A Dream Come True (16 page)

She often stood in front of the painting of him in the hall and stared long and hard at the heroic portrayal of him.

‘Perhaps he is not coming back,' she thought miserably, gazing up at his likeness.

She longed to stroke those familiar features and quite shocked herself by thinking how she would like to cover them with kisses on his return.

Lucia went through the motions of work each day, but increasingly found she had not the same heart for it as when Lord Winterton had been present.

*

Then, one Friday evening, she returned home to Bingham Hall to find everyone in a high state of excitement.

Moston was smiling for the first time in months and she noticed that there were new items in the hall and drawing room.

‘How very strange!' she thought, picking up a new and expensive-looking porcelain vase that now replaced the chipped one that used to stand in the hall.

She was just examining a new oil painting of a steam engine, when Sir Arthur emerged from the library.

“Lucia, you are back early today. Do you like that painting? I bought it in London earlier in the week.”

Lucia thought he had taken leave of his senses.

‘Where is the money coming from for such luxuries?' she thought.

“I'm glad I have caught you before dinner,” he continued. “Would you mind coming to the library for a moment? There is something I need to discuss with you.”

“Mama – she has not taken a turn for the worst?” she answered anxiously, thinking it strange that he sought to speak to her in private.

“No, to the contrary. She is so much better and Mrs. Darrowby has even taken to wheeling her around the garden in her bath chair.”

‘Then, I wonder what on earth he wants?' she said to herself, as she followed him into the library.

Once inside, he closed the door and offered her a seat.

She had the strangest sensation that he was about to tell her something unpleasant – yet appearances at Bingham Hall would state otherwise. The smiling servants, the new things –

“Lucia,” he began, “Mr. de Redcliffe came to see me in the week to ask for your hand.”

“No!” she cried, wondering why on earth he would do so when she had expressly and repeatedly asked him not to.

She braced herself for the inevitable storm of abuse, but to her surprise her stepfather appeared calm and far from angry.

He took a deep breath and, when he looked at her, it was almost with pity, rather than annoyance.

Lucia was utterly puzzled.

He raised his hand as if to silence her protests.

“Up until this moment, I would have sent the man packing, having promised you to Lord Winterton. But then I read something in the
Westminster Gazette
earlier in the week and I realised that Lord Winterton has no intention of carrying our bargain through to its intended conclusion.

“Furthermore this week I heard news that my gold mines in South Africa have struck the mother lode. My stake is now worth millions and to pay him back will no longer be a hardship. Lucia, I feel I should show it to you, as I now consider you released from the bargain we struck.

“You are twenty-two next month and it is high time you were married. When you have read it, I feel certain that you will be inclined to accept Mr. de Redcliffe's proposal. You will find that I will not stand in your way – in fact, you have my whole-hearted approval.”

He moved away from his desk and dropped a copy of the
Westminster Gazette
onto the table.

Lucia noticed that it was open at the Society Circular page.

Not saying another word, he left the room, leaving her alone.

At first she scanned the page quickly, skipping past the announcements of births, marriages and engagements and she suddenly stopped short as she came across the
News from Abroad
section.

“
The word that Lady Shelley, widow of the late Lord Shelley, has become engaged to Lord Winterton of Longridge Manor was the talk of Vienna this weekend. The happy couple are said to be planning a September wedding
in London
.”

“No! No!” cried Lucia, tears filling her eyes and her heart breaking into pieces. “How could he? How could he?”

She remained in the Library for some time, re-reading the newspaper, attempting to find some sense in those few words.

‘No wonder he has not been home,' she thought. ‘And I had thought it odd that Lady Shelley had not visited the Manor. She was with him all the time.'

Lucia felt overwhelmed and utterly foolish.

‘To think I had believed myself to be in love with him!' she howled, castigating herself for such idiocy. ‘Perhaps that is his art – he makes people fall in love with him in order to get what he wants. Well, I shall not sit around waiting for them to come home and laugh at us all for having pulled the wool over our eyes!'

Still holding the newspaper in her hand, she rose and strode out of the room to the telephone in the hall. Picking it up, she waited for the exchange to answer.

‘Yes,' she murmured to herself, ‘I know what I must do now.'

“Good afternoon, Miss Mountford, which number do you require?”

Lucia took a deep breath before replying. She had made her mind up and nothing was going to stop her.

“Mayfair 212, please.”

She waited on the line while she was connected. At last, the phone began to ring the other end and Lucia heard Edward de Redcliffe's voice answer.

“Edward? This is Lucia.”

“Lucia, how wonderful to hear from you.”

“There is something I wish to say to you.”

“Lucia, do not be cross with me. I thought that if I did not ask your stepfather for your hand, you might never accept. At least, I thought if the old man doesn't approve, then I shall just jolly well forget the whole thing.”

“Edward, I am not cross with you,” she answered, in a voice that was ice-like in its composure. “I have rung to tell you that I have finally made my decision.”

“Oh?”

“Edward, I accept your proposal. I would be glad to become your wife!”

She barely heard Edward's whoops of joy and protestations of love on the other end of the line.

Standing motionless in the hall, listening to Edward's delight, she slowly and deliberately screwed up the newspaper in her hand and dropped it on the floor.

‘There!' she fumed, grinding it under her heel as tears streamed down her face.

Before Lucia knew it, champagne corks were popping for the first time in ages at Bingham Hall.

Her stepfather laid on a lavish luncheon for their friends and some close relatives. Even Sir Arthur's brother came down from Manchester for the occasion.

Lucia tried to smile at the luncheon party.

Everyone admired her engagement ring – an enormous square-cut emerald surrounded by diamonds that had been in Edward's family for generations – and said how fortunate she was to make such a good match.

The date was set for July 14
^th
on what would have been her father's birthday.

“Sir Arthur seems very happy,” Moston said to Lucia, “and I am so pleased that your mother appears to be making a full recovery.”

Indeed her mother was up and dressed in one of her best gowns for the occasion. From the moment that the engagement was announced, she had declared that she would make certain that she would be able to attend the luncheon.

“Yes,” replied Lucia. “It's a big day for us all. Stepfather is, once again, exceedingly rich, thanks to his gold mines in South Africa.”

“It was most fortunate, Miss Lucia, that his luck changed when it did?”

“It was,” she answered, trying to make her voice sound light and happy.

She could not tell him how much she missed Lord Winterton or that her heart hurt deeply whenever she thought about him.

‘Edward is a good man,' Lucia had told herself. ‘He will make a far better husband than Lord Winterton ever could and he will not humiliate me by maintaining a string of mistresses!'

Lord Winterton's name had not been mentioned in Bingham Hall since the day Sir Arthur had told Lucia about the article in the
Westminster Gazette
. In fact no one had heard from Lord Winterton at all.

Lucia now only went to Longridge Manor a few days each week, as word soon spread around that he was abroad and unlikely to accept any invitations.

A slight hiccup had occurred with the unveiling ceremony. The King's private secretary had contacted Lucia to ask if the whole event could be postponed until the third week of July.

In some ways, Lucia was grateful. She quickly arranged for her mother to attend in her place, thus sparing her the humiliation of having to see Lord Winterton and she pressed Edward to book their honeymoon for the same time.

“But Venice in July is hellish!” complained Edward.

“Then we shall go somewhere else. Anywhere, as long as I am not in England, I don't care.”

“I would hope that as long as we were together you would not care where we went,” commented Edward sadly.

Immediately Lucia had felt shamed.

“Of course,” she had answered. “That goes without saying.”

And now she was finding it very hard to maintain a façade of being the happy bride-to-be. Her friends were all delighted at the prospect of a July wedding and thought it all so romantic.

“I just wanted to say how thrilled I am, Lucia. To see you so well-matched is all I have ever desired and Edward is a fine young man.”

Lucia squeezed her mother's hand. How could she tell her the real reason for the wedding proceeding with such haste?

“And it is such a nice gesture that you are being married on your dear Papa's birthday. I am certain that he is up in Heaven smiling down on you. Now, one other matter, dearest. Have you handed in your notice at Longridge Manor? Arthur tells me that since he has touched gold, he has paid off his debt and we are no longer under any obligation to that man.”

Lucia felt tears pricking her eyes.

The fact that her mother refused to even name Lord Winterton hurt her.

‘They still see him as the villain of the piece,' she thought, as she moved away to mingle with her guests. ‘And how can I possibly argue with that judgement when he has behaved in such a caddish fashion? Leading me on and then fleeing the country to carouse with Lady Shelley!'

She felt bitter as well as hurt and, even though she attempted to throw herself into the party and the preparations for her wedding, her heart was not truly in it.

*

The day after the party, Lucia arose to find that her stepfather had placed an announcement in The Times regarding her engagement.

“See how well your two names go together?” said her mother, as she excitedly handed her the newspaper. “Lucia Mountford and Edward de Redcliffe. It sounds rather grand!”

“Oh, Mama, it's not as if he was an Earl or even a Baronet.”

“I see that one of those damned suffragettes has gone and thrown herself under the King's horse,” muttered Sir Arthur. “Damn silly women!”

Lucia turned the pages quickly and found the report of a Miss Emily Wilding Dawson being trampled underfoot at Tuesday's Derby race meeting.

“Goodness,” declared Lucia, her eyes wide with amazement. “To think that she felt so strongly for her cause that she would do such a thing.”

“I call it ridiculous! Why on earth do women want the vote when they have perfectly sane husbands to do the thinking for them? It isn't right!” bellowed Sir Arthur, so loudly that the breakfast cups on the dining table rattled. “Don't you go getting any notions in that head of yours,” he said pointedly at Lucia.

“Darling, Edward would not be marrying Lucia if he felt she were of a radical persuasion,” cooed her mother.

Satisfied he returned to his breakfast and did not bring up the subject again.

Lucia turned to the announcement once more and wondered if Lord Winterton would see it. She knew he was accustomed to taking The Times.

‘And what will he think?' she asked herself, as the black and white print danced before her eyes.

“It could have been so different – ” she mumbled out loud without realising it.

“What on earth is wrong?” asked her mother.

“I mean – if Emily Wilding Davison had not been so militant,” replied Lucia, thinking quickly in order to cover herself.

She blushed deeply and resolved to keep her feelings in check more efficiently in future.

Lucia wondered when a similar missive would appear about Lord Winterton's mooted nuptials.

‘Once I see it in print I will know that there is no hope of anything happening between us,' she determined.

“Don't forget you have a fitting with the dressmaker this afternoon,” said her mother, interrupting her thoughts, as Moston helped her from her chair.

“No, Mama. I have asked Briggs to take us to London in the Rolls Royce immediately after luncheon.

“You don't know how happy I am,” she whispered in Lucia's ear, as she hobbled past.

Lucia smiled back at her, but could not prevent her heart from sinking.

*

The fitting at the dressmaker's dragged on for hours and Lucia and her mother felt exhausted. They both flopped back into the Rolls Royce.

“Goodness. I felt as if I was a very large pincushion!” cried Lucia. “That French girl would insist upon trying to fasten the material to my skin.”

“It will look lovely, darling. Don't you think so?” sighed her mother. “So very French and the height of fashion. I should not be surprised if people will come from miles around just to see you walk up the Church path. There will not have been such a grand wedding in the County for years.”

Lucia knew her mother was looking forward to once again showing off what an important family they were.

She thought it curious that since word had spread that their fortunes were once again looking rosy, neighbours had begun to call on them again.