by Anne Gracie
Oh, the indecision.
* * *
* * *
James’s carriage drew away from Bellaire Gardens. “What the devil was up with you tonight?” he said to Thornton. “I don’t know what all that goose girl nonsense was about, but—”
“It’s not nonsense,” Thornton insisted. “And it confirms the uneasy feeling I’ve had about my aunt and that girl since the beginning. I did meet her on the Brighton road in some small, obscure village. I talked to her, face-to-face, as close as you and I are now. She was shabbily dressed and carrying a goose. So why is a girl like that living in my aunt’s house, being introduced to the ton?”
“I’m not sure what I think of Miss Lucy Bamber,” James said. “She’s a minx, that one. But I can’t believe your aunt would be party to such a—”
“Didn’t you notice Aunt Alice’s reaction? She was worried, on edge, but she wasn’t surprised. She knew that girl was a goose girl. Oh, she tried to pretend she didn’t know what I was talking about, but she’s a hopeless liar, always has been. And I can always tell.”
James said nothing. He had noticed Alice’s reaction. There was guilt there, as well as anxiety.
Thornton hurried on. “When I was ten, I broke my leg—fell off my horse—and was laid up for weeks. I was bored to death, but Aunt Alice read to me by the hour and played endless games of cards and other games. I can always tell when she’s bluffing or trying to trick me. Always.” He met James’s eyes. “Something fishy is going on. I’m sure of it.”
“I see.” James nodded. It was an outrageous claim, that a titled lady would take in a goose girl and try to pass her off as a lady—for what purpose?—but Thornton had always been levelheaded. “Have you asked her directly about it?”
“No, but until I worked out where I’d seen that girl before, all I had to go on was nebulous suspicion. I’m going to speak to her about it first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Just be sure of your facts then, because as things stand, it’s your word against that of Miss Bamber. And frankly, hers is more believable. A goose called Ghislaine?”
They drove through the London streets in silence. Several times Thornton glanced at James, opened his mouth, then shut it again. He glanced out the window, shifted uncomfortably, opened his mouth but again said nothing. Clearly, he had more on his mind.
The carriage pulled up in front of Thornton’s lodgings. He opened the door, jumped down, then turned back and said in a rush, “Tarrant, I need to ask you something.”
“Yes?” James had a fair idea of what it was.
“I’m very fond of Aunt Alice, so I must ask, what are your intentions?”
“To fetch my daughters and bring them back to London,” James said smoothly. “ ’Night, Thornton.” He rapped on the roof of the carriage, and it moved off.
James knew perfectly well what Thornton was asking him, but he was damned if he’d answer to her nephew. Alice was a grown woman, a widow in her middle thirties. James only needed to explain his intentions to her.
* * *
* * *
She was going to have to confess. Alice had decided. The idea of trying to continue the bluff with Gerald was impossible. She’d never been a good liar and to attempt it would strain her nerves horribly.
Once she’d made that decision, a weight lifted off her shoulders.
Gerald arrived at ten, still faintly smoldering and obviously prepared for an argument. She greeted him calmly and served him coffee and gingernuts—his favorites.
“Aunt Alice, that girl—” he began.
“I know what you’re going to say, Gerald,” she interrupted.
“No, you don’t. I really did meet her on the Brighton road where—”
“She and a goose called Ghislaine caused you to lose your race.”
“I know it sounds ridic—” He broke off. “How did you know?”
“Lucy told me all about it.”
He stared at her. “So you did know all along. I knew it!”
“Yes. Now drink your coffee, Gerald, and I’ll explain the whole thing. And I hope I can trust you to keep a confidence.”
He didn’t like that, she saw, but the appeal to his gentlemanly instincts did its job. He gave a curt nod. “Of course.”
Alice explained the situation: the unexpected appearance of Octavius Bamber, the blackmail, Bamber’s requirement that Alice sponsor Lucy’s come-out, the baptism—everything. It was quite a relief to get it all out in the open, even if it was to a disapproving nephew.
When she’d finished, he said, “These letters, Aunt Alice, are they, er . . . ?”
“Deeply embarrassing. You don’t need to know any more.”
“No, no, of course not,” he said, reddening. No doubt his imagination was working overtime, but she couldn’t help that. She had no intention of explaining their contents to anyone.
“Well, the solution to that is obvious. I’ll confront that swine Bamber and force him to give the letters up, and then you can be rid of that girl and—”
“And how, pray, will you find Bamber?” His assumption that it was all so easily fixed was irritating.
He looked at her in surprise. “Don’t you know where he lives?”
“No, of course not. Otherwise I would have acted sooner.”
“I’ll ferret him out,” Gerald said confidently.
“I wish you would try. But be warned, even Lucy has no idea how to contact her father.”
“Her! She’d lie her way out of anything.”
“I believe her, Gerald. I admit, I disliked and resented her at first, but I’ve come to know her better, and I believe she’s almost as much a victim in this as I am.”
He gave a scornful snort. “You’re too softhearted for your own good, Aunt Alice.”
“Lucy has no desire to enter society, no desire to marry a lord.”
“Hah! So she claims.”
“You must admit she’s been at pains not to attract you. Perhaps that’s the reason why you—”
He frowned. “Why I what?”
Alice shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” Gerald had taken an unusual amount of interest in Lucy—the two seemed to strike sparks off each other whenever they met, and Alice didn’t think it was just about a race and a goose.
With almost every young unmarried miss in London falling over herself to please and flatter Gerald, the one girl who showed no interest in him whatsoever was bound to stand out.
She continued, “The point is, Lucy had as little say in the situation as I did. I like the girl, Gerald, and I want to help her as best I can. But I will need your assistance.”
“My assistance? Aunt Alice, this is ridiculous. I have no intention of helping—”
“Me?” Alice interjected. “You won’t help me out of this situation, Gerald?” She waited.
He looked uncomfortable. “It’s not that, I just—”
“Just what?”
“Dash it, Aunt Alice, I don’t want her getting away with it.”
“Getting away with what? She’s as stuck as I am. If this gets out, we’ll both be disgraced. It won’t matter as much to me,” she lied. Other people’s good opinion had always been important to her. “My situation will remain unchanged, though it will be embarrassing and uncomfortable for a time. But imagine the repercussions for Lucy, a girl with no fortune, no home and no family—unless you count her scoundrel of a father, which I don’t. From all I can make out, he has a history of dumping her with strangers and leaving her to sink or swim.”
Gerald looked slightly perturbed. Good, he was finally considering Lucy’s situation.
Alice rammed home her argument. “That girl is effectively all alone in the world. And for a single woman without support, that means poverty and destitution—or worse. Would you really wish such a fate on that bright, funny girl?”
“Help me find Lucy a husband.”
Gerald’s jaw dropped. “What the h— What on earth do you imagine I can do?”
“I don’t know many young bachelors. You do. Most of your friends are eligible, in fact. You’re in an excellent position to bring them to meet Lucy.”
He stared at her. “Dash it, Aunt Alice, I can’t go around dragging my friends into parson’s mousetrap. I’d soon have no friends at all.”
“Nonsense! Nobody’s saying they have to marry Lucy, just that she needs to meet a number of suitable young men, and hopefully find one who will suit.” She added in a steely voice, “A man who values her for who she is, not for her bloodline or what fortune she can bring. A kind man who can make her happy.” Lucy would have what Alice had not, she was determined on it.
He scowled. “How would I know what would make a chit like that happy?”
“Don’t be difficult, Gerald. Just bring around some nice young men, and Lucy—and the young man, of course—will do the rest.”
“I suppose I could try,” he said morosely.
“Excellent. But don’t bother bringing any of your titled friends.”
“Why? What’s wrong with them?” he said stiffly.
“Lucy isn’t interested in anyone with a title.”
“The devil she’s not!”
Alice shrugged. “The girl is entitled to her opinion, and you will respect it, if you please.”
“And if I don’t please?” he muttered.
Alice looked at him. “You know, Gerald, you’ve complained that your parents treat you like a schoolboy instead of a former army officer. I’m beginning to see their point.”
He made a face. “I’m sorry, Aunt Alice. It’s just that I’m no blasted matchmaker. I’d much rather go after that scoundrel Bamber, wring his neck and wrest those letters from him.”
“You’re welcome to do what you can about the letters,” Alice told him. “And if you do manage to retrieve them, I’ll be most grateful. In the meantime, please bring your friends around to meet Lucy.”
* * *
* * *
Have you thought about what we’re going to wear to Lady Peplowe’s masquerade ball?” Lucy said to Alice later that day.
Alice gave her a blank look. “I hadn’t given it a thought.” She frowned. She didn’t want to spend money on a fanciful costume that would only be worn once—the money Bamber had given her for Lucy’s expenses was dwindling rapidly. It was not nearly what he’d promised her, and there was no sign of any more forthcoming.
Another reason for Gerald to track him down.
“I think we’re going to have to wear dominos.”
Lucy’s face fell. “Oh no, we can’t. Dominos are so dreary. The only people who wear them are those who are too staid and dull to dress up.”
“We can’t afford a proper costume, Lucy.”
“Isn’t there something we can improvise with?”
Alice thought about it. It had been years since she’d attended a costume ball. Thaddeus didn’t like them. But she did recall at least one occasion . . .
“I suppose we could. I’m fairly sure some of my old costumes are in a trunk in the attic. But goodness knows what condition they’ll be in. Some of granny’s old clothes are stored up there, too, I think.”
“Ooh, I love old clothes,” Lucy said. “Can we go up now and see what’s there?”
Pleased by the girl’s easy acceptance of her budget limitations, Alice agreed, and they immediately went up to the attic to see what they might find. She hadn’t been up there since she was a little girl.
The attic was dusty and contained all kinds of forgotten items—a battered and balding rocking horse, a dollhouse with faded wallpaper and small dusty carpets that she remembered with fondness. There was old-fashioned furniture in need of mending and several large trunks and chests, as well as hatboxes and all kinds of mysterious objects discarded over the years.
“Oh, how sweet,” Lucy exclaimed, finding a box containing dollhouse furniture and other tiny items, all looking well used and in need of repair.
“Let’s not get too distracted,” Alice said, laughing. “We’re after costumes, remember?” Lucy reluctantly put the dollhouse items aside and went back to searching through the trunks.
“Look! A treasure trove,” Lucy exclaimed, opening a box and pulling out a glittering tangle of costume jewelry. “And what’s this?” She lifted out a tissue-wrapped bundle and unwrapped it to reveal a slightly dented papier-mâché headdress in faded gold.
“Oh, it’s my old Cleopatra outfit,” Alice exclaimed. “I’d quite forgotten about it.” It was from very early in her marriage. She’d dressed for her first costume ball, all excited, but when she came down in her outfit, Thaddeus had taken one look at her and ordered her back upstairs: he wasn’t taking her anywhere dressed so outrageously.
She never did go to the ball.
She found the dress that went with the headdress and shook it out. It was a long, floaty garment made of layers of gauzy blue and green fabric, but it wasn’t outrageous—there were too many layers for even the shape of her body to be visible. The neckline was scooped low, but it was not at all immodest. Looking at it with fresh eyes, she was indignant on behalf of her younger self. Thaddeus was just being mean.
Somewhere there was a belt of gold medallions that cinched around her waist—yes, there it was, along with a couple of bangles shaped like snakes that wrapped around her upper arm. She’d worn gold sandals, she recalled. She still had them somewhere.
“It’s perfect,” Lucy exclaimed.
Alice shook her head. The headdress, belt and armbands were sadly tarnished. “I can’t possibly wear these. They’re far too shabby.”
“I can fix them,” Lucy said confidently.
“How?”
“Wait and see. And Mary will be able to freshen up that dress so it will look as good as new. Now, that’s your costume sorted. I thought this might do for me.”
She held up a filmy white muslin dress.
Alice frowned. “But that’s not a costume. It’s just one of my old muslin dresses from years ago. It’s very old-fashioned.”
“Yes, from the days when London ladies dressed a bit like Greek and Roman goddesses,” Lucy agreed. “And that’s who I’m going as—someone from the ancient world. I’ll make a headdress of leaves and add a few draperies. Wait and see—it’ll be perfect.”
Alice gave it a doubtful look. “The muslin is a bit yellowed, isn’t it?”
“Mary will know how to fix that, too. And if she doesn’t, who cares?” Lucy added gaily. “I’ll be an ancient, slightly yellowed Grecian goddess.”
* * *
* * *
The following morning Lucy woke to a world bathed in sunshine. “I’ve received a note from Gerald,” Alice told her at breakfast. “He’s arranged for one of his friends to take you for a drive in the park this afternoon.”
Alice explained that she’d taken her nephew into her confidence and that he’d agreed to help Lucy find a husband. Lucy was feeling rather cynical about Lord Thornton’s miraculous about-face, but she didn’t tell Alice that.
“What friend is this? Will he collect me from here?”
“No, you and I will promenade in the park at the fashionable hour,” Alice said, “and Gerald will drive up with his friend, a Mr. Cornelius Frinton. Gerald will step down and accompany me on my walk, while Mr. Frinton takes you for a circuit of the park in his phaeton.”
Lucy frowned. “Won’t I need some kind of chaperone?”
“Not for a drive in the park in an open carriage
in full view of everyone,” Alice assured her. “Besides, I expect Mr. Frinton will have a tiger or a groom in attendance.”
“Do we know anything about this Mr. Frinton?”
“Not really. Just that he’s a friend of Gerald’s from school, and that, according to Gerald, he’s eligible and reasonably well-off.”
“Very well then. What shall I wear? The bronze walking dress?” Lucy was still learning the various kinds of dress suitable for different activities. A dress was not simply a dress. Apparently.
“Perfect. And the olive green pelisse—it’s sunny now, but it’s bound to change. And if it’s still sunny this afternoon, take a parasol—that lovely skin of yours needs protecting. Or if there are clouds building, we’ll take umbrellas.”
* * *
* * *
Hyde Park was full of fashionable people sauntering along, dressed to the nines, seeing and being seen. The sunshine was in intermittent evidence, concealed by fluffy white clouds from time to time, so no parasol was necessary. Lucy’s straw hat tied with a gauze net scarf in bronze was deemed sufficient protection for her complexion.
She strolled along with Alice, feeling rather smart. Alice made a point of stopping to chat with anyone she had the slightest acquaintance with, warmly introducing Lucy each time as her goddaughter.
Alice was a truly generous soul but Lucy had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, it was what they’d agreed, but she was beginning to feel guilty about the trouble Alice was going to on her behalf. Not that Lucy could change anything.
How had Papa found anything to blackmail Alice with? She was the nearest thing to perfect that Lucy had ever met: kind, ladylike, moral, modest, careful with money but generous with her possessions—right now Lucy was wearing Alice’s hat, kid gloves and earrings, which went perfectly with her outfit.
And even when Alice was furious—and Lucy was well aware that she had driven Alice’s temper to the limit early on—she’d never yelled or anything. She’d just spoken firmly and made her position very clear.