Lucasta

by Melinda Hammond

  ‘Well now, my dear, do you have everything you need?’

  ‘Y-yes, thank you, Your Grace.’ Lucasta struggled out of the chair. ‘Calder has taken my coat for brushing and she has promised to have my shirt washed and dry by morning.’ She looked down at the silken folds of the dressing gown puddling around her feet. ‘I fear I do not match up to Your Grace’s usual guests.’

  The duchess chuckled.

  ‘You look charming, my dear – except for your hair.’

  Lucasta reached up to touch the ragged curls hanging about her shoulders.

  ‘Oh dear, is it so bad? It reached down to my waist, you see, and was far too long for any gentleman so I was obliged to cut it.’

  ‘I quite understand that, however, I think we can improve upon it.’ She indicated the door behind her. ‘The beauty of this chamber is that it adjoins my own apartments: come through to my dressing-room. I have scissors and a comb there and we shall see what can be done to make you more presentable.’

  She led the way through the connecting doors into a high-ceilinged room decorated in shades of cream and pink, illuminated by numerous candles.

  ‘Do you like it? I had it decorated to my own taste when I first moved here. I was newly widowed, you see but I have never liked sombre colours.’ She gently pushed Lucasta down on to the stool near the dressing table and lifted her hair in one hand. ‘Dear me,’ she said, a slight tremor in her voice, ‘did you cut this in the dark?’

  ‘Well, I could not quite reach,’ admitted Lucasta. ‘I was obliged to pull it over my shoulder and I think perhaps I was a little careless.’

  ‘Yes, I can quite see that. Well, let me see what I can do.’

  When Miss Symonds went downstairs the following morning she entered the breakfast room with something very like a swagger. A quick glance around assured her that only Lord Kennington was present and she said, dimpling, ‘Well, my lord, what do you think?’

  The viscount had risen upon her entrance and he regarded her now with a decided twinkle in his grey eyes.

  ‘You look very smart, Master Luke.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. My coat has been brushed and pressed, my shirt washed and my hair cut to a neatness. I am very respectable now, am I not?’

  Adam watched her preening herself before the mirror. There was a definite charm about her in her old-fashioned frock-coat. Her hair, freshly cut and scooped back into a queue, was the colour of liquid honey in the morning light. His lips twitched.

  ‘You are a veritable coxcomb. Sit down and break your fast before you wear out the mirror.’

  She came to the table, a faint flush suffusing her cheeks. He laughed.

  ‘No, no, I am merely teasing you, Luke. You look very well, I promise you. Would you like me to order you some coffee?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She took a seat opposite the viscount and helped herself to a slice of bread and butter. ‘Shall we go on to London today, sir?’

  ‘No, it is Sunday: I never travel on a Sunday. Besides I fear one of my bays is a little lame, and without Potts to look at her I think I shall let her rest another day.’

  ‘Oh dear. And if she should indeed prove to be lame?’

  ‘I have no doubt the duchess will allow me to use one of her teams. Do not look so worried, Luke, I shall get you to London in a day or so, never fear.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  He looked up.

  ‘My lord? Why so formal? I have grown used to you calling me Adam.’

  She blushed but did not reply for at that moment the footman opened the door for the duchess to enter, followed by a servant bearing a fresh pot of coffee. Morning greetings were exchanged and the duchess took her seat.

  ‘Poor Mr Giggs is no better today,’ she informed them solemnly. ‘I am afraid we must amuse ourselves.’

  ‘I must go to the stables to check on my horses,’ said Adam. ‘And I want to see how Potts goes on. After that I am at your disposal for the rest of the day. What would you like to do, Luke? A little shooting, perhaps, or we could play billiards …’

  The duchess dismissed her servants with a word.

  ‘I think not,’ she continued quietly. ‘Luke’s disguise makes her no less a lady, Adam, and as such I must not allow her to be alone with you. Pray do not argue, sir: believe me, I would not have either of you compromised. I think it would be best if Luke spent the day in my company. You, Adam, may amuse yourself as best you may.’

  Lucasta did not dare to argue with her hostess, but the look she cast Lord Kenington was eloquent enough to make him laugh out loud.

  ‘Poor Luke, there is no need to be so dismayed. You need not think the duchess will keep you yawning over your needlework all day. If I know my godmother she will have much more interesting ways to entertain you!’

  She did not look convinced, but when they all met up again shortly before the dinner hour it was clear that Lucasta and the duchess were already firm friends. They were seated together before the fire and as Lord Kennington entered the room Lucasta turned an animated countenance towards him.

  ‘Oh, Adam, we have had such fun today! Madame Duchess drove me to church in her phaeton. It is so high I could see over all the hedges and walls! Then we went to visit Her Grace’s gamekeeper – one of his spaniels has whelped and we were allowed to see the litter. There was the most adorable little bitch with one white ear, smaller than all the others and not at all so forward. Madame Duchess says they will all need homes, but if I am going to London it would not be quite fair to take a pup with me, would it?’

  ‘No indeed,’ he replied. ‘Nor would it be fair to take such a young creature away from its mother.’

  She gave a sigh.

  ‘No, I quite see that, so I have quite given up the idea of taking her with me, but Madam Duchess says that if she is not homed by the end of the season I make take her back to Shropshire with me.’

  ‘Not in my carriage!’

  She laughed at him.

  ‘No, of course not. I shall be travelling with Mama and Camilla. Madam Duchess says we may call in on our way to see if the puppy is unclaimed. And it is very likely that she will still be here, because she is so much smaller than the others and not half so pretty, is she Madam Duchess?’

  The duchess smiled and threw a swift, mischievous look at her godson.

  ‘I fear she is overshadowed by her siblings.’

  ‘And what of your day, sir?’ said Lucasta as the viscount took a seat beside her. ‘Did you see Jacob, will he be well enough to travel tomorrow?’

  ‘I am afraid not. The wound is healing well but it will be better if he rests the leg for a few more days yet. We shall have to go on without him.’ He lowered his voice a little. ‘I have set it about that I am taking Luke to Droitwich where he can pick up a coach.’

  ‘Excellent.’ The duchess nodded approvingly. ‘Thus Master Smith can disappear into the north country. I shall dispatch Calder shortly before you set off so that you can take her up on the road – she will then act as chaperon until you reach London. Once Luke is safely restored to her mama, Calder shall purchase her ticket on the mail coach to return here.’

  Lucasta looked from the duchess to Lord Kennington, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  ‘I really do not know how to thank you both. You have been so kind to me.’

  The duchess waved aside her thanks.

  ‘Nonsense child, I have enjoyed having you to stay and I hope we shall have the pleasure of entertaining Miss Lucasta Symonds here at some future date.’

  A quiet dinner was followed by an early night and the duchess was present to say goodbye the next morning. The viscount refused to allow his godmother to venture out of doors because of the chill wind and they took their leave in the echoing marble hall. Impulsively, Lucasta stepped forward to kiss the duchess’s scented cheek.

  ‘I shall not forget your kindness, Madam Duchess,’ she whispered, her voice breaking.

  The duchess pulled her closer, and Lucasta found h
erself enveloped in a warm embrace.

  ‘Dear child, I have grown very fond of you, even in this short time. There, there, go along with you.’ The duchess patted her shoulder. ‘We shall meet again, I am sure. Off you go now. God speed, Adam, and take care of Master Smith!’

  ‘You may be sure I will, Your Grace. Tell Potts to join me in London as soon as he is able.’

  They climbed into the curricle, the stable lad holding the horses jumped aside and they set off down the drive at a cracking pace. Lucasta leaned over the back of the seat to take a last look at Coombe Chase.

  ‘I do like your godmama, Adam.’ She turned and sank back onto her seat with a sigh. ‘Do you think she will let me visit her again one day?’

  ‘Very likely. When she likes someone she will go to any lengths for them and she was very taken with you. Now,’ he said, whipping up his team, ‘We must find the estimable Calder, who should be waiting for us somewhere on this road, then we can set about losing young Master Smith.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Two days later a tired and bone-weary Lucasta arrived in London. She had found the journey from Coombe Chase far less enjoyable and put this down to the presence of the duchess’s formidable dresser. Calder took her duties as chaperone very seriously, sitting silently between her charge and the viscount and making all but the most necessary conversation impossible. At the inn where they were obliged to put up for the night she instructed Lucasta to wrap herself up in her cloak and she bundled her into her room with instructions for supper and breakfast to be sent up, and when Lucasta was escorted back to her seat in the curricle the following morning the viscount observed drily that a chance observer was more likely to suspect a kidnap than an elopement.

  When they arrived in Sophia Street, Lucasta realized belatedly that she had no idea which of the houses had been hired by her mama, but here the duchess’s redoubtable dresser proved her worth: a few knocks, a few discreet enquiries and Mrs Symonds’ direction was discovered.

  ‘Would you like me to come in with you?’ asked the viscount, as Lucasta climbed down from the curricle.

  ‘Thank you, my lord, but that will not be necessary,’ put in Calder briskly. ‘Miss Symonds is safe enough in my care. Besides there’s no one to look after your horses.’

  She stepped up to the door and banged the knocker loudly. Lucasta looked back at the viscount.

  ‘I really am very grateful to you, my lord.’

  ‘Think no more of it. I shall call upon you in a few days to see how you go on.’ He touched his hat. ‘Good day to you, Miss Symonds.’

  With a flourish of his whip he set off along the street. Lucasta watched him drive away and pulled her cloak more firmly around her, feeling suddenly bereft.

  Moments later she was standing in an elegant morning-room while a lofty butler sent a note to Lady Symonds. She looked across at Calder, standing impassively in one corner, and gave her a nervous smile.

  ‘I am sure we will be able to find you a room for the night – it is too late now for you to set off for Coombe Chase.’

  ‘Thank you miss,’ came the civil reply. ‘I believe the mail coach leaves early each morning so a little supper and a comfortable bed would be most welcome. Also, I should like to know that you are settled before I take my leave of you. So that I may report back to my mistress,’ she added quickly, lest Lucasta should think her capable of any sort of kindness.

  ‘Lucasta – it is you! When I was told you had arrived I thought there must be some mistake!’ Mrs Symonds hurried into the room, Camilla close behind her. ‘Has there been some sort of accident? Is it your Papa?’

  ‘Papa was quite well when last I saw him,’ replied Lucasta. ‘It is quite complicated, however. Before I explain, will you give orders for rooms to be prepared? This is Calder, by the way, the Duchess of Filwood’s personal maid. She will only be staying for one night, but I shall require a room for a much longer stay, if you will permit me.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course,’ Mrs Symonds nodded, looking very bewildered and Lucasta took it upon herself to instruct the butler, who was standing at the door with a look of the liveliest curiosity on his face. Once he and Calder had withdrawn, Lucasta tutted. ‘Oh dear – should I have told him to set another place for dinner? But he will know to do that, surely?’ She turned towards her mother and sister, who were still standing in the middle of the floor, staring at her. She quelled a sudden desire to laugh and said instead, ‘Shall we all sit down?’

  As she sank into a chair her cloak fell open to display her raiment.

  ‘Lucasta,’ said her mother in a voice of precarious calm, ‘What are you doing in Town, dressed as a boy and, and accompanied by a – a duchess’s personal maid?’

  ‘Have you received no word from Papa? No? Well, that is very odd, for I left him a note explaining what I was going to do, but perhaps he did not think he could explain himself properly in a letter.’

  ‘Lucasta,’ burst in Camilla, ‘if you do not tell us exactly what is happening I shall fall into hysterics!’

  ‘I have run away,’ she said simply.

  ‘Oh good heavens!’ Mrs Symonds sank back into her chair and began to ply her fan vigorously.

  ‘I mean,’ continued Lucasta, considering her words, ‘I have run away from Papa, who was going to force me to marry Squire Woodcote.’

  ‘What?’ Mrs Symonds dropped her fan and sat bolt upright, her colour fluctuating alarmingly.

  Lucasta nodded.

  ‘Squire Woodcote came to dinner and I overheard them talking: the squire had procured a special licence and Papa planned to call in the parson the very next day to carry out the ceremony.’

  She paused. So much had happened that much of the horror she had felt upon discovering her father’s plans had faded and she could discuss the matter quite calmly. Camilla, however, was regarding her in horror.

  ‘But Squire Woodcote is so old.’

  ‘That does not prevent him wanting a young bride,’ retorted Lucasta.

  Camilla shuddered.

  ‘What a disgusting idea. Why, the last time he came to call he sat next to me on the sofa and tried to paw me. It was horrible and Mama told Papa he must either forbid him the house altogether, or insist that he leave me alone.’

  ‘Well I wish you had told him to leave me alone, too, Mama,’ retorted Lucasta.

  ‘But I did not know – that is, I did not think he had any interest in you,’ cried her mother.

  ‘I would not be surprised to learn that Papa had put the idea in his head.’

  ‘Lucasta!’ gasped Camilla. ‘You cannot say such things about Papa.’

  ‘And why not? We all know that Papa sees us only as chattels, goods to be turned into profit.’

  ‘It is true that we want you both to marry well,’ put in Mrs Symonds, her cheeks very red, ‘but I never wanted you to be unhappy. Oh drat the man, how dare he do this? He deliberately waited until I was out of the way. No wonder he has not written to tell me what has occurred, he would not dare! Only wait until I write to him, I shall give him a piece of my mind—’

  ‘Yes, yes, Mama, that is all very well, but we have not yet heard how Lucasta comes to be here, and accompanied by a lady’s maid.’

  ‘Calder is personal dresser to the Duchess of Filwood,’ said Lucasta. ‘I was a guest of the duchess for a few days, after I had shot a footpad and—’ She broke off, biting her lip at her audience’s astonished looks. ‘I think I had best tell you the whole.’

  ‘… so here I am,’ said Lucasta when she had finished her story. ‘I must throw myself upon your mercy, Mama, although I think it only fair to tell you that if you insist I go back to Shropshire I shall run away again, to Kent this time, and live with Ned.’

  No one attended to her. Camilla said wonderingly, ‘Lord Kennington brought her here, Mama. Do you think he did it for my sake?’

  ‘Oh undoubtedly,’ replied Mrs Symonds. ‘Lucasta says he has promised to call: when he does we must be ready, my love, and you must be
suitably grateful for his rescuing your sister.’

  ‘Since I was the one who shot at the footpad you could say that I rescued him,’ argued Lucasta.

  She was ignored. Her mother paced up and down the room, tapping her fan against her hand.

  ‘Well, now you are here, Lucasta, we must clothe you.’

  ‘I do have one gown in my portmanteau, Mama. I would have worn it, but Calder thought it safer for me to travel as a boy than to risk comment …’

  ‘Then that must suffice for tonight but tomorrow we shall take you shopping: it must be early, in case Lord Kennington should call. Of course, until you are fit to be seen you must keep to your room except for meals – and we must find you a maid. Anne is far too busy looking after Camilla to bother with you.’

  Lucasta let her run on, thankful that she was not to be turned out of the house. She went to her bed that night tired but happy, her only worry being that if the viscount called the next day, she might not be allowed to see him.

  After driving away from Sophia Street, Lord Kennington made his way to the stables that enjoyed his patronage while he was in Town. Without Potts, he was obliged to give his own instructions to the stable lads and it took him some time to arrange for the housing of his curricle. The hour was therefore advanced by the time he reached his rooms in Wardour Street and he grinned at the look of shock upon his valet’s face as he ran up the stairs.

  ‘Well, Gretton, had you given me up for another day?’

  ‘No, my lord, that is—’

  ‘Do not stand there gawping at me, man. Go and lay out my black coat; I must change before I can go to my club to dine.’ He broke off when realized his valet was not alone on the landing. A tall gentleman in a dark coat and bagwig stood behind him and the viscount could see two more figures standing in the shadows.

  ‘Do we have visitors, Gretton?’

  ‘Not visitors, as such, sir …’ the valet tailed off unhappily, and the gentleman in the bagwig stepped forward.

  ‘Am I to understand that you are Lord Kennington, sir?’