Now that the moment had apparently come, Lucy put her doubts behind her. “Tell Lord Denham I shall see him in the drawing room in a few minutes,” she ordered firmly. Calling Molly, she prepared herself to dazzle her suitor.
“Hallo, Tony,” she greeted him, entering the room.
“Lucy! You
look beautiful as ever. Er, has Richard spoken to you?”
Lucy lowered her eyelashes modestly.
“Yes, my lord,” she said.
“Ahem. Will you… Lucy, I shall be very honoured if you will accept my hand in marriage.” Dash it, he thought, as she was silent. He’d made a mull of it.
Faced with the reality of giving up Charles forever, Lucy had a complete change of heart. “I’m sorry,” she faltered.
“I
love you, Lucy,” he muttered at the same time.
She burst into tears and threw herself against his shoulder.
“Tony, I am so very sorry. I really meant to say yes, only I cannot. I love Charles so desperately, and we have quarreled
,
and I
may never see him again ever, and Richard does not like him, and I did not mean to hurt you, for I am truly fond of you, and whatever shall I do?” she wailed.
Disentangling her from his brocaded coat, Lord Denham sighed philosophically and gave her his handkerchief.
“Was afraid that was the way of it,” he admitted. “Come, dry your eyes and tell me all about it.”
Sniffing, she obeyed. The whole story came out bit by bit, and after a few adroit questions Lord Denham thought he understood the chief problem.
“Don’t like to be advising young ladies,” he disclaimed. “Not at all in the way of it. But if you ask me, you are bein’ dashed goosish. How can the fellow write to you with your wicked brother lookin’ over your shoulder all the time? Stands to reason he can’t. If you love the fellow, by all means write to him—the sooner the better before he takes off for the godforsaken ends of the kingdom.”
“He’s not a wicked brother,” contradicted Lucy, “but you are right. I will write to Charles at once. Tony, I am truly grateful for your patience and your advice. I never knew you were so wise.”
“No, am I?” exclaimed his lordship, adding wryly, “I am not so sure of that.” Sighing again, he mended a pen for her and took his leave.
“Won’t have me,” he admitted to Richard later, tactfully omitting all mention of Major Bowen. “Daresay I am a bit too old for her, don’t you know. Might be a good thing she turned me down. I’m too dashed lazy to make a good husband. Quite happy for Harry to inherit.”
Richard was struck by a thought that had not crossed his mind in an age. If he himself did not marry, that chuckleheaded fop, his Cousin Edward, would be his heir!
Lucy, meanwhile, had sent off a brief note to the major. She was not so lost to pride as to beg him to meet her; she merely suggested a time and place for an encounter “to discuss matters of mutual interest.” The footman returned without an answer.
“T’major weren’t at home,” he reported.
Taken aback, Lucy was afraid he might have left for Northumberland. Seeing her alarm, James ventured to reassure her.
“Don ‘ee worrit, miss. T’landlady said he’d be back soon.”
Well, thought Lucy, even if he refuses to see me, I shall find a way to let him know Tony
did
offer for me.
She was not to be required to exercise her ingenuity to that end. Shortly before dinner, James discreetly knocked on her chamber door and handed Molly a twist of paper. There was only a single word on it: “Agreed.” Lucy recognized the writing and hoped that the briefness of the message was caused by caution and not by disinclination.
In the morning Lucy made sure to leave the house early, before her mother was come down and could demand her attendance. Ignoring Molly’s grumbling at the drizzle, she hurried to the rendezvous, heart in mouth.
One look at Charles’s face and she knew all was well. Under the interested and benevolent gaze of the shopkeepers arranging their window displays, she flung herself into his arms and wept with as much abandon as she had on Lord Denham the day before.
“Forgive me, my dearest,” whispered the major hoarsely in her ear.
“Charles, I did not mean all those horrid things I said,” she replied into his shoulder in muffled tones.
It was some time before they returned to rational conversation; but at last the tears were dried, and they sat in the Royal Academy before one of Mr. Turner’s pictures, which Lucy generally much admired, though she did not even notice it this morning.
“We cannot continue to meet in this havey-cavey way,” said Charles gravely. “I must speak to your brother. Surely he would not be so cruel as to forbid you to see me.”
“N-no,” Lucy agreed, her voice doubtful, “but Charles, I have not yet had a chance to talk to mama. Will you not give me just a few days to see if I cannot persuade her to take our part?”
The major could not like the new postponement, nor could he at present refuse her anything she desired.
“As you wish, my love,” he conceded. “Just a few days.”
Lucy had no chance to speak privately to Lady Annabel until after the theatre on Tuesday evening. She would have happily included Miss Fell in her confidences but for two considerations. The first was that her dear Clara seemed unhappy. The second was that she did not wish to give Richard any opportunity to call her indiscreet, and she was afraid he would not think Miss Fell sufficiently a member of the family to be party to the secret.
When they returned from the theatre, Miss Fell retired immediately, after her unpleasant experience with Sir Philip Rossiter. Richard was very restless, and after telling his mother the full story of the baronet’s attack, he retreated to the library with a bottle of brandy, which, however, he did not drink.
Lady Annabel proposed that she and Lucy should retire early for once.
Lucy agreed. “May I come and talk to you in your chamber, mama?” she added.
“Of course, dearest. It is such a long time since we had a comfortable cose together.” Lady Annabel was delighted. She did not want to force Lucy’s confidence, but she had been increasingly worried by her daughter’s moodiness, though she had seemed much happier the last two days. Now, she sensed, she would hear the whole.
Seated on her mother’s bed in her nightgown, Lucy poured her heart out and begged Lady Annabel to intercede on Charles’s behalf.
“You are quite sure you love him?” she asked slowly. “You have not known him very long.”
“Precisely six weeks. Is not that long enough, mama?
You always say you knew you should marry papa after half an hour in his company. It was so with me and Charles. I was so miserable when we had quarrelled that I wished to die. And the only thing that Richard holds against him is that his grandfather was a nabob and not quite a gentleman, but I do not wish to marry his grandfather, I want Charles.”
“Lord Denham also wishes to marry you, Lucy.”
“I know. He proposed to me on Sunday when you were out. I did not like to tell anyone lest he should feel uncomfortable, for I turned him down. Tony is a dear, mama, but I do not wish to spend my whole life with him. And it is
my
life after all, not Richard’s.”
“You are right, my child, and I will not let your brother spoil it, you may be sure. Only you must be a little patient, dearest. Richard has troubles of his own, which make it hard for him to see yours clearly. If he should send your major away, will you forgive him and wait until he can be reasonable? You are very young, and a few months’ wait would prove your love. Can you not count on Charles to remain faithful?”
“Of course I can! And if Richard should do such an odious thing, I should try to forgive him, but I do hope he will not. It would be very hard not to see Charles for months.”
“I will do what I can and we must hope for the rest. God bless you, dearest, and make you as happy with your Charles as I was with your papa.”
Lucy hugged and kissed her, and went to her own chamber to dream of wedding bells.
Lady Annabel had no opportunity to speak to Richard the next day, as he went out soon after breakfast and did not return until late at night, when he was carried home in a hackney and had to be helped up the stairs again.
“Gettin’ to be a reg’lar ‘abit,” was Bell’s censorious comment.
Miss Fell was also unavailable. She sent word that she had the headache and would prefer to be left alone.
So, as no other engagements superseded, Lady Annabel was taken to meet the major. She had met him extremely briefly before and was now charmed by his courteous manner to herself and his obvious worship of Lucy. Nor did her watchful eye overlook the way Major Bowen’s slightest frown could correct behaviour in Lucy that must have drawn a reprimand from herself or Richard.
The major had business in the afternoon, but was to meet them at Almack’s in the evening. He sent bouquets to both ladies, a delightful gesture that pleased Lady Annabel enormously. However, when they arrived at the Rooms he was not yet there.
Lucy, with newfound philosophy, accepted his absence with a sigh and went to dance. She looked more and more frequently at the door as the hour wore on toward eleven, when the doors would inexorably close. Just as she was beginning to fear that he must have met with an accident, he appeared, scraping through by the skin of his teeth. Lucy saw him approach her mother with a grave face. Lady Annabel excused herself to her companions and gave him her full attention.
Seeing her mother’s face grow solemn, Lucy could scarce restrain her impatience to be done with the dance. At last it ended, and brushing aside her partner’s offer of lemonade, she hurried to Charles’s side.
He had bad news. Since he had left them that morning he had at last received word from Northumberland. Something was desperately wrong, and he must leave the next day without fail. Lucy looked at him reproachfully, and he seized her hands, not caring who might see.
“I cannot tell you why I must go,” he said in a tormented voice, “there are others involved. Can you trust me? I shall return as soon as I can, but I do not know when that will be.”
“Of course, I trust you,” Lucy reassured him. “I shall not tease.” She looked up at him bravely, and he was hard put to restrain himself from kissing her before the flower of the Ton
.
He came to a sudden decision.
“One or two hours will make no difference,” he said. “I shall see Mr. Carstairs first thing in the morning. I cannot leave you with such a secret on your mind. Now I must go and prepare for my departure. I hope I shall see you in the morning, my beloved, but in case I should not, farewell, and do not grieve over your brother’s decision, should it go against us. I shall wait for you.”
With that promise Lucy had to be content. She could see that it would be useless to argue with him and did not attempt it. Bidding him godspeed as he kissed her hand, she watched him leave the room, then asked Lady Annabel if they, too, might depart.
“It would give rise to comment,” said her mother gently. “You will not wish to draw unfavorable attention to Major Bowen when he is already facing such difficulties.”
So Lucy languidly danced another two sets before she could go home and retire to her room to indulge in a bout of apprehensive tears.
Lady Annabel did not know what to do; Miss Fell was still confined to her room with the headache, though Bell said she had been out for an airing in the afternoon; Richard, who had left without a word, had still not returned; Lucy was weeping in her chamber and her betrothed was about to leave town on an unspecified errand that evidently had him greatly worried. To cap it all, before he left, he was to ask for Lucy’s hand, and doubtless further upset himself and Lucy and Richard in the process.
She went to bed with a novel, and decided that the problems of Melisande in Count Casimir’s evil clutches were positively restful compared to her own.
Chapter 14
When Miss Fell left Richard after he asked her to marry him, she ran straight to her chamber. She wanted to fling herself on her bed and cry her heart out, but Mary was there, tidying the room. She forced herself to be calm.
“Mary, dear, I should like to be alone. Do you go and make my excuses to Lady Annabel—say I have the headache. I shall ring if I need you.”
“Tha’s…you’re not falling sick again, be you, miss?” asked the maid in alarm.
Miss Fell managed a smile.
“No, no, I shall be quite well shortly, but I must be quiet for a while.”
By the time Mary bustled out, taking an armful of mending with her, the urge to weep had passed. She sat gazing out of the window, unaware of the inappropriately sunny day. A single thought chased itself round and round in her head: He wanted to marry her, and she had refused him. For some time she was quite unable to consider the implications. She was in a sort of trance, which would have delighted Herr Doktor Holzkopf. As that gentleman was not there to snap her out of it with a “vun, two, zree,” she had to await a flock of sparrows, flying twittering past her window, to distract her.
She began to think again. It seemed to her essential to leave the Carstairs as soon as possible. She did not know how she would ever face Richard again. Either he would still want to marry her, in which case she was afraid she would give in and live to see him regret it, or else he would have changed his mind, and that would break her heart.
She would be sad to leave Lady Annabel and Lucy, and she hoped they would remember her with kindness. If she had felt the slightest chance remained of finding out who she really was, she might have reconsidered her decision. However, since she had already met scores of people, and no one had recognized her, she was quite sure she could never have been a member of the Fashionable World. There was no alternative but to try to earn her own living.
She hoped she might be able to join an orchestra and make enough money to support herself by performing upon the pianoforte. Failing that, she would try to obtain a post as a music teacher. Perhaps she could gradually find enough private pupils to become independent. If both those avenues should prove closed to her, she must turn to Lady Annabel for assistance in attaining a position as governess or companion. She dreaded that possibility, foreseeing objections, questions, and an eventual disclosure that Richard had wanted to marry her and she had refused him. Could she ever explain why she had done so? Imagining the bliss of being his beloved wife, she wondered if she could really explain her refusal to herself.