Loving Lucy

by Lynne Connolly

  Her ladyship eyed her daughter with calculation. “You like him?”

  “Oh he is very handsome, Mama. But what’s that to the point? You know I don’t need you to tell me that.”

  “Yes, my love, of course I know.” Lady Royston pressed the hand still lying in hers. Decisively she released it. “I must get up. Where is Field?” she raised her voice to a tone her bosom friends would have been surprised to hear in her. “Field.”

  Immediately a tall, gaunt female entered the room from the dressing room, two or three gowns over her arm. Lady Royston threw back the bedcovers, dislodging several newspapers and invitations, which fell disregarded on to the floor. “I’m getting up now. My daughter has a particular visitor this morning.” She glanced at the gowns her maid bore. “The puce.” Field put the other garments carefully over a brocaded chair and shook out the gown. Lady Royston found her wrapper and put it on, going to sit at her overloaded dressing table. “Now,” she said. “How did he seem last night?”

  Lucy picked up a slice of bread and butter from the breakfast tray and regarded it thoughtfully. “Most gentlemanly.” She knew what her mother wanted to hear. But it was not the gentlemanly aspect of Sir Geoffrey that she was thinking about.

  “No, no, I know that.” her Mama exclaimed impatiently. “I meant did he seem passionate, fervent, or cool, holding off?”

  Field made herself busy brushing her mistress’ hair out from its night-time braids. Lucy met her mother’s steely gaze in the mirror. Lady Royston’s grey eyes were sharp and alert with calculation, her generous figure upright. “No,” she said after a moment’s thought. “I knew he was interested in you, but I thought it was only a flirtation on his part. I was waiting to see if it was real, or just a fleeting attraction.”

  Lucy took a bite of the bread and butter. “He has always seemed most sincere.” She wasn’t in the least put out by her mother’s straightforward approach; she had seen the transformation from fashionable matron to cool, decisive businesswoman too often for it to be remarkable to her any more. Her mother might be reticent in public, but despite her many prejudices and snobberies she was far from it in private. “Yes,” Lady Royston said now. “A sincere approach. Well his request isn’t a casual one, I’m sure of that now. Do you think he will come up to scratch?”

  “I think so, and if he doesn’t today I think it very likely soon. He seems to want me to be aware of his partiality.” She finished her bread and butter and picked up a napkin to wipe her fingers, trying not to become too agitated. The thought of the handsome Sir Geoffrey favouring her with a proposal gave her delicious shudders. It wouldn’t do to display them.

  “And what are your feelings regarding him?” Lady Royston asked carefully. “Would you be happy to accept him?”

  Lucy didn’t pause. “Yes. He is handsome, and with such good address. He inherited a good fortune from his father.” She didn’t mention the shivers that went through her when Sir Geoffrey kissed her hand.

  Lady Royston turned round slowly, and regarded her only child, her expression grave. “I’m glad you like him, but that, as you very well know, isn’t everything. He must have enough to take care of you; he must be of good ton. It’s the last I’m concerned about. Sir Geoffrey’s fortune seems based solidly enough in land, but I haven’t finished my enquiries about his family.”

  “He’s an orphan,” Lucy ventured.

  “So I believe.” Lady Royston swept the full skirts of her dressing gown aside and got to her feet. Her maid carefully withdrew the dressing gown and her ladyship waited for her maid to begin to dress her. “But that wasn’t what I meant, and you must be perfectly aware of that, Lucy my dear.”

  “Well I don’t give a fig for his family.” Lucy said defiantly.

  “You cannot say that, when our family has its little flaws. Your father’s cousin, married to a Cit - whatever possessed him I have no idea.”

  “Perhaps he loved her,” Lucy suggested mildly.

  Her mother cast a look of unmitigated scorn at her child. Field busied herself lacing her mistress’ stays. “Love? Pray what has that to do with the matter? Please don’t mention anything so vulgar to me again, my dear. That is none of our concern, liking is quite enough.” She could speak so more, but was forced to hold her breath when the laces were pulled tight.

  “Yes, Mama,” said her dutiful daughter. “I will do my best to make you happy.”

  ***

  Later that afternoon, when Sir Geoffrey presented himself at Lady Royston’s door, Lucy had been well primed. She waited for him in the small parlour at the front of the house, while her mother and aunt fielded the other afternoon visitors upstairs in the drawing room.

  She got up and went across to look out of the window. What if he didn’t come? He might have forgotten, been distracted elsewhere, had some important business. Or maybe keep her waiting as a tactic? No, he said he would call, and if he didn’t, he would send word that he couldn’t come. At least she hoped so.

  People passed up and down the street, too genteel to notice Lucy looking out. Some were fashionable folk, of her own kind; others people who made their living out of them, from flower sellers to chimney sweeps, a tiny child skittering in his wake. Lucy had heard the sweeps kept the children deliberately undersized by starving them, the better to force them up chimneys, but although she might sign a petition or donate money to a fund, she was far from understanding their plight. She had no way in; she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be hungry and not be able to ask for food, to be cold and not to pull another blanket up over her.

  Then, all other thoughts skittered away when she saw him. He approached the house on foot, striding urgently up the street. Lest he should see her she moved back hastily, and by the time he had rung the bell and divested himself of his hat and gloves, she was once again sitting decorously in her chair by the fire.

  He entered the room, Lucy having already instructed the butler to let him in. She marvelled once more at his good looks. Tall, well muscled, handsome, Sir Geoffrey was the epitome of the Byronic hero. His smile turned her heart over, but she remained resolute. She would not allow him to captivate her completely; but she couldn’t deny she was looking forward to the next half hour. When she stood to greet him he took her hand, kissed it, and then held it for a moment, looking at her before he released it. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said crisply. “Would you like some tea?”

  “No thank you.” He looked at her again, his dark, expressive eyes seeming to caress her with a glance. Lucy shivered, and turned to sit down again, but this time, on the sofa. At her inviting smile, he ventured to sit next to her. They looked at each other for a moment in silence. Lucy, brought back to a sense of propriety, glanced away first. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was the first time she would seriously consider it.

  “Lady Lucinda,” he began. Lucy looked back at him, her head tilted slightly to the side, a faint smile on her face. She had practised the gesture before her mirror, and knew it suited her. He looked at her in silence for a moment, caught by her expression. A slow smile spread across his face. Then he began his speech.

  “I’ve known you a little while now, long enough for me to make a decision, one which I hope will affect you too.” Lucy waited. He’d got into his stride now. No sense interrupting him. “Your beauty, your engaging manners and your liveliness of spirit are more enchanting to me than anyone else I have ever encountered. Indeed, I have come to the conclusion that your presence is necessary to my happiness. Would you do me the honour, dearest Lucy, of accepting my hand in marriage?”

  Lucy smiled a little wider. She let him wait for a moment before replying, savouring the anxious expression on his face. She had her speech, too. “I’m deeply flattered by your offer, sir. And believe me, I’m not insensible to your attractions, but I cannot - yet - accept your offer.” She watched his look of expectancy change to something that looked like disappointment. “My Mama has not yet completed the enquiries she conside
rs necessary, but she begs to inform you that they never take long.”

  His voice took on an edge she hadn’t heard there before. “Enquiries?”

  She smiled. “Yes, I’m sorry, but you see, with my prospects I’ve had rather a lot of fortune hunters trying to take me in. Of course, we know you’re not of that stamp, sir, but my Mama will feel safer when she has all the documents in her hands.”

  He looked at her gravely for a long moment. “I see.” He reached over and took both her hands in his. “I can only commend her thoroughness, and since I, too, wish for your future happiness, I can hardly complain.” A note of passion entered his voice. “But Lucy, I love you so, it’s hard to think of any impediment.”

  Lucy blushed prettily, and cast her look down at her green striped gown. His heated admiration was making her blush. “Lucy, look at me.” Shyly she looked up at him, and slowly, he put his arms around her and drew her to him. “You’re all I want. No other woman will do.” He tilted her chin up, looked at her closely for a rich moment and kissed her.

  Lucy enjoyed the kiss, thorough without being too rough. She disliked being kissed roughly, but could count the number of adult kisses she had allowed on the fingers of one hand. She let him kiss her again before she drew away. Looking up at his face, into those dark brown eyes Lucy smiled, deliberately giving him her most coquettish expression. She rather thought she would have him, after all. “And you would wait for some stuffy papers?” he asked softly.

  Lucy let her hand rest in his. “Mama insists. It is always so - the moment a gentleman takes more than an ordinary interest in me she sets her agent to work.”

  “Who does she use?”

  “Oh a Mr. Chumleigh, in the City - he does quite a lot of this kind of work. And he’s one of my trustees – in a minor capacity of course. He must have any number of papers about people.”

  He eyed her thoughtfully. “Indeed - a blackmailer’s dream, in fact.” He smiled again. “But I have nothing to fear from him. So Lucy - if these enquiries turn out right, as I’m sure they will, have I your permission to pay my addresses to you?”

  “It seems you’re doing that already,” she gave him her best enchanting smile.

  He would have drawn her back to him, but she resisted, and he didn’t pursue it. “I really don’t think I can wait very long. Do you know how long it will take?”

  She studied him, deciding that he would be an asset to her, but not entirely persuaded. “Not long, Mama says.”

  “You have stolen my heart,” he declared. “I want to make you mine as soon as I may.”

  She tried very hard not to show how much his words thrilled her. “You must tell no one yet, for I can’t formally consent without Mama’s approval.”

  “Is your Mama then, your guardian?”

  She looked up at him, consideringly. “Only of my person. I don’t come into my fortune until I reach five and twenty, or I marry. In his speculations, Papa became acquainted with any number of City gentlemen, and so he chose Mr. Chumleigh to help me manage my affairs. My Mama has a considerable allowance, and she administers both mine and hers very ably. Of course, she needs the authority of a man to allow her signature, but she is just as capable as anyone but there it is. Mama would never have the city folk to dinner, they wouldn’t be comfortable, she said, but, despite her best advice, Papa left the administration of my fortune to Mr. Chumleigh and the rest of the trustees.”

  Did she imagine the note of bitterness in his voice? Surely not. “A great shame your Papa didn’t trust your mother more fully. It was wise of your Mama not to mix the two worlds.”

  “I never quite understood why.” It had seemed foolish to her. Mr. Chumleigh had always been the perfect gentleman, and he’d been quite thick with her Papa. When he was alive, Mr. Chumleigh had visited them far more often.

  Sir Geoffrey smiled indulgently. “Because, my dear, we don’t mix well. They don’t know how to go on, as a rule. Such a shame your cousin decided to marry a Cit.” he continued meditatively. “And now the son is Lord Royston he’s received everywhere, but it can’t be seen as a desirable thing.”

  She thought it over. He must be right, his opinions agreed with her Mama’s and all her Mama’s friends. “I see,” she said, but she still had her doubts.

  He smiled, and drew her to him again. “Haven’t we got more pleasurable things to think about?”

  Lucy enjoyed his kisses, but when he moved his hand to her breast, and began to caress it through her gown, she wasn’t sure about that. She must have stiffened, given him some sign, for after a moment, he desisted, and his hand fell to her waist once more. She drew back at once.

  He stared at her, yearning in his eyes. “Lucy forgive me, but ever since I first saw you, you have had my heart. I want to call you mine. You won’t accept my offer, even informally?”

  Lucy was a good girl. “No, sir. But I would be delighted to receive your proposal again, in a little while.”

  He sat still and held her hands for a few moments, gazing at her face until she was forced to draw away. “Enchanting. I shall see you then, my dearest heart, in a little while.”

  “Oh before then. I shall be at the opera tomorrow night, and Lady Darley’s on the night after that.”

  “But I shall not have the felicity of knowing you as mine just yet and I don’t think I can bear to see you with your other admirers until then. No, my sweet, I’ll keep to men’s pastimes for a time, come back to you as soon as I may. The boxing saloon and the club for me.”

  She was touched by his declaration, and felt considerable warmth from his words. He left her shortly after that, and finding Lady Royston alone, drew her aside for a brief conference.

  When Lucy reported the gist of her interview with her suitor to her mother, that lady nodded her approval. “Very proper,” Lady Royston concluded. “Though one kiss would have been sufficient, my love. I shall tell you as soon as you may accept him.”

  “For my part,” Aunt Honoria put in, “I think he’s a fine gentleman. He will be very good to you, Lucy my dear, I’m sure. He has always been most considerate to me, and that I cannot say of all of your suitors.”

  Chapter Three

  “I can’t bear it.” Philip Moore cried. He slammed his fist against the marble mantelpiece.

  Edward Wenlock winced in sympathy. “Careful, old boy. You’ve only just come into all this, you don’t want to destroy it yet.” He swept his hand around, indicating the fine salon, the expensive furnishings.

  “What do I care?” Philip demanded. “I’m replacing it all in any case.”

  Edward Wenlock put up his quizzing glass. “Why on earth do you want to do that?”

  Philip cast a glance around the room, an expression of exquisite distaste crossing his face and curling his lip. “Too grandiose. Not my style at all. It’s all going, Edward. If you want any of it, speak up, or it will be sold on.”

  Lord Wenlock looked around him at the pink upholstered gilt chairs, and the extravagant mouldings. “Not the style for bachelor lodgings.”

  “Quite.” More in control now, Philip went over to one of the offending chairs and sat down. He stretched his long legs before him and considered the polish on one of his Hessians. “The man makes me sick.” He wasn’t talking about any interior designer.

  Lord Wenlock showed no surprise. “He was a bully at school, but couldn’t he have improved since then?”

  Philip’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “Not that I’ve seen. Once he started sniffing around Lucy, I made some enquiries.”

  Lord Wenlock lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “You’ve been busy. What kind of enquiries?”

  “Not his finances, Lucy’s mother seems to be taking care of that, though I have requested a report. I have some control; I’m not one of her trustees, as her father wanted to leave the way clear for a marriage between Lucy and Bernard, or failing that, me.” He glanced away. “However, I am head of the family, and I’ll use that particular card as much as I can.”

&nb
sp; “So who have you been asking?”

  Philip swallowed and leaned forward in his chair, elegance forgotten. “until last month Sanders visited a certain house in Covent Garden regularly.”

  Wenlock shrugged. “So do a lot of people.”

  “It was the house on the corner. The House of Correction.”

  “Oh Lord.” The House of Correction specialised in acts of violence. Only a man wishing this kind of entertainment would venture there.

  “They threw him out. He hurt one of the girls badly. I’d heard that he went there, and I went to find out. The place made me sick.” Philip looked as though he meant that literally, his mouth clamped tight shut against the nausea for a moment. “The madam unburdened her conscience remarkably easily. It seems that Sanders has outrun his credit, and caused too much damage to her girls to be welcome back.”

  Wenlock frowned. “Outrun his credit? That doesn’t sound like the actions of a wealthy man. He would want to settle that kind of debt, keep the madam sweet, especially if he had hopes of marriage.”

  Philip looked up, an arrested expression on his face. “I never thought of that. The idea of Lucy being subjected to that kind of treatment took all my concern. Perhaps I should go to see Chumleigh after all.”

  “Do you really think he would do that to a lady?”

  Philip got to his feet and moved to the window, gazing sightlessly down on the street below. “I think he might. He’s notorious, even in the brothels. I don’t think he’s interested in loving a woman, merely dominating her.”

  There was a pause, in which the sounds of the traffic outside filtered up to them. Even in this fashionable square, it was never still. Horses, carriages and fashionable strollers mingled with street sellers and pickpockets, in democratic confusion. Philip watched them, and thought. He heard his friend, in the quiet room behind him say, “Since her father’s death Lucy and her mother have wanted nothing to do with you. How can you hope to influence them?”