When Lucy looked into Miss Frances Carmichael’s face, she saw the face of true beauty. An oval shaped face was becomingly framed by blonde hair, and blue eyes looked guilelessly in to hers. Taken aback, she gasped, “My word. You’re so beautiful.” and then, overcome with shame at making such an indelicate remark on first meeting she stammered; “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean - “
Miss Christina interrupted her. “No matter,” she said briskly, “Frances often takes people like that. She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Miss Frances didn’t hang her head, but she blushed, and smiled in a self deprecating way. “It’s nothing I can help,” she confessed.
“I would be proud,” Lucy said. She had come this far, and they didn’t seem to mind. “Have you ever tried to go into society?”
Mrs. Carmichael sniffed. “Us, get vouchers for Almack’s? We do move on the edge from time to time, thanks to his lordship here, but I think we’re too close to the shop floor for some people.”
“She’ll get the vouchers when she’s a duchess,” said Philip. He glanced at Lucy, amused at her stunned reaction to the dazzling sight his cousin presented. “I can’t understand why every man who sees you doesn’t fall in love with you,” she said.
“Many do,” said Miss Frances. “But they don’t really mean it. They only think they do. It’s very difficult to discover if they mean it or if they just want to look at me.”
“Just like being an heiress,” Lucy said. The similarity had never occurred to her before. An overabundance of anything could lead to misunderstandings.
“Are you an heiress?” asked Miss Frances, totally disingenuously.
Lucy laughed. “Goodness me no. If I was I would have hired a house in the West End and a fleet of servants, instead of imposing on your kind hospitality.” she smiled, relieved to see their sympathetic smiles back to her. “But I think I might enjoy it more here. It might be quite lonely to have no one but paid help about one.” It had happened to her as a child, so she knew only too well how that felt.
Miss Frances smiled and resumed her seat, to make way for the youngest of the Carmichael brood, Miss Millicent. This damsel was evidently not long out of the schoolroom, and shared her colouring with her next sister in age, but she was not as lovely. Her face was round, and her blue eyes nearer to Moore than the heavenly tinge in the eyes of her sister, but she was pretty, and if she learned not to simper, she would do well in her particular marriage market.
Mrs. Carmichael invited Lucy to take a seat, so she sat next to the youngest Miss Carmichael on a sofa. Philip made his bow and then sat on a chair where he could see Lucy without seeming to watch her. “I’m sorry you find us a little unprepared for you, Miss Moore,” said Mrs. Carmichael, “But as you will appreciate, you visit is with very short notice.”
“Yes. Of course. That is, if it causes you any inconvenience at all, I’ll go at once.” Lucy offered.
“Not at all, Miss Moore, it’s a pleasure to have you staying with us. Perhaps my girls may amuse themselves showing you something of use, instead of all the frippery places they tend to frequent. Would you like to see the Tower of London, Miss Moore?”
Lucy hastened to assure her that she would love to see the Tower, and any other places of interest that might occur to them. Anything that kept her away from the haunts of the fashionable world would be welcome. She began to doubt that they could pull this off. It seemed so easy when they were planning it, in the little world they had created for themselves in the King’s Arms but here, in the greater world outside, Lucy began to see the faults in the plan. She was bound to come into contact with someone who knew her. She glanced at Philip but he didn’t seem to be looking at her, gazing at Mrs. Carmichael as she outlined her plans for Lucy’s visit. “Indeed,” she was saying, “I think I may accompany you myself. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the Tower, or the Academy, I think I might like to see them again.”
“I find I have some time in hand myself,” Philip said. “May I come with you sometimes?”
The youngest Miss Moore simpered, but Mrs. Carmichael said; “And your friend Lord Wenlock?”
“Oh Edward loves nothing better.” said Philip disingenuously. Mrs. Carmichael nodded and smiled in a knowing way.
A maid came in with a tray of tea-things. This ritual was the same as at home, with the maid setting up a table for Mrs. Carmichael, and leaving her with the makings of the tea, in pretty, beautifully decorated boxes. The tea service was a fine silver one, and the china from one of the best makers. Lucy guessed at Worcester, but without turning them upside down to se the mark, she couldn’t be sure. She wondered if they were ‘everyday’ cups or ‘company’ cups. They were decorated in bold vertical blue stripes, with light gilding to the handles and rims.
Mrs. Carmichael attended to the tea making practically and without fuss, showing none of the affectations usual in polite society. The girls seemed to be on their best behaviour, probably due to Philip’s magnificence. While he didn’t affect the more fashionable excesses of society, his coats and waistcoats were always beautifully cut and of the finest cloth, and his personal linen without a blemish. He seemed to prefer the example set by poor Mr. Brummel, until so recently the arbiter of fashion, that a gentleman shouldn’t be noticed for his clothes.
Lucy was content to stay silent, and listen to the Carmichael’s plans for her. She was pleased to note that apart from shopping, when she would have to be wary, she would not impinge much on her previous haunts. She promised to buy herself a poke bonnet to hide in. She found the constant chatter refreshing and strangely restful. She was asked a question once or twice, but none of them intrusive, and she could lean back for the most part, sip her tea, eat a few slices of bread and butter (very welcome), and listen.
The Carmichaels’ world seemed every bit as busy as Lucy’s usual milieu. “We could go to VauxhallGardens,” said Miss Millicent. “It’s open soon for the Season.”
“So it is.” exclaimed her mother. Lucy had only once been there, and then her visit had been brief. Vauxhall was considered passé and not the place for a young lady. Many assignations took place there, but perhaps there was more safety in numbers. Certainly, she wouldn’t meet many people who knew her there. “Please,” she said, “Don’t do too much for me. You mustn’t feel you have to do anything special.”
“Oh Miss Moore we’re positively dissipated here, we have so many pleasures.” cried Miss Millicent.
“Indeed there’s so much to see and do in London it seems a shame not to take advantage of it,” agreed her elder sister Miss Christina. “It would be a pleasure to take you about, and show you what such a great city has to offer.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said, although she would have much rather waited out her month without too many excursions. “But surely we mustn’t keep Lord Royston away from his friends.” She cast him a sly look.
His smile was bland. “I can’t think of anything I’d like to do more,” he said.
“But your cousin is getting married soon,” said Lucy.
He shot her a startled glance, and then saw the mischief in her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t have too much to do with that side of the family; all I have to do is attend the wedding.”
“Is she pretty?” asked his youngest cousin.
“Yes, very.”
“And her groom; is he handsome?”
“Some would think so.” Lucy wasn’t sure whom he meant by that enigmatic answer; himself or Geoffrey. She knew which one she preferred. “It seems a shame,” said Miss Frances, “to have such a breach in a family. Don’t they know you, sir? I can’t see how anyone would have an objection to you.”
“Less me than my mother,” he said. His mouth hardened slightly. “And the fact that my brother wanted to combine the family fortune with the estate. I have no quarrel with the distribution of the estate; I’m not a real cousin, our fathers were cousins, and it must be natural for a father to wish his daughter to be well settled. The estate is a perfectly good one, and will k
eep me and - whoever I might marry in total comfort.” He deliberately avoided looking at Lucy when he said this.
“Your mother was a lovely lady.” protested Miss Frances. She put down her tea cup with a slight rattle, betraying her mild agitation on her cousin’s behalf. “So she was,” said Mrs. Carmichael in a soft tone, and with a shock Lucy realised that this lady must be the sister of Philip’s mother. “I don’t think I ever attended a wedding where the partners were so deeply in love.”
Philip smiled a little. He had lost both his parents in a coach accident when he was twelve. Lucy still remembered the shock of the news. She hadn’t seen him or Bernard that year at the Grange. “They were better dying together,” he commented. “If one had outlived the other I think whoever was left would have been unhappy.”
Lucy was a little taken aback. Love was not a common topic of conversation in her world, unless one discounted the kind of romantic love which led to affaires du coeur and unrequited passion. But everyone knew that kind of love was for books and recreation, not for ordinary life. With a jolt she realised this could be for her. She might have love every day, if she took care to preserve it.
“It seems senseless,” Mrs. Carmichael continued.
Philip shrugged. “It’s not my choice,” he said. “Besides, a reconciliation might be effected with this wedding. We shall have to wait and see.”
He left soon after that, promising to return to dine with them, and Miss Carmichael took Lucy up to show her the room she was to occupy during her visit.
One of her worries was relieved then. She was to have a room of her own. If she had been asked to share, someone was bound to see her wounds. The ones on her shoulders were still red, low enough to be hidden by a gown, but they would show over a chemise and stays. The ones lower down, where Geoffrey had been more brutal, were crusting now, and would soon be no more than marks. Lucy felt them as stiff sore points, but easily bearable.
The room was small and excessively pretty. There were flowers everywhere; from the wallpaper to the chintz drapes at the window and the bed. The basin and jug were of flowered pottery, and there was a posy of violets on the small dressing table. Lucy cried out with pleasure when she saw them, and lifted them to smell the sweet perfume. “So thoughtful.” she said, turning a glowing face to Miss Carmichael.
The lady blushed, her florid countenance going a deeper shade of crimson, and Lucy knew the violets had been her idea. Lucy smiled at her and put the violets back. “I felt so awkward coming here, especially at such short notice, but Phil - Lord Royston was insistent that you would not mind.”
“I think we’ll enjoy your visit,” Miss Carmichael assured her. “It gives us the excuse to visit so many places we’ve been putting off for a long time. When you live in a place, it’s easy to take the sights for granted.” They laughed together.
Lucy saw her trunk in the middle of the floor. “I had better unpack,” she said.
“Have you no maid? Would you like one of ours to do it for you?”
“My maid went back with Mama,” she replied, remembering her story, “It’s not an arduous task - it’s not as though I have twenty gowns or more, is it?”
She lifted the lid of the trunk. “Then may I help you?”
“That’s very kind, Miss Carmichael, thank you.”
Miss Carmichael said, a little hesitantly; “I hope - I hope you will call me Christina.”
Lucy stood up and put out her hand. “Then you must call me Fiona,” she said. She liked the name Fiona, but she wished she could tell this friendly girl the truth. She hoped they wouldn’t mind too much when the truth came out, as it must do.
They turned back to the trunk and began to lift out the clothes. “I noticed,” said Christina, “That you nearly called Lord Royston Philip. Do you know him well?”
Lucy cursed her slip. “I used to,” she replied, “When we were children. He came to Scotland during the school holidays sometimes, but when he and his brother were named heirs, they had to go to Royston Grange instead, to learn how to be earls.”
They laughed. “So you knew him when he was Philip Moore?” Christina said. “Yes, I see.” she paused, biting her lip and then she said; “To be truthful, I just assumed that all the Moores were aristocratic and wealthy. And superior.”
Lucy laughed. “A lot of them are,” she said. “But there are younger sons in every family, and my father is one of those. Believe me, I have no money worth speaking of - “ she broke off as she remembered she had no money at all. The thought was vaguely amusing - and frightening. She knew money cushioned a lot of life’s problems. Now there was nothing between her and ruin except Philip - until her fortune was restored to her. She presumed that her mother could do nothing about that.
She smiled at Christina. “If you really don’t mind me being here,” she said. “I think I’ll enjoy my visit very much.”
***
Mrs. Carmichael was perturbed to hear Lucy had no maid. “We shall find you one, my dear,” she said.
“It really is of little concern,” insisted Lucy, although she wondered how she would manage.
She had dressed for dinner in a gown of heavy green silk, fastened at the back with hooks that had been the devil to manage. She did most of them on her own, and then, when she was sure none of her marks would show, went to Christina’s room for help.
She found that Christina shared her room with Frances, and they helped each other to dress. They were only too glad to help her too. “A pretty gown.” said Frances. “Did you buy it in Scotland?”
“Yes; in Edinburgh,” said Lucy, improvising wildly. “But I think the waist is a little low for current fashion, is it not?” she knew it was, but a slightly old fashioned gown would help to disguise the wildly fashionable Lady Lucy Moore. Recently the waistline of gowns had migrated up from the centre of the rib cage to just under the bosom, and this gown had that slightly lower waistline which would mean little to most people, but everything to the ton.
“I don’t think it matters,” said Frances. She looked at Lucy critically. “You look very pretty.”
“Thank you.” Lucy was surprised, as she had pulled her hair back into a tight chignon, only allowing a few curls to drop out behind. She wore the gold chain Philip had bought for her and carried a simple fan, reticule and evening gloves, which reached, well below her elbows. Her gown was decorated with three rows of braid at the hem and the waistline, but that was all.
She could almost believe it when she saw the warm look of admiration in her lover’s eyes when she went into the drawing room, but she knew he’d seen her in a lot less. He bowed over her hand and took her over to introduce her to the men of the house; Mr. Carmichael and his son and heir, Mr. Rodney Carmichael. She dropped a graceful curtsey and thanked them for their hospitality. Mr. Carmichael smiled his welcome. He was a man of moderate height, but a comfortable figure, probably in his mid fifties or perhaps a little older. His face was as round as his second daughter’s, but his colouring was fair; fine hair mixed with Moore fringed the tonsure Nature had given him, and his eyes, too, were Moore.
The younger Mr. Carmichael was also possessed of fine, fair hair, and blue eyes. Although he was taller than his father his figure also tended towards the generous. He seemed to bear a stern look most of the time, as there were lines prematurely engraved between his nose and his mouth, and two furrowed lines above his brow. His bow was punctilious.
“I’m pleased to find such pleasant young company for my daughters,” said the father.
“It’s very kind of you to say so,” Lucy replied. She had the uncomfortable feeling of being stared at and she looked over to see Mr. Rodney Carmichael gazing at her. She wasn’t used to being stared at in such a way, so she stared back. He looked away. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Moore,” he mumbled.
Philip covered what might have been an awkward silence. “I have some news for you, Miss Moore. First, you forgot to collect your funds from me, so I had better restore the
m to you.” He drew out of his pocket a roll of notes, which he presented to her. She had no compunction in taking them and put them in her reticule with a smile. “Secondly - your mother has restored your maid to you.”
Startled, she looked at his face. “My maid?” she thought of the dour faced Curtis from home. “Your Mama thinks Potter can serve you better here, so she sent her down on the stage,” Philip said smoothly.
Potter. How clever of him. Lucy thought, but she said; “That will help me a great deal. Thank you sir.”
She wondered how it came about, but realised she would have to wait to find out, so let it be.
Mrs. Carmichael was very pleased that Lucy’s maid was here. “My girls usually help each other, but when we go out the maids do their hair and suchlike, and it can be very difficult, when each one wants her attention.”
“Well you can be sure I won’t keep Potter for myself,” Lucy said warmly. She hoped a chambermaid would be able to perform the duties of a ladies’ maid, but then she realised she wouldn’t need quite such a skilled handmaiden here.
Dinner was entirely en famille, and convivial. It didn’t compare to the meals she had shared with Philip in the inn, but that was an idyll, and best forgotten for a while. This was a comfortable, well served meal taken informally. Lucy was overwhelmed by the kindness of her hosts. Always before her fortune had trailed along with her, she was never sure which of them the welcome was extended to, but here she could be sure. She was a girl of modest fortune, here to see the town, amongst people she liked, who seemed to like her. She might be able to carry it off, after all.
Chapter Sixteen
When Lucy awoke in the little flowered bedroom the next morning, Potter was waiting for her. She smiled and sat up. “Good morning, Potter.”
“Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes thank you. Potter - why have you come here, to me? It must be a step down for you, surely.” Lucy knew enough about servants to know their hierarchy was as strict as that above stairs. Head chambermaid in a great household was above ladies’ maid in a modest City one.
Loving Lucy Page 14