Loving Lucy

by Lynne Connolly

  They laughed together, and then the girl glanced over at Philip, sitting at the other side of the table talking to Mrs. Carmichael, Janet limpetted to his side. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Now Lord Royston would be a catch for anyone - not only an earl and fortune, but so good looking with it.” She paused for effect. Lucy didn’t disagree and showed her a smiling face, wondering what else this astonishing girl would say. “But this is the first time I’ve actually met him. I thought the Carmichaels were making him up, but here he is, as large as life and twice as handsome.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you like him?”

  “Yes,” Lucy whispered back. Her eyes twinkled in amusement, and she and Miss Putney exchanged a conspiratorial grin. “But he won’t look at us,” Miss Pulteney continued. “He knows what he has to do. And I don’t think he likes any of us above the usual.” She glanced at Janet, attending assiduously to whatever Philip was saying. “But we can flirt and talk, and if Janet Carmichael ever leaves him alone I can say I’ve talked with an earl. That should stir ‘em up at my next dancing class.”

  “You still go to dancing classes?”

  The girl leaned back now they weren’t discussing people present. “Ma says I have two left feet,” she confessed. “I’ve been going to the dancing master since I was seven years old, and I don’t think I’m any better. I told her not to waste her money but she insists I have to learn to dance with some grace.” She picked up her glass of champagne and took an appreciative sip, twirling the sparkling cut glass in her fingers. “I say there are other things I can be doing when people are dancing.” The wink she gave Lucy almost overset her. She choked on her own drink and went quite pink. Philip glanced over at her, concern in his gaze, but smiled when he saw there was no cause for alarm. Appreciative of his care for her, she smiled back at him. Mrs. Carmichael looked at her sharply, so she looked away. Perhaps Philip was marked on her card for her daughter, after all, and her questions earlier had been to see if Lucy and Philip were promised in any way. She must have wondered when Lucy arrived alone, with only Philip as escort.

  Without waiting to be served, Miss Pulteney took the champagne bottle from the ice bucket and refilled their glasses. Lucy looked at the gesture but said nothing, because she was enjoying herself too much. She could have depressed these people’s pretensions using methods she had seen her mother use to devastating and crushing effect, but she didn’t want to. She liked them, especially the eldest Miss Pulteney who knew her own vulgarity and without revelling in it, accepted it.

  “You’re genteel aren’t you?” Miss Annabelle asked frankly. “A girl of good family with little money. A lot of your kind end up as governesses, don’t they?”

  “Yes,” Lucy agreed. She had seen it herself. Not something she would want. “But I have a respectable dowry, so I shouldn’t come to that.” She smiled when she thought of the value of her dowry, but felt a little guilty when she reflected it had been an accident of birth which had given it to her.

  “Good. It must be a dreadful life. Not a servant, not one of the family and nothing to look forward to.” Miss Pulteney paused and sipped her drink. “You know, if we drink any more of this, we’ll be quite befuddled. Shall we?”

  Rodney lifted his hand for the waiter to bring another bottle.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lucy opened her eyes and groaned. Not her first alcohol induced headache, but decidedly her worst. She put her head under the pillow to avoid the light and thought back through the previous evening. Why had Philip not stopped her? True, he had spent the whole of the evening with the possessive Janet but he could have stopped her, surely.

  He had watched her to make sure she didn’t commit any faux pas, but she didn’t think she had said anything to betray herself. She remembered vaguely he’d had a word with Rodney when he parted with them, but couldn’t remember what was said.

  She had laughed far too loud, forgotten all her posture lessons, and generally enjoyed herself, but she didn’t think she had done anything wrong.

  She heard the click of the door and blinked at Potter, coming in with a can of hot water for her wash. “Ohhhhh” she managed. She closed her mouth, wet her lips and tried again. “Tea?”

  “I have some waiting for you ma’am,” the maid said, and left the room, returning with a tray with tea and bread and butter. Lucy eyed the food doubtfully and decided to leave it alone, but when she had struggled to a sitting position, took the tea cup gratefully. “I was drunk, wasn’t I?” she said.

  “Decidedly so, ma’am,” replied the maid. “But his lordship was there to look after you, so I don’t suppose anything too bad came of it.”

  “No, but I met some funny people.” she said, remembering. The memory came back to her in little scenes, like a play. “And I enjoyed Astley’s enormously.”

  “His lordship has asked me to remind you of your appointment this afternoon,” said Potter. She moved around the room, getting Lucy’s clothes ready, her hands constantly busy.

  “Appointment?”

  “He said you wouldn’t remember, ma’am,” Potter said smugly. “You are to go and see Mr. Chumleigh this afternoon. His lordship is putting it about that it’s an errand for your Scottish mother, one she couldn’t do because she had to go home, but I think it might be about something else.”

  Lucy took a deep draught of hot tea. She found if she kept still the headache was bearable. “There are a lot of things to sort out. I’m twenty five in two months’ time, so Mr. Chumleigh might want to see me about that. I’ll have complete control of my fortune then. My Mama said I was too young for it,” she continued. “The real one, I mean.”

  Potter looked at her directly. “Are you feeling quite the thing, ma’am?”

  “No,” she confessed. “I have a headache, and my stomach hurts.”

  “I’ll find you something for the headache,” the maid said, “And the rest will pass off in a few hours.” She sounded as if she knew.

  “Yes,” said Lucy. “I certainly hope so because I’ll need a clear head later.”

  ***

  Lucy rested that day, choosing a book to read, and by the time Philip came for her at two, she was quite restored to her normal self. Mrs. Carmichael had insisted she take someone with her for propriety’s sake, and Janet had quickly volunteered, so they both sat in the small parlour and waited for him, dressed in their outdoor clothes.

  He arrived promptly, in his own carriage for a change, a smart equipage with the Royston crest on the door. Lucy thought the crest looked better without the widow’s lozenge. Janet waved to him from the window, and he nodded in response before entering the front door.

  When he came into the room, he looked straight at Lucy. “Feeling better, Miss Moore?” he asked, his tones enriched with amusement.

  “Perfectly, thank you sir,” she answered primly. “I’m just not used to that quantity of champagne. But my headache has completely gone now.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, and turned to Miss Carmichael. “Are you to come with us, ma’am?” His tones were now carefully devoid of expression, so Lucy knew he wasn’t pleased.

  “My Mama says someone must,” Janet answered.

  “She takes very good care of me,” Lucy said, coming forward to take him by the arm, before Janet could take possession again.

  They went out to the carriage and Janet delightedly plumped up the seat. Lucy sat away from the window and was glad of her poke bonnet. “Do you travel everywhere in such style?” Janet asked.

  “Well, I am expected to,” said Royston apologetically. His hand lay inches away from Lucy’s own and she longed to take it, but dared not.

  The stairs were put up, the door slammed and they were away.

  They could have walked to Mr. Chumleigh’s office, but it was pleasant not to have to. Despite her assurances to Philip, Lucy still felt a little shaky, but she knew if she told him, he might tease her more than she wanted him to when he had the chance. Being in love, letting som
eone in to that extent made her more vulnerable than she had ever been, but it was a risk she didn’t mind taking.

  They left Red Lion Square and travelled down into the City and through several winding streets until they came to the office. “You could ride round in the carriage if you wanted to,” Philip told Janet. “Our business is boring and protracted. Miss Moore will be perfectly safe here.”

  Despite the temptation of circulating the fashionable streets in Philip’s town carriage, Janet refused to take the bait. She came into the office with Philip and Lucy. The limp young man was there again, sitting behind his large, sloping desk, but he came out from behind it and bowed. “My lord, my lady,” he said.

  Lucy closed her eyes in horror for a moment, and hoped Janet hadn’t noticed. “If you would care to come this way Mr. Chumleigh is expecting you,” the young man continued.

  Janet made to accompany them, but Lucy smiled and asked her to stay. “We shouldn’t be long,” she assured her, “And it’s not as though I’m without protectors.”

  Janet smiled thinly, but was forced to let them go.

  Mr. Chumleigh waited for them in his office; his large desk piled high with even more papers. One sat in front of him, the pink silk ribbon that had tied it lying loose underneath. He shook their hands warmly and bade them sit.

  A maid brought in tea, and Lucy poured for them all, Mr. Chumleigh thanking her warmly. “You’re looking remarkably well, my lady, if I may say so,” he said.

  “Thank you Mr. Chumleigh,” she replied, although in her ordinary, plain green pelisse and poke bonnet she thought she had looked better. She untied the strings of the bonnet and cast it aside on a vacant chair, then took off her gloves and tucked them inside the crown.

  “I’m feeling much better, sir,” she continued. “And I’ll feel better still when this matter has been resolved.”

  Mr. Chumleigh’s cheer faded from his face. He resumed his large comfortable leather chair behind his desk, and looked grave. “It’s a sad business,” he said. “I have seen Lady Royston several times. She is completely distraught.”

  “I’ve written to her,” said Lucy, “But I trust you Mr. Chumleigh, not to tell her I was here today.”

  “If you wish it, my lady,” he replied, but she didn’t think he looked pleased.

  Lucy turned to Philip. “How much did you tell him?” she asked.

  Philip shook his head. “Only that you wish to terminate your contract to Sanders, and marry me.”

  She turned back to look at her man of business. She thought he didn’t look approving. Suddenly, she realised she had known him as long as she had known Philip. He had worked for her family as long as she could remember, and his father before him. If she couldn’t trust him, she couldn’t trust anyone.

  “I shall tell you what happened,” she said, “If you promise to tell no one.”

  “Lucy.” said Philip softly, but she didn’t look at him.

  “Perhaps if you understand, you won’t mind doing this so much.”

  She waited until Mr. Chumleigh nodded, reluctantly. “I will tell no one.”

  “Very well then.” She took a deep breath and then a long draught of warm, sweet tea to fortify herself. But she knew if she was pregnant, she would need Mr. Chumleigh’s help. There would be arrangements to be made. “Sir Geoffrey Sanders raped me.” She waited again for the information to sink in. She watched as the expression on Mr. Chumleigh’s face changed from disapproval to horror, the eyes widening in appalled recognition of the violation done to her. His thin mouth became thinner, turning down.

  “After that, I felt I couldn’t marry him. However my mother still wished to go forward with the contract with Sir Geoffrey. I had to leave.”

  Mr. Chumleigh found his voice. “And Lord Royston has offered you his protection?”

  She smiled and looked at Philip, reaching her hand across to take his. “More than that.” She looked back to Mr. Chumleigh. “But there’s nothing to compromise me in his lordship’s offer. I accept this one of my own free will. I’m presently staying with relatives of his, in the City. They are large family, and there’s perfect propriety in it. They don’t know who I am yet, but I will tell them, and they’ll be able to vouch for me if anyone asks.”

  The lawyer closed his eyes and sighed in what looked like relief. “So you could conclude your contract with Sir Geoffrey and go home if you wished to?”

  “I could,” she said. She felt Philip’s hand in hers and she smiled. “But I don’t want to.”

  The look she gave Philip then was openly loving, and he returned it in full measure. “I truly want to marry Lord Royston, and as soon as possible.”

  Something had occurred to the sharp-witted lawyer. “Forgive me, my lady, but what - what -”

  Lucy nodded in understanding. “Yes,” she said. “What if Sir Geoffrey has made me pregnant? What then? Well sir, I come into full possession of my fortune in two months, and until then, Lord Royston will act as my banker. If I’m with child, I’ll go abroad and bear it secretly. It won’t be the first time that kind of thing has happened.”

  “Indeed not,” said Mr. Chumleigh heavily, but he said nothing more yet. Lucy suspected he knew far more than she did about such matters.

  “I won’t have that man’s progeny take the title my father had,” she said firmly. She let go Philip’s hand so she could take up her tea, and allow him to drink his own. “I’m determined on that.”

  “So you will delay your wedding to Lord Royston?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Philip spoke. “There’s no need for that. I’ll marry Lucy if she is pregnant or not. I understand her wishes, and I’ll accede to them, but I won’t leave her to manage alone. I’ll go with her, and if I go as her husband it will be better for all of us.”

  Chumleigh looked at Lucy and she knew he had realised the same thing. “If we’re married when the child is born,” she said, “when it grows up it will have a claim to the title. Do you want to see everything my father built destroyed by Chancery?” The court swallowed claims like Gargantua, spinning out the process until fortunes were exhausted in legal fees, families reduced to bickering paupers.

  Philip sighed and looked down at his hands, now linked together on his lap. “You’re right,” he said without looking up. Lucy felt a surge of love for him, that he could so openly acknowledge it.

  “If the child is born out of wedlock,” Lucy continued inexorably, “It will have no claim on the title, whoever is the father. I will make sure it is well cared for, of course, but I won’t see it inherit the earldom.”

  Philip swallowed hard and stared at his hands. After a moment he looked up and met her steady gaze. His eyes were bright. “But you’ll let me come with you?”

  “Oh yes,” she said softly. He smiled wanly and reached his hand out to hers again, gripping it tightly. Then he turned back to Chumleigh.

  The lawyer’s face had undergone a transformation. His look was appreciative now, understanding Lucy’s dilemma and her brave decision. “Then what can I do to help?” he said crisply.

  “We’ll go somewhere we aren’t known; pose as Mr and Mrs Stanley again, perhaps,” Lucy said. She hoped Mr. Chumleigh didn’t remember the ‘again.’ “So we’ll need a discreet access to funds.”

  “Europe is at peace,” the lawyer said. “There should be no problem with that. What will you tell your mother?”

  “The truth,” Lucy said. “But not to her face. She might yet try to force me to marry Sir Geoffrey, especially if I am with child. I’ll write to her, tell her the situation, but not my whereabouts.”

  Philip interrupted. “In this case,” he said. “How long before we can marry?”

  “December,” said Lucy firmly. “The babe would be born in November.”

  Mr. Chumleigh thought hard. “Then legally, there is little problem. I can draw up your new marriage contract to take place by the end of the year.”

  Lucy smiled. “Do you hear that Philip? We can be
married by the end of the year.”

  Philip wasn’t to be consoled. “I’d hoped for sooner.”

  “It might be sooner,” she said, although privately, she had some cause for concern and feared she really must be pregnant. It had been nearly a week now since she had expected her courses, and that wasn’t like her. She was learning how to face what she must, and the knowledge that Philip wanted to be with her had almost overset her.

  They finished their tea in silence, all of them glad of the chance to think.

  Mr. Chumleigh put his cup down and picked up his pen, tapping the end of the stripped quill against his teeth. “To business,” said the lawyer firmly. “I cannot end this current contract without the agreement of both parties, but it might be as well if you signed your intent to end it now. Then, if you were forced, you could produce it as evidence of intent. The contract will come to an end the day after the date set for your wedding to Sir Geoffrey Sanders.”

  “So we could be married the day after that,” Philip said. Lucy smiled at him fondly.

  “You could,” said Mr. Chumleigh, “But you must obtain a Special Licence for that.”

  “I can do that,” Philip said. Lucy saw he felt more cheerful now he had something to look forward to. “I want to be able to protect her against her mother, to have some weapons of my own.”

  Mr. Chumleigh’s mood suddenly changed; he looked down, at another sheet of paper which lay before him. “You may need it, my lord,” he said.

  Philip looked at him, a keen look in his clear blue eyes. “What is this?”

  “Lady Royston is the principal guardian appointed to look after Lady Lucy’s fortune in her minority,” said Mr. Chumleigh. “That is, until she is five and twenty. That time is nearly upon us, and I think Lady Royston might have seen her way out in Sir Geoffrey.”

  Lucy exchanged a shocked looked with Philip, but they let the lawyer continue. “She has consistently overspent in the last ten years. There is a sum allotted to you for your living expenses, my lady, and your mother has exceeded this every year.”