Valerie King (13 page)

Lucy watched him closely, trying to understand him. She knew he had just stated his case again but something disturbed her about the way he looked, or perhaps in the way he refused to look at her. She knew then that something more was amiss than just a delay in the work at his home in Sussex.

When he continued staring at the wall opposite, his chin set mulishly, she sensed there was little to be done and rose to her feet. “I shall bid you good night, George. I did not mean to overset you.”

He glanced up at her. “I say, Lucy, I do beg your pardon. I know your interference is meant for good, but I wish you would not. I . . . I prefer to manage my family in my own way.”

Lucy felt her cheeks grow warm. He had spoken of her conduct as Robert did, that she was involved where she was not wanted. She had meant only to offer her help but George saw it as interference. She nodded in response and quit the chamber.

She returned slowly to her own room, pondering what he had just said to her. Was she being officious and interfering without truly having either cause or the capacity to offer real help? Was she overstepping the bounds? Was Robert right in his criticisms of her?

She did not know. She believed that she had been of some use to the household, in particular where Lady Sandifort and the children were concerned, and even more practically in the refurbishing of the gardens. However, was she going too far in attempting to become involved in the difficulties between George and Rosamunde?

 

 

On the following morning, Lucy rose early to pay a solitary call upon Mr. Frome. She was greatly concerned about what George had said and she wished to know his opinions.

He welcomed her as he always did, quite warmly and with a twinkle in his eye. “Good morning. Had you arrived a few minutes earlier, you would have seen Sir Robert. He is looking very well these days, as sun-bronzed as he is from riding about the estate so much.”

“Yes, I suppose he is.”

“You seem a trifle distracted.”

“A little,” she confessed. He handed her a cup of coffee, which she took without hesitation. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. Sir Robert tells me you were, how did he phrase it, ‘meddling in George’s affairs last night.’ ”

The sip Lucy had been taking spurted from her lips in a strong spray, even reaching the fire and creating a snake-like hissing sound.

Mr. Frome laughed.

“How is that possible?” she cried. “It was but a few hours past when I spoke with George.”

“So you were interfering?”

Lucy felt quite ill-used in a way she could not easily explain. “His wife was feeling very poorly last night. I thought I was being of use to both of them.”

“You speak of Rosamunde?”

“Yes. She returned from her weekly trip to Chaleford, but in a slightly, shall we say, indiscreet state—she had imbibed a great deal too much peach ratafia.”

“Ah,” he murmured.

“But then if Robert has already spoken to you on the subject, you must already know as much.”

He shook his head. “Nay. Sir Robert merely said that he had learned from his brother that you were involved again where you were least wanted and he felt obliged to address the matter with you as soon as seemed appropriate to him.”

“Why did he speak of this to you?” she asked, offended.

Mr. Frome sipped his own coffee and crossed one knee over the other. “I believe it helps him to speak with me.”

There was laughter in his eyes and she knew he was poking fun at her, yet she was not offended. After all, she often spoke of Robert to Mr. Frome.

“Well, they may both call it interfering, but I should have liked to have seen Robert put Rosamunde to bed!”

“And that is what you did?”

“Of course. After that I, well, I spoke with George in the billiard room and asked him a few questions. He did not like my asking them nor did he care for my comments about his wife, which I felt were rather harmless. I merely said that Rosamunde wished to be home, a circumstance which everyone, even George, knows quite well, for she hardly restrains herself on that subject!”

Mr. Frome was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed to the fire. “What ails these two, I wonder?” he offered without the smallest concern for the fact that such a discourse as might follow could be viewed as quite meddlesome.

Lucy sipped her coffee and sighed. “They love their daughter very much and I believe each other quite passionately. When I said to George, however, that Rosamunde wished to return to Baddesley, his face grew quite red, the color of a tomato.”

“Indeed? Well, that is curious.”

“I thought so as well,” she said, meeting his gaze fully. She could see that he had an opinion on the subject. “Only tell me what you think.”

“I am not certain except that I have heard of this dilemma now for I believe five weeks and yet the repairs have not been completed for a period of two years. Does not this seem odd to you?”

“Of course it does.”

“The answer you seek might lie in the discovery of why the repairs are not yet complete.”

“You know, Mr. Frome, I do not think Sir Robert would approve very much of our conversation just now.”

Mr. Frome smiled. He picked up a stick lying beside his stool and poked at the fire. “I suppose not, but there is one question I would put to you, Miss Lucinda Stiles. What is really troubling you this morning, for if I do not mistake the matter you are not fretting merely about Rosamunde’s troubles, are you now?”

She leaned forward on the stool. The caravan was settled near the home wood but had a view of the back of the yew maze, though some distance away, which had begun taking shape. Indeed, as she glanced about, in particular at the well-scythed lawn upon which her slippered feet rested, she rather thought much of the garden was coming into its peak of perfection. As to just how she was to answer Mr. Frome’s question, she was not entirely certain.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that it may have something to do with Robert and George, at least in their opinion that I am meddling. They both think I am too interfering and I suppose I have come to doubt myself. Am I in the wrong in this instance?”

“I cannot say,” he responded, shaking his head and poking at the fire a little more. “What do your instincts tell you?”

“Only that if I can do so without distressing George, I should like to help Rosamunde. She is pitifully unhappy and last night George said some truly awful things to her. He accused her of, well, of having had an assignation last night!”

Mr. Frome frowned. “That is wretched, indeed. And though I do not mean to be cynical, is there reason he ought to be concerned on that score?”

“I would stake my life on it that she is wholly faithful to George. I have never seen a woman adore her husband more than Rosamunde. She was quite foxed last night and was holding his leg and kissing his knee!”

Mr. Frome threw his head back and laughed heartily. “She is a treasure. I only hope George has enough sense not to accuse her again.”

“Rosamunde laughed and laughed at his accusations. She was quite foxed. I only wish George had not taken exception to my questions.”

He nodded. “Some gentlemen cannot bear such scrutiny, particularly if there is some secret they are concealing.”

She eyed Mr. Frome carefully. Over the weeks he had been living at the bottom of the garden, she had come to know him quite well. She understood to perfection that he was giving her a very powerful hint. “Do I apprehend from this conversation that you do not think I am so very flawed as Robert does?”

He chortled almost gleefully. “My dear, you have a heart of the purest gold. I would entrust my secrets with you. Just remember that it is always best to get over rough ground lightly.”

She felt infinitely relieved until he turned to her and said, “However, there is one thing I would ask you, if you would permit it.”

For some reason, her heart began beating very fast. “You may ask me anything.”

“What do you think of Sir Robert’s criticisms of you?”

“I despise them,” she returned quickly, then regretted her words. She wished she had given a more measured, sensible response.

“But why? He seems to be a reasonable sort of man. Why do his opinions incense you?”

Lucy was taken aback by the penetrating question and felt rather reluctant to even ponder the subject. The fact that she never had, that when confronted with one of his wretched opinions she usually grew as mad as fire, was telling in itself. “I do not know,” she said quietly, looking into the small fire at his feet. “That is, I suppose it is because of John Goodworth.”

“And the worthy Mr. Goodworth to whom you were once betrothed.”

“The only man I ever loved,” she said softly.

“I recall your speaking of him. He was the unfortunate gentleman who tried to make you into a creature his father would accept.”

Her heart began to hurt and she wished the subject had not been brought forward.

Mr. Frome spoke softly. “Do you wish now to tell me that I am the one who is interfering and that you wish I would stop?”

“Yes. I wish it very much. The subject causes me great distress.” She could barely see him through the tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Then perhaps, my dear Lucy, you can now comprehend what George is possibly feeling about your questions.”

She nodded. “You think I may have touched upon a very tender spot with him.”

“I have every confidence that you unwittingly did just that, but will you now honor our friendship, trust me but a very little, and tell me more of your Mr. Goodworth, despite how you feel at present?”

Lucy did not answer him right away. Memories of John surged over her mind and with it waves of pain. She did not want to speak of him and yet at the very same moment she wanted nothing more. She sighed deeply and sat down again. “I have told no one, for at the time that I tumbled in love with him there was no one to tell of the troubles that followed, except of course for my father, but I would not have distressed him for the world. He was very protective of me, you see, and he would have become quite angry, not at John but at his father, Lord Holbury. I am sorry. This is all jumbled up in my head. John Goodworth, you see, was Lord Holbury’s eldest son and heir, and even though I had a considerable fortune, I did not have the excellent connections that Lord Holbury expected for a future viscountess.

“He therefore made his displeasure in me known from the start. He did not wish us to marry but he did not refuse his son outright. Instead, his campaign was far more insidious. He was constantly speaking of my numerous flaws to John, that I had little social grace, my fashion sense was atrocious, I was silent at the table or I spoke too much at the table, I held my tea cup improperly, I was too friendly or too severe with the servants, I could do no right. John, in turn, drove me to distraction with lessons on how to behave, how to dress, how to speak, so much so that I began to feel as though I might go mad. John was equally as unhappy. Finally, I ended our betrothal and that is when he married the most vulgar young lady I had ever known. I believe he did so merely to torment his father, but oh, how he broke my heart!”

“My dear, Lucy, I am so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago, Mr. Frome. I . . . I never think of it much anymore.”

“Yet the hurt remains.”

“I believe it always shall to some degree.”

“Do you blame your Mr. Goodworth?”

“At the time I blamed his father, but in truth John should have stood by me against his father’s railings. We were very young then, however, and Lord Holbury was a master at manipulating his children. I believe it was too much to expect that a man just twenty would be able to counter such vicious attacks.”

“So, do you suppose this is why you are so unhappy with Sir Robert’s hints, with his strong criticisms of you?”

Lucy stared at him for a long moment. “You may be right. It is possible that when he complains of my faults I may be afraid that were I to take him seriously I would once more be in danger of striving to be something I can never be.”

“And are you in danger of doing so?”

Lucy smiled. “No, not in the least. I begin to understand myself a little. All this time it was Lord Holbury’s opinions that have distressed me so, not Robert’s. Besides, Hetty said something that makes a great deal of sense to me. She believes that Robert is determined to search out my faults so that he does not come to feel too great an affection for me.”

Mr. Frome nodded. “How curious,” he murmured.

“In what way?”

“That Sir Robert’s greatest concern is that he restrain himself too much in his associations with you.”

“I do not understand. What would he mean by that?”

“I am not quite certain. I believe he, too, was once disappointed in love.”

“Robert?” she queried, much shocked. “Disappointed in love?”

“Is it so hard to believe that he might have loved once?”

“I suppose not, only how is it that I never heard a word of it.”

At that he shrugged. “Well, I suppose to say more would be to
interfere
more than I ought. Oh, dear, do but look. There is Lady Sandifort waving to you and she appears quite distressed.”

Lucy saw that Mr. Frome was right. Lady Sandifort was frowning quite severely. She thought she understood why.

“Oh, dear. I believe I may be in the basket now! You will excuse me, Mr. Frome?”

“Of course. Good luck, my dear.”

By the time Lucy crossed the stream, Lady Sandifort was upon her.

“I do not mean to deprive you of Mr. Frome’s company,” she said haughtily, “but I do believe there is something of import I must say to you.”

Lucy turned with her to walk up the garden to the west of the maze and said, “And what would that be?”

“You are interfering where you ought not, as well you know!”

Lucy was greatly surprised and not a little dismayed at her choice of words. Had she somehow learned that George was overset by her interference of the night before? She knew better, however, than to reveal her hand, so she merely responded politely, “Indeed? In what way, ma’am?”

“I have learned that you mean to take Anne and Alice to the assemblies in Bickfield in three weeks. I do not hesitate to tell you, Lucy, that you have no right to do so and you certainly do not have my permission!”

So that is why she is in high dudgeon
, she thought. Given all that had happened during the night and even this morning, she had forgotten about her most recent scheme. She could only wonder, however, just how Lady Sandifort had learned of it.

Rounding the maze, however, she quickly discovered the truth, for at the far end of the garden, on the terrace, she saw Hetty, Anne, and Alice. Hetty was standing with her arm pressed to her stomach, Anne was covering her mouth with her hands, and Alice jumped about quite oddly. Their combined distress was obvious even at such a distance. She glanced at the lady next to her. “My dear ma’am, I know quite well that Anne and Alice cannot possibly go without your favor and permission. Robert has made that much clear to me in these few weeks that I have been here.”

“Yes, yes,” she returned impatiently.

Lucy frowned at her. She sensed something in particular was on her ladyship’s mind. Lady Sandifort began pulling at the curls at her neck. She always pulled at the curls at her neck when something was teasing her brain.

“I wonder,” Lucy suggested, “if there is something I might do for you that would persuade you to consider permitting the girls to attend the assemblies.”

“There is nothing you can do for me,” she retorted sharply. “I have all that I want and need at my command.”

“As well I know,” Lucy complimented her.

A considerable pause ensued.

Lady Sandifort cleared her throat. “And it is an absolute certainty that Valmaston is coming to the ball?”

“Yes. He is fixed in London at present, and as he said in his letter hopes to arrive at least by the Friday before the come-out ball.”

She clucked her tongue. “I must confess, Lucy, and I would only say this to you, but I have been frightfully bored of late. I was used to be entertained by Sir Henry and even Robert for these many years and more, but now that my poor husband is dead and Robert is so ridiculously fixed on matters of business, well . . .”

Lucy turned these hints over in her mind. “It must be very hard for you living in the wilds of Hampshire away from proper civilization.”

“How well you seem to understand me.” She sighed very deeply. “If only a trifle of civilization might be brought here, then perhaps . . .”

Lucy understood her perfectly, only how on earth was she to get Lord Valmaston to come to Aldershaw beforetime, and that with Robert’s acquiescence? Well, that was a problem requiring a solution at a later hour. For the present, she had but one object.

“If only Lord Valmaston could come earlier,” she said. “He is such an amusing sort of man. He would undoubtedly enliven our evenings a vast deal. What do you think of the notion?”

“Valmaston, here, before the come-out ball?” she cried, tugging once more at the curls on her neck. “Why, I had not considered the possibility before. However, should he come I suppose we would have to make an effort to entertain him properly. Henry could take him out riding, for instance, for I understand Valmaston to be an excellent horseman. There is good trout fishing in the streams. And I suppose it would be amusing to take him to the local assemblies, that sort of thing, for I have always been given to understand that he is a man who quite depends upon society just as I do.”

Lucy quailed at the thought of a renowned rakehell of Valmaston’s stamp attending the local assemblies. She almost gave up her original scheme at the mere thought of the uproar his presence was likely to cause. As she drew near to Anne and Alice, however, she saw the misery on their poor faces and made her decision instantly.

“We have good news for you,” she cried.

Lady Sandifort leaned close, all pretence at an end. “Then you will write to him?”

She turned and met Lady Sandifort’s gaze fully. “I shall do better than that. I shall go to London on the instant.”

“That would be most excellent,” she whispered. “He should come, the sooner the better!” Aloud, she addressed her stepdaughters. “You are to attend the assemblies in early August. Lucy has persuaded me, as she always does!”

As they mounted the terrace steps, Anne fairly flew into Lucy’s arms. Lucy winked at Hetty, who in turn gave her a look that meant she wished to hear all about it.

A half hour later, Hetty was in her bedchamber, the door closed.

“I do apologize, Lucy,” she said in a low tone. “It is my fault entirely that this situation came to pass. I was so excited about the notion of the twins going to the assemblies that I made the supreme error of actually telling Anne. She can no more keep a secret than she can refrain from seeing her hair properly dressed every morning. She most unwisely let the subject slip just after breakfast, and that within our stepmother’s hearing.”

“It hardly matters,” Lucy responded, taking up a chair and gesturing for Hetty to do the same. “Do not give it another thought. As it was, I was having a very difficult time trying to determine just how I should broach the subject with Lady Sandifort, but all has turned out well.”

“But Lucy, you cannot be serious about going to London?” Hetty remained standing.

“I must go. She requires Valmaston.”

“You cannot have considered. You can hardly call upon a rake. And do you actually mean to bring him to Aldershaw before the come-out ball? Robert will not allow it, of that I am certain. Oh, how you put me in a quake!”

“And how you make me laugh! I vow, Hetty, I never knew you to be so hen-hearted!”

“I wish you would be more serious, for I am not in the least funning. Lucy, pray listen to me! To call upon a gentleman, nonetheless one of such a reputation, at his townhouse—!”

“But I have considered this situation. I will do whatever is required to make certain Anne and Alice have what they desire and what they need. They deserve no less and pray do not pay the smallest heed to my possible discomfiture. Besides, I shall take one of the maids with me, or two if such will set your mind at ease.”

Hetty sat down on the bed, slinging her arm about the post. “You make me quite ashamed of myself, Lucinda Stiles. Indeed you do. I have not half your spirit and not a speck of your ability. The twins are my sisters but you have done more for them since your arrival than I have in the past two years.”

“Hetty, pray do not distress yourself on that score. I am but a transient guest in this house. I do not live here, nor have I lived under the dominion of Sir Henry’s second wife. I have no doubt that, had I been required to do so, my behavior would be quite different and certainly a great deal more docile generally. It is because I am a stranger that I can have a different view of everything.”

Hetty did not appear to be in the least convinced. Indeed, she looked so very sad that Lucy could not help but leave her seat and take up one beside her on the bed. She put her arms about her. “Pray do not cry. I do not know what I have said that should have made you become a watering pot.”

“It is not what you have said, Lucy,” she responded in a small voice, sniffing all the while, “it is that you have shown me a part of myself about which I am suddenly and wholly disenchanted. You see, I have waited here forever and done nothing, in so many respects. While you merely
hear
that Lady Sandifort refuses to take the girls to the assemblies and so you instantly decide you must go to London!” She turned in Lucy’s arms. “Do you not see how extraordinary that is?”

Lucy was baffled. “I suppose I do not,” she said, rising from the bed as she spoke. “I am merely doing what I feel must be done. Now, dry your tears and no more recriminations. Indeed, I could use your assistance right now. Would you be so good as to help me pack my trunk?”

“Of course I will.”

Lucy moved to her wardrobe and withdrew one of her trunks. Dragging it carefully across the carpet, she opened the lid.

“But where will you stay once you arrive in London?” Hetty asked.

“Well, I have an aunt in Cheapside. I suppose I could—”

“I did not know you had an aunt!” Hetty cried.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “My mother’s sister, who was some twenty years older than mama. I have never before seen her, although I was told she held me once when I was an infant. Papa never liked her and she was always completely disinterested in me.”

“That is very sad.”

“But not unusual, I think. At any rate, she could hardly refuse a night’s lodging to so near a relation.”

“No, I suppose she could not.”

“Unless, of course, I told her my true object—to call upon Valmaston.”

Hetty laughed and shook her head. “What a dreadful thing to say. Would you actually tell her as much?”

“Only if she speaks ill of either Mama or Papa!”

Hetty laughed a little more, but tears continued to seep inexplicably from her eyes.

 

 

The following morning, Lucy was standing in the entrance hall pulling on her gloves of York tan when Robert stormed down the stairs, calling out at the top of his voice, “What the devil do you mean you are going to London? Why is this the first I have heard of your plans and where is it you mean to stay?”

Lucy turned sharply. She was quite startled by his address as well as by how quickly he descended the stairs. She could not help but take several steps backward. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are my ward until your birthday in two months’ time. Do you not feel obligated to at least inform me of your intentions?”

“ ’Tis only for two or three days.”

“Oh,” he responded. “Then you are not
removing
to London?”

“No, of course not. What made you think I was?”

“Hetty said you were going to London and somehow I supposed—then why the deuce are you going?”

“As it happens I have, er, business to attend to that cannot wait.”

“What business?” he asked suspiciously. “I am fully informed of your inheritance and all other pertinent matters. To my knowledge there is nothing for you to transact in London and certainly nothing that could not be managed by means of pen, ink, and paper if you are set on speaking with your solicitor.”

“Still, I must go.”

“Then you do not intend to tell me.”

Noting his stern expression, she found she had no desire at all to explain where she was going, or why, or with whom she meant most particularly to speak. She was reluctant, however, to withhold the truth from him. “I am going to see my aunt, my mother’s elderly sister, who resides in Cheapside.”

Robert narrowed his eyes. She could see his suspicion deepen. “I have known you for a very long time and I especially comprehend that particular expression of yours, one of complete innocence, and when you open your eyes that wide—Lucy, you might as well tell me precisely what it is you mean to do in London.”

“I fear our darling Lucy,” Henry said, as he sauntered into the entrance hall, “is intent on calling upon Lord Valmaston.”

Lucy glanced at Henry, wondering both who had told him what she was doing and why he was so angry. Robert she could understand, for he was always displeased with something or other about her, but Henry rarely displayed even the smallest displeasure.

“Valmaston?” Robert cried. “You are going to London to call upon Valmaston? What the devil for?”

“You need not shout, Robert. I am standing but four feet from you.”

“Tell me this is not true.”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “It is true.” She folded her hands, now neatly gloved in fine soft leather, in front of her. So much anger swept over Robert’s face that she only barely refrained from taking two more steps backward.

He shook his head several times. “But why? To what purpose? He has already agreed to attend Anne and Alice’s come-out ball and I have already said he may stay at Aldershaw for a few days. For what possible reason then could you have to travel to London and call upon him?”

How was Lucy to explain her purposes? Would Robert even understand them? “I . . . I have my reasons,” she stated. “I beg you will not inquire further, but it is something I must do.” Inspiration struck. “I can at least tell you this—I have a message to give him from my father that I should have delivered months ago but now I cannot wait another moment.” This was partly true. Well, perhaps only a very little.

His eyes narrowed further still and she had the strong sense he did not believe her. He did not speak for a very long moment and the silence in the entrance hall grew louder and louder as each second passed. Finally his shoulders relaxed. “You will have to stay your departure for at least an hour. I will need to change into traveling gear.”

“You are not going with me!” Lucy cried, much horrified.

He smiled suddenly. “The devil I am not!” he exclaimed. With that he whirled on his heel and took the stairs by two. He was gone before she could think of even one excuse by which she might have gotten rid of him. She debated leaving on the instant but that would not work at all. Robert would merely follow after her and then she would be in the basket, indeed!