Across the Ages (Across the Ages Book One)

by Workman, RaShelle

  “Is there a particular dress you’re looking for, Miss?” Harriet asked. The young girl wrung her hands, fretting over Lucy’s dithering.

  “I’m hoping I’ll know it when I see it, Harriet.” Having never been to a ball, one might believe Lucy would be brimming with excitement at the prospect of attending. Not so. She was being led like a lamb to the slaughter and there wasn’t a blasted thing she could do about it. The invitations had been sent weeks ago and most everyone had accepted. Her party was sure to be a great success and the talk of London, but Lucy didn’t care.

  Lucy was a young woman of intellect who enjoyed her studies immensely, especially the sciences. She could speak French, Italian, and Spanish. She was also adept at oil painting, loved to play the pianoforte, and excelled at reading and writing. She especially loved to read the provocative (according to her mother) new works of Jane Austen while wandering through family’s rose gardens or sitting in their cemetery. Lucy knew it would seem morbid to most, but there was something comforting about being near her deceased ancestors. Large trees surrounded the area and in the summer some of the branches nearly touched the ground as though they were hugging the dead, keeping them safe.

  Three months ago, over a supper of roasted pork and boiled potatoes, her father broke the news that the family was nearly out of money. Lucy was to be their savior. It was her responsibility to marry Dashel Rothchild, the Earl of Westington. To keep up appearances they would take up residence in London for the Season so Lucy could be properly presented into society.

  “My life is over,” Lucy moaned, dramatically flinging herself into a chair.

  “Whatever do you mean, Miss? Your life is magical.” Harriet picked up a gown, ignoring Lucy’s theatrics. “How about this lovely red one? It’ll bring out the creaminess of your skin,” she said holding it up to Lucy’s chin.

  Lucy crinkled her nose, a face she was sure her mother would say was unbecoming of the future wife of an Earl.

  Harriet rehung the dress back in the wardrobe and pulled out a lilac one. “This one will really bring out your eyes,” she continued.

  Lucy turned away. “No.” She knew she was being difficult, and if she didn’t get ready soon her mother would come up to her bedroom and then she’d have the devil to pay.

  Her lady’s maid sighed. “Your party has already started. If’n you don’t hurry, the Mistress will turn me out minus a letter o’ recommendation. I’ll be destitute, Miss.” Her words came out with at least as much dramatic flair as Lucy’s had done.

  Lucy sat up. “You needn’t concern yourself, Harriet. My mother knows I cannot get by without you.” She picked through the gowns she’d tossed on her bed. Each had been made to fit Lucy’s slim form perfectly. The dressmaker, the self-proclaimed Great Harry DeVent, claimed Lucy would be the talk of the London Season, declaring her waist length dark brown curls, violet eyes and lithe figure were all the rage. He went on to exclaim that with his dresses on her she would capture the heart of every eligible male of worth and predicted she would be engaged and the banns posted before the Season was finished.

  Lucy and her mother had simply smiled, as was proper for two ladies of breeding. The official announcement would be posted in the Gazette.

  When the gowns were delivered earlier in the week Lucy had been coerced into trying a few on. Even she had to admit the Great Harry DeVent had outdone himself. She felt more confident and beautiful in his dresses, but that didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want tonight to happen.

  It wasn’t that she disliked the Earl of Westington. He was nice enough, even handsome. Dashel was tall, with deep brown hair that was styled in the modern fashion. His eyes were a creamy chocolate. He had a strong jawline, and stood like a man filled with self-assurance. Lucy knew all the eligible ladies would be vying for his attention, and she knew that they would instantly hate her when they found out he was already taken.

  All of the Earl’s qualities meant little to Lucy, because despite Dashel’s merits, she didn’t love him, at least not the way she believed a wife should love her husband. It was plain and simple. He was a dear friend and had been so for many years. They’d played together as children. He’d tugged on her hair when she was little. They’d gone riding together when she was twelve and thirteen, and he’d even taught her to play cards last summer.

  Dashel felt the same way about Lucy. They were both being forced into a marriage they didn’t want for the sake of their parents. It burned her up inside.

  “It just isn’t fair. Why can’t I love who I want, when I want?” She found herself tightening her fists around a soft lavender gown with pink rosettes all along the rounded collar.

  TWO

  A LADY OF BREEDING

  HARRIET RESCUED the material from Lucy’s hands, hanging it back in the closet. “The Earl of Westington is very handsome,” she said meekly.

  Lucy turned in time to see a slight blush creep up her maid’s lovely cheeks. She smiled. “Yes, he is. But we don’t love each other. Surely you can understand why I’m vexed.”

  Her maid lowered her eyes. “If’n I may be so bold, my mum says that sometimes love must be pruned and managed, that it takes time for a great love to grow.”

  Lucy pressed her lips together. “I appreciate the sentiment, but Dashel and I have had years to develop feelings for each other. It hasn’t happened.”

  “Beg pardon, Miss.” Harriet picked up another gown, this one in fuchsia, and put it away. She knew she’d already crossed the line and wouldn’t say anymore.

  Lucy wanted to marry for love. She wanted what her grandmother, the Countess of Polenska had had with her husband, God rest his soul. Lucy couldn’t remember much about her grandfather and her mother wouldn’t speak of him, but it didn’t matter. All she had to do was look at her grandmother to know she still carried around an abiding love in her heart.

  “Lucy, the guests are arriving,” Ellen said from the doorway. Ellen was Lucy’s younger sister. At fourteen she seemed much wiser than Lucy in some ways. “Mother wants you to hurry.

  Lucy sighed. The inevitable couldn’t be put off any longer. “Which gown should I wear?” she asked Ellen, slumping onto her bed. Ellen had a great fashion sense. Not like Lucy. Most of the time she wished she could wear trousers the way men did.

  “I like this one,” Ellen said, picking up a gown with an empire waist. It was made of ivory silk and adorned with tiny blush pink flowers. The rounded collar was lined with matching pink velvet and the short sleeves were puffed with intricate detail. A thick pink ribbon cupped under the bodice and tied in the back. It was simple, elegant and pretty. Decidedly not what the other girls would be wearing. But according to the Great Harry DeVent, the high waistline would take Lucy to the height of fashion, making her the envy of every young lady. Lucy had thought the low collar and the high waist slightly vulgar, but her mother insisted she wear them.

  “A lovely choice,” Lucy said, knowing any of the dresses would do. Ellen and Harriet helped her slip it over her head. She tugged it over her underclothes. “Will you fasten it?” she asked Ellen, knowing her sister liked to help.

  “Of course.” Ellen pulled the fabric together and fastened the buttons. Then tied the ribbon. “You look exquisite.”

  “It really is delectable, isn’t it?” Lucy responded, admiring the way the dress fell against her body.

  “Now if we can do something with your mop of hair, I’ll feel truly sorry for the other girls attending your ball tonight. No one will even notice them.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Lucy said, but she appreciated the compliment. She sat in front of her dressing table. The lamp flickered, casting shadows against the wall.

  Lucy glanced at her reflection. Her hair had been tied in rags the night before. The effect of all the white twisted in her hair did kind of make her head look like a mop. “My hair is not a mop.”

  “Is too,” Ellen argued.

  Lucy stuck out her tongue. Ellen reciprocated. And then they
both giggled.

  Harriet came over. “Would you like me to do that, Miss Ellen?”

  “No, but I appreciate you asking. Why don’t you take a break?” Ellen was very strong-minded. She believed in equal rights and didn’t like to have the maids do anything for her. She was also a twin. Her twin’s name was Beaufort, though he went by Beau. He was born four minutes ahead of Ellen and loved to rub her nose in the fact that he was older. They both had light brown hair like their mother’s, along with storm gray eyes, and freckled skin, the same as their father.

  Ellen shook her head as she made quick work of untying the rags. Lucy watched her work in the mirror, studying their differences. Ellen was already taller than Lucy, as was Beaufort.

  When the rags were all out, Ellen brushed through Lucy’s curls, loosening them. “So beautiful,” she said, pinning Lucy’s hair in a bun at the base of her neck. Once her hair was secure, Ellen pulled some tendrils of hair on either side of Lucy’s face. “Pinch your cheeks and you’ll look perfect.”

  Lucy pinched and then applied a bit of color to her lips.

  “Let’s put some of Dashel’s flowers in your hair.” Ellen went over to the large bouquet Lucy received from him earlier in the day. Lucy knew the card said, “Here’s to at least eighteen more.”

  At the thought of Dashel’s cheeky note, Lucy smiled. “That would be nice, but only use the daisies. Those are my favorite.”

  Ellen cut the daisies and arranged them in Lucy’s bun. She came around and checked her work. “You look wonderful,” she squealed, clapping her hands.

  “Thanks to you.” Lucy gave herself a quick once over as Harriet brought over her matching ivory white slippers. Lucy put them on. “Do you think I should wear a necklace?” Lucy eyed the pearls hanging to her left.

  “No, you look beautiful just as you are.”

  “Your gloves, Miss. And your fan,” Harriet added, holding them out for Lucy to take.

  Lucy pulled on the long ivory white gloves. Then she took the fan. “Thank you, Harriet.”

  Her maid blushed and bobbed a curtsy. “Anything for you, Miss.”

  “I guess we’d better get downstairs.”

  Ellen smiled as she slipped a hand into the crook of Lucy’s elbow. “It might be the best night of your life, you know.”

  Lucy didn’t argue, but she thought it highly unlikely.

  THREE

  TONGUES WAGGING

  HER SISTER clutched her arm as they entered the ballroom. Thousands of candles lit the lively room, which was already close to overflowing though the fashionably late had yet to arrive. People were talking and laughing. Some danced. Others sat at tables, sipping lemon ice.

  “Mother will be pleased with the turnout,” Lucy said, steadying herself. The room was overly warm, even with the floor to ceiling windows open. Lucy watched the gauzy white curtains sway like apparitions in the slight breeze.

  The musicians started to play a lively waltz, introducing a new set. Couples made their way to the middle of the floor and began to move.

  Ellen squeezed Lucy’s arm. “I’d better go. Father will pop a button if he sees me here.” She lowered her voice. “He doesn’t think I’m ready but I blast it, I am.”

  Lucy patted her sister’s hand. “You’re more ready than I. Want to take my place?”

  Ellen blushed, giving her freckled face a burst of beautiful color. “If only I could.” With that she made her way back up the stairs.

  Lucy scanned the room, searching the faces of the older couples for her mother and father. She found them speaking with Dashel’s parents. By the brightness of the men’s faces it appeared the discussion was heated. Or they’d both had too much to drink.

  A servant carrying a platter of sparkling drinks walked by and Lucy took one to sip from as she walked the room. The pale dresses and men in their finest coats reminded Lucy of a painting. She also didn’t recognize a single person outside hers or Dashel’s families.

  “Anyone catch your eye, Miss Channing?” Dashel gently touched Lucy’s elbow, getting her attention.

  She smiled as she stopped and turned, happy to see him. “Dashel,” she whispered, knowing that use of proper names was an impropriety until they were officially engaged.

  Dashel bowed. “At your service.”

  He did look incredibly handsome tonight in his deerskin colored trousers with black knee high boots, a white shirt, and a navy jacket, the buttons bearing his family’s coat of arms. The entire ensemble emphasized his broad shoulders, straight posture, and most importantly, his status. His short hair had been styled to perfection tonight and his brown eyes glowed with mischief.

  “I have a present for you.”

  Lucy raised her gaze to meet his. “But you already gave me the lovely flowers.”

  Dashel’s smile grew wide. “I noticed the daisies in your hair.” He came closer. “If I may be so bold, you are divine.”

  Lucy resisted the urge to smack him on the arm. He was teasing, as was his way with her. “So are you,” she returned from behind her fan.

  He winked. “The gossips already have their tongues wagging. The men are placing bets on how long it’ll be before the announcement is placed in the Gazette and the women are shooting daggers at us both.” He chuckled lightly. “Well, mostly at you, I’m afraid.” He sipped his drink.

  “No they aren’t.” Lucy scanned the room. The music still played but many of the dancers had stopped and were whispering to each other, as were those along the edges. Even their parents had stopped talking and watched them. “Why aren’t you upset? You don’t want to marry me anymore than I wish to marry you.”

  Dashel raised an eyebrow, about to say something, but the Lord and Lady of Cartwright came over. “Dashel, my boy,” he said, clapping him on the back.

  Dashel straightened. “Good to see you, Wendell.”

  Lady Cartwright patted her husband on the arm and gave Dashel a stern look.

  “May I present Miss Lucy Channing? This ball is in honor of her birthday,” Dashel said.

  Lucy curtsied as she held out her hand. Lord Cartwright took it and bowed. “A pleasure,” he said.

  Dashel continued, “Miss Channing, I am pleased to introduce Lord and Lady Cartwright.”

  “It’s good to meet you. Thank you for attending my ball. It’s an honor.” Lucy noticed the way Lady Cartwright appraised her slightly lower cut dress with distain. She’d seen that same look many times from her own mother when judging other women. Instead of letting her insecurities show, Lucy pushed back her shoulders making her already pronounced endowments appear even larger.

  Lord Cartwright’s eyes roamed over her briefly.

  “Well, I never,” Lady Cartwright said, tugging her husband away.

  Dashel burst out laughing. “You are going to make lots of friends, my dear Miss Channing.”

  Lucy found her mother’s disapproving gaze. Lucy pursed her lips in irritation. It was difficult knowing she was supposed to save her family. It was her duty. Sighing inwardly, she said, “After they find out I’m taking you off the market they’ll despise me anyway.”

  “Very true,” Dashel admitted.

  A throng of couples paraded around the room, making their way over to Lucy and Dashel. She was cordial. Dashel was ever the proper gentlemen. After an hour, Dashel bumped her shoulder lightly. “Would you care to dance, Miss Channing? Out there we’ll be watched, but at least we won’t be interrupted.”

  Lucy nodded. Dashel took her glass and placed it next to his on a tray. When he returned he stuck out his arm. Lucy placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to escort her.

  Dashel bowed. She curtsied. Then he took her in his arms and twirled her around the dance floor. His hold on her was firm and confident. Lucy held her head up, keeping her back straight and her shoulders squared as she’d been taught. Dashel was a fine partner. “You’re very good at this,” Lucy commented. It wasn’t her first time dancing with him though it’d been many years. They’d practiced more th
an once with each other when she’d been eleven or twelve. During those rehearsals his arms and legs had been too big for his body. Now though he’d grown into them. Lucy could feel his strong, well-sculpted biceps under his fitted jacket.

  “You doubted me?”

  Lucy laughed, lowering her gaze. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I’m incredible at everything I do.” He came in close. “I’ve been told even my kisses are perfection.”

  At that Lucy blushed. “You’re flirting.” She glanced at her parents. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. What happens after the wedding when we have to start producing heirs?” She knew she was speaking boldly and that her mother would die of mortification if she heard, but this was important. The idea of kissing Dashel didn’t spark her heart. In fact she’d never felt the spark her romance books talked about. Yet their parents were forcing Lucy to marry Dashel and have his children. It frustrated her. She couldn’t understand why it didn’t bother him.

  Dashel’s features became serious. “Lucy, it’s true. I’m not in love with you, but I hold you in very high affection. I would even call it love. You’re a fine woman, with lovely birthing hips.”

  Lucy gasped, her cheeks getting hot. It appalled her to realize he’d considered her hips at all. “Birthing hips? If we weren’t in public I’d sock you in the arm. Hard.”

  Dashel threw his head back and laughed. “According to Father, birthing hips are quite important.” He winked. “Beyond that, you’re smart, caring, beautiful, and I enjoy your company above all others.”

  Lucy swallowed. She enjoyed his company above all others as well.

  Dashel went on. “We can talk, laugh, and even have a conversation that doesn’t end in you requesting a bauble.” He squeezed her hands. “Other than your very unfeminine love of tinkering, I believe you are an excellent match. Marrying you suits me just fine.”