thank him, although her look of distaste made Lucy fear she might choke when she said it.
She stood up to leave, but Philip stopped her again. “The family jewels are in the bank?”
“Most of them.” She tried to look down her nose at her son-in-law but he stood up. He was taller than his mother in law. He looked dispassionately down at her. “Then I shall send a footman for the rest and the key to the bank box,” he said. “Lucy should be presented soon, and she must have the appropriate jewels, or there will be talk.”
Lady Royston looked speculatively at her daughter, who rose to stand by her husband’s side. “Yes, she must,” she said. “Of course, most of them are too heavy for ordinary wear.”
“I may decide to have them re-set,” Lucy said.
“Of course.” Lady Royston looked at her daughter coolly, as though she was a stranger. Lucy knew the loss of the jewels would hurt her mother, although she wouldn’t let them see that. She was tempted to let her keep her favourites and then, reminded of the deep wrong which had been done to her, desisted from speaking.
The Dowager Lady Royston looked at the new Countess with a long, appraising look. Lucy looked back. “I can do you a great deal of damage,” she said.
Lucy shook her head. “No you can’t. I have the money, the title and the husband. You would be ill advised to try.”
“We shall see,” said her ladyship. She glared at Lucy for a moment and then with moved towards the door. “Come, Honoria.”
She lifted her skirts and swept from the room.
Lucy watched her go with mixed emotions. Then she turned back to Philip who looked at her quizzically. “Is that what you wanted?”
Lucy let her air of cool hauteur fall away, leaving her as she was. “Partly. I want her to understand what she did was wrong. I don’t know if she ever will, because she won’t admit it, ever. But I will have what is mine.”
He nodded. “I’ll see to that. She rooked you for years.”
“I don’t think she saw it like that. She thought it was her right to use my money, and Mr. Chumleigh was given no powers to control her spending. She could spend my allowance, and her own, and all on herself if she wished to. Not that she ever did that,” she added with a burst of honesty.
“Well your fortune is still larger than I thought possible,” he said. “My behaviour today will probably convince your mother that I married you for it, but you know that’s not true.”
She sat down again and he sat next to her, taking her hand and holding it in a loose clasp. “Yes, I know,” she replied, smiling into his face.
“My love, you’re too trusting,” he said warmly. “You accepted Sanders, and now me, despite what the people you relied on said about me. All I had to do was make love to you.”
She shook her head. “Sir Geoffrey set out to deceive me – until he lost his temper. We were friends for years, and the coolness only dates from a fairly recent date. Then, when we were forced together, I realised the warmth I felt for you was more than gratitude or friendship. I didn’t quite know what it was, but I’m so glad I decided to put it to the test.”
“So am I.” He drew her to him and kissed her gently. “Now – would you like to go to the park? We could take the carriage. It’s a fine day, and you should take some air.”