Lily George (21 page)

“I—I—I know that,” James agreed. “B-b-but how c-c-can I convince her to d-d-defy my m-mother?”

Felton’s expression softened, as though he were admitting defeat. “I don’t know. Maybe you can’t. You cannot blame her for being too good to go against your mother, no matter how much she loves you. So it’s up to you to convince your mother that you will have no one but Lucy.”

“You might as well t-t-tell me to move a m-mountain.” James pounded on the workbench with his clenched fists. “Mother is unyielding. She clings to the p-p-past the way a burr c-clings to your clothing.”

“Well, my boy, I have no advice to offer you, save to tell you it’s worth the fight,” Felton said, rising. “After all, you can always pluck a burr from your trousers. It may prick your finger, but you can get rid of it.”

James nodded. The task before him was overwhelming. Charging into battle again would be more welcome than convincing his mother she was wrong. After all, he knew what to expect in battle now. He wouldn’t be a coward any longer.

Felton turned toward the door, his hand resting on the latch. “And mind you, don’t destroy any more of those oak beams. If you need to relieve your temper, there are plenty of knotty pine logs in the back of the shop.” With a sympathetic grin, he departed, leaving James alone once more.

James rubbed his thumb along the rough surface of the workbench. This was a formidable task indeed. Was he equal to it? He was never much of a praying man, but the need to ask for help overwhelmed him. He said a silent prayer, begging for wisdom and strength. He would need it in the weeks to come.

Chapter Twenty-One

L
ucy sat in the dusky twilight of her room, her forehead pressed against the window glass. She was dizzy and, truth be told, a little light-headed. She’d taken nothing to eat or drink all day. And she’d cried until her eyes felt gritty, as though sand were abrading them. The mere fact that no one had come to knock on her door spoke volumes. Everyone must know her business. Should she be embarrassed by that fact? No, she was too tired to care. Tomorrow she would be back to her usual practical self. Today she could wallow in her own misery.

A knock sounded on the door. “Yes?” she called. The door was locked. No one could bound in without her permission.

“It’s me, Lucy.” Louisa answered, her voice slightly muffled by the closed door. “I have a tray for you. I thought you might be hungry.”

Lucy smiled faintly and rose. Louisa was a good girl—it spoke well of her maturity that she was thinking of others instead of just herself. She crossed the room and turned the key in the lock, allowing the door to swing open. Louisa came in, bearing a heavy white tray from which issued an array of tantalizing scents.

“I wanted to bring this to you myself, and not entrust it to that horrid Nancy,” she panted, relieving herself of her burden by placing it on a nearby table. “She gossips entirely too much.” Louisa lifted the covers, sniffing at each dish in turn. “I brought a roast chicken breast, some rice, a few
haricots verts
and a chocolate bombe,” she pronounced. “My favorite things—but then, I thought you might like them, too. They’re most comforting.”

“Thank you, dear,” Lucy murmured, pulling a chair before the table. “Have you eaten? Would you like to share?”

“I ate already,” Louisa admitted. “Although I would take a bite of the chocolate if you don’t mind sharing.”

“Take it all,” Lucy urged. She handed the dish and a spoon to Louisa, who settled on the settee. “I’m afraid I can’t eat chocolate right now. My stomach’s too upset.”

They ate in silence. The food smelled wonderful but tasted like ashes in her mouth. Still, she dined anyway. It would do no good to get sick and faint. She still had a duty to take care of her charges, and it would do her no favors to appear weak-willed and sickly to Lord Bradbury.

Louisa finished the bombe and licked the spoon. Then, setting the dish aside, she surveyed Lucy frankly. “I suppose you told the ensign no.”

Lucy sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. Of course, she had assumed that Louisa would guess the truth, but still—oh bother, she’d have to talk about it. “Yes. After all, I gave my word to his mother.”

“Oh, Lucy.” Louisa bit her lip, her large brown eyes widening. “I hoped you would say yes. I hoped you would elope to Gretna Green.”

“Gretna Green.” Lucy stared at her charge, her mind working rapidly. “How did you know he’d try to tempt me to Gretna Green?”

“Well—” Louisa’s cheeks turned a mottled shade of red. “I spoke to the ensign a little while ago. After you got home from tea with his mother.”

Lucy’s heart sank. Had her charge actually tried to play matchmaker? How humiliating. “What did you tell him?” she asked, her suspicions rising.

“The truth.” Louisa looked at Lucy with a frank expression on her face. “And I told him not to take no for an answer. I suggested he spirit you away to Gretna Green if necessary.” She tilted her chin and gazed at Lucy. “Did he say anything about eloping?”

Lucy sat back in her chair, defeated. She was so tired. So very, very tired. “Yes. But I still turned him away.” She clasped her hands and looked back at Louisa, returning her gaze for gaze. “You see, as an honorable person, I had to adhere to what I promised his mother,” she explained. “And my feelings shouldn’t enter the matter at all. If we wed without his mother’s blessing, our marriage would be rocky from the very beginning. It could spell trouble for us all our lives. So, in telling him no, I was actually sparing us all from a great deal of unhappiness.”

“Oh, Lucy. What are you going to do now?” Louisa’s eyes welled with tears. She sniffled and rubbed her nose on her sleeve.

“Well, first I am going to retrieve a handkerchief for you.” She rustled about in her workbasket until she found a clean, folded square of linen. “Here, don’t cry.” She handed the handkerchief to Louisa. “I’ve cried all day, and I can’t bear any more. If you start, then I won’t be able to stop again.”

“You seem so resigned to your decision, Lucy.” Louisa blew her nose. “How can you be so cool and practical about it?”

“You must understand that I grew up with very low expectations. The fact that I get to love and nurture you and Amelia is beyond anything I could have expected growing up. I never dreamed of a home and family. At most, I dreamed of having my own school, when I could save up the money to start. Already I have surpassed what most women in my station can hope to get out of life.” She stopped, biting her lip. She could not say it to her charge, but just knowing that once she had the love of a man like James Rowland would give her sustenance for the rest of her life. When she was old and lonely, she would sit in a corner and recall the look on his face as he bared his soul to her. It was something she could remember and treasure forever.

“I just want you to be happy, Lucy.” Louisa sniffled. “You’ve been like a mother to me. The best comfort I could hope for after Mama passed away. What would make you happy?”

As Lucy looked at her charge, a warm glow kindled in her heart. The girls needed her now. Other children would need her once Amelia and Louisa had grown. While she did not have the kind of romantic love that made for exciting novels, what she had was quite enough for a penniless orphan. Wasn’t it? “I want to help nurture you girls onto the right path. And when you have made your debut and no longer need me, I will move on to another house with other little girls who need a governess.” She smiled faintly at Louisa. “And, in the meantime, I shall work with the children of the veterans’ group, educating them so that they can go out and take their places in the world.”

Louisa nodded. “Very well, Lucy. But it isn’t a bit like anything in one of my novels.”

“You read too many novels,” Lucy admonished, a thread of reproof running through her tone. “And I want you to make a promise to me. Don’t go to see the ensign any longer. Don’t try to interfere. I know you meant well, and I love you for it. But he is very hurt and angry. We must give him time to heal. After a while, he will know that I was right.” For his mother was right, too. He could do so much better than her. Any woman would be happy to marry James. His handsome, angular face—the stubborn cowlick of sandy hair—his dark green eyes that could change from mischievous to tender in a matter of moments—and, of course, his temper and his endearing stammer and his large hands that could transform a block of wood into a work of art. He was an attractive man, whether he had a title or not, and in time, some pretty merchant’s daughter would make him a fine wife.

Louisa promised she would no longer interfere, and in a show of complete helpfulness and usefulness, she took her tray back down to the kitchens. What a fine young lady she was becoming—far removed from the self-absorbed little miss Lucy had met just a few years ago. Lucy changed into her sturdy cotton night rail and bathed her face and hands with rose-scented soap, using the basin and pitcher. Then she plaited her long curls and donned a nightcap. Already she was as set in her ways as an old maid. In no time, she would be sporting a pince-nez.

If she’d said yes to James, she might at this moment be speeding toward Gretna Green, breathless with laughter and excitement. But it would be a selfish pleasure all the same. There was something to be said for self-sacrifice. Even if it was the sacrifice of your own joy.

She blew out the candle and sank into an exhausted slumber.

* * *

It was well past dark when James finally came home. He’d worked in the shop all afternoon and well into the evening. When he could delay the inevitable no longer, he walked back to his home—the home that was meant for Lucy, himself and their children. Mother would be there—and Mary. And he didn’t want to face either of them.

Candles burned low in the parlor, giving off a guttering light as he let himself in the front door. Someone was still awake.

“James,” Mother called.

He groaned quietly. There was no chance at even sneaking upstairs and falling into bed. Mother had waited up for him.

He crossed the hallway and entered the parlor. “Yes?”

“You’re very late,” she said crossly. “Come in and sit with me for a moment. I’ve waited for you.”

He glowered at her from under his brows and sank into a chair near the hearth. “What is it?”

“Well, I shall come straight to the point. Macready and your sister are to be wed.” She heaved a gusty sigh. “He came here today in such a state—practically swept Mary off her feet. And when I objected, he insisted that you had given your blessing and that as head of our family, he was beholden to no one but you. Is that true?”

“Macready spoke t-to me about the matter recently,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mary seems to adore him. And he’s a g-g-good fellow. So I t-told him that he c-c-could p-pursue her.”

“Well, I don’t suppose we could have done better for Mary, with her stammer and all, and no dowry.” Mother sighed. “Still, I had hoped—”

“Mary’s happy. Macready’s ecstatic. Who are we t-to stand in the w-way?” He cleared his throat. “Macready will make a g-good husband, and they will live c-comfortably on his father’s estate. I d-don’t see why you are so upset.”

“Well, I had rather hoped to restore the Rowland fortune,” Mother admitted, a hopeful smile flitting across her face. “However, I may still depend upon you to do that, my dear son.”

He stood abruptly, sending his chair scraping across the floor. “We will talk no more about marriage tonight,” he snapped roughly. “Good night.”

He took the stairs two at a time, ignoring his mother’s protests as he quit the room. He was in no humor to talk about the Rowland fortune or marriage. He was barely able to contain his rage. He needed to bathe his blistered fingers in cool water and to rest his weary head on his pillow. He could deal with Mother’s hopes of restoring faded glory tomorrow when he had more strength.

Mary popped her head out of her bedroom door as he came up the stairs. “James.” Her eyes shone with a gentle light. “Come and sit with me for a moment.”

He gave Mary a brief hug and followed her into her room. “I hear c-congratulations are in order.”

She nodded, a shy smile lighting her pretty face. “And I have you t-to thank for it. Thank you for g-giving your b-blessing.”

The last thing he wanted to do was talk about weddings, but Mary looked so happy and so hopeful that he squashed his personal turmoil. “When’s the d-date?”

“Six months from now. In February. M-M-Mother wanted us t-to b-be engaged for at least a year, and Macready wanted only three months. So we c-c-compromised.”

James chuckled. “S-s-sounds like a fine c-compromise.”

“I even have my t-trousseau already.” Mary waved her hand at half a dozen brightly colored gowns scattered across her bed. “Lucy Williams gave them t-to me. They were g-given her by a friend, but she says she has no use for them. Aren’t they lovely?”

“They are.” He choked down the bile rising in his throat. “’Twas a thoughtful g-gift.”

“She seems like such a lovely g-girl. I like her very much. D-do you think she would b-be willing to stand up with me at my wedding? I have so few friends and all of them married. I’d like Lucy to be there. She’s a part of B-Bath, and a part of my c-courtship with Macready.”

He winced but pasted a grin on his face anyway. “I’m sure she’d be d-delighted.” He couldn’t even imagine what that meeting would be like, but then—’twas six months away. By then he’d have his Lucy by his side. He knew not how but it would happen.

“Oh, g-g-good.” Mary smiled at him and fell silent. They’d always been comfortable in silence together since childhood, and it was a welcome respite from making polite chatter.

At length, Mary spoke again. “Are you c-coming home to Essex, James? We m-miss you s-s-so.”

“No,” he replied. “My home is here n-now. I have more work c-c-coming in than I know how t-to handle. And I took p-possession of this home...” He trailed off. How much did Mary know of his romance with Lucy? She knew him well and had a strong sense of intuition; it was quite likely she had guessed at the truth from the first few moments of meeting Lucy. Yet, he had no strength to speak the words aloud to tell her what had occurred. He’d spent all day mastering his temper, and now he could not afford to let one spark of his anger flare anew.

She studied his face, her eyes growing softer as he spoke. “Of course, I t-t-told Mother as much,” she murmured. “After all, this is the home you hope t-to share with Lucy Williams. Am I right?”

“Yes.” ’Twas folly to try to keep the truth from Mary. She’d always been able to read him, just like she would read any book in Papa’s library.

“It would be very nice to c-call her my sister.” Mary clasped her hands in her lap. “Have you p-proposed yet?”

How much of Mother’s meddling should he keep from Mary? Did she know that Mother would have prevented a match between Macready and herself if she could? Did she know that Mother prevented Lucy from saying yes? He looked into her guileless eyes, her mouth upturned into a hopeful smile. She had a great deal of intuition, but he also longed to protect her from anything unpleasant. He ran his hands through his hair, defeated. He had no idea what to say.

Mary sat back in her chair. “I t-take it from your silence that something is amiss. Don’t worry, James. I won’t p-pry it from you. Just t-take heart and know that everything will work out well in the end. It d-did for me, and it will for you t-too.”

Sweet Mary and her innocent faith in the good in all things. He could not bear to taint her view of the world. He would take his bitterness and go—and leave her with her happiness and with the bloom still on her roses. She deserved happiness. He would not ruin it by telling her the truth. He managed a tight smile and rose.