Lily George (17 page)

He bit his tongue and fell silent for the rest of the short journey to their new home in York Street. He always thought of it as Lucy’s home as well as his. It was meant for the two of them. Without her, there would be no need for a sweet, cozy home in his life. No, he’d still be rooming with Macready in their bachelor flat.

As the carriage slowed to a halt before the mounting block, Lucy glanced out the window. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “It’s so charming.”

And it was. The last threads of daylight were fading from the sky, and a smoky twilight enveloped the little house, shrouding it in a blue glow. Candles twinkled from every window—even the tiny dormer window that dotted the attic. A low iron fence contained the flower garden, which gave off the dusky attar of late summer roses. The stone cottage with its slate roof was beckoning to its future mistress with all the allurement of a diamond winking in a jeweler’s shop window. She had only to say one word and it could be hers.

He smothered a wry grin as he helped Lucy from the carriage. At least something was speaking in his favor to his beloved. Between his hot temper and his stammering tongue, he had very little to recommend himself. As they mounted the shallow steps that led to the front door, he bent low and whispered urgently in Lucy’s ear, “Welcome home, dearest.”

Chapter Seventeen

L
ucy hardly had a moment to compose herself before being thrown into the social whirl of meeting Charlotte and Mary Rowland. Fortunately, Macready was there, so she wasn’t the only guest. But she was the only guest with, perhaps, a deeper motive for her attendance. Though, judging by the way Macready gazed after Mary, perhaps he was there for another purpose, as well.

They gathered in a small dining room, where a rosy-cheeked, snowy-haired servant ladled out the soup course. It was a fine meal, and the dining room was everything that could be desired in a dining room. She’d always taken her meals dormitory-style at the orphanage; later on, after joining his lordship’s employ, she dined in the schoolroom or on a tray in her room. She’d always wondered why people thought of meals as convivial events. They never had been in her experience. And yet, as they gathered together under the candlelight, with a superb chicken soup warming their souls and Macready and James cracking jokes, it was a little more apparent why some people thought of meals as gatherings.

Was this what having her home, her own family could be like?

Mary leaned over, her dark green eyes sparkling. “I’m s-so g-glad to m-meet you finally,” she murmured. “James has certainly s-sung your p-praises to M-Mother and to m-me. And none of the p-praise was exaggerated.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Lucy’s heart warmed to Mary, whose stammer and whose wide, dark eyes were so like her brother’s. “Have you ever come to Bath before?”

“No,” Mary admitted, tucking a lock of honey-blond hair behind her ear. “We hardly ever t-travel outside of Essex. When James used to write t-to m-me from B-Belgium, it was such a thrill. T-to see those foreign m-markings on the envelope and to w-wonder what he was seeing.” She dropped her eyes to the tablecloth. “Of c-course, I had no idea of the horrors he w-witnessed. He c-concealed those from me as long as he c-could.”

Lucy nodded, slanting her gaze over at James. He was chatting with Macready about their youth. Charlotte Rowland occasionally interjected a languid comment. He really had pulled himself out of his self-contained misery. James was no longer a haunted, hunted shell of a soldier. He was back among the living.

She loved him for that. In fact, she loved James Rowland as she had loved no one before.

The clarity of her emotions startled her, like a beacon turned on the darkness, searing in its intensity. But there it was. She loved James. She always would, even decades from now when her memories had faded.

She tore her gaze away from James before he could look over at her. For if he did, the love she felt for him would be shining in her eyes, and he would see it—and all could be lost. Thus far, Charlotte Rowland had not given her any encouragement or sign that she was welcomed as a potential daughter-in-law. In fact, she’d hardly said anything beyond the usual expected
politesse.

Mary smiled. “He’s a g-good b-brother,” she confided. “He’ll m-make a g-good husband too, some d-day.”

Lucy cleared her throat. “Yes, I am sure he will.” Time to change the subject—move on to less contentious territory. “If you haven’t been to Bath before, there must be some things you’d like to see. What is on your itinerary whilst you are here?”

“Oh, I’d love t-to see all the famous spots—the Assembly Rooms, the Roman B-Baths, the Circus.” She plucked at the frayed collar of her dress with a rueful gesture. “I’d love a chance to p-peek into the windows of a real m-m-modiste.”

Lucy eyed the worn dresses that Mary and Mrs. Rowland wore, which were in sharp contrast to her own gown of buttercup-yellow, the bodice ruched and embroidered to perfection. Sophie had even embroidered the sleeves. What use had a governess for such gowns? Sophie had left a dozen or so behind. Wouldn’t it be lovely for Mary to have an entirely new wardrobe just for her trip to Bath?

“You know, I have just the thing for you, Mary. A friend of mine who is a modiste recently had to leave town and gifted me an entire wardrobe of gowns, such as the one I am wearing tonight.” She took a small spoonful of soup. “But as a governess, I can’t possibly make use of them all. They are far too pretty and impractical for a governess to wear. Would you like to have them?”

Mary gasped as though Lucy had offered her a treasure hoard. “Are you certain you can b-bear to p-part with them? If they are half as lovely as that g-gown, I can’t imagine anyone g-giving them away.”

“I would consider it a favor if you would take them and wear them until they fall to pieces,” Lucy said with a chuckle. “Otherwise, I shall feel guilty for keeping them in a chest, hidden away while I wear my serviceable grays and blacks.”

Mary’s eyes grew brighter, and she cast a shy glance over at Macready, who happened to look up at the same moment. Lucy caught their joined glances and looked away. How sweet—Mary and Macready admired each other. If everything worked as one hoped, then Mary’s first trip away from home could be everything a girl would want—a new wardrobe, amazing sights and a beau to call her own.

“I’d l-love the d-dresses if you really c-can’t use them,” Mary confided in an undertone. “B-but on one c-condition. You m-must k-keep the yellow one you’re wearing. When my b-brother c-came in the d-door with you on his arm, he l-looked so p-proud. I’m surprised he didn’t p-pop a waistcoat b-button, his chest was so p-puffed out.”

Now it was Lucy’s turn to blush, and her cheeks grew hot accordingly. “If you insist,” she replied quietly and turned her attention back to her soup.

The rest of the dinner passed rather uneventfully, and for that, Lucy was grateful. She sank into the gentle hospitality of James’s new home. Everything about it was so perfect. After dinner, as they gathered in the parlor, Lucy played the spinet while Mary sang. Her stammer disappeared entirely as she sang, and Macready watched her with rapt attention. James fixated on Lucy, his admiring glances and encouraging smiles combining to make her rather giddy. When the mantel clock chimed ten, she stood up with a regretful sigh.

“I really should go,” she said. “I usually awaken early to prepare my lessons.”

James stood with her and rang for his servant to order the hackney brought around. But his mother placed a retaining hand on his arm.

“James, dear,” she said in that quiet, languid tone of voice, “I wish you would stay here whilst Miss Williams is driven home.” She looked over at Lucy, her expression one of resignation. “I would like to speak with you before I retire.”

As though sensing the awkwardness of the moment, Macready sprang into social action. “I’ll escort Miss Williams home,” he said with a jovial laugh. “I must take advantage of a hackney cab wherever I can get one.”

Mary’s eyes flashed with a protective light, and Lucy’s stomach lurched with pity. Poor thing, to be so fearful of losing her sweetheart’s regard. As if Macready ever had any real designs on someone like Lucy. He was so obviously besotted with Mary. As she embraced Mary, she whispered, “He’s just being a gentleman. Good night.”

Mary nodded. “I know,” she whispered in return. “B-but—”

“Girls, that’s quite enough secret-sharing for tonight,” Mrs. Rowland broke in. “Good night, Miss Williams. It was a delight to meet you.” She curtsied briefly to Lucy and then turned to Macready. “A pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant.”

Lucy managed a curtsy for James but couldn’t trust herself to meet his gaze. This cozy house, James’s strength and gentleness, the warmth and conviviality of the company—why, for a moment she had almost believed they would all be hers. But his mother’s pretty blue eyes held a distinctly steely light as she said good-night. ’Twas quite likely that when she and Macready departed, all the talk would be about her and the reasons why she was a totally unsuitable match.

She took Macready’s arm and allowed him to lead her down the front steps. He handed her up into the carriage. At no point did she permit herself a backward glance. Doing so would only cause unnecessary pain. She must focus on the future, and her future did not, in all likelihood, have anything to do with Ensign James Rowland.

“I say, Mary Rowland is the prettiest creature I ever laid eyes on,” Macready pronounced as the carriage wheels rolled into motion. “Present company excluded, of course,” he added with exaggerated courtesy.

She chuckled. “If we were playing at a farce, I should tap you lightly on the arm with my fan for that remark.”

“Though your words are cheerful enough, your tone sounds rather wan,” he rejoined. “Were you disappointed in the Rowland family?”

“Not at all. I liked them very much. I’m just afraid that they don’t like me.” She settled back on the cushions. If she pressed back far enough, the carriage lamps could not illuminate her face, and that suited her quite well. There was no reason for Macready to read the truth in her expression.

“Why would you think that? Mary seemed quite taken with you.”

“Mary’s a dear.” Perhaps it was time to deflect the conversation from her feelings to Macready’s. “In fact, I think you two would be a perfect match.”

Macready gave an embarrassed cough. “You are a perceptive one, Miss Lucy.”

“I think I would have to be blind to miss the sparks between the two of you. Why, it was tantamount to watching a fireworks display at Vauxhall.” Macready spluttered, his cheeks flushing even in the dim carriage light, and she smiled at his discomfiture. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I am rather certain your feelings are returned.”

“I wish that were true.” He sighed. “Her mother wants better things for her, though. I am quite certain that life with an invalid soldier is not high on Charlotte Rowland’s list of priorities for her daughter.”

“But Mary stammers most dreadfully,” Lucy argued, tapping her finger on her knee. “And she has no dowry. The family is penniless. Despite their former noble status, Mary’s chances in the marriage mart are slim. And I know you, Macready. You are a good man. Any woman worth her salt would be lucky indeed to catch you.”

Macready regarded her quietly. “Why can’t you say the same for yourself? We are in the same boat, are we not?”

She sat back abruptly, hiding herself in the shadows. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Come now, don’t dissemble,” Macready wheedled. “It’s quite clear that you and Rowland have been enamored of each other for some time. Surely you see that you are the best thing that could possibly ever happen to him.”

“I’m a penniless orphan. A spinster. A lifelong governess. There’s no room in my life for love,” she argued, and her voice shook with suppressed anger.

“Rubbish. Excuses, all of them,” came the curt response from his corner of the carriage.

“What would you have me say? That I adore James? Well, I do. It’s true. But I also guarantee that his mother is talking him out of any thought of marriage between us right now.” She pressed her lips together, willing them to stop trembling.

“If that’s true, then you and I should form an alliance against Mother Rowland. We must work together to secure our own ends. Just like in the army—not breaking formation, presenting a united front to the enemy. For if she is talking Rowland out of marriage now, you know very well that she will be telling Mary that I am an unsuitable match, as well.”

She sighed. “What on earth can we do?”

“I shall prevail upon Rowland if you will do the same for Mary,” he suggested. “They will be here for a fortnight. So we must dance attendance on them as much as we can. And at the end of the two weeks, I will propose to Mary. I know that Rowland will do the same for you,” he reasoned.

Lucy’s cheeks burned hotly. Thank goodness the dim carriage light hid her flush. “He already has. But I postponed making an answer until after his mother leaves.”

“There you go.” He smiled and rubbed his hands together with mock glee. “Within two weeks, I daresay we will both be planning our weddings.”

The carriage lumbered to a halt, and Lucy gathered her skirts. What an odd evening it had been. And yet, it was good to have a friend and ally in Macready. He was rather like the elder brother she always wanted but never had.

He helped her out of the carriage and pressed her hand warmly. “Soldier on, Miss Lucy. All will be well.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “It’s good to have a fellow soldier in the fight.”

* * *

Mother sank into the worn velvet chair she favored, reaching her hands toward the blaze kindled in the hearth. James watched her warily. All evening, he knew this moment would come. He’d felt it in his gut. And now that it was here, he was already anxious to have done with the conversation.

“Mother, I know what you want t-to t-talk about, and I want to let you know that I won’t s-stand for any r-rude r-remarks about L-Lucy.” Perhaps if he began the attack, she would fall back, and her arguments would dissolve before they even began.

“On the contrary, she’s charming.” Mother sat back in her chair and poured a cup of tea from the china teapot on the table beside her. “But you do understand your position in the family. Charming though she may be, she is not the wife for you.”

“That’s m-m-my choice to m-make.” He leaned against the mantel, grasping it for support. The rough oak rubbed against his fingertips. He’d have to plane it and sand it down. There was no need for a mantelpiece to be so splintery.

“Of course.” Mother’s voice was so soft that he could barely register the remark. She blew gently on her tea before gingerly taking a sip. “But you do understand what I mean. If your father were here, he could put things so much better than I can.”

“You w-want me to marry an heiress.” His voice was growing louder. Mary could surely hear them arguing. But trying to hide anything from his sister was pointless. They’d known intuitively of each other’s sufferings and triumphs since childhood. Even if she didn’t hear their conversation, Mary probably already knew how he felt.

“Shush. Your servant might hear.” Mother carefully settled her teacup back in the saucer and turned her bright blue eyes on him, facing him squarely. “You’ve known for some time what I expect of you. Why do you act so defensively now? Your duty is to the family, and that means marrying someone who can restore our lost fortunes. Someone who, in exchange, would appreciate the value of our family name.” She dabbed at her mouth with her starched handkerchief. “Goodness, I detest having to put the facts so baldly, but since you insist on a confrontation...”