She smiled at him then, but said nothing.
***
Lucy became quite embarrassed at being followed by the hulking figure of Greene. Not the attendant a young lady might wish for, even if his livery weren’t strained across the buttons. She tried to pretend he was nothing to do with her, but he kept close, and it became impossible. His presence inhibited her from going out on her own just as much as her fiancé’s strictures did, but she tried very hard to cope with him. She could only hope that Geoffrey’s enthusiasm to keep her close would evaporate in time. When she tried to talk to her mother about her concerns she was dismissed with a casual comment, but it made her uneasy.
Lucy found she was allowed in certain establishments on her own, and she could find some relief from her hulking shadow there. He was not too enamoured of dressmaking establishments, for example, and Lucy was spending an increasing amount of time there, due to the demands of her trousseau. Also, he would stay outside the doors when she visited Hookham’s circulating Library in Bond Street. That might have something to do with its proximity to Jackson’s Boxing saloon. The first time she went with him, she saw his gaze stray to the hallowed doors. “I shall be about an hour here, Greene,” she said. “You may wait for me outside.” When she went inside, she was delighted to see he failed to follow her.
Lucy usually visited Hookham’s every Tuesday afternoon, searching, as the rest of society was, for the latest thrill, the newest novel. It was also another place to be seen. Her mother didn’t approve of the more scandalous books, but was reasonably indulgent in this instance. Many of the novels were discussed by society at large, and it was important to know of them. Also, Lady Royston disliked the library itself. “The smell of books is overpowering,” she complained to her daughter. So Lucy generally changed both her own and her mother’s books.
On the following Tuesday she again told Greene he could wait for her outside, and had a repeat of the success of the previous week. Irresistibly drawn by the bloods going in and out of the saloon, Greene bowed in a rather perfunctory way and allowed her to go in on her own.
Lucy went in with a sigh of relief. Passing the previous week’s books to a waiting assistant, she went into the main part of the library and took a deep breath.
Unlike her mother, Lucy enjoyed the smell of books, the older the better. She suspected she was somewhat of an oddity in this, but it reminded her of days she had spent in her childhood, exploring the dusty tomes in the library at the Grange, reading with her cousin and laughing at some of the quaint engravings inside. She had always disliked Bernard, or felt uncomfortable in his presence. He teased her too much, and behaved too high-handedly with her for her to feel entirely comfortable with him. On the other hand Philip had a touch of gentleness about him, and she had looked forward to his visits to her home when she was little. Philip, while not harping on about joining the fortune and the estate as his brother did, had nevertheless sided with him, choosing to say nothing as Bernard threatened Court action to force her to marry him; an empty threat as it had turned out.
Then Bernard was killed at Waterloo and became one of the many national heroes created that day. Bernard had been the Earl of Royston for a mere six months.
Lucy sighed, resolving to forget that time, and look forward to her happy future, but today for some reason she felt melancholy and low in spirits. Perhaps she would find something on the shelves here to cheer her up. Resolutely, she headed for the nearest stack.
The gentleman standing with his back to her turned round. She nearly walked away again, but he held up one hand in a gesture of welcome. It was Lord Edward Wenlock, Philip’s friend. Lucy wondered briefly if she should send for her bodyguard, but he was just outside, and, she reasoned, no harm could come to her here. The events of the last weeks must have made her more jittery than she imagined.
She held out her hand and Lord Wenlock bowed over it briefly and correctly. “I hope I find you well.” He smiled.
“Did you mean to find me?” she asked directly.
His smile changed to a one sided deprecating grin. “Yes, I’m afraid I did.”
Startled, Lucy moved away from him, but he said quickly, “I mean you no harm, I just wanted to tell you something. Please listen to me for just a moment.”
Despite his friendship with Philip, Lucy had always liked Lord Wenlock. He had always been respectful, but with a sense of humour which appealed to her, and his brown eyes had never held anything but friendship for her. She frowned at him doubtfully.
Seeing her expression he sighed. “Your mother curtailed the report on Sir Geoffrey Sanders when your betrothal was announced. Lord Royston continued with it.”
“Why?” she was startled into demanding.
“Because he cares about you,” Lord Wenlock said firmly.
“Cares about my fortune, more like.”
He shook his head. “No, although neither of us expect you to believe us. You might as well think what you like. It makes sense, from any point of view.” Lucy frowned. “If he were really desirous of your fortune, as you seem to think, then it would also be sensible of him to continue the enquiry.”
She saw the sense in that. “So what has he found?”
“Would you come with me to find out?”
A chill spread through Lucy’s body. This could just be another attempt to harm her, to put her out of the way. How could she be sure? But the lure was well nigh irresistible, and despite the doubts her mother and fiance had been pouring into her ears, she couldn’t entirely believe that Philip wished her serious harm. “Tell him to come to the house,” she suggested.
“He’s been denied your house,” Lord Wenlock reminded her. “Whatever the reason, your mother won’t let him in there. Let me take you now.”
“Where?”
“To Mr. Chumleigh’s office. You will believe him, where you might not believe my unfortunate friend.”
“Why unfortunate?”
“Because he’s lost your friendship.” His lordship smiled. “He valued that a great deal.”
Lucy thought back to the time before her father’s death. Philip Moore had certainly been a friend once, even if his brother had not. He had indulged her, played with her, teased her sometimes, but they had got on well, until Bernard Moore had indicated he wanted to court her and everything had been spoiled. She wished she could go back to childhood sometimes, despite the enjoyment life had brought her since then.
She smiled uncertainly at Lord Wenlock, and thought for a moment. She badly wanted to know what Chumleigh had discovered, but was still suspicious. And after Geoffrey’s warning, she was bound to take more care.
Then, in a blinding flash, she saw how stupid she was. If they had wanted to do her harm, they wouldn’t do it like this. Any number of people who knew them both could see them talking in this public place, and if she was hurt, they could report on it later. But to go away with him was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take. Not yet, at any rate.
There was something else. “I have a man outside,”
“Your gorilla? He’s a little difficult to miss.”
She grimaced. “I know. He’ll come with us.”
“Of course. Have you a maid?”
“Not today,” she replied. “I was going home after this.”
“Very well.” He paused. “Will you come? I should tell you Lord Royston is outside in the carriage.”
She nodded with a sudden decision. “Yes. If Greene comes too.”
When he held out his arm, she paused only briefly before putting her hand on it. A few people watched them leave, and she nodded to them.
When they got outside she saw the carriage with the Royston crest discreetly limned on the side, but she didn’t see her pet gorilla, and she felt panic.
Then, further up Bond Street, she saw the man striding towards her and she waited, unsmiling, for him to arrive. She didn’t give him a chance. “I propose to go with this gentleman to visit my man of business. You will accompany me. We will trav
el in the carriage.”
When Greene saw the crest, he blenched and shook his head. “No, my lady. I’ve been told to avoid certain parties, and these is one of them.”
Ignoring the grammar, she told him, haughtily; “Nevertheless, I shall go. With or without you.”
He sighed and bowed slightly. She let Lord Wenlock help her into the carriage. Her heart felt as though it was in her mouth, but she sat down and took her time arranging her skirts.
Lord Royston waited there, and nodded as Lucy got in. She swallowed, but managed a cool inclination of her head in greeting.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have gone to such lengths if there had been another way.” The carriage lurched to one side for a moment as Greene hauled himself up behind, and then the vehicle began to move. “I called on your mother yesterday. It was made clear she wouldn’t meet me or see me. When I remembered your weekly visit to the library I thought I could approach you there.” He forbore to criticise Lucy’s mother, she noted, although he might have grounds to do so.
The short distance to the City was accomplished in silence. Lucy gazed out of the window at the life London always sported, the democracy of the streets. Small children tumbled about their better dressed contemporaries, jeering and laughing, while their friends attempted to pick the pockets of the adults standing by. Street sellers abounded, hawking everything from lavender to scurrilous scandal sheets, shouting their wares in a general cacophony of horses’ hooves, wheels, shouts and even song from the beggars hoping for the odd penny for their sweet discord.
Mr. Chumleigh’s office was near the Monument, sited in one of the many side streets the City possessed. The carriage drew up outside a tall, narrow building enhanced by a shining brass plate outside declaring Mr. Chumleigh to be ‘solicitor, lawyer, man of business.’ Lucy was relieved to have arrived. At least they hadn’t lied about that. It occurred to her that they might have driven out to the country, kidnapped her, but at the pace the carriage was forced to travel in the congested streets Lucy could have jumped out without any hurt if she’d been seriously alarmed.
The steps were let down and Lord Royston helped Lucy down, but she dropped her hand back to her side when they climbed the two shallow steps to the front door, and glanced back to make sure Greene was following her.
It was held open by a clerkly looking young man, his ill fitting pantaloons shiny where they had been rubbed daily against the wooden seat at his desk. His hair hung limply in an imitation of one of the styles sported by his fashionable contemporaries; his aspirations to modishness obvious but doomed, when one took into consideration his lanky figure.
He announced them correctly and they went in, Lucy first. The spacious office was crammed with neatly filed papers; most of them tied up with red ribbon. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling; except at the window, in front of which was set a large, old fashioned walnut desk. Mr. Chumleigh stood by it, waiting to take Lucy’s hand and see her to one of the chairs set around the desk. “I trust I find you well, your ladyship?” He didn’t congratulate her on her forthcoming nuptials.
She murmured a reply and sat down. Mr. Chumleigh shook hands with Lord Royston and Lord Wenlock and they also sat down. Greene could wait in the office outside.
Mr. Chumleigh appeared to be everything a man of business should be; well but not showily dressed, grave featured, rotund with prosperity and respectability. There was nothing remarkable about him, except his knowledge. He was used by many of society’s finest, not only to investigate credentials, but also to draw up marriage settlements, his speciality, and he provided estate management for absentee landlords, particularly in the more urban settings. He managed Lucy’s holdings in London, and must know how much she was worth, virtually down to the nearest penny.
There was little small talk now, and no need of it. Lucy took off her gloves and bonnet, and laid them on an empty chair next to her. Lord Royston was on her other side, but not too close, and his friend next to him. When Mr. Chumleigh cleared his throat Lord Wenlock stood up again. “I don’t think I should be here.”
“If it was merely family business, I would agree with you, Edward,” Lord Royston said. “But I think I’d like a witness to what we’re about to hear. If we have to tell anyone else, your backing will be invaluable.”
Lord Wenlock looked at Lucy for confirmation, and after her brief, chilly nod, sat down again. “Very well.”
Mr. Chumleigh pulled a stack of papers towards him. “These pertain to your betrothed husband, Sir Geoffrey Sanders,” he told Lucy. “It took more research than usual to discover the truth, but some disparities in the papers I was given made me wish to look further. Lady Royston has seen the original papers, and has declared herself satisfied with the results.”
He looked up. “On the surface, Sir Geoffrey is a prosperous man. He has a country estate in Hertfordshire, and enough funds to enable him to support a wife in comfort. He has been on the town, as the saying goes, for years, and has shown interest in one or two females, but has never been contracted to anyone before. Therefore, my lady, the contract you recently signed with him is legally binding. You are bound to marry him in a month’s time unless either of you withdraws from the contract, or the date on the contract passes its expiration date – your marriage day – without the wedding taking place.” Lucy nodded, her apprehension increasing with every measured word. She trusted Mr. Chumleigh as she trusted few other people, and whoever brought her here, she knew he would tell her the truth.
“Unfortunately, in recent years Sir Geoffrey has been drawn to the City. He has speculated in various ventures. At first these speculations enhanced his fortune, and he didn’t invest too much of his capital, but then he was tempted by a venture which would take more of his money than he’d invested heretofore. “ Lucy smiled slightly, delighted to hear a word like heretofore used in conversation, and then mentally scolded herself for letting her mind wander.
“I’m afraid he overextended his resources. A sugar plantation in the Central Americas.” Mr. Chumleigh sorted one of the papers from the pile. “The set-up costs were large - clearing the land, the cost of the slaves to work it, the machinery to process the sugar and so on - and Sir Geoffrey was hard put to find his share of the capital, but he managed and the work went ahead.
“It seems they didn’t take enough account of the weather. It kept delaying completion, and when the first crop was planted, it was lost in several violent thunderstorms. They planted again, but by now, Sir Geoffrey needed a return from his investment. So this is what he did.” She found a few more papers and pushed them across to where Lucy sat. “I know you can read a balance-sheet, my lady. These are copies of the originals.”
Lucy picked up the first sheet. Her father had taught her to understand accounts, and had once or twice praised her ability to do so. She looked down the first column then picked up the next paper and looked down that.
She put the papers side by side on the desk in front of her and then put another one next to it. Gentility forgotten, she leaned over them and used her finger to trace the movement of capital. “He’s split his estate into three parts,” she said softly. “And he’s using the same parcel of money to feed all of them.”
Startled, she looked up to meet Mr. Chumleigh’s clear Moore gaze. “Yes,” he agreed. “I thought you’d see it. He’s circulating what money he has left between the portions. It only stays there long enough to satisfy creditors, then it moves on. But the creditors are getting increasingly hungry, and that won’t last long. He needs more money.”
“Will he feed his plantation with it?”
“As he sees it, he has no choice. He has invested so much already he won’t want to let go.”
“Good money after bad,” Lucy breathed. She looked up, fixing Mr. Chumleigh with a hard, blue stare. “My money.”
“I very much fear so,” the lawyer said regretfully. “What your mother saw was only part of the estate, the part that was temporarily s
olvent. When I saw the total balance, I knew there had to be more, but I regret, it took me a week to notice it, and by then you were betrothed. You may still wish to go ahead, my lady, but - “ he let the last sentence hang in the air.
Lucy stared at him, unseeing, remembering. Her head whirled with the new knowledge, but she forced herself to think. She knew she could trust Mr. Chumleigh, so the papers were undoubtedly real. The risk she had taken in coming here was more than rewarded by what she had discovered. Sir Geoffrey must be desperate for money by now, and this season had set himself to find a rich wife. And he’d found one. Or had very nearly done so.
All her fondness for him, based on respect and trust, began to crumble away, to be replaced by indignation. He had used her, taken her for a fool. Did he love her? She no longer cared if he did or not, but the cold tendrils of anger began to wind themselves around her heart. This was calculated deception, cold blooded plotting on his part.
“I wonder if he had me in mind all along?”
She heard Lord Royston sigh. “I don’t think so. It was well known in the clubs he was hanging out for a wife, but he spread his interests so widely there was a book running on which one would be the recipient of his hand.”
“Did you bet on me?” She turned to him, mouth twisted in self deprecation, but her bitterness was for herself.
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t bet on anyone. But you were in the front running from the start.”
“Oh, God.” She stared back at the papers. “There’s no doubt?”
“None at all.”
Not for a moment did she consider this was anything but the truth. If Mr. Chumleigh hadn’t been involved, she might have had her doubts, but he was not such a fool as to risk his reputation and his clientele on such a foolish effort to deceive her.
“What will you do?” Lord Royston asked her.
Her answer was instant. “Cry off of course.” With a pang she thought of his attentions to her which made her feel so protected, so loved.
She must have betrayed some of what she felt, because Lord Wenlock put his hand out and gently covered her own where it lay on the table. She looked up and tried a small smile. “Thank you.” Then she turned to Lord Royston. She knew what was due. “And thank you too. I don’t know how you feel about this, but I appreciate your efforts in making me see. I could have lost everything.” She didn’t just mean her fortune.
Loving Lucy Page 6