Lily George (11 page)

“Oh, my dear. It’s my pleasure.” Lucy smiled and squeezed Amelia’s hand in return. Then she led her charge through the doorway and down the grand staircase. His lordship’s carriage would be waiting around the front.

Amelia drew closer to Lucy’s side as they descended the stairs. “Dear Lucy.” She sighed. “You’ll never leave us. You wouldn’t be like Sophie and run away and get married. We can depend on you.” Lucy stiffened but ultimately decided not to reply.

Amelia was just nervous, that was all. There was no sense in saying anything that might disturb her young charge—at least not tonight as they were headed straight to a ball. Lucy patted Amelia’s shoulder and murmured a few comforting words, but as they settled in the carriage, her mind whirled in tumult.

The implication was, of course, that Lucy would be around forever because she would never marry, would never leave the Bradbury girls until they needed her no longer. And then, she would move on to another family and another until she finally got so old and worn out that she could no longer teach.

And what was wrong with that picture? Hadn’t she admitted to herself that her future lay precisely down that path? Hadn’t she acknowledged as much just a few short days ago?

Why, then, did it make her sick, sick to the very core of her being, to have Amelia say just the same thing aloud? She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the coach window. She looked—young. And in that gown, passably attractive. Not pretty. Never pretty like Sophie. But still—less plain than she’d always imagined she looked.

What if she didn’t want to be a governess forever? What if she wanted something more? More, even, than a school of her own?

But of course, that could not be. She had to make her own way. She was an orphan without family connections. Not precisely marriageable material.

’Twas the dress that caused that sudden, mad little inward rebellion. She gave herself a little shake.

One must beware of lovely lavender frocks.

Chapter Eleven

J
ames sat alone in the darkened workshop, whittling a piece of oak. The wood was smooth as satin under his skilled fingers. This would make a splendid chair leg for the suite of furniture his lordship had commissioned. Really, Lucy had shown exquisite taste in her recommendations for the library furnishings, choosing this honey-colored oak over the usual mahogany. She was right—it would lighten the already dark room, where mahogany would have overwhelmed the space. As in everything he had seen of her up until this point, she’d shown outstanding judgment. If only she’d show the same discerning taste in men. But then, if she did, there’d be no chance of him attracting her attention. She’d want a good man: a whole one and a brave one.

A cacophony of noises, indistinct and muffled, droned through the wall of the workshop. James brought his candle closer as he worked, trying to shut out the sounds. Working with wood had become a source of solace, a moment free of distractions akin to being in prayer. He sought out the workshop after the other men left for the day and had gone home to their families, simply because those moments of peace helped, in some strange way, to heal his soul.

The noise outside grew louder. His concentration was broken for certain now. Whatever was going on? He laid the oak aside and walked over to the window. The street outside, illuminated by guttering torch lamps, was filled with men and women in fine clothing, carriages and horses of every description clogging the path in front of the Assembly Rooms.

The Assembly Rooms ball. Tonight, Lucy would be escorting her young charge to the most sought-after social event of the season. His meager social connections might have been enough to secure him entrance to the ball, but he hadn’t pursued it. Was his resolution forgotten under a barrage of work for his lordship? On the surface, yes. But as James watched the fashionable throng outside, a feeling of bitter disgust flooded his being. Once again, he’d been a coward.

He leaned against the window, straining to see a familiar face. A pretty face, with large brown eyes and lips that always held a tender, humorous quirk. But the sea of humanity remained featureless in the torches’ dim light. He’d do better to get back to work. At least he could show something for this evening if he finished the chair leg.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he moved from his comfortable position in the workshop to a lesser room in the back. Perhaps if he stayed away from the street he wouldn’t hear the noise. The muffled sounds from the crowd only mocked him, as though everyone in Bath had gathered outside to jeer at his fearfulness.

The back room had but one window. It opened up onto the Assembly Rooms building but not in a place, apparently, that drew a lot of lingering dancers. He spied the rainbow glimmers of a magnificent crystal chandelier, but no figures appeared behind the panes, and the orchestra as it struck up the opening chords of a quadrille was faint enough to resemble a child’s music box. Well and good. He could hide out back here, and no one need know what a fool he’d been. Fool and a coward.

He settled onto a nearby stool and by the aid of his candle, finished working on the chair leg. As he put the finishing touch onto a bit of scrollwork, he glanced over at the nearby clock. ’Twas nearly ten. He’d better walk home and get a bit of supper and go on to bed. Though tomorrow was Sunday, he still planned to come in and work on more pieces of the furniture. It would do him no good if he were too exhausted to finish the job as he should.

James rose, dusting the sawdust from his hands, his shirtfront and his trousers. He was a mess. He’d do well to go home and take a bath while he was at it. He drifted over to the window, eager for a breath of fresh night air. He brushed at the dust covering his clothing. He’d been breathing sawdust too long.

He stuck his head out through the open windowpane, and as he ducked out, something caught his glance in the Assembly Rooms window across the way. A young woman in a pretty gown, her dark hair twisted and looped on top of her head, sat framed by the curtains on either side. As he watched, she gathered her knees to her chin, carefully arranging her skirts, and then leaned her head against the windowpane.

The girl in the window was Lucy Williams.

He’d know her anywhere, even though the finery she currently wore was a far cry from the practical, simple gowns she favored as a governess. He studied her more closely, his breath catching in his throat. She looked beautiful. Beautiful...but terribly sad.

She was close enough that, if he stood outside the window and yelled up at her, she’d see him in an instant. He leaned out a bit farther, hoping the darkness would continue to cloak him. He wasn’t ready to make his presence known. There was a reason she sat, so silently and so still, in that window seat. From the tilt of her head and her downcast eyes, anyone could see that she was hardly enjoying her role as duenna for Amelia.

And no one was near to her, either. She must have sought out that isolated spot just to have a few moments to herself.

On the battlefield, he hadn’t thought. He’d acted on pure instinct. And instinct had led him down the cowardly path. But now—

What if he obeyed his instinct?

He ducked back into the workshop and closed the window. Then he slipped out the back door, following a darkened path behind the Assembly Rooms. His heart hammered painfully against his rib cage. It was far too much like going into battle. Even his senses grew sharper: the sound of distant laughter echoed in his ears and the scent of smoke from the torches made his nose burn. The
haute monde
was not crowding around these doors; in fact, aside from a stray servant, he encountered no one.

Which was just as well. He was tidy enough, despite the wood shavings gracing his trousers but certainly not dressed for a ball.

He took the steps two at a time and gained entrance through an opened back door. Ah, yes. He knew this part of the building well; they had repaired several pieces of woodwork in this area just the week before. Just the week before—when he saw Lucy....

Judging from her position at the window, she would be well in the back of the ballroom. James rushed as best as he could without drawing attention to himself. What if Amelia had claimed her once more? The orchestra was playing a lilting song, a country dance of some kind. Good. Then perhaps Amelia would be occupied for another quarter of an hour or so.

He turned sharply to the right. Here was the ballroom, the dazzling light and cheerful bouncing strains of the music and pats of hundreds of feet forming a disconcerting kaleidoscope of sound and color. He paused, seeking Lucy, and the sounds grew muted and the light grew softer as he caught the outline of her form in the window seat. She was still there, and still alone.

Surely she could hear his heart beating as he drew close. But she stayed rooted to her spot, as though nothing profound were happening.

What if he couldn’t speak once he caught her attention? What if he stood there before her, stammering like an idiot covered in wood shavings?

He approached the window seat, and strangely, his worries, his insecurities vanished. This was the right thing to do.

She still had her face pressed against the glass, and as he stopped beside her, his form was reflected in the window beside her. Lucy sat up, her lovely eyes opening wide, a shy smile bowing her lips.

He offered her his arm and bowed. “M-Miss L-Lucy, would you d-do m-me the honor?”

* * *

James was here before her, his clothing speckled with a fine dust. What on earth was he doing at an Assembly Rooms ball? She swallowed nervously. The ball, which was so dull and dreary for one who had no one to dance with, pulsed with new life as he stood before her, extending his arm.

She rose, taking hold of his elbow. “I’d love to dance,” she admitted, “but his lordship might not like to see me standing up with someone. I’m just here to chaperone Amelia after all.”

James peered around the ballroom. “W-where is Amelia? W-why are you t-t-tucked back into this c-corner?”

“Amelia is dancing with his lordship. A father and daughter moment before he leaves the ball for the evening.” She hesitated, biting her lip. Should she admit to how much she hated the ball? How lonely she’d been, hugging the wall all night? “The noise and the lights were giving me a bit of a headache. So, I sought this window seat out so I could rest a bit before his lordship left for the evening. When he departs, I must return to my post.”

“I see.” James turned toward her, his green eyes dancing with mischief in the dim light. “Well, I am hardly attired for a ball myself.” He dusted his trousers with his hand and grinned, sending her heart leaping into her throat. He was so attractive and so fun when he didn’t allow his speech impediment to overtake his life. Did he have any idea of the power of his attraction? Even in his dusty work clothes, none of the other men here could hold a candle to him.

He leaned forward and began to lead her through the figures of the country dance. After a moment’s pause, she followed his movements, rising and falling and joining and parting with the rhythm of the music. She hadn’t danced since she was at school, and even then she was only taught the rudiments. Fortunately, James was a superb dancer and a strong leader; once she gave up her embarrassment and allowed him to lead her through the dance, she found herself light-footed and sure in her movements.

And once she gave up thinking about the steps and instead simply followed his lead, an extraordinary thing happened. Warmth radiated from her being, and she could not stop smiling. This was how many of those girls felt right now. This was, in fact, how many such girls had felt for generations. And this is why so many of them adored stuffy old ballrooms.

“May I ask how exactly you managed to sneak into the Assembly Rooms dressed in your work clothes?” She chuckled a little breathlessly. “I can’t imagine the circumstances.”

He grinned and ducked his head a bit. “I was w-working in the shop n-n-next d-door. Heard all the n-noise and s-suddenly remembered that t-t-tonight is quite a big n-n-night not just for Miss B-B-Bradbury but f-for you as w-well.” He fell silent as he led them through an intricate step. Then, he gazed down at her with an intensity that made her catch her breath. “I s-saw you s-sitting there in the w-window. And I d-decided I would be a c-c-coward n-no longer.”

“A coward?” Her voice sounded squeaky to her own ears. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Pray, why do you call yourself a coward?”

He halted midstep and turned to face her, grasping her other hand tightly in his. “Because I am. I—I’ve been a c-c-coward for years, since W-W-Waterloo. N-not speaking up when I should. N-not speaking at all. And I’ve led a m-m-miserable l-life b-because of it.”

She nodded, returning his gaze boldly. He was willing her to understand. It was an unspoken plea between the two of them. “But why did you come here? How does this help you overcome any perceived cowardice on your part?” He wasn’t telling her the whole story. He was holding something back.

He stared down at her a moment longer, and his throat worked as if he were stammering over a word. Odd, he didn’t stammer when they were dancing together. And he didn’t stammer when he was angry. But certain words or emotions triggered a tremendous obstacle to his speech, and his frustration would become palpable. She gave him a tentative smile. “No need to answer that,” she said in a soft voice. “It was an impertinent question, after all.”

The dance master called out the final steps for the longways country dance. Lucy spun around and faced the crowded ballroom. She could just make out the leading couple going down the dance. ’Twould be over in moments.

She must come back to earth. Amelia would be looking for her. And Lord Bradbury would not be pleased if he caught his daughter’s chaperone dancing in a quiet corner with a young man. She tugged her hands away from James’s grasp. “I should go,” she murmured. “They’ll send out a search party for me.”

“D-don’t g-go.” James’s voice, normally so hesitant when he stammered, now sounded strong and firm. She turned back to him, trying to read from his expression just what was causing the mighty war within him. She had upset him by repeating his silly self-accusations of cowardice. Perhaps if she apologized, then this whole matter could be dropped.

She took his hand in hers, ignoring the shock of warmth that shot up her arm as she did so. “I apologize, James, for repeating your nonsense about being cowardly. I don’t think you are a coward. And I never have.”

“I’ll b-be a c-coward forever if I d-don’t t-tell the t-truth,” he stammered. “I c-came here because I saw you in the w-window...”

“Yes?” Oh, goodness, the final strains of the music lilted through the room. At any moment, the crowd would applaud and then part. And she’d have to go back to being a governess. ’Twas difficult indeed to make the shift from lighthearted, desirable young woman to governess and chaperone, but it was her lot in life.

“I s-saw you in the w-window.” Whatever battle transpired was now over. The fire in his eyes was quenched, and his face settled into blank lines, as though he anticipated a blow. “And I d-didn’t w-want you to f-feel unhappy any l-longer.”

Her heart surged. Someone cared about her. Cared enough about her loneliness and her gloominess that he came in the back door of the Assembly Rooms, covered in dust, just to dance with her. “James, that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and touched his cheek with her lips. “Until you came, I was so terribly despondent. You’ve made my evening.”

The stubble of his chin felt rough against her lips, and her face heated to the roots of her hair. He must think her a terrible hoyden for kissing him. But he had been so kind at a moment when she’d felt so dejected. He was such a good man. To cover her embarrassment, she rambled on. “My father was a preacher. He ministered to the poor and to men in gaol. I often read the Bible and think on the work he did. And I think if my Papa were here to meet you, he would quote from Proverbs, ‘A man of knowledge uses words with restraint.’”