Spring Muslins

by Melinda Hammond

  ‘Well, there we are then.’ Miss Morrison beamed. ‘No harm has been done.’

  ‘Not if that had been the only occurrence last night,’ declared Lady Quidenham. ‘But there is worse to come.’ She glared at Lucy. ‘The truth is out that Grace Bower is your cousin. I am now a laughing stock, because everyone knows you duped me into bringing you to Town in order to promote your cousin’s dresses.’

  Morry’s look of dismay only added to Lucia’s feelings of guilt, but she rallied.

  ‘I am sure no one is laughing at you, Aunt. But how did anyone find out about it? Grace would not say anything.’

  She was about to add that she had told no one, then she remembered she had confided in Sir Darius.

  ‘It was Lady Claversham who mentioned it,’ the dowager continued, her eyes snapping angrily. ‘She asked me if I was aware of your connection with the seamstress in Orchard Street.’

  The knot of unhappiness inside Lucy grew even tighter and she felt slightly sick. Surely he would not have been so petty?

  Lady Quidenham split the bread roll on her plate and began to butter it with quick, angry strokes of the knife.

  ‘She said she wanted to give me the hint. Impudent woman! Oh, I am aware she was merely trying to stir up the coals. She is afraid I might change my will in your favour. It would serve her right if I did! She gave that irritating laugh of hers and declared how refreshing it was to find a young lady interested in commerce. Commerce! What she meant was trade, Lucia! She as good as said you are prostituting yourself to puff off your cousin’s wares!’

  Morry gave a little shriek. ‘Oh good heavens, my lady, surely not! Lucia would never –’

  ‘All I have done, Aunt, is to wear the clothes Grace has fashioned,’ replied Lucy, sitting up very straight. ‘If anyone has asked who made them for me, I have told the truth. Nothing more.’ Her appetite gone, she put down her napkin and left the table.

  She went to her room, where she paced the floor, her mind racing. After this latest revelation there was no possibility that Lady Quidenham would relent and with little more than two weeks until she closed up Quidenham House and went to Brighton, Lucy realised she would need to find somewhere to live, and quickly.

  She found her writing case, took out her private ledger and tried to work out just how much money she had. Even with the promised income from Grace at the end of the month it was too little for her to set up her own establishment.

  She heard a soft scratching at the door.

  ‘Lucy, may I come in?’

  ‘Of course, Morry.’ She closed the ledger and wiped the frown from her brow. ‘Come and sit down, my dear. I have been meaning to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh dear, have you? I came to see if you were all right, after her ladyship’s little outburst. I have come to know Lady Quidenham well enough to say with some confidence that she doesn’t mean half the harsh things she says.’

  ‘In this case, Morry, I’m afraid she does.’ Lucy waited until her old governess was seated before continuing. ‘I have been a sad trial to my great-aunt, Morry. She is going to Brighton at the beginning of July, and I am not going with her. Please, do not say anything. We had always said I could stay in Town for only the one Season, had we not? I admit I had hoped we would have another month here complete, but it is not to be.’ She put on a brave smile. ‘Orchard Gowns is not yet in a position to pay sufficient for us to set up a house of our own, but we should be able to find a suite of rooms that would suit us, in a quiet little village somewhere. And if all else fails we must fall back upon our original plan to live with Grace at Orchard Street. Now we have the next-door property I am sure we can spare a room or two for our living accommodation.’

  Morry looked so astounded that it took all Lucy’s willpower to keep smiling.

  ‘Oh dear! Oh, Lucia, I do not mind for myself, but how would you manage, after living in such style here?’ Miss Morrison wrung her hands. ‘I had hoped that perhaps, coming here with her ladyship, meeting so many gentlemen, one of them might have taken your fancy and made you an offer. Then you might have lived in comfort in your own establishment.’

  ‘Now that was never in my plans, Morry, and after this latest scrape I doubt any respectable man would have me! No, I have had my time in Town and now have to face the future. Indeed, I should quite like to move in with Grace. I have missed her greatly, you know. And I see no difficulty in giving up this hurly burly round of parties, and being polite to strangers who only care about scandal and gossip! If the business continues to grow then we can consider a separate establishment for you and me one day, but for now I should be glad to live quietly in Orchard Street.’ She added lightly, ‘I shall learn to sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam!’

  Miss Morrison did not look convinced, and it took Lucy some time to persuade her that this was what she truly wanted to do, but eventually she succeeded, although the little governess insisted they should not tell Grace just yet.

  ‘I would not have her worry about us,’ she said, ‘and I have not yet given up on Lady Quidenham changing her mind. Why else would she be insisting that you continue to go about Town with her?’

  ‘To save face,’ retorted Lucy. ‘She hates gossip and does not want anyone to think we have fallen out. But if you insist, we shall keep this a secret between the two of us, for a little longer at least.’

  As soon as Miss Morrison had departed, Lucia sent a note to Orchard Street, with instructions that the messenger should wait for a reply. She found herself hoping that it was her cousin who had inadvertently let slip the family connection, but when the footman came back with Grace’s response, a vehement assurance that she had not breathed a word, Lucy felt the weight upon her spirits grow heavier but there was nothing more she could do, save keep up her head and weather the storm.

  *

  The days dragged by. The dowager refused to cancel any of their engagements, saying they must face down any gossip. Lucy knew she was right but it was difficult to face the slights and sly comments whenever they went into company.

  Lucy could only be thankful for the continued friendship of Verity, who called to see her the day after the party.

  ‘No one noticed the little contretemps on the balcony,’ she assured Lucy.

  ‘Only your brother! Verity, I was mortified.’

  ‘Pho, Lucy, it was hardly your fault. Darius said I was to tell you the matter will not be mentioned again.’

  ‘Let us hope he can keep that matter a secret!’ Lucy muttered.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I was thinking of Orchard Gowns.’ Lucy twisted her hands together. ‘My being related to Mrs Bower.’

  ‘Oh that!’ Verity waved her hand. ‘Grandmama sees nothing amiss. Even Darius told Mama she was making a fuss over nothing and that you could not be blamed for wearing clothes fashioned by your cousin when they are so exquisite.’ She giggled. ‘He even suggested Mama should visit Orchard Gowns herself!’

  Lucy was heartened by this, but while customers continued to flock to Orchard Street, it was clear that Lucy’s reputation had been damaged. Some, like Lady Chawton, did not hesitate to show their disapproval and afforded Lucy no more than a cold nod when they met in Bond Street, and when Lucia and her aunt attended St George’s in Hanover Square for the morning service that Sunday, Lucia received a frosty reception from several members of the congregation. A group of ladies were gathered outside the door as they left the church and Lucy recognised one of them as Mrs Torrington, whom she had last seen at Lady Winterstoke’s party. They all nodded and smiled at Lady Quidenham and her niece, but Lucy noticed Mrs Torrington boldly eyeing her from head to foot, and as she followed her aunt into the carriage, the lady’s tinkling laugh carried across to her.

  ‘Oh yes, my dears, she has a certain style, but let us be honest, she is no more than a fashion doll for her cousin.’

  Lucy sat down in the carriage with a bump. Had Darius confided her secret to Mrs Torrington? Is that how the truth had got about? She
felt the familiar knot of anger inside. Even if it was the dashing matron who had spread the tale, it was the gentleman who was at fault, because Lucy had told him in confidence.

  The matter was still worrying Lucy when she walked to Bond Street with Miss Morrison the following day. She was in no mood for shopping, but the idea of remaining indoors with her great-aunt was even less appealing. After an hour of trailing from shop to shop under the blazing June sunshine, Morry suggested they should call in Gunter’s and enjoy a cooling ice cream.

  Lucy agreed immediately and they set off for Berkeley Square, but when they reached the famous tea shop they discovered Lady Winterstoke was there with her grandchildren.

  Verity immediately hailed Lucy and insisted they should join them at their table.

  ‘Darius, ask the waiter for two more seats here, if you please!’ She caught Lucy’s hand and pulled her down onto the chair beside her, chattering all the time.

  When the extra chairs were brought in, Darius arranged his next to Lucy. She tried to ignore him, but it was impossible. Her body tingled to have him so close and there was nothing she could do about the erratic beat of her heart. Verity was enjoying her iced custard and Miss Morrison was deep in conversation with Lady Winterstoke. She and Sir Darius might have been sitting at a separate table, for all the notice anyone was taking of them.

  ‘I have not seen you since the party at Grafton Street,’ he said. ‘I trust Sir Henry has not inconvenienced you since?’

  ‘No.’

  She did not look up, but heard him chuckle.

  ‘Perhaps you will admit now that my pugilistic skills are of some use.’

  His blithe response roused her indignation.

  ‘I abhor violence,’ she said coldly. She hesitated, before deciding that the noise and chatter of the room was too great to allow anyone to hear what they were saying and added bitterly, ‘As much as I abhor the breaking of confidences.’ When he did not reply she continued. ‘I am not so concerned for myself, but Lady Quidenham has been greatly distressed by what has been said – what is being said – concerning my links with Orchard Gowns.’

  He frowned at that.

  ‘I have done my best to alleviate the gossip whenever I have heard anything.’

  ‘The fact is, Sir Darius, it should never have become public knowledge!’

  ‘I suppose it was always going to get out, at some point.’ He stared at her. ‘You do not think I mentioned it to anyone?’

  She glared at him. ‘There is no one else who could have done so.’

  ‘You have my word that I did not.’

  Her lip curled. ‘How can I believe you, when I heard it first in Grafton Street?’

  Lucy hunched a shoulder and turned back to her dish, where the ice cream was beginning to melt. Not that it mattered, she did not really want to eat anything else.

  Somehow, she endured the half hour or so until the party broke up. Verity kissed her cheek and promised to call soon, but Sir Darius kept his distance, waiting on the pavement as if wanting to hurry Lady Winterstoke and his sister away.

  ‘Well, was that not a pleasant hour?’ declared Morry, opening her parasol. ‘Do you know, my dear, I think perhaps you and Lady Quidenham are worrying unnecessarily about your links with Orchard Gowns. No one has snubbed us today, have they? Perhaps the ton has moved on to another scandal, and things are going to get better now.’

  Lucy said nothing, but in her heart she thought it was more likely to be the opposite, and things were going to get worse.

  *

  Grace made her usual early morning tour of the Orchard Street workrooms, talking to her seamstresses and inspecting the stitches set by the younger girls, to make sure they were to her exacting standards. When she was satisfied that everything was in order, she donned her russet-coloured pelisse and matching bonnet and went out. With more employees, and a reliable woman in charge of the sewing room, she had a little more free time now and had formed the habit of taking the air there most mornings. Even on inclement days like this, when there was a good chance of a shower, she liked to be out of doors for at least a little while.

  She had not gone a hundred yards inside the park when she heard a quick step behind her and a familiar voice.

  ‘Good day to you, Miss Bower.’

  ‘Mr Chawton.’ She stopped and waited for him to catch up with her.

  ‘I, erm, do you mind if I stroll with you’?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said, a faint blush painting her cheek.

  He fell into step beside her.

  ‘I am sorry I did not manage to speak to you at Church yesterday,’ he said. ‘My mother was in a hurry to be away. You know how it is…’

  ‘Yes.’ Grace smiled, knowing only too well that Lady Chawton would not consider a lowly seamstress worthy of her notice.

  ‘I hope you approve the latest paintings I sent to you?’

  ‘Oh yes, thank you. You have captured the gowns exactly as I planned them. You seem to understand just what it is I want.’

  ‘That is because your original sketches are so good,’ he told her, such a glow in his eyes that she blushed and looked away.

  ‘I wanted to ask you,’ he began. ‘I mean – I did not see you here, on Saturday.’

  ‘One of the seamstresses was taken ill and I was obliged to finish the gown I had promised to Mrs Arbuttle,’ she cast a quick glance at him and said gently, ‘I am a working woman, Mr Chawton, it is not always possible for me to get away.’

  ‘No.’ His voice was low, tense. ‘I wish I might take the burden from you.’

  ‘Oh pray, do not say so! You know you must not.’ A sudden drop of rain landed on her hand and she stopped. ‘It is beginning to rain, I should turn back.’

  ‘Then I shall escort you,’ he said. He waved his umbrella. ‘I came prepared.’

  In order that they both might shelter, Grace was obliged to walk very close to the gentleman, but she did not mind. In fact, she enjoyed having a reason to cling to Edward Chawton’s strong arm. It felt very safe, somehow. The rain began to beat down harder.

  ‘I fear if we continue your skirts will be soaked,’ he said, with sudden decision. ‘Look, there is a gazebo over there where we may take refuge. Come along.’

  She did not protest as he caught her hand and they ran quickly into the small, octagonal shelter amongst the trees.

  ‘There. We are not too wet, I think.’

  ‘No.’ She laughed, exhilarated by the exertion. ‘Hardly wet at all!’

  She suddenly felt very shy, alone with a gentleman, cut off from the world by a curtain of rain. She looked about her. A bench ran around the sides of the shelter and she sat down. Mr Chawton shook out his umbrella and came to sit beside her.

  He placed the umbrella carefully down beside him. ‘This is very pleasant, Miss Bower.’

  She smiled, but kept her eyes fixed on her hands, folded demurely in her lap and after a silent moment he turned to her.

  ‘Miss Bower, I wanted to say.’

  He stopped again and Grace held her breath.

  ‘Yes?’ she prompted him.

  ‘Miss Bower. Grace! I wanted to tell you... You see.’ He coughed. ‘Since I met you. Since I have been helping you with your designs. That is…’

  He stopped again and when she peeped up at him, she saw that his cheeks were very red. Could he be blushing? Her fingers tightened together and she felt a nervous excitement running through her.

  ‘Yes, Mr Chawton?’

  ‘Well, you see. Ahem. I want – I would very much like – Oh confound it, Grace, I cannot find the words!’

  She glanced out at the pouring rain. Summer downpours never lasted long and she was very much afraid it might clear before he had expressed himself.

  She said daringly, ‘I do not think this is the time for words, Mr Chawton.’ She gave him a shy, encouraging smile. ‘Perhaps you would like to show me?’

  There, she had said it. She saw the hope and uncertainly warring in his eyes then, wit
h sudden decision, he pulled her towards him and kissed her.

  ‘Oh Grace, I do love you!’

  *

  Upon her return to Quidenham House, Lucia went straight to her room, declaring she would rest until dinner. She lay down on her bed and tried to sleep, but the image of Sir Darius’s unsmiling face was burned upon her memory. She desperately wanted to trust him, to believe he had told no one that Grace was her cousin, but who else could it have been?

  By the time Betty came in to help her change for dinner, Lucia had not slept at all, and she felt more miserable and confused than ever. Worse was to come, for when she joined the others in the drawing room she saw immediately that her grandmother was not happy.

  ‘I have had a visitor today,’ she told them, as soon as they were sitting down. ‘Mrs Drummond-Burrell called. She gave me the hint that we would no longer be welcome at Almack’s.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ exclaimed Miss Morrison, her eyes wide with dismay. ‘But perhaps it is not so very bad. After all, ma’am, you are off to Brighton in three weeks, so being barred from Almack’s is not such a very great loss, is it?’

  ‘We are not excluded,’ snapped Lady Quidenham. ‘Not even Mrs Drummond-Burrell had the audacity to say that to me. She merely suggested we might be more comfortable if we stayed away.’ Her mouth worked angrily. ‘Impudent strumpet!’

  This description of Almack’s highest stickler made Lucy smile, despite her worries.

  ‘I took great pleasure in telling her I had no intention of entering their hallowed portals again until they improved their refreshments,’ continued the dowager. ‘I also told her that you had no need to parade yourself in what is little more than a cattle market. You have far more worth than that.’

  Lucy blinked. ‘Why, thank you, Aunt.’

  ‘Yes, well. Whatever your faults, Lucia, you remain my niece and I will not disparage family!’

  *

  Lucia’s efforts to find a little cottage to rent or even rooms a short distance from Town, proved unsuccessful. And with just two weeks until Lady Quidenham left London for Brighton, Lucia sought out Miss Morrison and suggested it was time to warn Grace that they might be moving in with her.