Lucille had indeed confessed to Lady Seagrave, for she felt that she could do no other. The story of her impersonation of Susanna came out haltingly and shamefacedly, whilst her godmother sat quietly listening and asking the odd question here and there for clarity. Lucille said nothing of her feelings for Seagrave, or of his offer of carte blanche, for her feelings on the subject were too raw, but Lady Seagrave was no fool and could discern a great deal about the state of Lucille’s emotions simply from her narrative.
‘Well, my dear,’ she said, at the end of this recital of woes, ‘it is a sad tangle, is it not, but do not despair! Mrs Appleton had the right of it when she said it was a foolish idea from the start! But enough of that—you have castigated yourself far too much as it is! I think it best if we call Nicholas and Peter back in now, for it seems they both have a stake in the matter!’ She did not miss the betraying blush which came into Lucille’s cheeks and patted her hand encouragingly. ‘I know Nicholas seems formidable at times,’ she said comfortingly, ‘but if he has said he has forgiven you, you must believe it, Lucille. He does not bear grudges.’
Lucille felt less confident of this, but had no time to dispute the Countess’s words, as she was ringing the bell briskly and sending a footman to summon the brothers. Once again, the sight of Seagrave strolling carelessly into the room made Lucille’s heart do a somersault. It was not fair, she thought resentfully, that her feelings should be in such a turmoil when he appeared utterly impassive, not a flicker of emotion visible on his face.
The Countess went straight to the point. ‘Lucille has told me everything,’ she said, with a very straight look at her elder son, ‘and it seems our first concern must be for Miss Markham. May I count on help from both of you in this?’
Peter nodded immediately. Seagrave was slower, and Lucille’s heart sank. She was not to know that he had been momentarily transported back to childhood and was suffering from the guilt both he and Peter had always felt when confronted with some misdemeanour. Surely Lucille could not have told his mother everything? Once again, he remembered with perfect clarity the warmth and sweetness of her mouth beneath his own, the softness—
‘Nicholas?’ His mother’s voice was sharp. ‘You will, I hope, support my efforts to restore Miss Markham’s reputation?’
‘Certainly, Mama,’ Seagrave said, obligingly, dragging his thoughts away from certain aspects of Lucille which he had an urgent need to explore further. His gaze was very dark and unreadable as it rested on her. ‘And what do we do about Miss Kellaway’s situation?’
Lady Seagrave waved a dismissive hand. ‘’Tis a simple matter! The only two facts which people know for certain are that Susanna Kellaway claimed Cookes, and that Miss Markham went to stay there. The rest is complete speculation!’ She sounded most pugnacious. ‘So we put it about that I invited Lucille, my goddaughter,’ she stressed the word, ‘to visit me at the Court, but my journey was delayed and so she was obliged to stay at Cookes in the meantime. Being a girl from a sheltered background, Lucille was not aware that people would take her for Susanna and did not realise this for some considerable time. When she discovered the fact, she sought you out for advice, Nicholas!’ She saw the look of sardonic enjoyment on Seagrave’s face, and hurried on.
‘To compound Miss Kellaway’s problems, she had invited Miss Markham to join our party, and now discovered that her adoptive sister was also tarred with the brush of Susanna Kellaway’s reputation.’ She caught Peter’s eye. ‘It will not help the tale if it becomes known that Miss Markham ran away from home, Peter, but I know I may rely on your discretion there!’
Peter nodded. ‘And then, I imagine, you arrive, Mama, and decide that the best course of action is for us to make the true facts known, explaining that it was Miss Lucille Kellaway in residence all the time and not her sister. Miss Markham is vindicated and no one will care to dispute us, I think!’
‘With Miss Kellaway’s fortune to sweeten the pill,’ Seagrave said sarcastically, ‘I do not doubt that you are right, Peter!’
Lucille flushed and Lady Seagrave turned on her son. ‘You are become monstrous disagreeable all of a sudden, Nicholas! Perhaps it is the heat! So, do I have your agreement to the plan?’
Three heads nodded solemnly. ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ Lucille said suddenly, ‘but must the solution depend on my remaining at Cookes? I have told Miss Pym that I shall be returning to Oakham shortly and the school holiday will soon be at an end! Would it not be better for you to take Miss Markham up, out of your kindness, and for me to return to my teaching?’
Lady Seagrave looked up and caught the expression in Seagrave’s eyes as they rested on Lucille’s downbent head. So that was how the land lay! It seemed that, despite her feelings, Lucille wanted only to escape from both Dillingham and the Earl, and that for his part, Seagrave was not inclined to allow her to do so. Her heart lifted. She did not yet know her goddaughter well, but already liked what she knew. And, if Seagrave had formed a tendre for Lucille, she was fairly certain that he would manage the situation to his advantage. And she would do her best to help him.
She framed her words carefully. ‘I think, my love, that you must resign yourself to staying at least a little while.’ Lucille’s unhappy blue eyes met hers and she smiled encouragingly. ‘The story of Miss Markham’s predicament will ring true only if you are present to give the lie to the fact that Susanna was at Cookes. Once Miss Markham is creditably established, you may, of course, do as you please. And indeed, you have your own future to think of now that you have your own fortune!’
She saw Lucille’s shoulders slump. Never had a newly discovered heiress looked so unhappy! ‘You look worn out, poor child! So much to consider in one morning!’
Lady Seagrave knew only half the story, Lucille reflected tiredly. She could not believe that it was not yet luncheon. Half a century seemed to have passed in the brief time since she had stepped out from Cookes that morning. In a daze, she heard Seagrave ordering his carriage to be brought round to take Lucille back to Cookes, and Lady Seagrave murmuring that she would write to both Miss Pym and Mrs Markham, to acquaint them of the latest situation. Lucille nodded wearily. Mrs Markham would be beside herself to hear that Hetty was being taken up by the Countess of Seagrave.
Lady Seagrave pressed her hand in concern. ‘Why, you are done up, are you not, my love! Well, we shall leave our plans until tomorrow! I shall call on you in the morning! Oh, we shall all have such fun! And Miss Markham will be just the companion for Polly—it is all working out so perfectly!’
Lucille wished she could summon up just an ounce of Lady Seagrave’s delight. To be obliged to prolong her time in Seagrave’s company was well-nigh intolerable. Amidst the pleasure of Lady Seagrave and Peter, his own silence stood out markedly. His tone was cool as he handed her into the carriage and bid her farewell, and as the coach rumbled over the rutted tracks taking her back to the village, Lucille allowed two solitary tears to run down her cheeks. The discovery of an anonymous letter waiting for her at Cookes felt like the last straw and she tore it up with a viciousness that went a long way towards relieving her feelings.
Chapter Eight
‘I cannot match the colour of the sea,’ Lady Polly Seagrave was saying, laying down her paintbrush and shading her eyes against the dazzling sunshine. ‘It is so bright, today! Only look, Lucille, I have made it appear the same colour as Mrs Ditton’s turban!’ She sighed. ‘I fear I shall never be an accomplished artist!’
Lucille put her book down on the rug and went to look over Polly’s shoulder at the water-colour on the easel. ‘You have made The House of Tides look very pretty,’ she pointed out consolingly. ‘Lady Bellingham will be so surprised that she will want to buy your painting!’
Polly giggled. ‘It is an ugly house, isn’t it! I cannot understand why such a character as Lady Bellingham should choose to live there!’ She smiled shyly at Lucille. ‘I was so very glad to meet her—and surprised that Mama permitted it!’
Lucille had be
en surprised too. When she had expressed her intention of calling on Lady Bellingham that afternoon, a silence had fallen in the Dillingham Court drawing-room, broken only by Thalia Ditton saying in her fluting voice that her mama would never allow her to call on a former actress. Miss Ditton had then fixed Lucille with her limpid blue eyes and said that she supposed that Miss Kellaway must, through her family connections, have met some utterly fascinating people, but not those of whom the respectable members of the ton could possibly approve.
It was left to the Earl of Seagrave to break the uncomfortable silence, saying that for his part he had always found Lady Bellingham to be absolutely charming, and that he would be glad to escort Lucille to The House of Tides. Miss Ditton had pouted, but brightened when Peter had hurried to the rescue by suggesting a picnic outing to Shingle Street, given that the weather was so fine.
The Earl had caught up with Lucille in the drawing-room doorway. ‘I see that you are loyal to your friends, Miss Kellaway,’ he observed, with a lazy lift of one eyebrow. ‘A number of people come so newly into fortune and fashion might be tempted to drop their previous acquaintances…’
Lucille’s clear blue gaze met his. ‘I collect that you mean Lady Bellingham? But she was very kind to me when…’ her gaze fell ‘…before…’ she finished lamely. ‘I find it tiresome that society judges on outward appearance and not character. You will not find me snubbing Lady Bellingham, I assure you!’
‘Bravo, Miss Kellaway!’ Seagrave said warmly. ‘It is what I would have expected of you and I admire you for it! Now, Polly has told me she would like to come with us, but what a pity Miss Ditton cannot be one of our party!’
Lucille gave him a sharp glance, but Seagrave’s face was as bland as ever.
‘I find I cannot regret Miss Ditton’s absence,’ Lucille said sweetly. ‘She is not at all the sort of person that Lady Bellingham would wish to meet with!’
Seagrave’s laughter followed her out of the room.
And now here they all were, seated on the springy turf, out of the cooling east breeze and having partaken of a delicious picnic. Peter and Hetty were sitting a little way off, the two dark heads close together, under the watchful eye of Lady Seagrave. Nearer at hand, Miss Ditton was chatting engagingly to Seagrave, her parasol at a flirtatious angle as she gazed up teasingly into his face. Mrs Ditton was looking on with the calculating expression of an ambitious mama who has her quarry within her sights. Lucille found that the scene put her out of humour. She put her book down and looked out to sea.
How dramatically life had changed at Cookes since Lady Seagrave had taken them up, Lucille reflected. As Lady Seagrave’s goddaughter and an heiress to boot, Miss Kellaway was no longer to be scorned and ignored. Several prominent members of Dillingham society had soon been overheard to say that they had always known that so sweet and prettily mannered a girl could not have been the Cyprian, despite the fact that they had never actually met her. Thalia Ditton had actually had the temerity to claim a friendship, based on the unpleasant encounter in Woodbridge, and had brought her brother to call. It became apparent that Mr Tristan Ditton did not regard his previous relationship with Susanna as a bar to courting Lucille for her fortune.
Lucille’s failure to disclose her true identity had been neatly glossed over and put down to a becoming modesty—or possibly the allowable eccentricity of a bluestocking of independent means. Many expected the schoolmistress-turned-heiress to be both original and quaint, and applauded her for it. Local society wished to take her to its bosom and so she became fashionable. Hetty considered it to be a great joke, and Lucille, who privately found it both shallow and hypocritical that she should be fêted wherever she went, tried to tell herself not to be so pompous.
Lucille had swiftly discovered that Lady Seagrave’s plans for presenting Hetty into society meant that she would have to make some concessions. She had tried to resist, but the Dowager Countess was adamant.
‘I understand your reluctance to appear in society, my love,’ Lady Seagrave had said sympathetically, ‘for I know that you are interested only in more bookish occupations. And clearly a lady of your independent means and…’ she paused delicately ‘…and your age will not be concerned to be settled creditably. But it is essential that we establish Miss Markham’s good reputation, and you did offer your help in that. I am afraid that it will involve a degree of self-sacrifice.’
Lucille had reluctantly acquiesced, knowing that to refuse would appear ungracious when Lady Seagrave had done so much for them. As for her own plans, she had seldom considered marriage in her scheme of things, for she had known from an early age that her prospects were not bright. She had had no family, fortune or opportunity to help her, and now that she had suddenly acquired all these things, she was obviously considered too old to be making a brilliant match. Lady Seagrave had hinted that there might now be many dubious fortune hunters dangling after her for her money, but had suggested that her best course of action might lie elsewhere.
‘I realise that you do not have any ambitions towards the married state, Lucille,’ she said carefully, ‘being of scholarly inclination and possibly a follower of the ideas expressed by Mary Wollstonecraft in her Vindication of the Rights of Women.’ She wrinkled up her nose. ‘A very good sort of woman, I am sure, but some of her suggestions are most impractical. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I think that under the circumstances you might consider buying yourself a cottage, hiring a companion and spending your time reading and so forth. I am persuaded that you would find such an existence most agreeable.’
Lucille, who six months previously would have said that such a life would be her idea of bliss, found that this suggestion made her want to cry. The Dowager Countess’s next words made her feel even worse, and forced her to confront the truth rather painfully.
‘Of course,’ her godmother had said in a kindly tone, ‘should you discover that you are not averse to the married state, you would do best to settle for a solid country squire, the type of man like Charles Farrant, who is so reliable.’ She gave Lucille an affectionate smile and continued, ‘Such men may not be very exciting, of course, but you are past the age of wanting romance! A sensible match to a worthy man—what could be better?’
Lucille had missed the look of wicked amusement on Lady Seagrave’s face as she contemplated her goddaughter’s pale, unhappy expression. The Dowager Countess had already observed that the mere mention of her elder son’s name could put Miss Kellaway to the blush and she was determined to keep him at the forefront of Lucille’s mind. Lucille was not naturally unsociable, but her attempts to avoid the Earl of Seagrave were making her appear so. If there was the slightest chance that he would be present at a breakfast or fête champêtre, Lucille would cry off, employing a range of half-truths and creative excuses. It was therefore both disconcerting and annoying to find that somehow her avoidance tactics did not appear to be working.
On one occasion she had pleaded a sick headache, only for him to call on her in the afternoon to ask after her health. Worse, she had refused an invitation to the Dittons at Westwardene, an outing on which she was certain he would be present, only to stumble across him as she took a walk. He had fallen into step beside her and had invited himself back to Cookes for afternoon tea. His manner towards her was faultless but she seemed unable to escape his company, which, given that it gave her pain just to see him, was very difficult for her. Her feelings gave her no rest—Nicholas Seagrave haunted her thoughts when she was awake and walked through her dreams at night.
Meanwhile, Peter Seagrave was paying serious court to Hetty, whose schoolgirl prettiness was blooming into luminous beauty in the warmth of his attentions. He would call at Cookes each day to take her driving through the country lanes, or to visit with friends, or simply to walk together in the gardens. The blossoming romance clearly had the blessing of Lady Seagrave, who would sigh extravagantly over young love, thereby making Lucille feel even more as though she were at her last prayers.
It was i
n Polly Seagrave’s company that Lucille found some solace. For some reason she had expected Lady Polly to be a female version of Peter, extrovert and vivacious, and had been surprised to discover her to be both shy and studious. Polly had the Seagrave features, the rich chestnut hair and gold-flecked eyes, but there was a gravity in her manner that resembled the Earl more than his younger brother.
Early on, Polly had confided in Lucille that she was in disgrace with her mother for being too particular over her suitors; she had rejected eight potential husbands in her first season and had thereafter been labelled as ‘the fastidious Lady Polly.’ She was now three and twenty, and considered herself to be firmly on the shelf. Once again, Lucille felt the weight of her own twenty-seven years crush her. It could not be wondered that Seagrave would not look twice at such a faded spinster!
Charles Farrant was a regular caller at Cookes these days and was happy to escort Lucille into Woodbridge or on any expedition she chose. Together they were making a study of the history of the windmills in the area, and would spend hours poring over old maps and documents. Hetty was thrilled, convinced that her sister and the bashful Mr Farrant would make a match of it, and she had done all she could to encourage him. She was so in love that she wanted everyone else to be happy too. And it was not Mr Farrant’s fault, Lucille thought fairly, that he had kind blue eyes rather than dark, gold-flecked ones, and that his gentle, slightly stammering tones had none of the mellow timbre of the Earl’s voice.
‘Do you come with us on a walk along the beach, Miss Kellaway?’ Thalia Ditton’s piping voice cut across Lucille’s thoughts. ‘Lord Seagrave—’ she cast a coy, sideways glance at him under her eyelashes ‘—suggested it. He has offered to show us a stone sculpture wrought entirely by the sea over the centuries! Too thrilling!’
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