Marrying Captain Jack. Anne Herries

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      ‘Mama! There is a letter for you.’ Lucy Horne ran into the parlour where her mother and great-aunt were sitting at their embroidery. ‘It is from Marianne!’

      ‘I have been expecting it,’ Mrs Horne said, looking fondly at her youngest daughter. Lucy was eighteen now, a beautiful, sweet-natured girl who asked for very little except to be with her family. She took the letter, breaking the impressive seal that her eldest daughter was, as the Marchioness of Marlbeck, entitled to use. She scanned the few lines Marianne had penned and smiled. ‘It is as I thought, Lucy. Your sister agrees that it is time for your come-out. She suggests that we all go to stay with her and Drew for the christening of their daughter—and then she and Drew will accompany us to London and we shall stay there for a few weeks.’

      ‘Mama! Is darling little Andrea to be christened?’ Lucy asked, her face lighting up. She had seized on what was for her the most important part of her mama’s news. ‘How lovely! It seems ages since we saw either of my sisters.’

      ‘You know that Marianne did not wish to travel immediately after the birth,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘But it is no more than six months since we were there and Jo visited with us a matter of five weeks ago.’

      ‘It seems longer,’ Lucy said and bent to kiss her mama’s cheek. She was happy living with her mama and Aunt Bertha, and she had made many friends, with whom she visited most weeks, but she was never happier than with her sisters. ‘It is so good of Marianne to think of it, Mama.’

      Mrs Horne nodded. ‘I asked for her advice, because I had thought of Bath, but Marianne insists it must be London, my love.’

      ‘Yes…’ Lucy nodded. She had been to Bath once or twice with her mama and her Aunt Bertha, but she had not attended the public dances, only private affairs given by their friends. Although she was used to mixing in company, she was not officially out. Lucy wasn’t sure how she felt about the coming Season, for she knew that it was usually seen as a chance for girls to find a husband. ‘It will be so much better if Marianne is with us.’

      Lucy went over to the window, standing with her back to her mama, gazing out at the garden, which was very pretty at this time of year, the herbaceous borders just coming into flower.

      ‘We must start to collect your wardrobe,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘Though perhaps it would be best to wait until we are at your sister’s. Marianne is so good with that sort of thing and she will know what the young girls are wearing this Season.’

      Lucy hardly heard her mother’s words. She liked pretty clothes, but often clung to things that she favoured long after her mama thought they should be discarded. She still had the blue velvet pelisse that Jo had made for her before they left the Vicarage where they had all grown up; it was one of her favourite things and she refused to part with it, even though she had more stylish ones in her armoire.

      She was thinking about someone…a gentleman she had met at Marianne’s wedding, which seemed such a long time ago now, but was just over three years. So much had happened since then. Marianne had married her marquis, and Jo was married to Hal Beverley. Yet the memory of Captain Harcourt’s smile and his teasing had remained with her, almost as bright as it was at the first. Of course he was Lord Harcourt really, but he had left the army some months after Napoleon Bonaparte’s defeat at Waterloo and only then adopted the title that had become his on his father’s death.

      Lucy pushed her fine, silky hair back from her face. It was the colour of moonlight, more silver-blonde than yellow, and set her apart from most other young ladies she met. Her complexion was soft cream and rose, her eyes were the colour of an azure sky, but could turn darker when she was distressed or angry. Lucy was not often angry, which gave others a false impression of her nature. She seemed a dreamy, gentle girl, mild mannered and perhaps a little insipid at first sight. In truth, she was far from that, for she had a temper when roused and she was a brave girl, but she took after her father. Papa Horne had always been a mild-mannered man, thoughtful, quiet, peace loving—but Lucy had once seen him thrash the sweep who had dared to set a fire under the climbing boy sent to clean the Vicarage chimneys.

      He had not known she was there, and when he discovered that she had witnessed the thrashing, he had looked ashamed and begged her to forgive him for subjecting her to such a disgraceful scene.

      ‘I lost my temper, Lucy,’ he had told her. ‘I should not have done it. I should have reasoned with the man, restrained him if need be—but what I did was unforgivable.’

      ‘No, Papa,’ Lucy told him with a smile. ‘I think that what you did was justified. He was a cruel man and needed to be taught a lesson. You were provoked by his cruelty and I think that God would understand your loss of temper.’

      Papa had smiled, shaken his head and kissed her. Lucy thought that her papa was the most perfect man ever to have lived and it had caused her terrible grief when he had died and they had had to leave the Vicarage. However, that was in the past now, and she had the future to look forward to—and she would be foolish to let her childish daydreams stop her enjoying her Season in town!

      She turned back to her mother with a smile. ‘I think I should like a yellow silk dress, Mama. I have seen some very pretty material that would make a lovely ballgown.’

      ‘You will need a great many dresses, Lucy,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘And, thanks to your aunt and sisters, you will be able to have the wardrobe you deserve.’