Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Lady Pevensey’s correspondents hastened to inform her that Lucasta had been seen in Smart Jeremy’s calash, driving through Hyde Park. In retribution, her ladyship chose not to permit Lucasta to accompany them to the Duchess of Highcastle’s Venetian breakfast on Sunday.
Lucasta bore her punishment bravely and spent the hours in her music room, arranging Signor Marchesi’s song for the harpsichord.
She refused to speculate on what Lord Rudyard would have to say of the event, which proved an efficient use of her time, as Cici reported that he did not attend.
Lady Pevensey was extremely put out, and so was Her Grace the duchess, who had apparently been hoping to learn what Rudyard thought of the arrangement of feathers on her hat.
He had been as nervous as a cat on hot bricks at Sancho’s, uncomfortable to appear in an establishment run by an African family, even a prominent one.
Lucasta refused to devote a moment of her mental faculties to him.
He was a man who judged people by appearances, by their style or dress or the color of their skin.
She had pronounced him no better than he was, and she ought not feel disappointed that she had been proven right.
On Monday, the Duchess of Hunsdon held a tea, and Lady Pevensey left Lucasta at home again.
Lucasta, having been vocal in her disapproval of Cici’s many society engagements, could not now complain that she was left out of this one, though the Duchess of Hunsdon had been a student at Miss Gregoire’s and Lucasta very much wanted to learn more about those Greek histories.
She spent the moody hours with her violin, entertained a surprising number of callers, then ran round to her favorite stationer’s for paper and ink, though she knew she would not be permitted to perform her new compositions.
She was surrounded by a symphony of more and better music than she’d ever known in her life, and was not allowed to listen, much less play a part. It was like water denied a fever patient, last rites denied a victim of the plague.
Tuesday, Lucasta fell with gratitude upon a summons from Selina. Cici was occupied by her dancing master, and it was a simple matter for Lucasta to pull on her boots, cloak, and calash bonnet, then slip from the house. She was desperate for the company of her friends.
One never knew if one invited robbery more by walking a woman alone, in unremarkable clothing, or with a servant, which indicated enough wealth to make it possible she had something worth stealing.
London pickpockets were more ubiquitous, and imaginative, than ones in Bath.
One heard stories of boys in baker’s baskets plucking wigs off the heads of passing gentlemen, of women arriving at destinations without their pockets, never having felt the tug of their skirts nor heard the snip that cut the string.
Lucasta arrived in Brook Street without incident to find the others there before her.
Minnie, in Hanover Square, had the shortest distance to cover to the Humby residence, and Annis, coming from the ambassador’s quarters in Golden Square, had not much further.
They gathered in Mrs. Humby’s family drawing room, where the hand-painted wallpaper bloomed with plumed birds on their perches, and the hand-knotted Indian rug sprouted a profusion of vines and flowery medallions.
The room was warm and inviting, a dash of rich color against the dry London gloom.
Mrs. Humby, in a satin open robe over a ruffled petticoat, with a lace cap adorning her glossy black hair, presided over the tea tray. Selina tugged Lucasta toward a cluster of boxes laid across the settee and pressed a slip of paper into Lucasta’s hand.
“Lord Rudyard called upon Mama and me yesterday. And this morning, the box arrived. With a note.”
Lucasta read the neat, firm hand. I hope you will forgive my being so bold as to approach a young lady of such fashion and delicacy, but rumors of your kindness have given me the courage to inform you that I have recently established a shop at No.
– Piccadilly, in which I hope to serve young ladies of distinction in a manner that does credit to their beauty and taste.
I would be honored if Miss Selina Humby would care to call on me at her convenience to discuss making up a gown for her with the enclosed, which has been provided me with the compliments of Dixon they would turn it to their advantage. And Selina would make a good match to a man who loved her for herself.
Still, Rudyard’s gifts suggested he had listened to Lucasta. Beyond her supposedly clever epigram.
“We are only saying we approve of his taste, not of his beliefs,” Minnie reasoned. “And we can show him by example how to amend his ways.”
Lucasta watched her friends enjoy their gifts, wrapping themselves in the lengths of gorgeous silk.
Rudyard had chosen a fabric that complemented each girl’s coloring.
And by all reports, he had helped a young, friendless girl without resources set up her own shop so that she might achieve self-sufficiency, perhaps in time respectability.
That kindness sat at odds with the man who had curled up his lip upon entering Mrs. Sancho’s establishment. The man who, at finding Eliza blind, had struggled to mask his shock.
“So we’re to set aside our quarrel with Rudyard and his friends,” she murmured. And permit him to go on as he was, splendid of form and lacking in conscience.
“I shall wear this fabric whether I like him or not,” Annis exclaimed. “And furthermore, I shall pair it with the mink pelisse he hates, if only to show him that we may relent, but we are not in thrall.”
“Put your new fabrics aside, girls, and take your tea while it is hot,” Mrs. Humby prompted. “I have not seen you together for days! You must catch me up on everything, for Mr. Humby and I live very quietly, you know.”