Loving Lucy

by Lynne Connolly

  “After all that wine last night? Oh yes.”

  “Good.” He regarded her thoughtfully and then lifted one hand and tugged at the strings of her nightcap. “Why does Curtis insist on parcelling you up like a Christmas present every night?” he said. The nightcap gave way and he tossed it aside. “That’s better.” Then he undid the strings at the top of her night-dress. Nothing loath, Lucy sat up and undid the cuff buttons, drawing it over her head. He watched her with appreciation then drew her back to him. “Much better.”

  “I don’t like to tell her I sleep – “

  “Naked? Why not? I like you to, and if you don’t object – “

  “When you put it like that, how can I object?” She lay on her back against the pillows, the better to enjoy his caresses. They began gently, an appreciation of her body and a desire to give her pleasure. He ran the flat of his hand from her hip up to her breast and lingered there, gently stroking it until the nipple crinkled for him. Then he attended to the other one. “I still expect to wake up and find myself alone,” he said in a meditative way, before bending his head to put his mouth to her skin.

  Lucy was learning that his touch immediately set her on fire. She had thought it would wear off after a couple of nights, but it wasn’t so. Instead, Philip was discovering what pleased her the most, and had begun to teach her what he liked her to do, which increased the feeling, rather than diminishing it. She had found that ministering to him was as sweet as receiving his attentions, and the discovery both surprised and delighted her.

  Lucy loved having her breasts caressed and kissed, and Philip was only too willing to oblige. He lavished attention on them, then kissed her rib cage, and her stomach lower down, stopping in the sensitive area on the inside of the hip bone.

  “Oh. Philip, Philip – “

  “You want me to stop?” he asked, as innocently as he could. He looked up at her to see her warm smile.

  “No. Please my love, don’t stop,” she said.

  He had heard her use that phrase before, but only in his dreams. Now he could continue, tucking a hand under that delectable bottom to grip her better when he kissed the most sensitive part of her. Gratified to hear her cry, he carried on kissing and caressing her until he felt her tense, and then stopped, only to hear her moan of protest.

  “Oh no, my sweet, not this time,” he said, and reached up to seize a pillow. He put it down in front of him and lifted his wife, turning her over on to her stomach on the pillow. Lucy used her elbows to lift herself a little, but stayed where she was and felt him fit himself inside her.

  At once a convulsion racked her body, and Philip caught her hips to hold her steady. Leaning over her he kissed her shoulder blades, her back and was rewarded by her cries of “Oh! Oh Philip, my love.”

  He reached his hand forward and cupped her breasts, and then tucked his knees under her and swung them both up to a sitting position. She turned her head for his kiss, and thrust her tongue into his mouth, trying to reach every recess while he was driving deeply into her.

  “Sweet wife.” he murmured, and kissed her again. He didn’t relent when she cried out once more, pushing her up to another climax with hard, rhythmic thrusts.

  He waited until she relaxed against him, kissed her shoulder, held her close and then withdrew from her, holding her steady for a moment before he turned her on her back and lay her down, her bottom held up by the pillow. Kneeling, he guided himself inside her again, and he watched her flushed features, those blue eyes gazing up at him, suffused with the love he’d always dreamed of, but never expected to see, until very recently.

  When she reached for him he caught her hands in his, and then put them on his thighs, so she could feel his efforts to bring her joy. He wasn’t disappointed; it wasn’t long in coming. She arched her back up to push even closer to him, closed her eyes and cried out loudly, and with one last propulsion, Philip drove deep inside her and released his tension in one long stream.

  He pulled the pillow away, cast it on the floor and went to her waiting arms.

  “How do you do that?” she murmured. “You make me feel so – so fulfilled, so at one with you. I love you Philip.”

  He held her close, kissed her mouth and her cheek. “I love you Lucy. That was wonderful.”

  She made a sound like ‘mmm’ and kissed him, snuggling in, not yet ready to let him go.

  Then there was a knock at the door.

  Hastily, he pulled some bedcovers over them and called, “What is it?”

  The voice of his valet, muffled, came through to them. “You have a visitor, my lady.”

  She took a steadying breath and called back; “Who can’t wait until I’m awake?”

  “Lady Royston, my lady.”

  “First of all,” she called back. “I am Lady Royston. Secondly, I don’t expect anyone to be admitted until I’m up. Tell her I’ll be there in half an hour and offer her some luncheon.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  He went away. Philip, who had listened in appreciative silence to the exchange, said; “Well done, my darling.”

  She turned in his arms. “It seems I have to get up. I must face her, Philip.”

  “Would you like me to come with you?”

  “Would you?” she kissed him. “But not immediately. Give me some time alone with her first.”

  “I’m yours to command,” he said in mock obedience. The rich voice, full of promise, made her shiver with the remembrance of what they had just done. “Oh no,” she said. “I’m yours. All yours.”

  He watched her get up, wrap her robe around her still-flushed body. “Should I go and dress in your room? Or should I ask Curtis to come in here?”

  “Come back to bed,” he suggested, not wholly in jest. “Make her wait.”

  But he got up. He took her in his arms one last time, kissed her, whispered, “Just you wait until tonight,” in her ear. It made her laugh in embarrassment and excitement. He went through to his own room to dress.

  ***

  Curtis was an extremely efficient ladies’ maid, and she helped Lucy to dress quickly, but without any diminution in the excellence of her work. So it was a little more than half an hour when the new Lady Royston, elegant in dark blue silk, embellished at the hem and the top of the long sleeves by rouleaux of the same material, entered the drawing room. Her mother looked up from the chair she had chosen, but did not rise.

  Lucy bent over her and kissed her dry cheek. Then she turned to her aunt, who had risen, and embraced her warmly. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Simonson said, but quelled by a look from her employer, sank down into a chair just behind her without another word. “So you chose not to eat here?” Lucy said coolly. “Would you like some tea?”

  “No thank you; we will have a light luncheon when we return home.” Lady Royston’s tones were clipped and didn’t invite comment.

  Lucy felt strangely liberated. This was her house, her domain; she had never felt superior to her mother in her life before. “Yes, we were rather late to bed last night,” she said, “And Philip insists that I have enough rest after my recent ordeals.”

  “Which are nothing compared to mine.” declared the dowager. “How could you call him ‘Philip’ in that odiously familiar way? You should call him Royston or my lord.”

  “We have been using each other’s Christian names since we were children,” Lucy said mildly. “I see no reason to change now.”

  “You have a position to keep up.”

  “Which I shall do in the way I see fit,” said her undutiful daughter. She could see her mother was, as her housekeeper would put it, ‘in a right bate,’ but she didn’t see why that should concern her. She guessed the reason, but wouldn’t broach the subject until her mother did.

  Her mother looked so contained Lucy feared she might burst, like an overfilled balloon. “Lucy, how could you?” demanded Lady Royston suddenly. “You know he only wants your fortune. Now he has it he won’t treat you with any g
reat degree of courtesy. Look at this letter. Just look what he has sent me.”

  And with a shaking hand she stood and thrust a paper at Lucy. She took it without taking her gaze from the dowager’s face, and, glancing down, only perused it lightly before she refolded it and gave it back.

  “Yes, I was there when it was drafted,” she said. “I should tell you it was my idea.”

  “What?” her ladyship was lost for words for a moment. Her mouth clamped shut, her eyes narrowed and gleamed with fury. “Why should you want to do such a thing to your mother?”

  “Revenge, and justice,” Lucy said calmly, delighted she could stay so steady under the wrath of her mother. Previously, she would have been sure to succumb, to promise her mother anything she wanted, so long as she didn’t shout at her and continue to do so for days. It happened rarely, which was why it used to frighten her so much.

  She continued to explain, deliberately keeping her voice calm and steady. “When you sent me upstairs with Sir Geoffrey that night, it was an outrageous thing to do. I can’t think of another mother who would have done such a thing, openly condoned it.” The dowager glared back at her, but said nothing. “But I didn’t know then that he’d promised to settle all your debts and then invest a considerable sum from my fortune on you.” She paused, and despite her best efforts a note of despair entered her voice. “You sold me to him.”

  She glanced at her aunt, just for somewhere else to look. Miss Simonson sat quite still, her head bowed, staring at her hands. Lady Royston now sat rigidly in her chair, her chin up, glaring arrogantly at her daughter. “You seemed quite willing.”

  “It isn’t something a mother usually allows,” Lucy said coolly. “And then, when you didn’t come in response to my screams – “

  “What screams?” her mother said quickly.

  Lucy stared. “You must have heard them. Potter heard them, Aunt Honoria heard them, but both were too afraid to investigate until he’d gone. You could have put a stop to it, but you chose not to.”

  “That particular act,” said her mother carefully, “Is distasteful and undesirable. But it bound you to him. You were unwise to go elsewhere.”

  “I didn’t,” Lucy replied. “I was taken away because it was thought I might not survive another assault.”

  “Lucy you exaggerate.”

  “No indeed. Ask Aunt Honoria. She tended to me afterwards – something you should have done – but she had no hand in my leaving. She didn’t know where I had gone.”

  “How did you know these people, the Carmichaels?” demanded her mother. “I wasn’t aware you had their acquaintance.”

  “I didn’t,” said Lucy. “Potter took me to Philip, who took me to the Carmichael’s. They cared for me, as you never did. I realised then what it was to have a real mother.”

  Lady Royston bridled. “But I always cared for you. Ungrateful child.”

  Lucy felt her choler rise, but deliberately kept her anger under control. “You looked after me like a piece of porcelain. You decided I was your property, just as an inanimate piece of china would have been. You decided what I wore, where I went, who I became betrothed to – there wasn’t one time I was allowed to make my own decisions, not once.”

  “It was a mother’s duty.”

  Lucy shook her head slightly. “I hope I’m kinder to my children.” She paused, then said; “When did you know that Philip loved me? Is that why you forced us apart?”

  Lady Royston shrugged. “What has that to do with anything? Love has nothing to do with marriage.”

  Lucy looked sadly at her surviving parent. “But affection does. You didn’t answer my question. When did you know he loved me?”

  “Boys aren’t very good at hiding sentiment of that kind,” Lady Royston told her. Her superior expression showed her contempt. “He told me when he was sixteen. I noticed his attentions, and taxed him on it. At that time there was no eventuality of his marrying you; I was not disturbed by his revelation. He knew he would have to look elsewhere for a wife. I can only think you have lost all your judgement, Lucy. I thought I had brought you up better than that.”

  Lucy took a deep breath. For the first time in this interview she felt angry. “Surely you could see that Philip was a far different prospect to his brother. Bernard wouldn’t have done for me, but Philip was what I wanted, what I needed.”

  Her mother’s eyebrows went up in haughty disbelief. “I think you will come to regret your hasty marriage, Lucy. You have married into a very coming, ramshackle branch of the family, and I wish you joy of it.”

  Lucy let a silence fall before she spoke again. “Every day,” she said, deliberately, not taking her gaze off her mother’s carefully made up, arrogant face; “I see what a good decision I have made. Even if I didn’t love him – and I do, mother, I do – I would have married a kind, considerate gentleman who takes every care of me.”

  “Then he must be very different to his brother.”

  “He’s very different,” said Lucy. “But now you’re talking of my husband’s dead brother, and I cannot allow you to be disrespectful.”

  “I shall leave,” said Lady Royston. “There is no point in remaining here. You are sunk in your own depravity, Lucy, and there is nothing I can do to help. Come, Honoria.” she gathered her skirts about her, ready to stand up, but Lucy put up a restraining hand. “No, mother, if you please. I have a few more things I must say. If you don’t hear them now you will hear from Mr. Chumleigh.”

  Lady Royston’s finely plucked eyebrows shot up, but she remained seated. She looked at Lucy haughtily.

  Before Lucy could say anything, the door opened and her husband came in. Lucy smiled warmly and after he had bowed punctiliously over his mother-in-law’s hand, and then Miss Simonson’s, Lord Royston sat next to his wife on the sofa, stretching his arm across the back of the seat in an unconsciously protective gesture. “I hope I find you well.”

  “I’ve been better,” replied her ladyship, glaring at him.

  He smiled slightly and turned to look at Lucy. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt?”

  She smiled back. “Not really. I was just about to remind my mother of the letter.”

  Lady Royston snorted. “That thing? I threw it in the fire. I cannot believe you wrote that of your own free will, Lucy.”

  “It was my idea,” she said softly. She became aware of being stared at. Miss Simonson had lifted her head and transfixed Lucy with a cool, Moore stare. There was a slight smile on her lips. Lady Royston couldn’t see this, because Miss Simonson was sitting just behind her, but Lucy was emboldened to carry on. “I wasn’t aware that you were using my money to buy the houses, and keep us. You must have a pretty tidy sum laid away from your jointure, so I propose that you put it to use. I want the price of the houses, or rent for them. That only seems fair to me. Philip thought I should make a present of the houses to you, but I don’t want to.”

  Philip must have heard the rising anger in her voice, because he brought his arm down from the back of the sofa and laid it gently on hers. She waited, and he carried on. “We went to see Mr. Chumleigh in the City yesterday, ma’am. I hope I can prevail upon Lucy to settle on a compromise. The two houses you now use, the leased one in town and the other in the country, will be yours to use in your lifetime, but after that will revert to the estate.” He paused, studying the rigid features in front of him. “Whatever you think of me you’ve always been most concerned to preserve the estate, and you must see that this makes sense.”

  Reluctantly, Lady Royston nodded. “It would be acceptable.”

  “But Aunt Honoria.” Lucy said suddenly.

  “Your aunt need never concern herself about a home or a comfortable income while I’m alive,” Philip said firmly. “She’s been a true and loving friend to you, and I shall never cease to be grateful for it.” He smiled at Miss Simonson who dropped her gaze and reddened in confusion. Lady Royston shot her a contemptuous glance before turning back to address Philip. “Your proposal, sir, makes s
ome sense,” she said, having finally regained control of her voice. “Was there anything else?”

  “You must realise,” Philip continued smoothly, his voice hardening, “That any income Lucy brought into your house now reverts to me. Mr. Chumleigh informs me that the jointure settled on you by your late husband is more than adequate for your needs, so I need not concern myself with that side of things.”

  “I will lose a great deal,” Lady Royston said firmly. “I can hardly be expected to live on a widow’s jointure.”

  “I think,” said Philip, “that without the expense of a daughter to present creditably to the world, and with the use of the houses, you should manage very well. The carriages and horses you may keep as a gift.”

  Lady Royston was obliged to thank him, although her look of distaste made Lucy fear she might choke when she said it.

  She stood up to leave, but Philip stopped her again. “The family jewels are in the bank?”

  “Most of them.” She tried to look down her nose at her son-in-law but he stood up. He was taller than his mother in law. He looked dispassionately down at her. “Then I shall send a footman for the rest and the key to the bank box,” he said. “Lucy should be presented soon, and she must have the appropriate jewels, or there will be talk.”

  Lady Royston looked speculatively at her daughter, who rose to stand by her husband’s side. “Yes, she must,” she said. “Of course, most of them are too heavy for ordinary wear.”

  “I may decide to have them re-set,” Lucy said.

  “Of course.” Lady Royston looked at her daughter coolly, as though she was a stranger. Lucy knew the loss of the jewels would hurt her mother, although she wouldn’t let them see that. She was tempted to let her keep her favourites and then, reminded of the deep wrong which had been done to her, desisted from speaking.

  The Dowager Lady Royston looked at the new Countess with a long, appraising look. Lucy looked back. “I can do you a great deal of damage,” she said.

  Lucy shook her head. “No you can’t. I have the money, the title and the husband. You would be ill advised to try.”