A Dream Come True (10 page)

“No,” replied Lucia still smarting from his previous comment. “I am sure I will manage.”

She sat down in the leather chair and ran her fingers over the keyboard of the typewriter. In an instant she was transported back to her Parisian Finishing School.

Lord Winterton stood in the doorway of the study and gave a quick smile before disappearing.

Immediately, Lucia let out a sigh of relief and set about familiarising herself with her desk.

‘Fountain pen, pencils, ruler, eraser,' she ticked off. ‘Typing paper, notepad, letter opener. Yes, it all appears to be here.'

She stared at the pile of letters. Some of them had been opened, but others were still sealed.

“Surely he cannot mean me to open them before he has seen them?” she wondered out loud.

At the same moment, Jepson, the butler, came into the room.

“I could not help but overhear, Miss Mountford. think you will find that his Lordship does indeed wish you to open everything. You will find that he is unusually observant and only opens the correspondence he knows he will wish to read. The others, ahem, you may wish to discard.”

“Surely not? At least I should open them and draft a reply for Lord Winterton?”

“As you wish, Miss Mountford. You will find that he has made notes on the letters that he has read, to guide you in your choice of response. Now, may I bring you tea or coffee?”

Lucia requested tea and then began to tackle the pile of letters.

The first one was an invitation to dinner at Claridge's with the Duke and Duchess of Argyll. “Yes, would be delighted,” it read in a strong pencilled script.

‘He has a very manly hand,' thought Lucia, as she opened a letter from a wine merchant, informing Lord Winterton of the arrival of a new shipment.

Having read all the opened letters, Lucia set about replying to them. Before she knew it, she had reduced the pile considerably.

“There. That did not take long,' she murmured, as she wrote all his new engagements into the desk diary she had found on the desk. ‘Now, should I open these as Jepson suggested?'

She picked up the first unopened letter and regarded it carefully. The postmark was London and the hand a fine one.

‘From a lady?' she thought and then decided that someone's secretary had most likely addressed it.

She picked up the silver letter opener in the shape of sword. Pulling out the creamy paper she could see that it was covered in handwriting.

“My dearest Richard,” she read. “How cruel of you to leave so early last evening.”

Lucia coloured and quickly put the letter back into its envelope. She had not seen the signature and she did not want to, in case she knew the lady in question.

‘Well,' she said to herself. ‘Maybe Mama was right, but how odd that he has not opened it and left it on the pile with his business correspondence. It must be a mistake. Oh dear, I shall have to own up to him that I accidentally opened something private. I do hope he will not be cross with me.'

She quickly flicked through the remainder of the unopened letters and guessing that most of them were also from ladies, she set them to one side.

Before she knew it the gong had sounded for luncheon. She stretched and rose from her chair, wondering where she would find the dining room.

Fortunately Jepson was in the hall waiting for her.

“Do come this way, Miss Mountford. His Lordship is just upstairs and he will join you shortly.”

She followed Jepson into the dining room. It was a large room with a huge crystal chandelier that hung over an imposing mahogany table.

She sat down in the carver chair that Jepson had indicated and waited.

There were flowers on the table and she noticed that the water glass in front of her was of the best crystal.

‘He must be very rich,' she mused. ‘We would not bring out such glasses for luncheon.'

“Good afternoon.”

Lord Winterton's deep voice resonated around the large room.

He was wearing a dark-blue lounge coat and one of the latest shirts with a fashionably modern collar. His coat made his eyes look even bluer and more startling than ever. Lucia was forced to admit that he was indeed an extremely handsome man.

“I trust that you found your first morning passed swiftly and usefully?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, “I have finished replying to all your opened letters. I have to confess that I opened a letter from a lady by mistake. I hope you will forgive me for the intrusion into your privacy.”

To her amazement Lord Winterton threw back his head and laughed throatily.

“My dear, I put those unopened letters in the pile so that you might reply on my behalf. They are from silly women whose heads are full of fanciful notions about the true nature of our involvements. I reasoned that you would be able to put them off with one of your clever replies.”

Lucia did not know how to respond.

“Well – ” she began.

“Oh, just thank them for taking the time to write and that their comments have been noted. Something like that. Sign it on behalf of me – a personal signature would only enflame them further.”

“If you are certain.”

“Dashed certain, my dear Lucia,” he replied, buttering his roll generously. “Now, what's for luncheon, Jepson? I am famished.”

Lord Winterton's Chef had excelled himself. Lucia had not tasted such delicious soup for ages and the lamb chops were superb.

“I must congratulate you on your Chef. A very fine meal.”

“Old Francois is very talented,” remarked Lord Winterton, finishing his glass of claret. “I found him in Paris when I was staying there a few years ago. Dashed glad I persuaded him to come and work for me.”

“I attended Finishing School in Paris,” said Lucia, pleased to have a topic of conversation she could speak about with authority.

“Really? Don't tell me you were one of those gels with the straw boaters? I always thought they looked rather fetching.”

“Yes, we had to wear straw boaters, but only in the summer.”

“Where did you attend?”

“It was the Lycée International not far from the Champs Elysees.”

“Ah, I do not know it. My hotel was in Opera. And then I stayed with the Comtesse for a while – ”

He tailed off, obviously recollecting a pleasant memory as he gazed into the middle distance and the expression on his face was one of rapt delight.

“Enough of that. Shall I ask Jepson to bring in the pudding? I think you will enjoy what I have chosen for you.”

He nodded at Jepson and at the same moment the front door bell rang.

“Shall I answer the door first, my Lord?” asked Jepson.

“If you must,” replied Lord Winterton wearily loosening his tie. “Tell them I am not at home, whoever it is.”

“Very good, my Lord.”

Jepson left the room and Lucia toyed with her glass of water. Lord Winterton had returned to his Parisian reverie and did not speak.

A few moments later, Jepson reappeared in the dining room.

“My Lord, you have a visitor.”

“I thought I said I was not at home, Jepson?”

He sighed with irritation and threw his napkin impatiently down on the table.

“Begging your pardon, my Lord. I think you may wish to see this particular visitor.”

Lord Winterton raised an eyebrow and huffed again. In a flash, Lucia realised that the visitor was most likely female.

“Very well. Take my visitor into the drawing room.”

He was just in the process of rising when the door flew open and there, in a hat that defied gravity with its numerous ostrich plumes and a fur wrap with more paws than were plausible, was a woman.

And a very beautiful woman at that.

“Run along, Jepson,” she said huskily. “Shoo!”

She entered the room in a cloud of French perfume that Lucia recognised as being extremely expensive.

The woman turned her brilliant violet eyes upon Lucia and looked her up and down. There was more than a hint of a sneer on her lovely face as she examined her in great detail.

“Richard,” she purred. “Have you cast me aside already in favour of this – ”

She gestured urgently at Lucia with one gloved hand. A large emerald bracelet slid down her arm and rattled as she pointed. Her face wore a petulant expression and she curled her lip in thinly disguised disgust.

“Who is this, Richard?” she demanded imperiously.

Lord Winterton let out a long sigh of resignation. He did not even look at the woman who now stood in the middle of the room in a pose that bristled with fury.

He plucked at his discarded napkin and slowly raised his eyes to meet Lucia's.

The woman was now leaning forward and Lucia wondered if she was about to attempt to strike her. Everything about her spoke of anger and violence.

Finally Lord Winterton spoke,

“Miss Mountford, this is Lady Shelley,” he said without a vestige of embarrassment.

“Camilla, this is Miss Lucia Mountford.”

Lucia sat tensely and watched as the woman began to move forward.

‘What is she going to do? Oh, goodness! I do wish I wasn't here.'

Lady Shelley regarded Lucia with same kind of dismissive air as she might an inferior person. Her lovely mouth curled and she almost spat out her next sentence.

“Is this another of your playthings, Richard?” she snarled with a venomous tone in her voice. “I must say – this one is young, even by your standards.”

Lucia felt most affronted by this insult and began to rise from her seat as a jolt of anger surged through her.

“I am not a child. I am twenty-one and have been engaged as Lord Winterton's new secretary,” she snapped, leaping to her own defence.

“A likely story!” retorted Lady Shelley, eyes staring dangerously.

Lord Winterton simply fingered his moustache and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying both women's discomfiture.

“Camilla, you are wrong as usual,” he intervened eventually, as the two women glared at each other.

“This young lady is who she says she is. As I am spending so much time in London, matters here are becoming unmanageable. I needed a secretary and Miss Mountford is the daughter of a friend of mine. Now, come, let us withdraw to the library. I have some new etchings I wish to show you.”

Lady Shelley seemed to visibly retreat from her provocative stance and his assurances appeared to mollify her.

Lord Winterton rose from the table and then, as he passed her, he slapped her on the behind in a gesture that Lucia found both shocking and overly familiar.

‘Well,' she said to herself, as the pair left the room. ‘And she did not even apologise to me. What a rude woman!'

She waited while Jepson served coffee and did not dare to leave the dining room for fear of another unpleasant encounter with the imperious Lady Shelley.

‘Perhaps Mama was not raving as I had supposed. Have I not just seen with my own eyes what sort of man he is? And it is plain as day what sort of woman Lady Shelley might be!'

Just then the unmistakable sound of giggling could be heard from the library next door. Jepson feigned a lack of hearing, but Lucia failed to see how he could not have been aware of the obvious activity.

“More coffee, Miss Mountford?” he asked, as she cast down her eyes and tried not to take notice of the numerous sounds that were coming from the library.

Lucia finished her coffee quickly and then returned to the study.

As she walked along the corridor, she bumped into a footman who was heading for the library with a silver tray, two glasses and a bottle of champagne.

‘Well! Champagne in the afternoon,' she thought to herself.

But she could not help but feel the tiniest hint of jealousy that no one had ever brought champagne for her at such a scandalous hour.

She could not for one moment imagine the stiff and proper Edward even entertaining the notion.

‘Ah, Edward – ” she remembered as she returned to the study.

She supposed herself to be rather fond of him. How could she not like a man who was as fine a horseman as he was? – but his ardour had unnerved her.

Her attention was soon distracted by the sounds of yet more laughter.

‘I wish they would be quiet,' she thought, crossly, as she worked on.

Almost at once, there came an audible sigh and then silence.

With her ears straining, Lucia waited for a few moments, heard no more and continued typing.

But halfway through a letter, she found she had made too many mistakes.

‘Oh, Heavens. I am more out of practice than I had imagined.'

She took the letter out of the machine and looked for a fresh sheet of paper, but she could not find a single piece anywhere on the desk.

‘Perhaps there is some in the desk drawers?' she pondered, pulling one open.

There were a few envelopes and pencils inside and she could not help but notice a cheque book. Knowing that she should not, she slid it out of the drawer slowly and opened it.

Almost the first stub she came across was one clearly marked Sir Arthur McAllister and had been made out for the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds.

‘So, the bargain has been sealed,' she muttered, putting it quickly back into the drawer.

Every now and then she would pause in her work and listen out for signs of life in the room next door, but it was ominously silent. She only wished it was not quite so obvious what was going on.

‘Come and see my etchings indeed!' she snorted. ‘I wonder if my stepfather knows that I am working for a man with loose morals and thinks nothing of flaunting his amours in front of his servants and his secretary? But I would suppose that my stepfather has chosen to turn a blind eye to any rumours as the lure of twenty-five thousand pounds will have proved enough to buy his ignorance.'

Her own father, she knew, would no sooner have compromised the reputation of his daughter than he would have eaten dinner with the wrong set of cutlery.