Lucille looked down at her clasped hands. The same thoughts had been preoccupying her ever since Hetty had arrived so unexpectedly. Given her state of health, it was clearly impossible to send her adoptive sister straight home, and it sounded as though there had been serious reasons that had driven Hetty to run away in the first place. Until she had had the chance to find out what had happened, Lucille did not want to upset Hetty by trying to explain why she could not stay at Cookes.
But Peter was right—news of Hetty’s arrival at the house would inevitably leak out and her reputation would be ruined. Suddenly Lucille felt close to tears. It was bad enough that by her foolish masquerade she had landed herself in so much trouble, but that Hetty should now be compromised was utterly unfair!
Lucille, whose thoughts on her own circumstances had gone quite out of her mind, suddenly realised that she could not possibly remove from Cookes the following day as she had planned. Now all her problems were compounding themselves with a vengeance!
‘Forgive me, Miss Kellaway, but there is more,’ Peter Seagrave said suddenly. His fair, open face flushed. ‘As I am being so frank, I may as well go further. I think that you should know that Nick—my brother, Lord Seagrave—knows that you are not Susanna Kellaway, although I understand that you have been using her identity…’
Lucille, who had been pondering how on earth Hetty had managed to trace her to Cookes, was all at sea for a moment. In her concern for Hetty she had given no thought to the fact that her adoptive sister had called her by her name—or that Hetty might well have referred to her as Lucille when talking to Peter on the journey. Yet now it seemed that it did not matter anyway! Peter knew that she was not Susanna! Seagrave knew, just as she had suspected…
The mortification overcame her in a huge wave. She felt ready to sink with embarrassment now that she had received this confirmation. How did he know? How long had he known for? Why had he not spoken? The thoughts tumbled over themselves inside her head.
‘You have been using her identity…’ It sounded so cheap, so deceitful! And so it was, Lucille told herself fiercely, blinking back the hot tears which threatened to overwhelm her. She had known all along that if unmasked she would appear both dishonest and immoral.
‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ Peter said again, a note of real concern in his voice. ‘I had no wish to upset you. It was anxiety for Miss Markham that prompted me to speak.’ He moved swiftly across to the desk, where the bottle of brandy reposed. ‘Drink this…’ He pressed the glass into her hand. ‘It will make you feel better.’
‘More brandy!’ Lucille thought ruefully, taking a mouthful. The Seagrave family seemed intent on turning her into a toper! She felt the strong spirit burn her throat and realised that she had needed it.
‘Mr Seagrave—I should explain…’
Peter ran a hand through his dishevelled dark hair. ‘I have no wish to pry, ma’am,’ he said, with constraint. ‘I understand that there must be reasons…’ His gaze swept over her comprehensively and he could not contain himself. ‘But devil take it, Nick must be a slow-top not to have seen it from the start! I have never met your sister, Miss Kellaway, but it doesn’t take much to see that you are no bird of paradise!’
Lucille could not help laughing, in spite of everything. ‘Do not be too hard on your brother, sir! Susanna and I are identical twins, and as you have correctly stated, I deliberately deceived him as to my identity!’ Her laughter died as she reflected on this. ‘Indeed,’ she added softly, ‘unlike Hetty, I deserve the opprobrium of the world! I came to Cookes in the full knowledge that it belonged to my sister who is considered—let us not boggle at it—to be a fallen woman. Worse, I pretended to be that very woman! Hetty is an innocent who has been compromised through no fault of her own. I do not have her excuse.’
‘You are too harsh on yourself, ma’am,’ Peter Seagrave said, slowly. ‘I do not pretend to understand why you should choose to perpetrate such a fraud on my brother, but no one who has spent any time in your company would think you other than a gentlewoman and,’ he added in a rush of gallantry, ‘I can understand why Miss Markham sought you out when she needed help!’
Lucille smiled a little sadly. ‘Thank you, sir! I do not deserve your good opinion. But none of this helps Hetty,’ she added quietly. ‘Since the world believes me to be Susanna and this is indubitably her house…’
‘Yes,’ Peter agreed thoughtfully. ‘Miss Markham’s reputation is damaged just the same.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘Miss Kellaway, I really feel we should ask Nick’s help in this. But that will inevitably entail bringing your…masquerade…into the open. Can you—are you prepared to talk to him about this?’
Lucille bit her lip. ‘For Hetty’s sake I am prepared to face your brother and explain,’ she agreed quietly. She saw his swift nod of approval and said quickly, ‘Mr Seagrave, I would account for my actions to you if I could, but I must talk to your brother first. All I ask is that you believe that my main concern is to spare Miss Markham distress, and in that, I believe, we are one.’
‘Very well, Miss Kellaway.’ Peter stood up. ‘I must go now, for Nick will be wondering if I’ve had an accident on the road!’ He took her hand. ‘Thank you for your frankness. I am sure we can resolve this predicament one way or another.’ He flashed a grin, so like his brother’s sudden smile that Lucille’s heart missed a beat. ‘Please give Miss Markham my best wishes for her recovery,’ he added. ‘I shall call in a day or two to see how she progresses.’
Lucille was sure that he would. As Peter Seagrave went out to his cold and patient horses, Lucille wondered how such a youthful innocent as Hetty Markham could possibly have caught him in her toils. There was no doubt of it though. Peter Seagrave was already fathoms deep in love with her.
When the Earl of Seagrave called the following morning, Lucille was in such a state of pent-up nervousness that she almost refused to see him. She had lain awake for what had seemed like many long, dark hours, reflecting in equal measure on the coil in which Hetty was caught and on the frightening prospect of confessing to Seagrave. Neither situation provided a single comforting thought, and in the end she had fallen into a light doze from which she had awakened unrefreshed as soon as the sky began to lighten.
Hetty was still sleeping soundly by mid-morning and Lucille did not have the heart to wake her. She spent a lonely breakfast staring blankly into space over her coffee cup, then trailed off to the drawing-room to continue her reading of Clarissa, only to find that her thoughts distracted her so much that she did not take in a single word. Far from spending time at Cookes pursuing her favourite hobby of reading, she seemed to have done little but cast her books to one side! In a fit of annoyance she went out into the garden, but it was a grey day with a chill breeze. It seemed to suit her mood. She went back inside and tried to compose a letter to Mrs Markham.
Twenty minutes later, Lucille finished her carefully worded letter, acquainting Mrs Markham of her daughter’s whereabouts, and blotted it thoughtfully. She had left out all reference to Cookes being Susanna’s house now, simply informing that good matron that she was taking a short break in the house that had been her father’s and that Hetty, having presumably gained her direction from the school, had sought her out there. That at least, she thought, should allay Mrs Markham’s maternal fears and prevent her from descending on the neighbourhood in a fit of moralistic fury.
How to keep Hetty’s presence a secret from the village was another matter, and one which Lucille considered a hopeless task. She was still frowning over this problem when Mrs Appleton announced the Earl of Seagrave. It was almost a relief to know that he had come. Lucille drew herself up a little straighter, stilled her shaking hands by putting them behind her back, and faced the door.
Seagrave came into the room with all the careless assurance which Lucille had come to expect of him. He accepted her offer of refreshments and sat down, allowing his dark gaze to travel over her very deliberately. Lucille found this distinctly disconcerting. She had
chosen a gown of Susanna’s in palest blue, from which she had ruthlessly removed all the yards of tulle and lace, and the result had been simple and pleasing. The appreciation in Seagrave’s eyes suggested he considered it very flattering.
‘Good morning, Miss Kellaway,’ he murmured. ‘You look entirely delightful. Now…’ the observant gaze appeared to be fixed on her face ‘…how may I help you?’
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ Lucille tried to get a grip on herself.
‘My brother told me that you had something most particular to say to me.’ Seagrave raised his eyebrows. ‘I came as soon as I was able. So…what is it all about, Miss Kellaway?’
To her horror, Lucille found that she could not speak. She had keyed herself up to such a state of pent-up tension that the words simply would not come out.
After a moment, Seagrave said patiently, ‘You appear to be in some difficulty, Miss Kellaway. Am I to understand that the problem involves Miss Markham? Peter told me a little of his meeting with her yesterday.’ He studied the high gloss of his boots with sudden intensity. ‘Certainly her situation appears most irregular. She is, I collect, a vicar’s daughter fresh out of school—your adoptive parents’ child, as I understand it! What desperate set of circumstances could have forced her to seek refuge with you?’
Lucille winced. Reflecting ruefully on the difference between Peter Seagrave’s diffident courtesy and his brother’s high-handed arrogance, she realised that every word he spoke made it more difficult for her to summon up the courage to explain her pretence. She had to do it. Sitting there, knowing that he knew her to be Lucille not Susanna, but with the fact unspoken between them, was extraordinary. And there was no possible way to help Hetty without touching on her own situation, but her courage almost failed her. She cleared her throat.
‘My lord—’
‘Miss Kellaway?’ He was waiting for her to speak, a look of ironic patience on his face. Lucille took a deep breath.
The door opened and Hetty Markham skipped into the room, demure in her freshly laundered sprigged muslin gown.
‘Good morning, Lucille! I feel so much better! I was never so glad as when I found you here—’ She stopped dead on seeing Seagrave, then dropped a neat curtsy. ‘I beg your pardon, sir, I had not realised that my sister was not alone!’
Lucille felt the ground give way beneath her feet. She pinned on the best semblance of a smile that she could muster. Why could Hetty not have recovered half an hour later? However, all was not lost if she could only manoeuvre her from the room.
‘Good morning, Hetty,’ she said rapidly. ‘I am glad to see you so much improved this morning. Mrs Appleton will help you to breakfast in the parlour—’
‘Oh, I have had my breakfast in bed!’ Miss Markham announced insouciantly. She caught Lucille’s eye. ‘Oh! But I will wait for you in the parlour, of course!’ She turned impulsively to Seagrave. ‘Excuse me, sir—’
‘Do not leave on my account, ma’am,’ Seagrave said, getting to his feet and giving Hetty a smile so full of charm that she looked quite dazzled. ‘I imagine that you must be Miss Markham. I am Nicholas Seagrave—I believe that you met my brother Peter yesterday?’
‘Oh…yes, sir…how do you do!’ Hetty blushed adorably. ‘I am so grateful to Mr Seagrave for rescuing me!’ She opened her huge blue eyes even wider. ‘I am so very sorry that I was not able to thank him properly! Please could you convey my gratitude to your brother, sir, for the service he rendered me yesterday?’
Lucille saw Seagrave’s lips twitch slightly. ‘Certainly, Miss Markham! But I believe my brother is hoping to call on you himself. He was only waiting until you were well enough to receive him. He will be delighted when I tell him that you are so much recovered!’
‘Oh!’ Hetty turned to Lucille, her eyes shining. ‘Please say that I may see him, dearest Lucille!’
Two pairs of eyes, one blue, one dark, were fixed on Lucille, although the expression in Seagrave’s was somewhat more sardonic than Hetty’s. Lucille could feel matters slipping beyond her control.
‘I am sure it would be perfectly proper for you to see Mr Seagrave later and thank him for his help,’ she said weakly. ‘But for the time being, would you not prefer to rest? We must be sure that you did not take a chill yesterday.’
Hetty’s glowing peaches and cream complexion could not have looked less feverish, and she gave a little laugh. ‘Oh, no, I feel wonderful!’ She sat down beside Seagrave with a confiding smile. ‘I cannot tell you, sir, how glad I was to have Lucille here to turn to when I needed help! She has always been the best of sisters to me—why, she always used to write to me every month when I was at school, and even came to visit me sometimes when she was not needed at Miss Pym’s!’
Across her glossy chestnut curls, Seagrave’s eyes met Lucille’s. His expression was quite unreadable. ‘The best of sisters indeed,’ he murmured smoothly. ‘Tell me, Miss Markham, how did you find Miss Kellaway’s direction, now that she is no longer at the school?’
‘Oh, it was the easiest thing!’ Hetty said, artlessly. ‘I wrote to the school, of course, expecting Lucille to be there, but a gentleman—the music master or some such—returned my letter immediately, with a note explaining that Lucille had been here at Cookes for the past month! So I took the stage to Woodbridge and it was only by the worst chance that I got caught in the rain and could not find anyone to bring me to Dillingham! But, of course, it was not so bad at all, for then your brother came along and saved me! He seemed most surprised when I asked to be taken to Miss Kellaway’s house, and I feared that there had been some misunderstanding, but all was resolved when I saw Lucille—’ She broke off. ‘I do beg your pardon, sir! I am always running on, and Mama says it is very bad of me!’
Seagrave smiled. ‘Do not apologise, Miss Markham, you interest me vastly!’ Again, his eyes met Lucille’s. She put a hand to her head in despair and saw his smile deepen. Seagrave got to his feet. ‘But you must have a hundred and one things to discuss with Miss Kellaway, so I shall leave you for now. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Markham! Miss Kellaway—’ There was wicked amusement deep in his eyes, but to Lucille it was no laughing matter. She could have cried.
‘I am sorry that you have not had the chance to discuss whatever you wished with me, Miss Kellaway,’ Seagrave said pleasantly. He took her hand and drew her to one side. ‘Tell me, did you learn your amateur dramatics at Miss Pym’s school?’ He pressed a kiss on her hand. ‘I will call again tomorrow, when perhaps we may talk. Until then…’ The amusement was still in his eyes, but beneath it Lucille thought she could sense anger—and the promise of retribution.
‘Well!’ Hetty said, when Seagrave had been shown out. ‘He is a vastly handsome man, but somehow rather frightening! Do you like him, dearest Lucille?’
Lucille hesitated. At that precise moment, her feelings for Nick Seagrave defied description. ‘He is charming enough,’ she said as casually as she was able. ‘But he is vastly above me, my dear! Why, Lord Seagrave is an Earl and his family owns most of the land hereabouts! Cookes is merely one of his tenant properties!’
Hetty drooped. ‘I see,’ she said despondently. ‘Then I suppose Mr Seagrave is far too important to think of me!’
Lucille patted her hand bracingly. It was far too late to counsel Hetty not to fall in love with Peter Seagrave, for the damage was already done. ‘The Earl said that his brother would call and I am sure that you may believe him. But Hetty, there are other more important things I need to discuss with you.’
Hetty looked as though she thought nothing could be more important than Peter Seagrave, but obligingly sat down to listen. Lucille looked her over carefully. It was no wonder that Peter was smitten. Henrietta Markham had blossomed into a remarkably pretty girl. She had a sweet, round face, dominated by the huge blue eyes, and complemented by her mass of soft, curly brown hair.
‘Now, Hetty,’ Lucille said severely, ‘what is all this about? I understand from Mr Seagrave that you told him you had run
away from home!’
Miss Markham blushed. ‘Oh, Lucy, please don’t send me back! It’s all Aunt Dorinda’s fault!’ She looked at Lucille with desperation. ‘She plans to marry me off to that dreadful curate, Mr Gillies! Did you ever meet him, Lucy? He is the most dreadful bore! His clothes smell of mothballs and his breath smells even worse! I’d rather die than marry him!’
Lucille was beginning to feel rather more than nine years older than her youthful relative. She sighed. ‘I’m sure it will not come to that, my dear! Mrs Pledgeley will surely not force you into marriage against your will! And what does your mother have to say to this?’
Hetty looked up at Lucille’s severe face, her own expression tragic. ‘Oh, Mother would be glad to see me safely settled! She thinks I’m too wild—she says it’s the Kellaway connection! And you’ve no idea how ruthless Aunt Dorinda can be! I know she looks fat and fluffy and indolent, but she has a heart of steel underneath and Mother is no match for her! And Mr Gillies is always calling and paying me unctuous compliments—I knew what they were at! I couldn’t think what else to do except come to you!’ She was determined to make a clean breast of it and hurried on. ‘You know how I found out your direction! Then I waited until Aunt had gone into Ipswich with Mrs Berry, then I took out my valise—I had already packed it in preparation—and walked to the King’s Arms. It’s at least a mile, you know! I knew the stage passed through there at ten, for John, the gardener’s boy, had mentioned it once to me. So I waited, and they took me up as far as Woodbridge, and the rest you know!’
She finished, and looked as though she were about to burst into tears. ‘I’m s-s-sorry, Lucy! I didn’t know what else to do! And now if you send me back they will make me marry Mr Gillies and I’ll never see Peter again!’ She stifled a sob and reached up her sleeve for a cambric handkerchief.
The Virtuous Cyprian Page 12