Having presented themselves to Aston, the dowager’s aloof butler, they were left to kick their heels in a small sitting room while he went off to enquire whether his mistress was receiving visitors. Miss Morrison perched herself on the edge of a chair but Lucy was unable to sit still and paced the room. A large mirror hung above the fireplace, but after a cursory glance at her reflection she turned away to look at a series of small paintings on the opposite wall. They were delicate watercolours of plants, a little faded, but notable for the detailed work.
‘How pretty,’ she murmured, studying the picture of a densely branched shrub bearing little white flowers. The next showed a small tree with purple daisy-like flowers and she peered closer at the small hand-written inscription beneath the painting. ‘Dusky Bay, N.Z.’
‘The Antipodes,’ said Morry, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap. ‘I wonder how much longer we –’
But at that moment the door opened and she jumped to her feet as the butler came in.
‘Her ladyship will see Miss Luckington,’ he announced regally. ‘Alone.’
Lucia waved Morry back to her chair and followed the butler out of the room. Miss Morrison might be aggrieved at the dowager’s decree, but Lucia herself thought it might answer very well.
She was shown into a large drawing room, furnished with more furniture and paintings than could be considered elegant. Lady Quidenham was sitting in a high-backed arm chair to one side of the fireplace, clad in funereal black and with one beringed hand resting on an ebony cane. Lucia approached and made her curtsy to the old lady, who eyed her coldly, no sign of approval in her lined face. As soon as they were alone, Lucia smiled.
‘Good day, Great-aunt Evadne. You are looking very well, ma’am.’
‘And what is that to you?’ snapped the dowager. ‘Ungrateful girl.’
Nothing daunted, Lucia removed her bonnet and mantle and said calmly, ‘You call me ungrateful because I would not desert my family. You know I cannot agree with you.’
The ebony cane tapped imperiously on the floor.
‘What do you want? If you have come to ask for money, you can go now – ‘
‘No, no. Well, not exactly. I want your assistance.’
‘Indeed?’ The dowager’s pale eyes snapped. ‘Why should I help you?’
‘Because you are my great-aunt, and my godmother, too. Also, because you were very fond of my grandmother.’
‘Ha! My sister Joanna has been dead and buried these twenty years, my girl. She is beyond any help of mine now. And don’t think I have any family feeling for you.’
‘No more than I have for you,’ replied Lucia cheerfully. ‘However, I think you can be of use to me.’ She smiled. ‘I think you might even enjoy helping me.’
The dowager fell back in her chair, looking stunned, and Lucia’s smile grew.
She moved towards the bell pull, saying brightly, ‘Shall we ring for some tea? It has been a long journey and I admit I am quite parched.’
Speechless, the dowager could only nod her assent and when the butler appeared Lucia astounded him by calmly requesting that refreshments should also be taken to her companion, waiting below.
‘You have nerve, Lucia Luckington, I’ll say that for you,’ muttered the dowager, as the butler went out.
‘Since you declared at our last meeting that my father was a spineless good for nothing, I must attribute that to your side of the family,’ replied Lucia, her good humour unimpaired. She took a seat opposite the dowager. ‘Not that I agree with you. Papa had a great deal of courage. He married Mama in the teeth of her family’s disapproval and he struggled continually to keep us all.’ She sighed. ‘It was his judgement in financial affairs that was sadly lacking.’
‘He was a gamester, and a bad one at that!’
‘Yes, he was, poor lamb,’ Lucia agreed. ‘He was always chasing some mad-cap scheme. But at least he never came begging at your door, or anyone else’s.’
She broke off as the tea tray was brought in, along with a second tray bearing a selection of little cakes. Silence was maintained until the servants had withdrawn.
‘I hope you do not expect me to put you up here,’ declared the dowager, watching Lucia take charge of the tea tray.
‘Oh no. I have booked rooms at the Quidenham Arms.’
‘Good. I never have guests to stay.’
‘What, never? Not even family?’
‘All the family I ever cared about has gone,’ snapped the old lady. ‘That pompous fool who is now viscount is not welcome here. Nor that namby-pamby wife of his. If only Quidenham and I had had a son – ‘
She broke off, something that Lucia thought might be a hint of sadness shadowing her eyes. Silently she handed the old lady a cup of tea and returned to her own seat. She was not surprised when, after a few moments, hostilities were resumed.
‘So, what is it you want of me?’
‘I want you to take me to Town with you in the Spring.’
This cool announcement caused the dowager to almost choke on her tea.
‘London! Are you out of your senses?’
‘Not at all. After all, who should take me but my own great-aunt?’
‘I have done enough for you already. I paid for your schooling and that was more than you deserve!’ The dowager’s cup rattled in its saucer as she put it down. ‘I have told you, madam, your side of the family is no concern of mine. Your mother made a foolish marriage to a hapless gamester. And more fool her mother for allowing it!’
‘But they were in love.’
‘Love! Bah. There is no such thing.’
‘Is there not, Aunt Evadne?’
‘Of course not. And do not call me that!’ The thin, claw-like hands gripped the arms of her chair. ‘You had best leave now, before I lose my temper.’
She reached out for the bell pull.
‘But you were very much in love once, Aunt.’
‘Never.’
‘Yes, you were. You told Grandmama as much.’
The dowager’s hand stopped in mid-air and she looked askance at Lucia, who continued innocently.
‘I was sorting through an old trunk and I found some letters. Letters you had written to Grandmama, declaring that your heart was broken because you had been separated forever from your true love.’ She added softly, ‘The mysterious Mr T.’
The dowager’s hand fell and she stared at Lucia.
‘You have these letters with you?’
‘Oh no, they are safely put away in Little Furzewell. But I can recall what was said in them, especially the description of the gentleman who had stolen your heart. Tall, blue-eyed and fair-haired. He sounds very handsome, Aunt.’
The dowager sat back in her chair and regarded Lucia through narrow, suspicious eyes. ‘What is it you want?’
‘I have already told you. I want you to take me to London with you. We will pretend we are reconciled. You need not do much more, everyone will understand that at your advanced age you cannot be expected to accompany me everywhere!’ She ignored the small inarticulate sounds coming from the dowager and continued blithely. ‘Morry – Miss Morrison, my old governess – will act as my companion. It will not cost you a penny – ‘
‘Of course it will!’
Lucia shook her head. ‘I have my father’s one thousand pounds, plus a little I have managed to save, and the small legacies to Grace and Miss Morrison.’
‘That will not go far.’
‘Far enough.’ Lucia met her eyes with a challenging look of her own. ‘Unlike Papa, I have calculated the cost of this little venture.’
The dowager put up her hand. ‘Tell me no more. It is all nonsense. Quite ridiculous. I will not do it.’
Lucia shrugged. ‘Then I shall have no choice but to sell these letters to raise the money I need. I am sure they will fetch a fair price.’ She tapped her cheek, pretending to consider. ‘I could make them public, but perhaps the present Viscount Quidenham will buy them, just to prevent a scandal.’
The dowager’s eyes snapped. ‘You would not!’
‘I do not wish to do so, but…’ she let the words hang for a moment, then said coaxingly, ‘I really am asking very little of you, Aunt Evadne. I merely want you to go along with the pretence that we are reconciled. Just for one Season.
‘You see, I have a cousin on my father’s side. Grace Bower. She is an excellent seamstress and I intend to make her a sensation in Town.’
‘Impossible!’
‘Is it, though?’ Lucy waved a hand, indicating her muslin gown with its delicate acanthus leaf embroidery and holly-green spencer. Would you have known this was not made by a London seamstress? Or that my bonnet and mantle were fashioned by Grace’s own hands in our cottage at Little Furzewell? No, I thought not. I shall hire a house in London, where she will set herself up as a modiste. Morry and I plan to help her, until she can afford to take on an assistant or two. And I shall go about the Town during the Season, wearing her creations, and being a great heiress, everyone will want to know who supplies my gowns –’
‘An heiress?’
‘Of course.’ Lucia opened her eyes very wide. ‘Everyone will assume I am to inherit your fortune.’
‘Never!’
‘No of course not, Aunt, but everyone will think it.’
‘Oh no, they will not! I shall not allow such a thing.’
‘Come, Aunt, it is only for one Season. I promise you I have no designs upon your fortune at all. Once Grace is established, her business will make sufficient money to provide for all three of us. All I require from you, dear Aunt, is your co-operation for a few months.’
For a long, long moment the faded blue eyes stared at Lucia, who kept her own gaze steady. One thing Papa had always told her was that when gambling, the higher the stakes, the more confidence one must show. At last the dowager exhaled in what was very nearly a sigh.
‘Wicked, wicked girl,’ she snapped. ‘You would not dare.’
‘Needs must, Aunt.’
*
Ten minutes later Lucia returned to the little sitting room. Miss Morrison had been perched on the edge of a chair but she jumped up when the door opened.
‘Well, Lucia, what did she say?’
‘I cannot claim that she has welcomed me back with open arms,’ admitted Lucia, throwing her mantle about her shoulders, ‘but Lady Quidenham has agreed. We are to accompany her to London in the spring.’
‘Oh, glory be! She must not be as stony-hearted as she appears, my love.’
Morry knew nothing about the letters to Grandmama, still tied up in their faded ribbon but now safely hidden beneath the gowns in Lucia’s linen press. And she would certainly not approve of her use of them, so Lucia merely smiled, put on her bonnet and gloves and led the way out of the morning room.
From the hall came the rumble of male voices. Another visitor, and one the butler clearly considered more important than themselves, Lucia decided, for Aston was hovering anxiously around the new arrival and issuing orders to the waiting footman to come and take charge of their visitor’s many-caped greatcoat.
She could not deny that the gentleman cut an impressive figure and she regarded him with interest while she paused just outside the morning room door for Morry to catch up with her. He was tall, and his hair, when he had removed the curly-brimmed demi-bateau, was seen to be a light brown, cut fashionably short. Lucia’s knowledge of fashionable society was not vast, but she thought he was too plainly dressed to be a dandy. No fobs or seals adorned his person, his only ornament was a heavy gold signet ring. His figure was good, and muscular, too, judging by the way his square-cut tail-coat fitted across his broad shoulders with no need for extra padding. A glance at his powerful legs, encased in close-fitting buckskins that disappeared into a pair of highly polished Hessians, gave the impression of a sportsman. She wondered if he was what they called a Corinthian.
This observation was the work of a moment while Lucia was somewhat hidden by the marble pillars that ran along each side of the hall. However, as she moved further into the hall, the gentleman looked towards her, his face registering nothing more than indifference, and faint boredom.
Lucia noted this but was not at all offended. Her spirits were still uplifted by the success of her meeting with Lady Quidenham and she sailed out of the house, meeting his gaze as she passed him with a confident look of her own, and a little smile playing about her mouth.
CHAPTER THREE
‘Sir Darius Claversham, ma’am.’
Darius walked into the room, saying as the door closed upon him, ‘My dear Lady Quidenham, are you quite well?’
‘Perfectly,’ she snapped. ‘Why should I not be?’
He lowered his long frame into a chair.
‘You invariably greet me by some adverse remark regarding my tardiness, my appearance or my manners. Your silence is a trifle unnerving.’
‘I was thinking. Nothing to do with you.’
‘About your previous visitor, perhaps?’
He fell silent as a footman entered with a decanter of madeira and two glasses. It was rare to find a visitor at Quidenham House, even more so to see a young and fashionably dressed female. The interval while refreshments were served gave him time to think about the young lady he had seen leaving the house. He was not conceited enough to expect everyone to recognise him, but he was not accustomed to young ladies giving him back look for look. Not unless they were brazen demi-reps bent upon securing his interest, and he was confident she was not that. He asked, as the dowager waved away the footman,
‘May I ask who she was?’
‘Nothing to do with you. Where are you bound this time?’
‘To Leicestershire, to enjoy a little hunting with the Garwoods.’
‘I suppose your mother and sister are installed at Claversham for the winter?’
‘Yes. I escorted them there two weeks ago.’ He reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed letter. ‘My mother sends her regards. When I told her I had arranged to break my journey here, on my way to Leicestershire, she wrote this note for you.’
‘Who said you could stay here? I agreed to you having dinner with me, nothing more!’
‘I invited myself, ma’am, being the impudent dog that I am. Aston is seeing to it.’ He reached across and put the letter upon the table at her elbow. ‘My mother’s letter for you.’
‘I’ll read it later, when you are gone.’ Lady Quidenham made no effort to pick it up but regarded it with a frown. ‘Full of gossip and nothingness, I suppose, as usual.’
‘My mother thinks you like to be kept up to date with the world.’ He met the old lady’s discontented gaze and added gently, ‘You have become something of a recluse, ma’am.’
‘And what of it?’
‘Nothing, merely that a little more society might do you good.’ He allowed himself a grin. ‘It might improve your temper.’
‘There is nothing wrong with my temper!’ She glared at him, her beringed hand tapping on the arm of her chair. ‘I do not enjoy society. It is mostly populated by fools.’
‘I agree with you, ma’am, but one must mix a little, you know.’
‘I don’t see why I should.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘And I am not a recluse! I go to London every spring, visit the theatre, attend the odd talk, if there is anything to interest me.’
‘You are gay to dissipation, in fact.’
‘You are insolent, Claversham! Why should I go to parties and mix with people I dislike?’
‘How do you know you dislike them? You barely speak to anyone in Town these days.’
‘I prefer my own company. The friends I had as a young bride are all dead and my own family has been a disappointment to me.’
His eyes gleamed as he sipped his madeira.
‘What, even me?’
‘I meant my blood relations! Even so, you are the only one of Quidenham’s family to come near me. One or two of ‘em came calling, but they were trying to ingratiate themselves with me, for my for
tune. I could see that from the first, and soon sent them packing. Everyone is intent upon making use of me. Not you, perhaps,’ she conceded. ‘That is why I allow you to come here.’
‘Magnanimous of you,’ he retorted. ‘But, seriously, ma’am, perhaps you should let others make use of you. It would give you something to do. You spend far too much time alone.’
She shot him a darkling look. ‘I may yet surprise you.’
‘I hope you do.’ He finished his drink and put down the empty glass. ‘But we have had this conversation so many times it becomes tedious. Instead, we will take a turn about the gardens. That will while away an hour before dinner, which you insist upon serving far too early!’
‘I keep country hours, Claversham, and don’t see any reason to change my habits for your infrequent visits.’
‘No, of course not. I despair of your changing your habits for anyone.’ He rose and held out his hand to her. ‘Come along. Let us go outside while there is still a little sunshine.’
*
Regular readers of the Society pages in the various newspapers were surprised to learn that the Dowager Lady Quidenham would be arriving in town a month earlier than usual that spring. Those who were well acquainted with the dowager might also have been astonished to note that she would be accompanied on this visit by her great niece, Miss Lucia Luckington.
Her carriage was blown into Portman Square with the first of the March winds, followed closely by a second vehicle carrying her ladyship’s dresser and Miss Morrison. As Miss Luckington’s appointed companion, Morry had been invited to ride in the carriage with Lucy and her great-aunt, but initial meetings between the dowager and the former governess had not gone well. Miss Morrison’s natural timidity intensified under Lady Quidenham’s acerbic manner and Lucia had acquiesced to her friend’s entreaty that she should be allowed to travel with the staff.
Quidenham House in Portman Square belonged to the Viscount, but the dowager still considered it very much her own. Since she staffed it and ran the house at her own expense and graciously allowed Lord and Lady Quidenham to occupy the guest rooms for their infrequent stays in town, all parties were quite content with this arrangement.
Spring Muslins Page 2
