Lily George (9 page)

“Ensign? A military man? Excellent. Then you know about discipline and whatnot.” Lord Bradbury clapped his hands. “Louisa may pick out the colors and the materials, but I want you to keep her in line when it comes to spending, Miss Williams. I’m depending on the three of you to handle this project—for I am far too worried to pay any attention to it. Louisa knows my tastes, Rowland knows carpentry and Miss Williams knows the value of a penny. I’m leaving it up to you three to finish this project and make me a happy man.”

Lord Bradbury gave a general bow to the room and left. Rowland was sorry to see him go. Now he was left with two females who were obviously not in great accord with each other about something—either this project, or possibly—just possibly—his presence.

He was never much of a commander, but he had to seize control of the situation. ’Twas the only way to remain in a professional frame of mind in Lucy’s presence. “M-Miss W-Williams, I shall draw up a few plans for your approval this afternoon. His l-lordship has already m-mentioned g-glass fronted b-b-bookcases. M-M-Miss L-Louisa, do you have any s-suggestions?”

“I shall have to give the matter quite a bit of thought,” Miss Louisa responded, giving him a grin. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ll leave you two here to work out the details and go mull it over in my room.”

“I’ll come with you,” Lucy responded. “Ensign, if you will send the plans to me when you are done, I shall be happy to look them over. And take your time with the measurements as well as the planning. I shall send Roberts, Lord Bradbury’s butler, in to assist you with anything you might require.”

She curtsied deeply, keeping her eyes cast down, and turned to follow her charge without a backward glance. As the door clicked shut behind them, Rowland grasped the edge of a table, holding on until his knuckles turned white.

He must remain master of his emotions. He’d be working with Lucy for the foreseeable future, and it would do no one any good if he thought of her as anything other than a partner in this project. After all, it was hardly likely that she could care for a worthless cripple like himself.

Chapter Nine

“O
h, Lucy, don’t be angry,” Louisa pleaded as they headed upstairs to the schoolroom. “After all, Papa’s library
does
need work. Even you noticed how shabby it has gotten over the years.”

Lucy wasn’t angry. She had had ample time to prepare herself for the inevitable confrontation with her charge from the moment Louisa ran upstairs to fetch her to the moment they both curtsied and left the room. The entire time she’d been coolly polite to the ensign, she’d been formulating just how to handle the matter of Louisa’s matchmaking in the back of her mind. And the solution dawned on her in that moment, like the sun breaking through the clouds.

She would do nothing. Nothing at all.

After all, anything she did would only fuel the fire of Louisa’s romantic daydreaming. If she allowed herself to show that Louisa’s actions in bringing the ensign to their home and having her work on a project with him threw her into a tizzy, Louisa would only continue to meddle. Louisa was determined to prove that the ensign and Lucy would fall in love like a couple in one of her romantic novels. But if Lucy grew nonchalant about the entire matter, then Louisa would lose interest and move on to something else, leaving her governess in peace. And perhaps Lucy could convince herself to truly be indifferent, as well. It was worth a try at any rate.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucy mustered in her heartiest, snippiest governess tone of voice. “If his lordship wants me to assist in this project, I should be happy to oblige. Don’t take on so, Louisa.”

Louisa paused on the landing and turned to face her teacher. Confusion quirked her eyebrows. “You—you mean you aren’t angry?”

“On the contrary,” she replied briskly. Her plan seemed to be working—no need to stop it now. “I shall do whatever his lordship bids me to do. It’s my job to do so after all.”

“Oh.” Louisa looked distinctly crestfallen, her shoulders sloping in disappointment. “I thought I would get a tongue-lashing.”

Lucy managed a bright laugh and continued her progress up the stairs. This was going better than she had thought. “Not at all. Now, this afternoon I should like it if you would spend some time working on your father’s library. Sketch out a few designs for furniture, if you like, and jot down any thoughts you have for furnishings. I want to have something to share with the ensign once we begin going over his plans.”

Louisa grumbled her reply, and Lucy was hard put to smother her grin. Served the little meddler right. She loved Louisa, but she had to learn not to interfere in other people’s affairs. Lucy would see to it that the girl spent as much time working on the library as the ensign. That would be her restitution for interfering in her instructor’s life. And by the time the library was refurbished and life returned to normal, ’twas quite likely that Miss Louisa Bradbury would be sick of the sight of libraries, blueprints and architectural renderings.

They worked in the schoolroom side by side until the shadows began to lengthen on the wall. ’Twas late afternoon—time to bring an end to the school day. As Lucy and Louisa began packing away their things, Sophie and Amelia bounded into the schoolroom— Sophie’s rosy cheeks and starry eyes indicating a high level of excitement.

“I leave tomorrow for Brightgate,” she announced breathlessly, grasping Lucy’s hands. “It’s all arranged. Aunt Katherine is taking me.”

“That’s wonderful.” Lucy squeezed Sophie’s hands. Though Sophie wouldn’t admit her feelings for Lieutenant Cantrill, they were as obvious as the dimples in her cheeks. This trip would likely wind up with their faux engagement becoming a reality. Which was wonderful, only—Lucy’s heart gave a little lurch. Then Sophie would go, and she’d be on her own again. She’d come to rely so heavily on Sophie’s friendship. She took the loneliness out of life.

“I think it’s horrid,” Amelia scoffed, flouncing over to a nearby chair with a huff. “For now I have no one to chaperone me next week. Papa won’t do it, you know. He’s always too busy with his own affairs once we arrive at a ball.”

Sophie and Lucy exchanged a mutually understanding glance. Lord Bradbury’s reputation, particularly as a wealthy and sportive widower, was well established amongst the
ton.
More than one highborn widow or captivating soubrette had been linked to his lordship since his wife’s passing. And while he was a dedicated father, he also put a lot of thought and emphasis into his
affaires de coeur.

“I think Lucy should escort you,” Sophie replied, casting a pleading glance in Lucy’s direction. Lucy understood the look. If they placated Amelia, then Sophie could go in peace. “Lucy is your governess after all. She understands all the rules of deportment just as well as I do.”

Amelia toed the rug with her slipper, her eyes stubbornly downcast. “Papa says that because Lucy isn’t of the gentry—”

Sophie cut her off with a snap of her fingers. “You shouldn’t repeat such nonsense, Amelia.” Her voice was so stern that Lucy eyed her curiously. Why would Sophie say such a thing? Whatever was the matter?

“Amelia, Louisa, we shall settle this matter later. Sophie has a chance to take a trip with her aunt, and we will not begrudge her the opportunity. Now, shoo.” Lucy flicked her hands at both girls, flushing them toward the doorway. “Your dancing master awaits your presence down in the ballroom.”

As both girls retreated, Lucy shut the door behind them. Now she would have an opportunity to get to the heart of the matter. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Sophie. “Why did you shush Amelia so sharply?”

Sophie colored to the roots of her golden hair. “She was about to say something rather rude—or so I feared.”

“Rude? In what way? I know full well that I am not of the gentry.” Lucy sank onto the chair opposite Sophie and cocked her head to one side. Both girls were a little spirited, to be sure—but hardly ever outright offensive. They were too well bred for that.

“I know, but what she was going to say was far too impolite toward you.” Sophie pursed her lips, her brilliant blue eyes clouding a bit. “You see, his lordship has a silly notion that because you grew up in an orphanage you don’t know the finer points of etiquette or how to move in society. That is why, even though I am a seamstress, he placed me in charge of Amelia’s debut.”

Lucy’s stomach sank like a stone. Of course his lordship felt that way. After all, Sophie’s father was Sir Hugh Handley, and they had a grand family home before they fell prey to bankruptcy. Even though Sophie had no money, she was of gentle birth and breeding. But even before Lucy lost both of her parents to gaol fever, she had no grand roots. Her father was nought but a humble preacher. And he preached to the least of them—prison inmates.

’Twas a background that hardly qualified her for socializing with the
ton.

Some of her conflicting emotions must have showed on her face, for Sophie leaned forward and hugged her. “Don’t worry, Lucy,” she soothed. “I’ve told his lordship that you are more than qualified to take over. And I insisted that you, and no one else, escort Amelia to the Assembly Rooms ball next week.”

“I am not angry or upset.” Lucy extricated herself from Sophie’s embrace, a cold feeling settling at the pit of her stomach. She could well understand why her employer would hold those beliefs about her, even if they weren’t true. It hurt, of course, to have Lord Bradbury say such things about her, but what could she do? That was how their world worked. And though she might be clever enough to teach his children, his lordship would never think of her as a gentlewoman.

Unbidden, an image of Ensign Rowland flashed across her mind. He was of impoverished nobility, much like Sophie. To his family, just like Lord Bradbury’s family, she would be labeled an outcast. No matter how clever she was, how hard she worked or even how genteel her deportment might be, their perceptions of her would hardly change.

Whatever did that matter? She had no designs on Ensign Rowland, nor had he designs on her. His family, wherever they were, could rest easily.

Taking a deep breath, she looked Sophie squarely in the eye. “I shall be happy to take Amelia to the Assembly Rooms ball if his lordship will consent to me acting as a chaperone. I daresay I can be trusted not to spit on the floor, nor chew on straw whilst we are there.” A thread of bitterness ran through her tone, and she masked it with a little laugh.

“I appreciate your help, Lucy. And I told his lordship on no uncertain terms that you are far more to be praised for how well his daughters have turned out as I am. After all, you’ve been with them for years. I’ve only been working with Amelia for a few months.” Sophie rose. “Excuse me, dear. I must begin packing.”

Lucy held herself together until the door clicked shut behind Sophie. Then, pillowing her head on her arm, she allowed herself one good cry. It had been a difficult day after all. The way in which the Bradburys interfered with her life, and judged her past, made matters worse. What would Ensign Rowland think of all this? She blew her nose on her embroidered handkerchief.

And why did she keep thinking about the ensign and what his thoughts would be? She was as insignificant to him as a dust mote on a bookshelf. Now, more than ever, she understood her place in this world. She must continue to take care of herself and to make her own way in the world.

With both parents dead and no family to speak of—not to mention her background in the orphanage—she could rely on no one but herself.

* * *

Ensign Rowland let himself into the humble flat he shared with Macready. He paused in the doorway, hanging his hat on the nearby wall hook and removed his gloves. He’d spent all day working on his lordship’s library. This one commission could make his career. As it was, he’d be earning enough money that he could, if he wanted, move into his own flat. He could hire his own housekeeper. For the first time in his life, he would be completely independent.

He tossed his gloves into a little wicker basket Mrs. Pierce kept by the door. It could actually be nice to have a home of one’s own. Nothing grand, of course. Just something modest and cozy that he could kit out with furniture he made by his own hand. A sudden image of Miss Lucy Williams flitted across his mind. It could be more like a home than just a bachelor’s quarters. And in time, maybe he could share it with...

Enough of this nonsense.
He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it as though the gesture could drive Lucy from his mind forever. She didn’t care a whit about him. Why, in the library today, she’d been as frosty as a snowflake. When would he accept that she had no personal feelings for him and that she’d only wanted to help him, as a Good Samaritan would help anyone?

“What ho, Rowland,” Macready called from the kitchen. “Mrs. Pierce was here. Chicken and pastry for dinner, my good fellow. You’d better come quickly before I devour the whole thing.”

And he would, too. Rowland rolled his eyes and ducked into the kitchen. “G-good thing I g-got here in time. Otherwise, t-t-t’would be bread and butter for me t-tonight.”

Macready grinned and retrieved a plate from the cabinet, holding it out to Rowland. “Here you go. Tuck in.”

Rowland spooned the rich mixture of chicken, gravy and delectable pastry bits onto his plate, breathing deeply. By Jove, but he was famished. This was just what he needed. Surely he had begun thinking about Lucy because hunger and fatigue had addled his mind. This meal would soon put him to rights. How many fellows had fallen in love because of an empty stomach?

“So, how were things at Felton’s today?” Macready asked around a mouthful of his dinner. Army manners. Good thing no ladies were present to witness the horror of their table etiquette.

“Interesting.” He related the tale of his new commission to Macready, who, judging by the way he set aside his fork and leaned forward in his chair, was an interested audience.

“Miss Williams? Isn’t she that pretty lass who was reading to you? And then came to see you at Felton’s shop the other day? Well, I say, well done, old fellow. Now you have all the time in the world to get to know one another and see if you suit.” Macready quirked his eyebrow at Rowland and refilled his plate for a third time.

“D-don’t b-be ridiculous.” Rowland’s face grew hot as though he sat too close to a fire. “We mean nothing to each other. We’re j-just working t-together.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you aren’t going to pursue Miss Williams? Good gracious, man, you
are
a fool. You have this opportunity—handed to you on a silver platter, I might add—to get to know a young lady who went out of her way to be kind to you. And you’re going to do nothing?” Macready gave him a puzzled, rueful grin. “That’s daft.”

Rowland’s anger surged to the surface. ’Twas intolerable to be called crazy just because he didn’t wish to make himself even more ridiculous in Lucy’s eyes. “You’re b-being absurd,” he countered, looking Macready squarely in the eyes. “She m-means nothing to me. And I m-mean nothing to her.”

Macready sat back in his chair, still smirking a bit. His posture was the posture of a man accepting a challenge, even though he knew the consequences. “You’re so worried about being a coward, aren’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here in Bath? Why you stammer so?”

Rowland clenched his hands into fists, breathing slowly as he attempted to regain control of his temper. Macready was going to feel the force of his left if he wasn’t careful.

“Whatever notion you’ve cooked up in your mind about Miss Williams should be thrown in the rubbish heap where it belongs,” Macready continued. “She’s a young lady, and a pretty one from all I’ve heard. She’s a governess, which means she’s clever—she knows black from white. She’s not feeble-minded or plain, and she’s making her own way in the world.” Macready ticked off this laundry list of attributes on his fingers, the scars running across his hand just visible in the dim kitchen light. “And she’s shown an interest in your welfare. Maybe you don’t know much about women, but allow me to enlighten you. They don’t, on average, offer to help and assist a fellow they don’t like.”

Rowland slung his fist across the table, sending his plate and cup smashing to the ground. “It’s out of pity!” he roared, smacking the surface of the table so hard it jumped. “Would you have me court her now? What a buffoon I’d be, trading on her gentle nature, trying to ingratiate myself on her compassion. How dare you call me coward for refusing to do that, Macready! I’m more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be.”