Loving Lucy (2 page)

This time Lucy was careful to place her hands lightly exactly where she should, and she determinedly stared at his chin as he whirled her around the floor. “I think this should confound the gossips. I know you can’t accept my presence, but I admire your appearance of cordiality.”

“Thank you sir.” Her tone was not forthcoming.

“I wish you would believe me when I say I want to be your friend.”

“Would you be my friend if I was not in possession of my father’s fortune?”

Firmly, he replied, “Yes.”

Startled, she turned her head and looked at him directly. Blue gaze met blue. They shared the blue eye colouring, the dark hair, almost black, which characterised the
Moores
, but where her face was small featured and her chin enchantingly pointed, his face bore the stamp of masculinity. The connection between them was distant, the
Moore
family being decidedly unsuccessful in its pursuit of heirs, and apart from the eyes and hair they were entirely different. Philip Moore’s looks bore character rather than handsomeness, intelligence over fashionable ennui.

Primed by her mother’s dislike, Lucy couldn’t like him. She thought his eyes sly, his look calculating, but that ‘yes’ had sounded genuine. It had startled her from such a source, and caught unawares, she smiled at him.

He smiled back, a pleasant, friendly smile with none of the over familiar about it. For a moment, they were in accord, but then Lucy drew back, remembering who he was and what he wanted from her. They could never be friends, although they had been, a long time ago. Not now.

“I wish you would believe me, Lucy, and trust your own judgement over your mother’s. She has had jurisdiction over you for too long. It’s time you thought for yourself.”

“I must always consider my mother’s opinions. She only has my happiness in mind.”

He grimaced, but the expression was soon gone. “I won’t argue with you, Lucy. I only ask that you consider me your friend in need. One day you may be brought to consider that I have only your interests at heart. Please bear it in mind.”

Lucy gave him a sideways glance, but she didn’t voice her disagreement. They walked back to where Lucy’s mother and aunt sat in exaggerated formality, and then Lord Royston bowed and left her without another word. He went back to his own circle of friends and murmured to his particular crony, Lord Edward Wenlock, who favoured her with one quick glance of his expressive brown eyes before he looked away again. Lucy put her chin up and turned away. “How they had the impertinence to ask for vouchers, I’ll never know.” Lucy’s mother declared.

“Why would that be, Lady Royston?” asked a nearby matron.

“His father married into trade, you know. They stink of the shop floor.”

“I think,” replied the matron, raising her fan to her lips, “she was a mercer’s daughter, was she not?”

Lady Royston sniffed. “I really couldn’t say. I try not to interest myself too much with that connection.” but she couldn’t help adding; “I hear they had fingers in all sorts of pies.”

Lucy had heard this before, but she’d never known what pies and which fingers. Her curiosity sometimes kept her awake at night, wondering what her mother meant. It was no good asking, she knew she wouldn’t receive a reply. Either Lady Royston didn’t know, or she didn’t choose to tell her gently reared daughter.

Lucy ventured another look at the gentleman in question and was somewhat ruffled when she discovered him looking back. He held his wineglass up to her in a salute. Damn the man, she could hardly cut him here, and he knew it. With a frosty smile, she turned away, only to see Sir Geoffrey watching her, a troubled look in his eyes. She smiled warmly at him and the troubled look disappeared, to be replaced by an equally warm one. She walked towards him.

Chapter Two

The door to the dowager Lady Royston’s elegant bedroom burst open, admitting her daughter. Her ladyship had decided on a restful morning in bed after the exertions of the previous evening, and before her ‘at home’ this afternoon. A silver tray piled with the remains of her breakfast lay on the night stand next to her bed, and the pretty lace covers could hardly be seen under a layer of letters, invitations and newspapers. Lucy suffered herself to be pulled down for a morning kiss. Her ladyship favoured a particularly sweet perfume that bordered on the sickly. Lucy tried not to breathe in.

Leaning back, she sat on the edge of the bed when her ladyship cleared a space for her. Lady Royston surveyed her only daughter with satisfaction. Dressed becomingly in a morning gown of ivory silk with pale green stripes, given definition by the darker green velvet ribbons at her hem, wrists and throat, she was everything a doting mama could wish for. Her blue eyes sparkled with youth and life; her dark hair gleamed with brushing. She took Lucy’s hand. “Dear child.”

“Good morning Mama,” said her beloved child, not at all put out by her Mama’s look of doting fondness. Her mother’s moods were volatile, and it didn’t do to enter them wholeheartedly, but she was always aware of Lady Royston’s care and devotion to her. “Mama, I think we may have a visitor this morning.”

“Oh? Who? If you in any way encouraged your cousin last night, I will tell you now that the house is still barred to him.”

Lucy looked shocked. “No indeed, Mama, how can you think such a thing? Not at all. It is Sir Geoffrey who wishes to call.”

“Sir Geoffrey?” echoed her ladyship, frozen for a bare moment by the thought.

Lucy bounced gently on the bed, restraining her natural enthusiasm. ”Yes, Mama, he said most particularly he wished to speak to me.”

Lady Royston sat up. “Oh.” She clutched a wisp of lace she frivolously called her handkerchief to her ample bosom. “I never thought he would be so precipitate.”

“Mama, what should I do?”

“Why are you asking me, dear child?”

Lucy looked at her mother in surprise. “Why, Mama, because you
are
my Mama. Who else should I ask, pray?” Lucy had always come to her mother for advice, trusting her to give her best counsel.

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?”