‘No, merely that she had met a young gentleman in Bath, but he had been wholly unsuitable and her father had sent him away.’
‘She could not have been so reasonable about it at the time,’ said Lucia, remembering her aunt’s letters, describing the mysterious Mr T as her one true love.
‘No, and I think the memory of it made her sad,’ agreed Morry. ‘I am certain I saw a tear upon her cheek, but she insisted it was the smoke making her eyes water.’ They had reached Orchard Street by this time and Morry gave a little gasp. ‘Oh, look at that elegant carriage standing at the roadside. Do you think it is another patron for Orchard Gowns?’
Lucia took her friend’s arm and hurried her forward. ‘Let us go and see.’
The maid, recognising them as regular customers, gave a little curtsy as they entered.
‘I will show you into the parlour, if you please,’ she said politely. ‘Miss Bower has another client with her in the consulting room at present.’
Lucia glanced at Miss Morrison, her eyes twinkling. ‘Clients, consulting room? Grace is developing her business very nicely.’
‘Oh dear, I do hope she can manage. She only has two women to help her and the few extra hours I can spare to help with the sewing are barely enough to keep up with demand.’
‘And now my aunt requires your company, too, you will have even less time.’ Lucia smiled. ‘Do not look so anxious, Morry, I think it is time to consider employing another seamstress. How are the accounts, can we afford it?’
‘I brought the ledgers up to date last Monday, and everything looks in order,’ replied Miss Morrison. ‘There are already several repeat orders, and I think we may safely take on another woman.’
At that moment Grace came in, neat as wax with an immaculate apron tied over her simple blue muslin gown. A tape measure hung around her shoulders, and she wore a pin cushion on one wrist, which she was at pains to keep well out of the way as Lucia came up to embrace her.
‘I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting,’ she greeted them in her soft voice. ‘I have had a rush of customers this morning.’
‘And more orders too, I hope?’ asked Miss Morrison.
‘Oh yes, two morning gowns and a walking dress for a Mrs Arbuttle, plus a debutante’s gown for her daughter. To be worn at Almack’s!’
‘Excellent news,’ cried Lucia, giving her another hug. ‘I have never heard of the lady, so I do not think her business has come from my recommendation.’
‘No, she was sent here by another customer. Oh Lucia, is it not exciting, that people like my creations?’ The shining light in her eyes dimmed a fraction. ‘But everyone wants their orders quickly. It will require a deal of hard work if I am not to disappoint them.’
‘Lucia and I were only this minute discussing it,’ replied Morry. ‘Now, let us sit down and decide how best we might fulfil all the orders.’
‘Not here!’ Grace went back to the door. ‘Come through to the back. I have made that my consulting room, we shall not be disturbed there. If any visitors come in, Ella knows to show them in here.’
‘You should be very proud of yourself,’ declared Miss Morrison as she walked back to Portman Square with Lucia, an hour later. ‘Your plan is proving a great success. Grace’s reputation is growing steadily and the business is already showing a good return on your investment.’
‘Our investment,’ Lucia corrected her. ‘I could not have done this without you both.’
‘I agree you need Grace’s skills, but – ‘
‘No.’ Lucia stopped and turned to her, saying firmly, ‘We need your skills, too, Morry. Your assistance with the accounts is invaluable, and Grace is also grateful for an extra pair of hands to help with the sewing. My own abilities in that direction are sadly lacking.’
Miss Morrison’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Lucia, that is very kind –’
‘Not at all.’ She took Morry’s hands and squeezed them. ‘We can only do this if we work together, Morry, remember that.’
‘I will, although I think things will be a little easier once Grace takes on a new seamstress. She said she knew a woman who could join her this week, did she not? If that is so then she will not require our help with the sewing. That will be a relief, will it not?’
‘’More so for me than you, Morry. You will still have to keep the accounts.’
‘I do not mind that. You need not feel guilty, Lucia, for you work quite hard enough as it is.’
She laughed at that. ‘I may be busy, but you cannot say that I am working hard. However, since my stitches are not nearly so neat as yours, I shall bow out with a good grace.’
The growing success of Orchard Gowns meant Lucy no longer felt the need to be seen in quite so many fashionable haunts, yet her days remained full, spent either in the drawing room with her aunt, entertaining callers, or attending one of the many routs, breakfast parties or balls. It would be a relief not to have to help with the sewing, which she had carried out surreptitiously, knowing the staff would be scandalised to think their mistress’s niece was employed in such a way.
*
The trip to the theatre that evening resulted in even more invitations, including one from Lady Chawton. Mr Edward Chawton had brought his mother to their box during the interval, where he sat down beside Lucia while the three older ladies conversed together. She was more than happy to give him her attention, for she was aware that her presence was causing a stir. She had seen ladies in more than one of the boxes looking her way and talking behind their fans. She could only hope they were admiring Grace’s latest work of art.
‘Tell me, Miss Luckington, what do you think of the Scottish play?’ asked Mr Chawton.
‘Very bloody,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It is not one of my favourites, but my aunt likes a good murder. For my part I prefer the farce.’
‘Indeed? But that will be such light-weight fare. I think you might have enjoyed the play more if you had been in Town last year, and seen Mrs Siddons in the role of Lady Macbeth. The applause stopped the performance, you know.’
Mr Chawton drew his chair a little closer and began to describe the various performances he had seen. Lucia listened politely until the opening of the door to the box distracted her and she glanced across to see Sir Darius Claversham come in. She thought she read disapproval in his glance when he looked at her and immediately turned her attention back to Mr Chawton. She leaned nearer to listen to him, showing a spurious interest until the bell rang for the end of the interval. Only then did she look up to find that Sir Darius was no longer in the box.
‘Lady Chawton has invited us to her card party on Monday night,’ Lady Quidenham informed her, when their visitors had withdrawn.
‘How kind,’ murmured Lucia absently. She smoothed a crease from her skirts. ‘I thought I saw Sir Darius come in, Aunt Evadne.’
‘Yes, he looked in, but did not stop.’
A drum roll signalled that the farce was about to begin and the ladies turned their attention back to the stage, but for some reason Lucia could not summon up enthusiasm. She thought the farce insipid. It must be due to the lacklustre performances. It could have nothing to do with the fact that Sir Darius had not attempted to speak to her.
By the morning Lucy’s sunny nature had reasserted itself, aided by the prospect of fine weather for their trip to the Park to see the military review. Her aunt had decided she would attend, so Lucy dressed quickly and went downstairs to join her, and when Lady Winterstoke’s open carriage pulled up at the door they were both ready to step out.
Lady Quidenham sat beside her hostess on the forward-facing seat while Verity and Lucia occupied the other bench seat. The footman who had helped them into the carriage resumed his place at the rear and they set off into the park, parasols raised against the bright spring sunshine.
Lucia had never attended a military review, and she found much to interest her. At a distance the ranks of soldiers formed blocks of colour, bright red, or blue or a green so dark it was almost black
. Cap badges and belt buckles had been polished until they sparkled in the sun, the horses’ coats gleamed, harnesses jingled and the shouted orders could be heard even above the noise and bustle. There were a number of carriages already in the park when they arrived, and the coachman was obliged to travel some distance to find an advantageous viewing spot.
They had only just manoeuvred into place when Verity gave a screech.
‘Look, there’s Darius in his phaeton! And he has Tommy Applecross with him. Darius, Darius!’
‘Verity do, I pray you, stop behaving like a hoyden.’
Lady Winterstoke’s pleas went unheeded. Verity stood up and waved frantically to her brother, who neatly turned his carriage and brought it to a stand in line with their own. He touched his hat to the ladies, then presented Lord Applecross to Lucia and her aunt.
‘Delighted, ma’am, Miss Luckington.’ Lord Applecross beamed at them, his rosy cheeks and twinkling blue eyes giving him a very genial appearance that could not but raise a smile.
When the introductions were over Verity called out again to her brother, this time with a pout.
‘How beastly of you to come in your high-perch phaeton, Darius, and never a word to me. The view from up there must be much better than here.’
‘It is,’ he said, grinning at his sister. ‘But it would be rude of me to favour you over your guests. There is room for you to sit between Grandmama and Lady Quidenham, but perhaps Miss Luckington would like to join me?’ He turned to his companion. ‘You won’t mind giving up your seat, will you, Tommy?’
‘What? Oh, no, old boy, not at all. I am off to take a walk. My brother is an officer in the tenth, Miss Luckington, and I said I would go and find him. Let me help you up. Dashed difficult, these high-perch phaetons, but if you put your foot there…now reach up and take Claversham’s hand, that’s it – he won’t let you fall – there.’
Without quite knowing how it happened, Lucia found herself sitting on the elevated leather seat of the phaeton next to Sir Darius. She thought it very likely that she had shown an inordinate amount of ankle in the scramble and her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. They burned even more when he spread a thick rug over her knees. It was as much as she could do not to jump when she felt his strong hands tucking it securely around her.
She glanced down into the barouche, expecting to see shocked and reproachful faces, but Lady Winterstoke was busy talking to Lord Applecross who was now standing beside the carriage, Verity was giggling at her, and even Aunt Evadne was nodding approvingly. There was nothing for it, then, but to look as if she had spent her life riding in such a scandalously high equipage.
‘I suppose I should consider this a rare treat,’ she remarked, trying to sound nonchalant.
‘You should indeed, Miss Luckington. I almost never take up females.’
‘And there was no need to do so today,’ she assured him. ‘I was perfectly happy in the barouche.’
‘But you will admit the view from here is superior.’
‘If one doesn’t faint off!’
He turned his head to look at her. ‘I do not think you are the sort to faint, Miss Luckington.’
‘And a good thing too,’ she retorted, rocked off balance by the disquieting glint in his blue eyes. ‘I should surely break my neck if I toppled from here.’
‘Oh, I should not let that happen. Perhaps you would like me to put my arm about you now, just to be sure – ‘
‘No!’ She almost yelped at the thought of it, then berated herself for rising to the bait of his teasing. She sat up very straight, fixing her eyes on the soldiers on parade before them. ‘I am perfectly secure now, I assure you.’
‘But not as comfortable as you were last night, talking to Edward Chawton.’
She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You were almost sitting on his lap.’
Her cheeks heated again, but this time with anger.
‘Pray do not be absurd. I was merely sitting close to catch his words. There was a deal of noise in the auditorium.’
They fell silent, watching the manoeuvring troops, until the display ended with cannon fire, sending dirty grey smoke and fragments of burning wadding into the air.
‘He won’t marry you, you know,’ he said. ‘His elder brother married beneath him and Lady Chawton is determined Edward will do better.’
Lucy gave an indignant gasp. ‘Do you consider me so unsuitable a bride?’
‘Not in birth, perhaps, but without a fortune…’ He spread his hands, leaving her to interpret his meaning.
Lucia’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who is to say I won’t have one?’
‘So you admit that is your aim, to cut me out?’
‘No! Ooh, you are quite abominable. I have told you, I have no wish nor need for Lady Quidenham’s fortune.’
‘You have other funds, perhaps, that no one knows of?’
‘I have the money I inherited from my father.’ Her chin went up. ‘If you must know, I have invested it.’
‘Have you indeed? Wisely, I hope. In these uncertain times, and the war in Europe far from over, investments can be precarious.’
‘You need not concern yourself, Sir Darius. My money is quite safe, I assure you. It is already making a return.’
The review was over, the crowds were beginning to drift away, but neither of them noticed. He was watching her and Lucia felt at last she had the upper hand. It gave her the self-assurance needed to return look for look. To enjoy the frisson of excitement that shivered through her. She thought idly that his eyes were the most vivid blue, the colour of a clear summer sky at evening. Calm, reassuring. Inviting confidence. Suddenly there was nothing she would like more than to confide in him, to share her hopes and dreams.
Even as she stared into his eyes they changed, becoming more searching, as if he could reach into her very soul. Lucy quickly looked away, afraid he might indeed be able to read her mind. She must pull herself together, she had no time for such fancies. They had no place in her grand plan. Now, what had they been speaking of? Ah yes, her investment.
‘I shall tell you nothing more about it,’ she told him. ‘At least not yet, but I am confident nothing can go wrong.’
‘I hope for your sake that is so, Miss Luckington.’ His hand reached out and she froze. For one panicking moment she thought he was going to pull her into his arms, but instead he merely lifted the rug away from her. ‘Lady Quidenham is trying to attract your attention. I think they are about to depart.’ He signalled to one of Lady Winterstoke’s men to take the horses’ heads. ‘Sit still while I jump down, then I will help you alight.’
Lucia realised she had no choice but to wait for him. The flimsy carriage rocked alarmingly as Sir Darius climbed down. He walked around to her side of the phaeton and reached up for her, instructing her where to step. Then his hands were around her waist and he was lifting her down. For one exhilarating, heart-stopping moment she was suspended, at his mercy and when at last her feet did touch the floor, she clung to him, afraid that her knees were going to buckle. So much for her new-found confidence!
‘There,’ he murmured, grinning at her, his hands still around her waist. ‘You are safe now.’
A deep breath and she felt strong enough to release her grip on him.
‘Thank you,’ she said, with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘I am perfectly able to stand.’
She turned away, glad that one of Lady Winterstoke’s footmen was standing beside the door of the barouche, waiting to help her up, and she did not have to take Sir Darius’s hand again. She concentrated on making herself comfortable on the seat beside Verity while the other ladies chatted to Sir Darius. She heard Lady Quidenham thanking him for his kindness and felt the heat burning her cheeks again. Kindness! Was she the only one aware of the odious way he had teased her?
You did not think him odious when he lifted you down, as if you weighed no more than a feather.
Lucia quickly stifled that thought. He was suspicious of he
r, and she certainly did not like him. Schooling her face into a look of cold politeness she bade him good day, but it was a mistake to allow herself to meet his eyes, for they were twinkling with wicked amusement. But there was understanding there, too and she was sorely tempted to smile back. Which was even more disconcerting.
Sir Darius touched his hat to her and climbed swiftly back into the phaeton. As he gathered up the reins again, he turned to address his sister.
‘I almost forgot, Verity. Your mare has arrived from Claversham, so you may arrange your ride with the Garwoods as soon as you wish.’
‘Thank you, I will. We shall go out on the next fine day that suits us all!’
With a flourish of his whip, Sir Darius drove off. Lucia watched him, reluctantly impressed by his skill in manoeuvring the phaeton. She had yet to see him on horseback, but she did not doubt he was equally at home in the saddle.
As the barouche pulled away, Verity was chattering happily to her grandmother, discussing suitable dates for the proposed riding party and Lucia was glad to be able to sit quietly and recover her composure. Sir Darius’s disapproval was disconcerting, but his teasing disturbed her far more. She was very much afraid she was in danger of succumbing to his undoubted charm.
Lady Winterstoke’s carriage joined the procession leaving the park, but the crowds were such that they could only move at a snail’s pace. Lucia glanced across at her aunt, hoping she had enjoyed the review. She was certainly looking quite content, gazing at the colourful mass of soldiers who were marching away now, back to their barracks. Then the dowager’s gaze became fixed on something closer to the carriage.
Lucia followed her glance and spotted an elderly gentleman with a cane standing amongst the crowd at the side of the road, staring at their carriage. His height and upright bearing commanded attention and, observing his tanned countenance, she wondered if he was perhaps an ex-soldier, since he had the look of a man who had spent a great deal of time out of doors. Turning back, Lucia observed that her aunt was now staring straight ahead.
Spring Muslins Page 6
