Lily George (22 page)

“Again, my b-best wishes to you and to Macready. He’ll make a fine husband for you.” He kissed the top of her head. “G-good night.”

“G-good night, James. Oh! I forgot t-to t-tell you. Mother s-says we shall j-journey back to Essex earlier than we p-planned t-to begin the wedding p-preparations. I expect we will l-leave in the next d-d-day or so.” Mary’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

That was the best news he’d heard all day. He nodded and quit the room. He could keep up the pretense of good cheer no longer. Another moment and he’d lose his temper altogether. Or break down crying like a fool.

Alone in his chamber at last, he bathed his sore hands and grimy face in the basin of water next to his bed. He was so weary that even the thought of making a quick supper seemed like too much work. He’d just go on to sleep and eat a hearty breakfast in the morning.

As he climbed into bed, his head swirled with thoughts and words and images from the day. Mary’s shy smile. Lucy’s wan expression, the hurt in her dark eyes.

He’d find a way to win Lucy back and to get her acceptance whether Mother approved of it or not. He was making his own way in the world, supplementing the paltry income left from Father’s estate, paying his mother’s bills and providing a roof over her head. He had a right to his own happiness and so did Lucy. He must find a way to break through her resistance and win her hand just as he’d won her heart.

He was a coward no longer.

He ground his teeth in the darkness.

Finally he’d found a cause for which he was willing to fight with his whole heart. And fight he would.

Chapter Twenty-Two

S
ummer faded as autumn’s chill nipped the air. Amelia’s grand debut drew to a close, and already Lord Bradbury was besieged by offers for her hand. Amelia herself had grown dreamy and silent, blushing furiously whenever a certain Lord Spencer was mentioned teasingly by Louisa. Lucy immersed herself in her charges’ affairs, living through them, vicariously enjoying their thrills and pleasures. She’d stopped attending the veterans’ group meetings, for the possibility of seeing James outstripped, for now, any chance to educate the young children of the widows and veterans. One day, perhaps, she could run the risk of seeing him, when emotions no longer ran high. But it had only been a matter of a few weeks, and the ache in the pit of her heart had not yet abated.

His lordship entered the schoolroom after a brief knock. “I hope I am not intruding.”

“Not at all, sir.” Lucy swept her notebook and pen aside. “I was merely making lesson plans for the week. How may I be of assistance?”

His lordship sat rather heavily onto a spare wooden chair. “I am sure you’ve heard of some of the rumors circulating about Amelia. The
on dit
is that young Spencer is quite enamored of her.” He ran his hand distractedly through his graying hair. “If her mother were here, I could confer with her. But as it is, I must prevail upon you.”

“Of course, your lordship. I shall do whatever is needed to help.” She gave him a comforting smile. He’d always been a good father, despite his dalliances with young blond things. Despite his great wealth, he seemed to care about his daughters and their welfare.

“I must know if you feel that Amelia is too young to be wed,” Lord Bradbury blurted. “You’ve seen her every day for several years. Is she ready to become a wife? To leave her father’s home?”

Lucy fell silent, considering the matter. Amelia was, of the two daughters, the more mature and worldly. Although Louisa was always her favorite, Lucy had to admit that Amelia had come into her own quite gracefully over time and was every day becoming more of a woman while Louisa was still in many ways a little girl. “I think that Amelia is a great deal more grown up than she was even just before her debut,” she began slowly. “On the other hand, she’s only sixteen. And she hasn’t had a London season yet, just her season in Bath. She’s hardly begun to experience what the world can offer.”

“True.” Lord Bradbury sighed. “But she is very taken with Spencer and he with her. The lad’s only two years older than she but has already come into his inheritance. He’s as solid and steady as they come, not like those London bucks who gamble and drink away their livings.”

“Have you spoken to Amelia at all about this matter?”

“No,” he admitted. “I find myself unable to broach the subject. Spencer came around to ask my permission just yesterday. I told him I would consider the matter.” He chuckled dryly. “It came as rather a shock to hear a young man asking for my Amelia. I suppose I still thought of her as being in leading-strings.”

Lucy laughed, tears springing to her eyes. “Come to think of it, so did I.” Here she’d been planning their lessons for the following week as though both her charges were still mere girls. No, one of them at least was already a woman. A pang of regret and nervousness tore through her.

“Ah, I knew it. You love them as I do. I see the tears in your eyes.” He laughed again, more softly this time. “What shall I do? Shall I give him permission to ask her?”

“As you said, Spencer is a good lad and a steady one. He has money of his own and cares for Amelia a great deal.” She sighed. “Her youth and inexperience make me want to hold her back. There’s nothing wrong with either of them. I just want them to be sure.”

“A long engagement, perhaps? I could stipulate that they wait a year.”

She shook her head. No, that would not work. Amelia would want to wed right away—she’d never been good at waiting for what she wanted. She glanced at his lordship with his bowed head and the wrinkles radiating from the corners of his eyes. He was growing older, and he wanted what was best for his daughter.

Parents always wanted the best for their children. If her own father and mother had been alive just a few short weeks ago, when James asked her—what would they have said? She had no doubt they would want her to be happy. Charlotte Rowland wanted what she thought was best for James, but would it make him happy?

“I don’t think parents should interfere in a match,” she blurted. “After all, it’s between the two of them. If you have no objections, then you should let matters unfold as they will. Great harm can come from parents who meddle too much in affairs of the heart.”

“So I should tell them yes. Or no?” His lordship scrubbed at his face with a weary hand. “I have no idea how to proceed. If this were a business negotiation or a political race then I would know exactly what to do. But when it comes to my little girl...tell me what to do, Miss Williams.”

“My advice is to sit with Amelia and talk to her about the matter. Tell her that Spencer has offered for her hand. Explain our reservations. And then tell her that you will back her decision no matter what.” If only Charlotte Rowland had done just that—aired her reservations and then left them to decide the best course for themselves. But then she made Lucy promise—and Lucy couldn’t go back on her word. As unhappy as the situation made her, she had the sense that somehow the universe would be made right again if Amelia got what she wanted. It would, in a way, right the wrong.

“I wish I’d had sons sometimes,” his lordship admitted wearily. “I can see now that having two attractive daughters will make me old and gray before my time.” He rose, smiling down at Lucy. “Thank you for having this conversation with me. Time and again we ask you to perform outside your duties. But know that we would not lean so heavily upon you if we did not care for your opinion.”

“Thank you, sir.” A brief spark lit within Lucy. What a kind thing for his lordship to say. And he was not one given to flattery. If he said the family valued her, then it was true.

His lordship turned to go, and then he swung back with a snap of his fingers. “Speaking of wedding madness, I had a letter from Charles Cantrill. Did you know that he and Sophie Handley are to be wed next month?”

“Yes, I had a letter from Sophie this week.” How very odd that Cantrill would write to his lordship. After all, he’d threatened to thrash the man for his improper advances to Sophie.

“We’ve been invited to the wedding—you, me and the girls,” Lord Bradbury added. “So, we shall plan to journey to Tansley in the next few weeks. I’ve a residence in the country out there. I’ll send word for them to start making it ready in anticipation of our visit.”

She couldn’t help it. Her mouth dropped open. How very cosmopolitan of his lordship to attend the wedding of the woman he’d asked to be his mistress. Just when she was coming to see his lordship as nothing more than an aging, doting father, he changed direction. She would never understand the gentry. Never.

His lordship smirked at her expression, his face growing a trifle red. “I know what you must be thinking, Miss Williams, but Cantrill and I had a bet. And I promised I would dance at his wedding if he carried through. It will all be perfectly friendly and respectable. Louisa and Amelia will be delighted to see Sophie again, and I am sure you will enjoy the trip too.”

“Of course, your lordship.” She bobbed a curtsy. After all, it wasn’t her place to condemn or criticize his actions. And besides, it sounded like this wedding invitation were an olive branch of sorts—a way for his lordship to make peace with Sophie and Cantrill.

Lord Bradbury nodded and quit the schoolroom, his shoulders slightly more stooped than when he came in. He did look older and a trifle more defeated. Funny how one simple matter was enough to age him so quickly, taking him from a carefree
bon vivant
to a tired, nervous father.

She gathered her things and prepared to close the schoolroom for the day. ’Twould be lovely to see Sophie again and to get out of Bath. In Tansley, she wouldn’t have to worry about running into the ensign. She could relax and enjoy the countryside, allowing her raw emotions to heal. And perhaps, by the time they returned, she would be helping Amelia prepare for her wedding. Yes, his lordship had the right of it. Wedding madness, indeed. She suppressed the twinge of jealousy that gnawed within her. She would not have a wedding, herself. But she could always enjoy the weddings of others.

* * *

“His Grace is very pleased with the way the ballroom is progressing.” The Earl of Cavendish’s man of business looked over the ledger before him. “The work is coming along quite well—you are on schedule and staying within your means. As a consequence of your good work, his grace would like to offer a bonus to you. He is gifting you the sum of two thousand pounds and asks if you will consider working on his country home, as well.”

James sat back in his chair, unsure he’d heard the man aright. The gentry, particularly well placed and wealthy gentry like the Earl, were not known for paying their bills in a timely manner. In fact, it was quite fashionable for the duns to seek them out. How very odd to get extra money—and in advance, too. “I’m not sure I understand,” he admitted. “More money? In advance?”

The man’s mouth quirked a little. “His grace is not like the gentry you’ve heard about. He’s very generous with his wealth when he feels it has been earned. Your worksmanship has made him quite happy. He’s prepared to give you enough work to keep you busy for a long time to come.” He pushed a leather pouch across the desk. “This is no advance on payment owed but a gift to show his intentions to keep you well occupied for the future. Two thousand pounds, with his grace’s gratitude.”

James’s head was still spinning wildly when he stepped out into the street. He’d earned the money Mother needed to restore the family’s fortunes, and he’d done so without marrying an heiress. No, indeed. He’d done it by his own hand. He would purchase a home for Mother in Essex, better than the cottage she had now, and he could give Mary a bit of a dowry. He was, in truth, the head of the family now.

He was ready to burst with the news, but there was no one to tell. Macready had gone home to his family estate, vacating his flat in Bath forever. Cantrill was in Tansley, making preparations to marry Sophie Handley in just a month or so. Felton had gone home to stay with his daughter and her family in Derbyshire. If only he could tell Lucy. He was only a few steps away from the Crescent. She’d be so proud of him, her large velvety eyes lighting up, and her generous mouth quirking in a welcome smile. But he’d avoided her these past few weeks. He was ashamed of the way they’d parted. How could he ever make it right? How could he convince her to be his?

Without knowing he’d done so, the Earl of Cavendish had given Ensign James Rowland the keys to his prison cell. With this money, he could convince his mother to change her mind. And then he could ask Lucy to be his once more.

He continued his progress, walking down into the heart of York Street. A sign caught his eye: Jennings and Crowley. Ah yes. Estate agents. Now was the time to take over and assert himself as head of the Rowland family.

“Can I help you, sir?” the clerk asked as James entered, the bell on the door tinkling merrily.

“Yes, I need to p-purchase t-two homes. One for m-m-myself and one for my m-mother. C-can you assist me with finding s-s-something small b-b-but nice in the Essex area?”

“I daresay we can, sir.” The clerk rose. “Just let me ask one of the gentlemen to come out and assist you. Did you want the two residences to be in Essex?”

“No.” James couldn’t suppress a chuckle. The clerk probably thought he was mad, but there it was. He would purchase his home here in Bath, and he and Lucy would make it theirs forever. And Mother would have her place in Essex. And if she were nice, she could come visit on occasion. On rare occasions.

“Very good, sir.” The clerk looked at him quizzically over the rim of his glasses but said nothing more.

When James stepped back out of the office a scant forty five minutes later, he was a landed man. He now owned his own cottage and had purchased what the agent described as a very pretty property for Mother not very far away from her current residence.

For the first time since Waterloo, he was himself again. Only better. More sure in his purpose. He’d go home now—to his home, the home he would share with Lucy for the rest of their lives—and write to Mother at once. And he’d send a letter to Mary, too, promising her a small dowry.

Mrs. Peyton greeted him as he opened the door. “The post just came,” she said. “There was a big fat letter from Tansley Village, so I put it on the top of the stack.”

“Thank you.” He went into his study and retrieved the missive from the silver tray on his desk. Yes, it was from Tansley. From Cantrill, actually. He broke the seal and poured over the contents.

As you know, Sophie and I are to be wed in November. We are asking all of our friends from the veterans’ group to join with us to share in our joy. Lord Bradbury has graciously offered to provide transportation to Tansley for any veteran or widow who cannot afford the journey on their own. We should love for you to be there, Rowland, not just as our friend but as a powerful reminder of what the veterans’ group means to all of us.

Of all of the men I have worked with, you have come the furthest. Your progress over the past few months is nothing short of astonishing. I know I sound like a schoolmaster or elder brother, but there it is. I am proud of you, and Felton is, too. He’s said as much to me, though he is old-fashioned and won’t praise you so highly to your face. I am sure he thinks it could inflate your vanity grotesquely or cause you to defect and start your own shop. But you can take it from me, as your fellow brother in arms—you have come far.

Sophie reminds me that while you are to be highly commended, your progress would not have been as swift or as complete without the help of her friend Lucy Williams. She claims nothing more than that but only wishes to add that Lucy will also be at the ceremony, since she will be there to chaperone Louisa and Amelia Bradbury.