CHAPTER FOUR #2
“But you cannot be rid of it. I know. You would laugh if you could see the collection of dolls and childish games I insisted upon bringing with me to Pennington. Yet I have not looked at them from that day to this.”
Frowning round at the mass of items still awaiting her attention on the surrounding chairs, Lucy gave an exasperated sigh.
“I have a very good mind to throw the rest away.” She moved to a pile of old clothes.
“I cannot conceive that I shall ever wear the half of these things, even when I am out of mourning.”
“Take them,” advised Dion. “Mrs Lovedown has an excellent system for disposing of cast-off clothing.” She got up and came to join Lucy in sifting through the pile. “There is plenty of wear left in these. What you do not want will be much appreciated by those in less fortunate circumstances.”
Lucy felt herself to be scarcely more fortunate than the proposed poor recipients who might receive the offerings.
She ought not to indulge in the profligacy of discarding garments.
How was she to replace them? A horrid thought occurred.
Was she to be beholden to Lord Pennington for the very clothes upon her back?
Unthinkable. She had rather marry Mr Waley.
Remembrance caught at her, and she fairly jumped. “Oh, dear Lord! I must go at once to the church. I had forgot Mr Waley. How uncivil not to visit him at once.”
She hurried from the room as she spoke, hunting for where she had discarded her coat. Dion was hot on her heels.
“Who is this Mr Waley? Stefan said he is a curate.”
“He was Papa’s right hand, and a good friend to us both,” Lucy said, running upstairs. “I must have left my coat in the bedchamber.”
From the hallway, Dion called out. “Bring mine, will you?”
Lucy halted at the top of the stairs and turned, anxiety stirring in her bosom. “Oh, no, I must go alone. Pray, Dion, do you remain here. I will not be long. You may partake of some more of the cake we had earlier. And tea, if you wish for it. You will have to make it. But I must go by myself.”
It did not take many moments to array herself in her coat, and Lucy was just running down the stairs when a peal of the bell sounded at the front door.
Dion came in from the back premises as Lucy crossed towards the door. “That is likely Stefan, come to ask why we are taking so long.”
Just when she needed to be gone, Lucy thought. How typical of his lordship to arrive at an inconvenient moment. The last thing she wanted was for Stefan to thrust in upon her meeting with the curate.
She opened the door. Standing outside was Lord Pennington, in company with a thin gentleman on spindly legs. His near-skeletal features were only too well known to Lucy.
“Mr Waley!”
He peered with his habitual air of anxious concern through the spectacles which made a habit of dropping down his nose so he was obliged to be constantly pushing them back. “Dear Miss Lucy, I am so glad to see you returned.”
“I was just coming to find you.”
He cast a puzzled look at Stefan. “No need, dear Miss Lucy, no need, for his lordship found me instead.”
Heat sliced through Lucy in a flare of rage. How dared he interfere? She cast one fulminating glance at Stefan, with difficulty biting down upon the hot words rising to her tongue. Desperately she sought for other words, innocuous ones that would not give her away.
“What am I about, keeping you standing? Do come in, Mr Waley.” She pulled back to allow him to enter, taking opportunity the instant he had passed, to turn back and glare fury at Lord Pennington.
He met the look with a coolness which did nothing to improve her temper. “Am I included in your invitation?”
“Naturally.”
Lucy bit the word out, turning immediately into the house without waiting for him to enter and addressing herself to the curate.
“I’m afraid the parlour is all at sixes and sevens, Mr Waley, for we have been packing. Oh, this is Dion. Lady Dionisia Ankerville, I mean.”
The curate bowed awkwardly. “My lady.”
Dion’s eyes were alive with curiosity, raking the poor man’s person. Lucy tried to frown her down, perfectly aware of the impression he must create in the other girl’s mind.
“How do you do?”
“Mr Waley, come into Papa’s study, if you please,” said Lucy hastily, leading the way across the hall and opening the study door.
She had deliberately refrained from entering the room before, afraid of the memories, astutely managing to draw Dion’s attention away from that particular door. Her efforts proved vain. Mr Waley went in, closely followed by Dion, who exclaimed at once.
“Gracious, I have not seen this room before! Lucy, it is so quaint. Why did you not show it to me?”
Lucy moved through the door, aware of Stefan in her immediate rear. She would not turn. She would not acknowledge him. Let him see how angry he had made her.
She would not have chosen this way of re-entering the most important room in the house. In the event, what with the commotion and upset of the moment, she experienced only the briefest of tremors, and was at once called upon to play hostess. Her nerves and temper both steadied.
There were two prominent chairs, one behind the desk, the other before it, with a couple of straight backed chairs against the opposite wall. Unthinkable to sit in Papa’s seat. Lucy turned the chair before the desk and invited the curate to be seated.
Mr Waley demurred. “No, no, Miss Lucy. Do you take that chair. And my lady?”
He waved towards the chairs by the wall and Dion immediately perched on the further one. Lucy perforce sat down, noting Stefan remained standing by the door, dwarfing the little room in his greatcoat. She could not help but make comparison with poor Mr Waley’s far less prepossessing figure.
Lucy thrust the thought away, reflecting that at least Stefan’s manners were unimpeachable. Even if his actions were outrageously domineering.
Stefan caught the look she cast at him and his will strengthened. She might be as angry as she chose. At least he had thwarted whatever design she’d had in mind with this stick of a curate.
“I was exercised by your absence, Miss Lucy,” the fellow was saying, peering myopically at Lucy as if she were a specimen in a glass tank. “No one had the least idea where you were or for how long you would be gone.”
So she had told none here of her journey, reflected Stefan. Had he not said she was secretive? How was she going to get out of that one?
“I had business with Lord Pennington, sir, which — which was to do with my father’s legacy.”
Adroit, Lucy. Waley would take this “father” for Graydene, of course. The man looked pained.
“I had thought the lawyer dealt with all such matters.”
Stefan saw Lucy’s cheeks glow faintly pink. Should he intervene?
“It was a private matter. Nothing to do with the executor, or the will.”
Mr Waley’s hesitation was understandable.
It was evident he would much have preferred to conduct this interview in private.
His glance went from Dion to Stefan, a frown accentuating the extraordinary thinness of his features.
How Lucy could contemplate marriage with the man was beyond comprehension.
“This business. I take it you have successfully concluded it?”
It was Lucy’s turn to look from one to the other of her cousins. Stefan deprecated Dion’s mischievous look and hoped he maintained his own bland expression. He must feel his way, depending on how Lucy played it.
“Not entirely,” she said. She drew a breath. “I am going to stay with the Ankervilles for a space. Lord Pennington brought me back so that I may pack my trunks and complete arrangements here ready for the new incumbent.”
To say Mr Waley looked shocked would be understating the case. He looked shattered. Stefan could almost feel sorry for the fellow.
“Going away? For how long? I had hoped — I mean, I had supposed you would go to your aunt, if you went anywhere.”
Stefan threw a sharp glance at Lucy. This was the first he had heard of an aunt. How many more secrets were to unfold before he had the full picture of Lucy Graydene’s life?
She had the grace to look confused. “No. Unhappily I am unable to go to Aunt Harriet.”
Mr Waley’s upset and confusion were evident as his voice cut into a higher register. “But I had thought it settled. She spoke of it to me at the funeral. Indeed, she intimated a visit to you there would be welcome. I had expected — nay, desired — to be permitted to settle matters in due course.”
“Once I was out of mourning,” stated Lucy, in the flat tone Stefan had no difficulty in recognising as the one she used to conceal her true feelings. “Yes, I understood that, Mr Waley.”
She fell silent, and the curate appeared to recall their company, casting an unloving glance at Dion and Stefan, who resolved not to be ousted unless a specific request were made for privacy between the pair. Even then, he would be within his rights to insist upon Dion remaining as chaperon.
He realised Lucy was looking at him. Stefan read it in her eyes before she spoke. “I must speak to Mr Waley alone, if you please.”
There was nothing to do but acquiesce, loath as he was to retire from the lists. Who knew but if the fellow made his proposals, Lucy might not accept him? He made up his mind.
“Certainly. But before we leave you, Mr Waley, perhaps I may be permitted a word?”
He came under the beam of the curate’s bespectacled gaze. “As I am indebted to you for learning of Miss Lucy’s presence here, my lord, I am of course at your service.” He moved towards the door, but Stefan held up a hand.