Loving Lucy (41 page)

He sighed. “Very well. Special licences are above my touch at the moment, so I’d planned on
Gretna
.”

“No need for that,” said Janet. “We’ll go and tell my father directly. He knows I want you, and he’s said yes. He knows I can take care of myself.”

Actually it had taken several bitter scenes to wrest permission from her reluctant father, but eventually, knowing Janet had very little chance of contracting an eligible marriage elsewhere, and confronted by pure stubbornness, he had relented.

Janet came forward, brown eyes gleaming in happiness and put her hand on Sir Geoffrey’s arm. “We should be going now, Geoffrey,” she said. Her accents were unmistakably proprietorial.

He looked at her and sighed. “Very well.” He allowed Janet to lead him out of the room.

Lucy and Philip stayed where they were for a moment, and then Lucy gleefully clapped her hands together. “It worked.”

“Yes, my love, it worked,” Philip said, calmer than his wife. But then, it had been her idea. “I still feel guilty, foisting Janet on to him.”

“Did you see her hit him?” demanded Lucy. “He’ll never hurt her the way he did me. She won’t allow it.”

“Do you think he’ll be hen-pecked?”

“I’m sure of it,” she said in delight. She stood up and went over to the little table, picking up the teapot and pouring herself another cup. She poured one for Philip too, and took it over to him. He accepted it with a warm smile. “My uncle has promised to clear the mortgage on Sanders’s house, as a wedding present, and increase Janet’s dowry. But what Sanders doesn’t realise is that there is no entail involved. He’s going to put the money in trust for their children, and put the word about in the City that Sanders is to be watched.”

“Properly under his thumb.” Lucy commented.

She walked over to the window and watched Sir Geoffrey hand his new betrothed into the carriage. It drove out of the inn yard. “How can such a large girl simper like that?” she wondered.

“She was a vastly pretty child,” Philip said. He put his empty cup and saucer on the table and came up to slip his arms around his wife’s waist. “She looked beautiful when she did that at eight. Her mama said she would lose her puppy-fat as she grew up, but she never did.”

“But she has what she wants.”

“So she does. And so do I.” He bent his head and kissed her neck.

“Philip! Someone might see.”

“What does it matter? We’re only Mr and Mrs. Stanley,” he said against her skin. “Who cares what we do?”

“Oh Philip.” She sighed, despite her better judgement leaning back against him.

“Come on,” he said. He drew her away from the window, towards the adjoining room that led to the bedroom, that room which had seen the beginning of their happiness.

“Philip, we can’t. We’re supposed to go to the Cowper’s tonight.”

“We can send our excuses,” Philip said. “The landlady will send someone round with a message.”

“But-!”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “After the shock you’ve had I think you should rest. And perhaps I should rest with you.”

He drew her closer for a long, loving kiss. “Oh Philip.” She said, and then, with more emphasis; “
Philip!
”

THE END

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