Toblethorpe Manor (21 page)

“What would you have to do?” inquired that young lady cautiously.

“At present, nothing. The authorities are far from sure just what they want the reserve army to do and are simply signing them up and sending them home again. If they ever get around to starting a training program, I should be posted to a regiment near my home. Of course, in case of an invasion I should have to fight, but if I simply sold out, I should volunteer again then anyway.”

“Then take it,” said Lucy decisively. “When we are married, I shall be able to go with you if you are a colonel, shall I not?”

“Yes, beloved, or if I remain a major.”

“I think I should like to be a colonel’s wife,” said Lucy, considering carefully.

“Only acting lieutenant colonel,” Charles pointed out, amused. “They do not make full colonels of men my age.”

“How silly of them,” cried his prejudiced sweetheart, “when you are quite the best officer in the whole army.”

How could he help but kiss her, after a swift look around to be sure.

They did not always meet unobserved. Thus it was that at White’s the odds were fluctuating; Lord Denham and Major Bowen were running neck and neck in the Betting Book. My lord’s obvious advantages of birth and fortune no longer looked so impressive when the major had been seen holding hands with Miss Carstairs on a bench in Green Park for quite half an hour.

Inevitably the news of the wagers came at last to Richard’s ears, in spite of his friends’ efforts to shield him. He was playing cards at the club one evening when a piercing voice at the next table caught his attention.

“I hear Major Bowen has overtaken Lord Denham in the Carstairs ‘stakes,” he heard. “I’ve half a mind to bet on him myself, you know.”

The man’s companions hushed him, and Richard’s fellow players looked embarrassed. Seeing his icily furious face, they were ready to jump up and soothe ruffled feelings before it came to a duel. However, Richard finished the hand with iron control, paid his small debts, and excused himself. He rushed home, discovered Lucy’s whereabouts, and set off again for Lady Twistleton’s rout.

By the time he reached the brilliantly lit Twistleton house, he was somewhat calmer and was reconsidering his precipitate actions. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw was Lucy waltzing with the major. His fury reanimated, he approached his aunt.

“Aunt Blanche, I must speak to Lucy immediately. I shall take her back to Orchard Street. Will you make her excuses to her partners? Plead a headache or some such thing. You will know what is best.”

She looked up, alarmed. “Oh dear, is Miss Fell suddenly worse, Richard? Pray do not tell me Annabel has caught the grippe!”

“No, no, nothing like that. I must simply have a word privately with my sister, and at once.”

“You will have to wait until she has finished her dance. It would be shockingly bad
ton
to interrupt it,” said his aunt disapprovingly. “Do you have your carriage? Well, you had better take ours and send it back again. Is this really necessary, Richard?”

“I believe so, ma’am,” he answered curtly, and restrained his impatience as best he could until Charles led his glowing sister back to her aunt.

“Richard, how delightful to see you!” she cried.

Her brother bowed coldly to her partner.

“Lucy, you must come with me immediately. I have a great deal to say to you.”

Lucy pouted. “Why must I, Richard? I am enjoying myself excessively.”

A reproving look from Charles changed her mind. Secretly, she was
rather afraid of the expression on her brother’s face. She had never before seen him so angry.

“Oh, very well,” she sighed.

When they were settled in the carriage, she said pettishly, “Well, what is it
,
Richard, that you should drag me away from a party?”

Richard explained what he had heard at White’s. “I blush to think that the conduct of a sister of mine should give rise to such gossip and speculation.”

“This is the outside of enough! You men are all odious with your endless wagering! I have done nothing to deserve such a reproach, nothing I should be ashamed for the world to see!” Lucy was near tears.

“I forbid you to see Major Bowen again,” said Richard sternly.

“Don’t be bird-witted. When I am forever meeting him at parties! Would you have me cut him dead? And are you going to demand that my aunt close her doors to him, pray?”

Richard had grasped at the easiest solution without considering the difficulties, nor had he realized that to be logical he must forbid Lucy to see Tony also. Fortunately for him, his sister was in no state to be logical.

“Very well,” he conceded, “you will not give him more than one dance in any evening, and you will not walk or ride with him in the park. You can always plead another engagement, and I will see that Aunt Blanche takes you with her whenever she goes out.”

“You are quite hateful!” stormed Lucy, but a part of her mind was already working out ways around his prohibitions. He had not, after all, said that she could not sit out with Charles as many dances as she pleased, had he? And there were places to meet other than in the parks.

His suspicions lulled by her outburst, Richard was satisfied when he at last received her reluctant promise that she would observe his restrictions. He thought his threat of sending her back to Toblethorpe had persuaded her, and hoped that her future discretion would scotch the rumours and put paid to the wagering. He would have liked to have called the major out, but that would give rise to even greater scandal; and, besides, the damned upstart had not really done anything that would justify a challenge. Curse the encroaching mushroom!

Richard left Lucy at their aunt’s house, sent the carriage back to Lady Twistleton’s, and, still raging, walked home, where he drank too much brandy. Unacknowledged to himself was the fact that he was rapidly falling in love with someone who might prove as ineligible as the major. The effort of suppressing that fact did not improve his temper.

When Mrs. Carstairs and Jenny arrived home, Lucy was in bed. They both repaired to her room at once. Aunt Blanche assured herself that nothing serious was amiss, shook her head over her nephew’s strange behaviour, and retired. Jenny and Lucy spent the next hour in conspiratorial whispering and giggling.

The next morning, Richard, his head throbbing, took both girls driving. Unaware of Major Bowen’s daily schedule, he was unknowingly cutting out Lord Denham. Since he drove in morose silence, the cousins chattered to each other and ignored him. He was glad to be rid of them, and went on to White’s, where he hid behind a newspaper in the Reading Room and fell as sound asleep as any of the elderly gentlemen snoring in their wing chairs.

Lucy had already sent a message to the major, and in the afternoon, he escorted her and Jenny on a shopping expedition. Unlike Richard, he enjoyed the girls’ chatter and joined in helping to match ribbons and choose shawls. He bought them each a pair of gloves. Aunt Blanche had no qualms about letting her niece go out without her escort, as Richard, fearing to appear to criticize her chaperonage, had not opened his budget to her. He simply told her that he and Lady Annabel would be happy if she would take Lucy about with her more to meet her friends.

“The chit becomes a sad romp,” he had explained. “She is always with young people. It would do her good to have more experience at dealing with the older members of the Ton.”

Aunt Blanche, noting his bloodshot eyes and the way he winced at the slightest noise, privately wondered what was going on but placidly agreed that it would indeed be good for Lucy. Whenever it was not fine enough for the girls to go out walking, she would take her.

So instead of meeting Lucy in the park, Charles found himself accompanying her to Hookham’s Circulating Library, to Gunther’s for ices—even to see the Elgin Marbles. They paid a nostalgic visit to the Exeter Exchange. Jenny insisted that the menagerie at the Tower of London was more impressive, so they went there and examined the crown jewels, taken for their benefit from a dusty cupboard by a crabbed and cobwebby old man.

In the evenings, Lucy became expert at finding private corners that could not be stigmatized as improper, and she would sit out two or three dances with Charles. She also granted Lord Denham three dances more than once.

“To throw Richard off the scent,” she explained to Jenny.

She had not told Charles what Richard had said to her. Much as she hated concealing anything from him, she knew that he would have insisted on approaching her brother immediately, and the time was most unpropitious. Instead, she told him that Richard had wished to tell her that Miss Fell had had a relapse.

“He told me this morning that she is much improved again,” she added airily, “but he is excessively worried about her, and you will not wish to speak to him while he has unpleasant matters on his mind.”

Charles, knowing that Richard disapproved of him, could only agree that the time was not ripe. He felt it was incorrect behaviour to have a secret understanding with Lucy; but his intentions were honourable, and, after all, it was just a matter of awaiting the right moment.

Meanwhile, Lady Annabel fell ill. Lucy cried for an hour when she was told she might not go home and nurse her mama. Richard spent a great deal of time with her for three days and was so comforting and supportive that for the first time Lucy felt guilty about deceiving him. She had already lied to Charles, and her double guilt weighed heavily on her. Had it been possible, she would have confessed all to her mother.

So moped was she that Richard became alarmed and redoubled his attentions, not only increasing her guilt but cutting her off from Charles. Fortunately, before matters came to a head, Richard brought the news that Lady Annabel was well on the road to recovery.

“Dr. Knighton saw her this morning,” he said, “and she is able to be up later today. I shall stay at home to help her downstairs, so I shall not see you this afternoon.”

Lucy cheered up somewhat. At least one burden was removed from her. No sooner had Richard left than she sent a note to Charles’s lodgings, arranging to meet him as soon as possible.

Neither of them was in a happy mood. Though greatly relieved that her mother was better, Lucy felt as guilty as ever, and was upset that she would not be able to go home for another week. Charles was disturbed by the implications of the fact that he had not seen his betrothed for three days simply because of the presence of her brother. He was beginning to think that there was more impropriety attached to his position than he had suspected, yet he could not justify disturbing Richard while he was worried about his mother’s health.

Lucy and Charles saw little of each other that week. The weather took a turn for the worse and threatened a return to winter. Aunt Blanche took Lucy visiting with her every afternoon and Charles was busy wrapping up his affairs at the War Ministry. He also saw a good deal of his lawyer. There was still no news from Northumberland and he was growing worried. He told Lucy he would have to go home to investigate, and she was cross with him for proposing a protracted absence when their affairs were so unsettled.

Lucy went to an unconscionable number of private parties in the next few days. Lord Denham was usually there, and thinking her dismal face due to her mother’s illness, he was particularly charming. Lucy began again to consider the advantages of becoming a marchioness.

That Wednesday at Almack’s, Charles became aware that Lucy was responding with unwonted pleasure to Lord Denham’s attentions. She was offhand with him, giving him only one dance; and his jealousy was aroused. He had not, seen her for two days, and, too distressed to be reasonable he was unable to give due consideration to the fact that her brother was present.

The following morning they had a raging quarrel, in whispers, in a dark corner of Hookham’s where the books of sermons were stacked.

“I shall marry Tony!” hissed Lucy in the end.

“If he comes up to scratch,” retorted the major unforgivably.

She stalked off in a dignified rage, and his heart stood still. He would have called after her, but the library was full of people, and they had already attracted several curious stares. Cursing himself for a bacon-brained ninnyhammer, he followed her. The crowd, which had obligingly parted to allow passage to the beautiful young lady with the stormy eyes, was not at all willing to give way before him.
It was several minutes before he reached the door, and there was no sign of her.

All afternoon he hoped for a word from her. By the next day he was ready to risk sending her a note, and had it reached her she might have relented; but she was busy packing to return to Cavendish Square, and the
billet
was misplaced by a careless housemaid.

Lucy felt her long-awaited return home was an anticlimax. Though she was happy to see her mama and Clara again, the world seemed grey. Praying for a message from Charles, she was not yet willing to give in and write to him. When no word came, she decided he was hateful, and she would marry Tony just to punish him.

On Sunday morning, Richard told her that Tony had requested permission to ask for her hand. He was disturbed by her obvious depression; but his own affairs were much on his mind and he dismissed her attitude with the thought that she was just in the crotchets.

“I do not mean to put any pressure on you, Lucy,” he said, “but I must tell you that mama and I would be delighted if you were to accept him. We are agreed that you must be happy with such an amiable husband, and of course he is in every way unexceptionable, indeed highly eligible.”

“I suppose I shall have him,” answered Lucy discontentedly.

Richard was far from pleased with her reply but forbore from pressing her.

By the time Lady Annabel and Miss Fell went out that afternoon, Lucy was so miserable that she could not face being polite to her mother’s friends, so she pleaded a headache and stayed at home alone. Brooding on her wrongs, she became more and more angry with Charles, and had quite made up her mind to marry Lord Denham when that gentleman was announced.

“‘E would wish to ‘ave a word with you privatelike, Miss Lucy,” said Bell in a fatherly manner.