Lily George (19 page)

The frozen polite look on Charlotte’s features thawed ever so slightly. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all,” Lucy replied, smiling warmly. “I am glad they will go to good use. Mary has such fair coloring with that golden hair and those lovely eyes—these gowns will suit her beautifully. They might well have been made just for her.”

“You seem rather fond of Mary.” Charlotte passed the plate of scones. “You have struck up a friendship quickly, haven’t you?”

Was that a thread of suspicion running through Charlotte’s tone? Lucy hastened to cover any damage she’d done. “Well, growing up as I did, I warm to people rather quickly. It may seem odd to others, I am sure.”

“Growing up as you did? How did you grow up?” Her tone remained polite, but her large eyes bored into Lucy over the rim of her teacup.

There was nothing to do but tell the truth. The cinnamon scone, so tender and flaky just moments before, crumbled into ashes in her mouth. She swallowed, choking down the lump of pastry with difficulty. “In an orphanage,” she mumbled.

“Gracious.” Charlotte set her teacup aside. “That must have been difficult.”

“Good things came from it, and I am quite grateful for the experience. It made me value what I’ve earned,” Lucy continued.

Charlotte nodded. “I understand. My family lost everything, so I have come to value not only what we no longer have but what we were able to salvage.”

“Yes, I understand what you mean.” It was nice to have common ground. Charlotte Rowland no longer seemed formidable. She was now very much like Lucy, trying to eke out an existence and making the best out of difficult circumstances.

Charlotte sighed deeply. “This is rather a thorny issue to broach, Miss Lucy, but I feel I must forge ahead. I asked you here today with an ulterior motive. You see, it has come to my attention that my son is quite enamored of you.”

A strange buzzing sounded in Lucy’s ears, and the tips of her fingers went numb. “Yes.” ’Twas all she could manage.

“Has he proposed to you?” Charlotte’s voice was so quiet she could hardly hear over the buzzing in her ears.

“Yes.”

“And what did you say?”

Lucy could not meet Charlotte’s gaze, but it burned her skin like a candle flame. “I told him I would not say yes unless I met with your approval.”

Charlotte’s chair creaked as she sat back. “Thank you for that. I appreciate your caution.”

Lucy’s lips trembled so badly she couldn’t form any words. She pressed them together to still them, and blurted out her desperate question—the question that would decide her fate. “And have I your approval?”

Chapter Nineteen

L
ucy attempted to swallow as she scanned Charlotte Rowland’s patrician features for any sign that she was considering a positive reply. But her throat was suddenly dry. She picked up her teacup with trembling hands. Charlotte’s face belied no change of expression. Lucy took a single burning mouthful of tea and waited. After an eternity, Charlotte spoke.

“My son is determined to have you for his wife,” she began. “He told me as much the night of our dinner party. While he respects me, he loves you more. So, in his mind, what I feel about the matter makes not one whit of difference.”

“But it does matter to me,” Lucy whispered. She set her teacup aside and clasped her hands together to still them. She wanted Charlotte Rowland’s approval more than anything. “Having lost my own dear parents, I know the sadness of no longer having family in my life. I would not wish that for your son. I won’t marry him if you do not consent.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, my dear Lucy. You seem a bright girl and a generous one. I am rather fond of you, even though we’ve only met recently. But our family is quite destitute. I have every reason to suspect that Lieutenant Macready will make an offer for Mary. I can hardly say no—for Mary has no chance on the marriage mart. Her stammer and her lack of dowry preclude any spectacular matches. But I had planned on James to restore our fortunes.”

“Why is it dependent on James?” Lucy licked her lips nervously. Surely Mary had as much responsibility to the family as her brother. Why should she be allowed to marry for love if James couldn’t?

“The flaws that are insurmountable in a woman can be excused in a man.” Charlotte ticked off the reasons on her fingertips. “Stammer...lack of dowry... But a woman might marry James for his title, even though it’s impoverished. Some heiresses are like that. They want the cachet of a title in exchange for money. And James is handsome, though I say so myself. His military record speaks well of him. A woman might be willing to overlook his flaws because he has so many good things in his favor.”

Lucy shuddered a little inside. What Charlotte said was true. But on the other hand, it was so cold. So impersonal. And it reduced love and marriage to a mere contract. But perhaps it was not truly that emotionless. Many women likely found James attractive. She’d been dreaming of his dark green eyes, his angular face and his unruly sandy hair since their first meeting. Another woman would come along who would love him and care for him. There were probably girls standing in line to take her place. Girls who could offer him love in addition to wealth or position.

“James has a good job with Felton,” she argued hesitantly. “He’s trying to earn the money to make you and Mary more comfortable. He’s been able to afford this house on the strength of his work for Lord Bradbury, and he has already secured more commissions. Perhaps he doesn’t need to marry money.”

“Ah yes, his work with a carpenter.” Charlotte waved her hands with a dismissive gesture. “A gentleman does not work with his hands. He manages his estate, he collects from tenants. As soon as James marries well, he will stop working in the shop. And the money he makes is nothing compared to what an heiress can bring him.”

“You sound as though you already have someone in mind.” Lucy’s stomach churned violently.

“There are a few girls in Essex who would fit the bill quite nicely.” Charlotte folded her hands in her lap. “Daughters of merchants, farmers, you know—money but no title.”

Lucy nodded slowly. She’d known this moment would come, but it was still a slap in the face. “Then I do not have your approval.”

“I would never withhold my approval. As I said, you seem like a sweet girl, and I know James is besotted with you. But I am asking you as his mother to let him go. Let him move on to great things. By relinquishing your hold on him, our family may gain comfort and peace at last.” The expression in Charlotte’s eyes changed from haughty to pleading in a matter of seconds. “You have all the power in the world at this moment. Use it well.”

Lucy stood, her knees wobbling so badly she grasped her chair for support. “I would never do anything to hold James back. From the first moment I saw him, I wanted only good to befall him. You have my word, Mrs. Rowland. I will not accept his proposal.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte sank against the back of her chair as though winded from a long hike. “Do not tell him I asked this of you. He might not understand.”

Her eyes clouded with tears, obscuring her vision through a thick, watery haze. “I’ll keep quiet. Excuse me. I must go.” She couldn’t burst into tears in front of James’s mother. She must hold herself together until she reached the sanctuary of her room. She fled from the room and out the front door, running through the streets of Bath as though a highwayman chased her heels. She bumped into passersby, and her bonnet was knocked off her head by the force of their collision, but it did not matter. The bonnet dangled on its strings, hitting her shoulders with every step she took. Her hair tore loose from its pins and tumbled about her shoulders.

She reached the Crescent and let herself in the back door of his lordship’s home, uttering little broken cries that sounded foreign to her own ears. She raced up the stairs and threw open the door of her room, the hot tears she had suppressed finally pouring down her cheeks.

“Lucy? Whatever is the matter with you?” Louisa rose from the settee and threw her arms about Lucy. “Are you ill?”

Lucy’s body was numb. Funny, she couldn’t even feel Louisa’s embrace. She stood as still as a statue and allowed her tears to spill over her eyelids, wetting the Aubusson rug beneath her feet.

“I’ve never seen you like this. I’m calling the doctor.” Louisa turned to go, but Lucy caught her arm.

“I’m...not ill.” She untied her bonnet and cast it onto her vanity table. Then she sank onto the settee, her teeth chattering loudly.

“Tell me what happened.” Louisa began removing the few remaining pins from her hair, combing through the dark waves with her fingers.

She had to tell someone. She could never tell James the truth of what happened. She had promised she would not. And Sophie was gone. She had no one to confide in but her charge. ’Twas improper to do so, but the ache in her heart demanded a release. Haltingly, she murmured her conversation with Mrs. Rowland to Louisa. When she finished her tale, Louisa sat back and regarded her, her wide brown eyes filled with tears.

“And so you’re going to refuse him? Oh, Lucy. Don’t do it. Papa will get more commissions for the ensign, just you wait and see. He’ll be the most famous cabinetmaker in all of Bath. He doesn’t need to marry some old farmer’s daughter for money.” Louisa shuddered.

“What she says is true, though.” Lucy took a long, deep breath to calm her nerves. “If I were an heiress, this wouldn’t even be a question. But I am penniless, too. I knew all along this would be the case—that’s why I refused to accept him the first time he asked.”

“I’ll give you my money,” Louisa avowed stoutly. “You can have half of my dowry. I’ll make Papa sign it over to you as a wedding gift.”

Despite her heartache, Lucy couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Louisa, you are a dear. But I could never, ever accept your money.” She sniffed and blew her nose in her sodden handkerchief. “I love James and so I must let him go. I don’t have such a bad life. Better than most, I admit. It’s just that I was silly enough to believe in something that can never, ever happen.”

“When do you see the ensign again?” Louisa asked. “Is he expecting an answer from you?”

“I suppose he is coming to show his lordship the library tomorrow,” Lucy answered. “I think he wanted us to meet today, but I can’t. I need a little time to compose myself so I don’t break down completely.” She sought a dry spot on her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. They burned as though she had rinsed them in salt water. And she was tired. So very, very tired. A weariness that invaded her bones.

“Lucy, why don’t you rest.” Louisa grasped her hand and tugged, pulling them both to their feet. “I’ll go study my French while you nap.” Lucy began to protest, but Louisa shook her head firmly. “No, I won’t hear of it. You’ve had a terrible shock, and you need to sleep.”

Sleep would be nice—just an hour or so to forget. Her nerves were so tightly wound of late. It would be good to stop thinking of James and Mary and Charlotte—of his lovely home. Of the look on his face when he whispered, “Tomorrow.” Of the thought of a merchant’s daughter wearing his ring.

She removed her lavender gown. She would never wear it again. She would send it ’round to Mary with a note on the morrow. She pulled a soft cotton night rail over her head and settled deep under her coverlet. ’Twas odd to be sleeping in the middle of the day with the sunlight pouring in through the windows. It was like being sick abed. Which, in a sense, she was. Sick at heart.

* * *

James whistled merrily at his work. He had but one table leg to finish and his lordship’s library would be complete. Tomorrow he would meet with Lord Bradbury and get his final approval for the room. After that, he would begin working on the library and ballroom of the Earl of Cavendish’s home in Bath. ’Twas twice the work of Lord Bradbury’s library, and the Earl was paying accordingly. There was a certain emerald and diamond ring that winked alluringly to him from a shop window that morning—a ring that was just suited for Lucy’s slender fingers. Thanks to his commissions, he could go purchase the ring in the morning on his way to his lordship’s home.

The door to his workroom opened, and Felton stuck his head inside. “A visitor for you.”

James rose, a smile hovering on his lips. Perhaps it was Lucy, there to give him the answer he sought. His grin faded as the door opened wider, admitting Miss Louisa Bradbury.

“M-Miss Louisa? Is everything all right? D-d-does his lordship have a m-message for me?” How very odd. Louisa shouldn’t be here all by herself.

Louisa turned and looked at Felton, who obliged her by backing out and closing the door behind him. “Lucy came home this afternoon after having tea with your mother in an absolute state.” She spoke so rapidly that he had trouble discerning what she was saying. “She agreed not to marry you.”

He set the table leg down on the workbench. Her words were like a blow to his midsection. “D-d-did she say why?”

“Only that your mother was going to try to find an heiress for you. I tried reasoning with Lucy. I even tried to give her my money.” She shrugged her shoulder helplessly. “I wanted you to know so that you can plan. Lucy is going to refuse you tomorrow unless you can find a way to convince her otherwise.”

James looked at Miss Louisa, a dawning respect for her growing within him. “You m-must love Lucy very m-much to be willing to lose her to m-m-marriage.”

“I want her to be happy,” she said simply. “She’s a wonderful teacher. Far too good for Amelia and myself. But she will never be as happy teaching as she could be with you.” She came forward and propped her elbows on the workbench. “What are you going to do?”

“I d-don’t know.” Talking to Louisa was as refreshing as talking to Mary, back when they were children. He’d always been able to talk to his sister about things easily, despite her stammer. Louisa had that same frankness, that same easiness of manner that Mary had. Despite the fact that her father could buy and sell all of Bath.

“Well, in novels the hero and the heroine always elope to Gretna Green,” she said, her voice rising with excitement. “What about that? Couldn’t you two just elope? I could have one of Papa’s carriages ready and waiting. I can pack Lucy’s trunk while she is sleeping this afternoon—”

He shook his head and laughed. He might have joked about Gretna Green but to actually plan for it? Beyond ridiculous. Not to mention, Lucy would never agree. No, he’d have to think of some other way to convince her. “I d-doubt that would work. You know Lucy. Her word is as g-good as g-gold.”

“She promised your mother she would never tell you the truth of why she’s refusing you,” Louisa added. “But she didn’t make me promise not to tell. So that’s why I came here. Are you going to tell your mother you know of her interference?”

His hand tightened on the workbench. He shook his head. No, he’d brazen it out. He’d work as late as he possibly could, and then he would go home, eat dinner in his room and go to bed. The less time he spent in Mother’s company, the better. Otherwise, he might say things he’d regret later.

“Thank you for c-coming to warn m-me.” He walked around the workbench and bowed briefly to her. “Shall I escort you h-h-home? Surely you d-didn’t walk all this way b-b-by yourself.”

“No indeed,” she replied with a laugh. “Lucy would faint if I ever did that. I have one of Papa’s carriages waiting for me.” She curtsied. “Whatever you decide to do, please know that Lucy is incomparable. She’s an extraordinary governess. She’s pretty, she’s kindhearted and she’s smart. And if you won’t marry her, then I shall have no choice but to find a husband for her myself.” She raised her chin defiantly. “I’d rather Lucy go with you for it’s all so romantic. But I won’t have her languishing away as a governess, hiding herself from the world.”

“Agreed.” He shook her hand solemnly. “I understand that in you, I have b-both a formidable ally as w-w-well as a formidable foe.”

Louisa laughed, showing her dimples, and took her leave. The door closed gently behind her. Despite his jesting, James was sick to his stomach. Coldly sick, as he was very close to losing the only thing that mattered in this world.

Of course, Lucy would never go back on her word to his mother. And therein lay the problem. If Lucy were less of a woman, they could both defy his mother and never give her displeasure with the match another thought. But Lucy was so good. She would never defy anyone, even if it meant breaking her own heart in the process.

But what if he refused to marry anyone but her? Hope began to dawn within him. Lucy had said she would not marry him, and all he’d done was let her have the last word in the matter. If he told her that his mother’s plans were for naught, that he had eyes for no one but her, then she’d have to listen to reason. For it didn’t matter whom his mother had picked out for him. He’d marry no one but Lucy Williams. If she continued to refuse him, then he’d live a life of solitary bachelorhood.