Lily George (15 page)

“Yes, of course.” Lucy tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, her gentle brown eyes shining up at him.

They exited the side door and rushed down the steps. The hack stood patiently down at the foot of the stairs, but even with the carriage ready and waiting, the chilly rain drenched them all to the skin. He bundled Lucy inside and leaped in after her, Macready close on his heels. Macready slapped the side of the carriage before he shut the door, and the hack took off.

Lucy settled on the bench, laughing and wiping the raindrops off her cheeks with her gloved hands. “Oh, dear. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that you gentlemen were willing to share this ride. I would have had to wait inside until a break in the storm.”

“We’re only too glad to help,” Macready chimed in, before James could say anything. “What do you do with the veterans’ group, Miss Williams?”

“Well, I am a governess for Lord Bradbury’s daughters, and I am assisting the group by reading to the children,” she explained, peeling off her sodden gloves. “I hope someday to teach the children the rudiments of reading and writing. Perhaps a little basic arithmetic.”

“Excellent. I know you’ll do a superb job. Rowland here speaks quite highly of you.”

James slanted a warning glance at his friend as the color rose in Lucy’s cheeks. Macready turned to less potentially dangerous topics, maintaining a pleasant stream of chatter as they rolled toward the Crescent. Even James was able to dart in a comment here and there. As the carriage pulled up in front of his lordship’s impressive townhome, James helped Lucy out and escorted her to the back door.

Rejoining his friend in the carriage, he noted Macready’s pensive, almost meditative air. He rested, his chin in his hands, and stared out the window at the driving rain. “You know, Rowland, the bachelor life is quite losing its charm for me,” he muttered after a long pause. “Like you, I think I am ready to settle down.”

James clenched his jaw and said nothing. A suspicion, strong as black coffee, washed over him. Lucy made Macready doubt the bachelor lifestyle. He’d have to watch his comrade and his easy charm. Not that Lucy was the type of girl who was easily swayed—but still.

He was releasing most of his self-hatred. He was coming to accept his past and he now believed he could move on from his actions. But the old insecurities were slow to loosen their hold. Part of him still believed that Lucy could do better—that a stronger, braver man could make her happier. He would have to be wary lest some such man sought to steal her away. Caution was a virtue when happiness was so close.

Chapter Fifteen

L
ucy hesitated before Sophie’s door. Servants’ gossip was just servants’ gossip—but still. The house was abuzz with titillating details about what had transpired between Sophie and his lordship that morning. They’d been seen leaving the house together in his lordship’s carriage; Sophie was wearing a prized pearl necklace that had last been seen in the window of a very exclusive jeweler in Bath. And the pair of them had just returned not two hours ago with Sophie swooning on his lordship’s shoulder. Of course, the ready excuse was that Sophie was hungry and exhausted and had succumbed to a fainting fit. But everyone in the house, from the scullery maid to his lordship’s impassive butler, knew the truth. His lordship had made a certain offer to Sophie—but not an offer of marriage.

Or at least, that was the gist of things. The cook had spilled all the details out to Lucy over luncheon preparations. And if all of this were true, it would explain why Sophie was holed up in her room, hiding from everyone. Lucy stole up the stairs, her mind whirling at the news. She’d suspected that his lordship harbored some kind of affection for Sophie—indeed, what man wouldn’t? Sophie was so lovely. And Sophie had grown up in wealth and luxury, at least until her father’s death. Would she be willing to bankrupt her very soul and become Lord Bradbury’s mistress? Such an action would assuredly bring her the material comforts she’d been missing.

Lucy paused outside Sophie’s door. Though they were close in age, Lucy felt older than Sophie by years. She had been awakened to the harsh realities of life much quicker than Sophie, and had no family to back her as Sophie had. She had a responsibility to nurture Sophie and direct her on the right path. And yet, if Sophie suspected that Lucy was acting as her elder sister, she might just as easily balk and agree to become Lord Bradbury’s mistress out of pique. For there was nothing that Sophie disliked more than being told what to do.

No. She’d have to pretend to support Lord Bradbury. She’d have to show Sophie only the sensible aspects of becoming his mistress. And Sophie, who hated being preached to—rightly or wrongly—would then choose the right course of action.

Lucy knocked briefly and then let herself in. She squared her shoulders and assumed a look of practical nonchalance. “You look rather mutinous, Sophie. I fear that doesn’t portend well for Lord Anthony.”

“Would you have me stay in Bath and be his mistress?” Sophie snapped, sitting up sharply from her nest of pillows.

Lucy tilted her head to one side, considering Sophie’s situation. Now was the time to dictate all the supposed benefits of mistresshood. After all, there might be some good to be had from that kind of security. “Well, he would protect you. And you would be set up for life. He’s very generous—the way he treats his daughters, the high pay he lavishes on all the servants—he would never be stingy or mean.”

“He offered to set me up as a modiste. With my own townhome,” Sophie admitted, plucking at the fringe of her coverlet.

Lucy’s heart lurched. Was Sophie actually considering it? Her plan was going awry—she must lay on the sensible aspects with a trowel. “You see? You would never have a care in the world. And just think, Sophie. After turning down two marriage proposals and losing out with Charlie Cantrill, this may well be the best offer you will ever have. So why do you look like a thundercloud? Surely this is a wonderful bit of luck. You have nothing to lose by becoming his mistress.” Though the words choked her a bit, she steadied her voice and offered Sophie a brisk smile.

“I would lose my self-respect. I would lose everything. My life would be just like that vacant townhome he showed me today—beautiful but empty. I don’t love him. And I won’t debase myself by entering into a relationship with him that cannot be sanctified.”

Ah, there it was. Sophie knew she’d lose any sense of self she had if she agreed to Lord Bradbury’s terms. Lucy eyed her closely. Sophie’s mind was set, surely. But just to be sure, Lucy fired her last set of arrows. “But what of Louisa and Amelia? You could become like a second mother to both of them. They both adore you so.”

“I love them too, but I cannot be a second mother to those girls when I am a courtesan to their father.”

Lucy sat back and suppressed a wide grin. What a relief. Sophie had an honest and honorable heart, but she was also accustomed to a very different life than that of a seamstress. The temptations of a secure situation of greater luxury than she would ever be likely to earn on her own must have been powerful indeed. How good to know that Sophie’s higher principles had held strong.

She glanced speculatively at her friend. “How are you going to tell his lordship no? I would never, ever want to defy that man. He’s generous, but I think he would be a terrible adversary. Isn’t he coming up to see you this evening? What do you propose to do?” She had a sneaking suspicion that her diplomacy and tact would be called upon in the near future.

“I’m leaving.” Sophie threw off the coverlet and rose.

“Where are you going?” Lucy stared at her friend, her mouth dropping open.

“I’m going home to Tansley, where I belong. I’m leaving right now through the back door. And don’t you breathe a word of this to Lord Anthony.” Sophie scurried about, changing out of her chemise and into a dark wool riding habit. “I’ll take one small bag with me so that I can travel quickly. You can have the rest of my clothes.” Sophie opened a carpet bag and tossed a few garments inside.

Lucy leaped from the bed and knelt beside her on the floor. She was losing the only friend besides James that she had in Bath. That was deeply troubling on its own, but there was more at stake here than Lucy’s comfort. Sophie’s very safety could be at risk if she left without taking adequate preparations. “Sophie, are you mad? There is no way for you to travel alone. Have a little sense. At least stay the night and start fresh in the morning.”

“I have my own money. I shall hire a yellow bounder and leave right away.”

Sophie wasn’t thinking clearly. There was no way that Lucy would allow Sophie to leave in this state of mind and on such a long journey alone. “If you do that, I shall tell Lord Anthony. Right now.” Lucy stood and walked over to the door. “It’s simply not safe for any young woman to travel alone.”

“Botheration, are you on his side or mine?” Sophie snapped.

“Neither. But I would never forgive myself if you were harmed, Sophie.” Lucy’s hand rested on the doorknob. Her heart pounded in her chest. She’d never defied anyone this openly, but she couldn’t stand aside and watch her friend get hurt.

Sophie sat back on her heels. “Stop. Don’t tell him. I shall think of another way.” She paused for a moment, her brows drawing together. “I shall leave right away and go see my aunt Katherine, and she and I will arrange my travel together.”

Lucy removed her hand from the doorknob. If Sophie was traveling with family, then that would be all right. Certainly safer than going alone. “That’s more sensible. She will travel with you or send a servant.”

Sophie finished her packing and then turned to Lucy. “Will you find a way to tell Louisa and Amelia that I am all right and that I send my love? Without alerting Lord Anthony, of course.”

Lucy nodded, her brows drawing together. That would not be an easy conversation. Sophie was so adored by both of the girls. “I don’t relish the task, but I will.”

Sophie opened the drawer of her dresser and withdrew a leather pouch. She weighed it in one hand and looked at Lucy.

“I pawned the bracelet Lord Anthony gave me.”

Lucy nodded. “Yes, I know.” The bracelet, like her pearl necklace, had been the talk of the servants’ hall for many weeks.

“Do you think that the money I received from pawning the bracelet is mine? Or should I give it back to his lordship?”

Lucy paused for a moment, giving the matter some thought. It was a rather heavy moral issue. “Why did you sell the bracelet, Sophie? For material gain?”

“No. I sold it because it seemed like such a fetter. Even then I was being tied to Lord Anthony in a way I disliked. I was going to use the funds to make clothes for the widows and children of the veterans’ fund. I never had a chance to do so.”

“Oh, Sophie.” Lucy came over and folded her in a warm embrace. “Of course, it’s yours. I would keep it and do whatever I want with it. Lord Anthony has plenty of money, and besides, he gave that gift to you. It was yours to keep.”

“Then this is what I want you to do. After I am gone—several days after I am gone, in fact—I want you to take the money to Charlie and say it is an anonymous gift for the widows. Then, if you don’t mind, try working with the women to create a sort of sewing class or ladies’ group—one that would allow its members to sew dresses for each other.”

Lucy accepted the leather pouch from Sophie and opened it. “My goodness, there is enough money in here to feed and clothe several families for a year or more. Sophie, are you sure you want me to do this without telling Charlie anything?”

“Do not tell him it came from me.” Sophie hefted her valise in one hand. “When I came to Bath I had every intention of striking out on my own. And over these few months, I have failed at every turn. I failed with Charlie and now with Lord Anthony. I have barely begun to shepherd Amelia through the rigors of a London season. And I never had a chance to do anything for the widows.” She patted Lucy on the shoulder and crossed to the door. “Perhaps if I stay far removed from it, the Widows of Waterloo will become a success.”

“Sophie, don’t feel that way. None of this is your fault.” Lucy’s eyes burned with unshed tears. It was so difficult to see Sophie leaving. But then, feeling as she did, there was no other choice.

Sophie blew her a kiss. “I shall write when I get settled at Brookes Park.”

And then she was gone. Lucy blinked back the tears that pricked at her eyelids. There was nothing to do but allow Sophie to go back home. Perhaps in the comfort and security of her family, Sophie would find peace. She deserved it. She was such a sweet girl.

Lucy weighed the leather pouch full of coins in her hand. She certainly had her work cut out for her over the next few weeks. Telling the girls would be a stroll in the park compared to telling Lieutenant Cantrill that Sophie was gone. He likely wouldn’t believe her unless she told him everything, which meant finding a way to inform him that Lord Bradbury had tried to make Sophie his mistress. Not to mention that Lord Bradbury would probably have her hide if he found that she’d helped Sophie leave without his knowledge. And then, sometime in the next few days, James’s mother and sister would be arriving from their cottage in Essex.

Lucy trudged back over to Sophie’s bed and sank down onto its plump, soft surface. However would she make it through? She bowed her head and prayed for the strength to carry herself with dignity. After all, if Papa could minister in prison wards, then she could face down a few aristocrats.

* * *

“So, have your mother and sister arrived yet?” Macready inquired as he entered the parlor of James’s new home. “Have I missed anything important?”

“N-not yet.” James waved Macready over to a chair. “G-good of you to c-come t-tonight. It makes things easier, having your support.”

Macready sat and glanced at James with mirth twinkling in the depths of his black eyes. “So you think your mother won’t create a scene whilst I am here? You have that much faith in her innate breeding and tact?” He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “So what are you worried about?”

Everything. Nothing. It was all so complicated. “Mother won’t like that I am w-working with my hands,” he admitted. “She still c-clings to the n-notion that our family n-name m-means something. She probably d-daydreams that we should have a home of our own on the C-Crescent.”

“And instead, her only son is building a library for a lord in a townhome on the Crescent,” Macready finished. The corner of his mouth quirked ruefully. “I don’t envy you that conversation.”

“I haven’t t-told her about L-Lucy either,” he added. His nerves were so shot that he no longer cared if he kept his feelings about her a secret. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to tell Macready that they were, for all intents and purposes, engaged. After all, Macready had suspected something was afoot from the very first moment James laid eyes on Lucy.

“I am sure your mother will find her delightful—as we all do,” Macready said gallantly—a trifle too heartily, as well. Again, jealousy pierced James like a particularly cunning arrow. After all, Macready was handsome and wellborn and quite jolly to be around—much more so than he. ’Twas entirely possible that someone as sweet and delightful as Lucy would prefer Macready over him.

A knock sounded on the door, sparing James the necessity of a response. His new housekeeper, Mrs. Peyton, would answer it. He was used to getting his own door, but now he could afford a servant or two. And having a few people in service would help show Mother that he was getting on in the world.

“That’s probably your family.” Macready ran a finger under his collar, loosening it a bit. “I’m already nervous for you, old fellow.”

Nervous wasn’t precisely the right word for how he felt. This was worse than getting a poor mark in school and having to show it to his parents when he got home. This was more like trying to put back something you’d taken and getting caught in the process. Just like when he was a boy and got caught replacing Father’s pipe in the humidor after taking one sickening puff.

The parlor door opened, and Mrs. Peyton admitted his guests. Mother drifted in, pale and faded yet still lovely—rather like a worn lace curtain buffeted by a breeze. Mary followed behind, her bonnet completely obscuring her bowed head.

“M-M-M-M...” He hadn’t stammered this badly in months. He couldn’t even cease stammering long enough to try a new word. This was disastrous. His throat worked painfully, but only a series of gasps pushed their way out. He flicked a pained glance at Macready, who was staring openly at Mary. Perfect. Just when he needed help most, Macready’s mind was obviously elsewhere.

“James, my son.” Mother’s aristocratic features registered resignation at his plight. “Don’t try to speak. I know how difficult it is for you.” She bestowed a kiss on his cheek, then turned to survey the room. “My, what a cozy place this is.”