Loving Lucy

by Lynne Connolly

  She sipped her tea and listened to the chatter going on around her. The Carmichaels knew a great deal about their clients, it seemed, and on the desk was a book with dates in it. Seeing her interest, Rodney drew it towards her. He leaned over her shoulder. “This is the important dates in this Season,” he said. “Look - Court dates, important balls, reminders of Almack’s’. This” he drew another book towards them - “Is a book with the names of our most important clients. They require exclusivity, so we try to make sure no one has the same fabric for the same occasion. We could lose two accounts that way.”

  Lucy read some of the names and occasions, fascinated by the attention to detail. “So this - “ she pointed with one delicately gloved finger - “Is the record of the next ball at Carlton House, and these are the people who are to attend?”

  “Yes indeed,” he replied. He sounded surprised, and she looked up at him.

  “Not everyone understands quite so quickly,” he said. He glanced with a smile up to his sisters. Lucy smiled back and turned back to the books. Once the shorthand was understood, the books were easy to read. “CHB” for “Carlton House Ball,” for instance. She thought of the Prince of Wales and shivered slightly. The man was so fat these days it was gross. Without the restraining influence of his erstwhile friend Mr. Brummel, he had reverted to an abundance of fobs, seals and other fancy ornaments, which only served to emphasise his burgeoning body.

  She leant back and picked up her tea cup. “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “Barely a month,” he replied. “The clientele is growing nicely. We’re hoping if we make a good showing at the upcoming events, they’ll come back. We also supply heavier materials for upholstery and the like, but we haven’t opened a shop in this part of the town for those yet.”

  “It’s all very interesting,” she remarked. “I never realised you went into such detail.”

  “Not everyone does, Miss Moore, but we find attention to detail is the answer, especially where the ton is concerned.”

  “Do you own any more shops?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Lord, yes. Two in less fashionable parts of the city, one in York and one in Exeter. We hope to have more. We started by importing the cloth, warehousing it and distributing it, but if we own the shops as well, we can control the business so much better. We still sell to other establishments, but the cloth you buy here you can’t buy anywhere else.”

  “How clever.” Lucy said in admiration. “I should like to know more about this sometime. It’s all so fascinating.” It was a different experience: worlds within worlds. The microcosm of the mercer’s business within the macrocosm of her world, which in its turn was a microcosm of the wider world beyond.

  She looked over at the others to see Mr. Carmichael give her a curious glance. She couldn’t see why; she wasn’t flirting with his son. She didn’t know if the look signified approval or not, but she hoped he didn’t mind. Lucy determined not to flirt with Mr. Rodney Carmichael. It would be wrong to repay her kind hosts with such false coin, compounding the sin of lying to them.

  She was relieved to find they were to travel home by carriage. A boy was despatched to call two hackneys to the door, and when they did, the girls trooped through the shop. Nobody looked at them.

  The street outside was filling up now; the fashionable hours for shopping were upon them, so Lucy didn’t look up but climbed quickly into the first coach with Janet and Christina. It was a tight fit, with the bulk of the other two, but far preferable to trudging all that way back home. Mr. Carmichael and his son promised to be there for dinner and the carriages set off back the way they had come. Lucy presumed, from their tone, that they didn’t always managed to come for dinner. Shops often opened late at night, as often as their clients required them to be open. They wouldn’t serve of course, but they were conscientious and keen to see things done properly. Lucy gathered this was an important venture for them, their first foray into the fashionable world, and wished them all the luck in the world. She would certainly go there once she was back.

  ***

  Philip came to dinner, and brought Lord Wenlock with him. When Lucy entered the drawing room, she found them alone, waiting for the others to join them. Philip took her hand and kissed it, and then she shook hands with Lord Wenlock. “Mrs. Carmichael has been called away for a few moments,” said Philip, possessing himself of her hand again. “We haven’t long on our own. How are you?”

  “They’re very kind,” she told him. She glanced at Lord Wenlock. “What do you know of this mess, sir?”

  “I know you’ve been abused by Sir Geoffrey in a way which makes it impossible for you to marry him,” he said gently. “Forgive Royston, but he had to tell me this much.”

  “I can forgive him anything,” she said softly, and received a squeeze of his hand for her words. “Yes. Geoffrey hurt me. He’s a brute.”

  “I know,” his lordship said sadly. “But we couldn’t tell you. You wouldn’t have listened to us.”

  “I was a complete idiot,” she said.

  “Oh no.” Philip said. “Merely badly advised. Never an idiot, my love.”

  She looked at him and smiled warmly. Lord Wenlock took a quick breath and she turned back to him when she heard it. “Yes,” she confirmed. “When all this is over, I’m going to marry Philip.”

  “I’m so pleased for you both.” Wenlock cried. “And you know you can always count on me as your friend.”

  “Thank you,” she said simply. “I think you always were, but my Mama persuaded me otherwise.” Her face shadowed a little at this reference to her mother, and Philip drew her closer to him. “She must have some redeeming qualities,” he said with a smile, “to have produced you, my sweet.”

  The door opened and Philip dropped Lucy’s hand hastily. She felt bereft.

  Mrs. Carmichael glanced at Lucy and said; “Miss Moore. You have introduced yourself to his lordship?”

  Lucy smiled at Edward Wenlock. “Yes indeed.”

  Philip moved away from her and towards the fire, when the other girls came in all together, to be followed by their father and brother. Rodney came over to talk to Lucy. She didn’t look at Philip, but she could feel his steadying, warm presence and she felt better than she’d felt all day.

  “Miss Moore has quite a head for business,” he said.

  “Really?” Philip said, his lips quirking in a smile. “I don’t know what her mother would say to that.”

  “Do you think she would disapprove?” Rodney looked anxious.

  Philip relented when he realised Lucy was close to laughter. “I don’t know,” he said, although he knew very well. “But I would hope that she wouldn’t be strait-laced about it.”

  “This country needs growing businesses to make it rich,” said Mr. Carmichael. “Agriculture is failing, so we must look for new enterprises.”

  “You could be right,” said Philip, more soberly. “This may be another Elizabethan age, new men rising, old ones sinking into oblivion. It’s an interesting theory.”

  Lucy thought her mama would die rather than admit anything like that.

  Philip took her in to dinner. He was the highest ranking man and she was the guest. Otherwise, it would have been Mrs. Carmichael. They placed him next to her at table, and Mrs. Carmichael sat next to him at the head of the table. Edward Wenlock was on the other side, sitting next to the lovely Frances.

  The food was elegantly served on good china, the company was better than Lucy had experienced for a long time, even if she discounted Philip. It still didn’t compare to that simple, idyllic meal at the “Kings’ Arms” but Lucy suspected that nothing would.

  They discussed current fashions, and Lucy, a fashion leader in her own circle, feigned ignorance.

  “We will take you to our warehouse, if you wish,” said Christina. “You may choose any fabric you require, at cost price.”

  “I trust,” said Rodney Carmichael, “Miss Moore will allow us to make her a present of one length, at least
.”

  Lucy flushed. She could afford to buy the whole warehouse if she wished, and she hated taking things under those circumstances. “My Mama was very generous,” she said. “She has sent me what I consider a great deal of money.” Philip had handed her two hundred pounds the other day, under the pretence of it coming from her mother. Normally this might buy Lucy a new hat, perhaps a gown, but she rarely saw the money itself. She was charmed to have the notes in her stocking drawer upstairs, and it gave her a feeling of security, the means of escape, should she wish it. She was also becoming aware of how much such a sum would mean to some people. It could feed a family for a year.

  “Nevertheless,” Rodney said firmly. “It would be kind of you to accept one length from us.”

  Lucy could do nothing but accept. She would pay them back, she resolved, for their kindness to her now.

  The slightly overbearing Christina began to tell Lucy of all the delights she could expect to see on her visit to the Capital. Lucy realised that Vauxhall and Astleys were strange to her and many of her friends, so she expressed interest in visiting both those places. The once fashionable VauxhallGardens was the most famous and enduring pleasure garden, but the ton had abandoned it, except for its more nefarious pursuits. Millicent displayed her age delightfully when she clapped her hands and said, “I always love Astleys. We haven’t been for so long.”

  “I thought they didn’t open until after Easter?” Lucy said, remembering what she had read.

  “Oh, they have Previews.” said Christina, with a careless wave of her hand. “We can go to one of those.”

  “And the animals in the Tower.” said Frances.

  “The Tower itself is an extremely interesting place,” Mrs. Carmichael put in. “I think I might like to accompany you there. There’s more history there than anywhere else in England.”

  Lucy looked suitably impressed; she’d never visited the Tower either.

  “This all sounds like an exemplary programme for a visit to the capital.” said Lord Wenlock. He glanced at Frances, and Lucy thought there was some warmth in his gaze. Oho, she thought. The wind blows in hat direction, does it?

  “Could we escort you to a few of these delights?” asked Philip. “Fashionable London is a great bore sometimes and this sounds altogether more delightful.”

  Lucy smiled at him, but looked away hastily in case she betrayed too much. “Surely you have better things to do.” she said.

  “Nothing I can think of,” he replied. He smiled back at her with an innocence she knew hid the most intimate secrets. He transferred his gaze to Frances. “And no more congenial company,” he added softly. She flushed prettily.

  “Oh that would be amusing.” Edward Wenlock cried, not slow in seeing Philip’s purpose, and perhaps with one of his own.

  “When do you plan to go?” he asked.

  Christina looked at Lucy. “Do you have to hurry home?” she asked.

  “No,” she said. “We were to have come down for a month or more, but - now I’m not sure.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” said Mrs. Carmichael firmly. “You’re proving very good for us.” Lucy smiled her thanks and saw the stern features relax into a smile. The creases around her mouth suited that better than her habitual serious expression.

  Glancing over at Rodney, she saw him smile too. “I could spare some time from the office,” he said speculatively and looked to his father for confirmation. He received it. “You haven’t taken a break for months - it might be years.” said his father. “Now we’ve got the Bond Street shop up and running, I think it would be a good time for you.”

  “I’ll enjoy that,” said Rodney, looking at Lucy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A dissipation of delights was arranged for Lucy’s delectation in the coming weeks. She didn’t see Philip the next day, but was charmed to receive a letter from him, ostensibly from her Scottish mother. She opened it in the privacy of her bedroom.

  “My dearest love,

  I think we’re safe for a while. I went to visit your mother today, and found her with your aunt Honoria and Sanders. She is distraught, or she says she is, but forgive me, sweetheart, I don’t think it is with worry for you. She is furious that you have defied her, determined you will do so no longer. She has sent to the country for you, seems sure you have fled to your house there, but she is holding things together in public. If you are at the house, you will remain there and be married from there - she says.

  She doesn’t seem to have considered you may be in the city still, although I suspect her of sending to Bow Street to make certain discreet enquiries. She won’t find you there.

  It was hard to share the same air as Sanders, but I think I was calm enough to hide any suspicions he might have. He knows I have never liked him.

  When Sanders left, I asked her what had happened that night. She was evasive, she said she had given permission for certain liberties to take place, only natural between a betrothed couple. She didn’t specify what they were, and led me to believe they were in the nature of allowing you to have a room to yourselves for half an hour. Not the atrocity that did happen.

  It makes me wonder who I would be best calling out - her or Sanders.

  You must promise me you won’t contact her in this time except through me. If you wish to write to her, keep it to generalities, give her no clue where you are. I’ll contrive to get it to her without her discovering its origin.

  I’m going to accompany Edward on his courtship. He’s playing a deeper game than you suspect - but it might give you some amusement to work it out for yourself. There’s nothing sinister in it.

  My love, I’ve decided to court you. I know this is the wrong way about, but you deserve to be courted properly. Society won’t talk if I’m discreet, and appear where I’m expected to appear. It will give me the best possible excuse to visit and make sure you’re well. In places where society congregates, I’ll be forced to leave you alone. I see they’ve planned a visit to the Opera; I shall have to be engaged elsewhere that evening. If anyone sees us together, they will recognise you, despite your new appearance. There is a risk, but I can’t leave you alone now. I need to see you often, to assure myself you meant it.

  If you wish to be alone for this time, if you don’t want to take that risk, I’ll understand, but I would dearly love the opportunity to court you before we marry.

  By the way, did I imagine it, or have I a rival for your affections? Rodney Carmichael seemed extremely taken with you last night. Another reason for me to keep you company.

  If you wish to reply, address the letter to your ‘mother’ and give it to me to frank for you.

  I remain, my love,

  Your devoted Royston.”

  Lucy read that letter repeatedly until she knew it by heart, then kept it in the little drawer at the base of her dressing case, keeping the key with his ring on a little chain pinned to the inside of her gown. Her reply was equally fond. So clever of him, she thought, to have thought of a way to correspond. She hated leaving her mother in such anxiety and felt glad Philip had given her an opportunity to contact her.

  Sitting in the small parlour, she wrote a note.

  “Dear Mama,

  I left because I was in distress and I couldn’t rely on your help. I have said, and continue to say, that I will not marry Sir Geoffrey Sanders. I would appreciate it if you would send a notice to the papers to that effect.

  I am sorry to cause you any worry but I think you will insist that I go through with the marriage. I will not marry such a brute. I will not return until after the contract has expired.

  I am as well as I can be under the circumstances. I am safe.

  I send my love to you and Aunt Honoria,

  My best regards,

  Lucy Moore.”

  She folded the note, put it aside and wrote a much longer and fonder one to Philip.

  She signed her name at the bottom with a flourish, but the door to the small parlour opened whi
le she was doing so, to admit Janet Carmichael. Lucy quickly folded the letter so her signature wouldn’t show. She put the note inside, but didn’t offer any explanation. It was usual to write a letter on one sheet of paper. It was sixpence for each extra sheet, an unnecessary expense when a sheet could be crossed. However, this missive would be delivered by hand.

  “A letter for my mother,” she said, and found a plain seal for it. Janet waited until Lucy had let the thick red wax drop on to the back and press the seal on to it. She watched Lucy address the letter to a fictitious address in Scotland. “Lord Royston says he’ll frank it for me.”

  “He’s very kind, isn’t he?” Janet sat down at the small table. Lucy put the writing things neatly away. “Very kind,” she said warmly.

  “I can’t think why they’d want to visit us,” she went on. “At least - I suspect I know why Lord Wenlock is visiting, but Lord Royston has said he wants to come with us on our little outings. Why would he want to do that, do you suppose?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Lucy replied. “I thought he had a fancy to see the menagerie and the other places.”

  Janet laughed. “You are sweet, Fiona. He must have seen them before; this isn’t his first visit to the capital, you know. I just wondered - “ she hesitated, looking down and tracing a pattern on the polished surface of the desk. “ How well do you know him?”

  “We knew each other very well as children,” Lucy replied truthfully. She had promised herself to keep as close to the truth as possible. She didn’t want to lie to these people more than she absolutely had to.

  “So you can’t tell when he has a - a partiality for anyone?” she flushed a little.

  “No more than any other man.” She looked at the homely Janet, and hoped she hadn’t suspected anything yet. “Do you think he has a partiality?”