Working Man, Society Bride. Mary Nichols

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ I beg you not to let your papa hear you say such things. You must conduct yourself with decorum, or you will find Mr Gorridge looking elsewhere.’

      Lucy would not have minded if he did, but decided it would be unwise to say so. ‘Is he looking at me for a future wife?’ she asked innocently. ‘If he is, he gave no sign of it.’

      ‘Perhaps he was waiting for a little encouragement.’

      Lucy doubted it. They had been carefully chaperoned the whole time, but on one occasion, when she had been strolling in the garden to cool down after a particularly strenuous dance at one of the balls they had attended, he had come upon her and flirted outrageously, even taking her hand and bending to kiss her cheek. She was sure that given the encouragement her mother was talking about he would have behaved even more disgracefully. She was glad when other dancers came out to join them and he returned to being the polite, courteous man he had been hitherto. ‘I cannot dissemble, Mama, it is not in my nature. When I meet the man of my dreams, he will need no encouragement to know how I feel.’

      ‘Oh, I am losing all patience with you, child. When we go to Linwood Park next month, it is to be hoped you will have come to your senses and realised you cannot let such a chance slip through your fingers.’

      ‘I wonder if Mr Gorridge is being told the same thing,’ Lucy mused.

      ‘Very likely,’ her mother said.

      There didn’t seem to be any answer to that and Lucy sat back and mused on what her mother had said. She did not think she was truly ready to commit herself to marriage and she was afraid of making a terrible mistake. It was all very well to talk of the man of her dreams, but who was he? How was she ever going to meet him? And what about Mr Gorridge? Why could she not oblige her mama and take to him? Was she doing him an injustice calling him a cold fish? Perhaps, in the surroundings of his own home, he might improve.

      ‘It’s been a long day—’ the Countess broke in on her thoughts ‘—and not over yet. I would much rather have travelled in the old way and stopped for a night somewhere. We could have stayed at a good hotel or put up with Cousin Arabella in Hertfordshire and arrived home feeling fresh. I am exhausted.’

      ‘You will be able to stay in bed until luncheon tomorrow if you want to.’

      The Countess laughed. ‘I might very well do so, seeing that your father is not due back until tomorrow evening. I do not know why he could not have done his business days ago and returned with us.’

      The Earl had escorted them to some of their social engagements, but much of the time was closeted with bankers and lawyers on business; as he did not consider it necessary or desirable to acquaint his wife with the nature of the business, she had no idea what it was all about.

      They fell into silence as the heat of the day cooled and the shadows lengthened. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the rumble of the wheels were soporific and they were almost dozing when the carriage turned off the main road on to a lane that wound uphill. When they topped the rise, they could see down into the valley where Luffenham Hall nestled, shielded from the prevailing east wind by the hill down which they were descending and a small stand of trees.

      Lucy roused herself to look out of the window as the carriage turned in at the wrought-iron gates. Ahead of her, at the end of a long drive, was the imposing façade of the house, with its redbrick walls covered in generations of creeper. At each corner of the building was a white stone turret with glazed slits for windows. Lucy always supposed her father’s forebears had been undecided whether to build a warm country house or a castle. The result was an incongruous mix, which she was happy to call home.

      Before the carriage came to a stop on the wide sweep of gravel at the front entrance, the door was flung open and a small figure in a nightshirt dashed down the steps to greet them. ‘He should be in bed,’ the Countess said, but she was smiling because Johnny had wrenched open the door before the coachman could do so and clambered inside to embrace his mother.

      ‘Oh, Mama, I’m so glad to see you. You’ve been gone ages and ages and I wanted you to see me riding Peggy. I jumped him over a fence and Collins said I’d make a huntsman yet.’ The little pony had optimistically been named Pegasus by Johnny, who was convinced he was a flyer, but the name had been shortened to Peggy.

      ‘I’ll see you ride tomorrow,’ his mother said, pushing him off her lap. ‘Do let us go indoors.’

      They trooped into the house, the inside of which was an eclectic mix of old and new, some large airy rooms, but many smaller rooms that had, over the years, been designated for particular purposes, which in a more modern house would have been included in the overall plan. The hall itself was large and covered in black-and-white marble tiles. Here they were met by the butler and Miss Bannister, who had come looking for her charge. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, but he would come down.’

      ‘So I see, but take him to bed now.’ And in answer to her son’s wails of protests that he wanted to hear all about their trip to London, she said, ‘Tomorrow will be time enough for that, Johnny. I am very tired after my journey, so run along, there’s a good boy.’

      He went reluctantly. Lucy could not help comparing the way he was treated by their mother with the way she and her sisters had been brought up. They would never have had the courage to defy Miss Bannister and come downstairs after they were supposed to be in bed and would certainly not have dared to argue with their parents about it. But it was understandable, she supposed. After having three daughters, her mother had given up hope of a son, and then Johnny had arrived, eight years after Esme, so was it any wonder he was the apple of his parents’ eye and they could not bring themselves to punish him when he was naughty?

      Annette, the maid, followed the governess and the boy upstairs to take off her bonnet and make sure there was hot water for her mistress in her room and her nightclothes were put out in readiness. Sarah, the most senior of chambermaids, would have done what was necessary for Lady Lucinda.

      ‘Miss Rosemary and Miss Esme are in the small saloon,’ the butler told them. ‘They have waited supper for you.’

      ‘Oh, dear, and I thought I would have supper in my room and go straight to bed,’ her ladyship said, not to the butler, of course, but to Lucy, as they made their way past an anteroom that served as a cloakroom and, ignoring the doors that led to the large reception rooms, proceeded down a gallery lined with pictures to one of the smaller rooms towards the back of the building where they sat when they had no visitors. ‘I really do not think I have the energy for their chatter.’

      ‘Then go to bed, Mama. I am sure they will understand. I will tell them all they want to know.’

      ‘I think I will,’ she agreed, joining her other daughters.

      Rosemary, at seventeen, was as tall as Lucy, but her hair was darker and piled up in loops and ringlets that had taken the maid who looked after her ages to produce. She was wearing a yellow-and-white striped dress with a cream lace bertha and tight sleeves ending in a fall of lace. Lucy, who was not so particular over her appearance, except when Annette was helping her to get ready for an important function at which she was expected to shine, had often thought that her sister was more in tune with what their mother expected of a daughter than she was. Lucy did not have the patience for elaborate hairstyles, preferring to tie her hair up and back and let the light-brown tresses fall in ringlets where they would. After her long journey, she yearned to brush it out.

      Fourteen-year-old Esme’s hair was lighter and was worn very simply tied back with ribbon. She had not yet lost her puppy fat and had plump, rosy cheeks and blue eyes. Her dress was a pale cream СКАЧАТЬ