Joined by Love Page 10

  And then it was as if she heard her Mama’s voice, saying, “Be happy, my Lucilla! Go to Paris. It is the most beautiful City in the world. Be happy, as that is the key that will unlock the Marquis’s heart.”

  Lucilla gasped as the words echoed inside her head.

  Her Mama’s pretty smiling face swam in front of her eyes, as she remembered how cheerful and gay she had always been and how everyone around her seemed to pick up her mood and be happy too.

  “I will try, Mama!” she breathed. “I will try.”

  Then Lucilla caught a glimpse of her own pale face and shining hair in the dressing table mirror.

  ‘I look so sad,’ she thought and she got up quickly and went over to the great mahogany wardrobe.

  Before she started lifting the dresses and coats from their hangers, Lucilla noticed a large trunk, stuck all over with colourful labels from France and Switzerland lying in the bottom of the wardrobe.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she realised that the trunk must have been sent home from Switzerland after her Mama had died.

  Something made her reach out and lift up the lid and inside she saw layer upon layer of muslin and tissue-wrapped packages. On top of the packages was a little red notebook, filled with her Mama’s elegant handwriting. It was the diary she had kept on her last holiday.

  As Lucilla picked it up, the book fell open and she read, “Oh, Paris, Paris! I am so glad to be here again. And these glorious new fashions that are inspired by the Russian Ballet! The styles and the brilliant colours will suit Lucilla’s figure and complexion perfectly. I shall buy as many dresses as I can for my lovely daughter.”

  All these carefully stored packages had been meant for her!

  Lucilla lifted them out and began to unwrap them, sighing with delight at the vivid pinks and reds and blues, and the glittering embroidery that covered the dresses.

  She held them up against herself and looked in her Mama’s long mirror, seeing again the dark-haired Russian Princess she had imagined herself to be when she wore the pink coat.

  And the new very fashionable, slim-cut silhouettes of the dresses suited her slim figure perfectly.

  “I shall go to Paris!” she cried. “And – come what may, I will be happy! Thank you, thank you, Mama!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Will mademoiselle require me to dress her hair this evening?” Mariette, the young French maid who was maiding Lucilla during her stay at the Hotel de la Reine, asked, as she stood politely by the gilded dressing table, an ivory comb in her hand. “Oh, yes please, Mariette, I have to look my very best this evening and I am sure you know the latest styles.”

  “D’accord, mademoiselle, it will be my pleasure!” Mariette said and with a few deft touches of the comb, she scooped Lucilla’s hair up into a glorious mass of shining tresses.

  “You are so quick,” Lucilla sighed, admiring the way that the new elegant hairstyle made her neck look very long and showed off her heart-shaped face to perfection.

  Mariette smiled, her round pink face glowing with pleasure under her white linen cap. “It is easy, mademoiselle, to work with such lovely hair. But come, you must see yourself in the mirroir.”

  She led Lucilla across the thick carpet to the big gold-framed mirror hanging on the wall.

  Lucilla caught her breath as she saw her reflection.

  She was wearing the prettiest of all the dresses that had come from her Mama’s trunk – a bright peacock blue gown embroidered with golden birds and exotic leaves.

  It was her favourite colour and it made her eyes look vividly blue and her hair shimmer.

  “Thank you, my darling Mama,” she whispered, under her breath, stroking the shimmering silk. Just for a moment she put the important function she was about to attend out of her mind. She smiled as she recalled the look of horror on the Stationmaster’s nephew’s face, when he saw not only the large trunk full of her special presents, but also the many other boxes she had filled with her Mama’s clothes.

  Somehow they managed to load everything into the trap and then they had to balance precariously on top, as the strong little pony bravely trotted back to Ferndean.

  And now Lucilla had everything a girl might need for a stay in the most fashionable City in Europe.

  Coats, dresses, shoes, scarves, stockings – all in the best possible taste and even her Mama’s clothes were a perfect fit, as they had been almost exactly the same size.

  It was hard to remember, sometimes, that ‘Letitia’ who she was now pretending to be, was supposed to be a stay-at-home and rather shy and retiring. But tonight of all nights, there was no need for her to restrain herself.

  Finest of all the clothes she had brought with her were the dresses that her Mama had bought especially for her – all the bright colours and the brilliantly embroidered patterns suited her perfectly.

  And this blue one was the best of all, which was why she had saved it for tonight.

  “I think I am ready, Mariette!” Lucilla said and the maid brought out her Mama’s white fur wrap and draped it around her shoulders.

  “Oui, mademoiselle! Just one petit chose.” And she then pinned a jewelled feather in Lucilla’s hair, murmuring, Ah, c’est très jolie!” It was time to go.

  *

  The Marquis of Castlebury paced up and down in the crowded lobby of the hotel, stopping every now and then to pull out his gold watch and check the time.

  There was still ten minutes before the carriage must leave, but he could not help feeling anxious.

  “We just cannot keep them waiting,” he mumbled, thinking of the impressive list of politicians, Ambassadors and French aristocrats who were attending the riverboat reception he had arranged for that evening.

  Why was it that girls always took such a long time to get ready? Even his beloved sister, Violet, who never bothered very much about clothes and finery, had kept him waiting on many an occasion.

  Lucilla was usually pretty punctual, but perhaps the French maid he had engaged for her was fussing about something.

  The Marquis took out his watch for the tenth time. There were still eight minutes to go before departure time.

  He was feeling especially nervous because it was such a prestigious occasion. It was his one big chance to make an impression, to fly the flag for the proud heritage of England, the glories of her countryside and the majesty of her country houses.

  If only Lucilla was with him now, she would make him forget his anxieties. He could be practising his speech for her and she could advise him and then make him laugh, as she always seemed to do.

  He was very glad that it was Lucilla who had come with him and not Violet. His sister would have known exactly how he was feeling and would have tried to show how much she cared, but she would have been so worried for him that she would have ended up making him even more nervous.

  There was a sudden hush in the lobby, as the hotel guests stopped chatting and laughing, and the Marquis saw that they were all looking towards the grand staircase.

  He turned to follow their gaze and saw a vision of beauty – a tall, brown-haired girl in a glittering, brilliant-blue dress slowly sweeping down the stairs.

  He noticed the fur stole and the gleaming feather in her hair and for a moment he thought that she was some visiting Noblewoman, perhaps from some exotic country like Russia.

  Then she saw him and smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly pink and he knew that it was Lucilla and for once, as she came up to him, he could not think of what to say.

  “Am I late?” she asked anxiously.

  The Marquis glanced at his watch. “No, you are five minutes early!”

  “Oh, good! I could not bear to be late, tonight of all nights. Do you think we should leave right away? And you can rehearse your speech for me in the carriage?”

  The Marquis found his nervousness disappearing, and he was now beginning to look forward to the evening ahead.

  “Absolutely,” he agreed. “Let’s go. And – Letitia, may I say that you are
looking truly splendid tonight!”

  He held out his arm and Lucilla placed her gloved hand on it, as they swept out of the lobby together to take their carriage down to the banks of the River Seine.

  There were so many important people packed onto the riverboat that evening that Lucilla was surprised that it could still float.

  Black-coated waiters, carrying huge magnums of champagne wrapped in linen towels, darted amongst all the Ducs and Counts and Ambassadors and Ministers and the salon where the reception was being held resounded with excited voices and peals of laughter.

  Lucilla took care only to take the tiniest sips of the champagne from her glass, as she knew that as soon as it was empty, it would be refilled and Nanny Groves had told her to be very careful not to drink too much.

  “Champagne goes so quickly to the head, my dear,” she had told her, as Lucilla called in to her room to say goodnight to her before she dressed. “And there will be plenty of it at such an important function. You must keep your wits about you, if you are to be polite and pleasant to all the dignitaries!”

  Lucilla smiled as she thought of Nanny, tucked up on a luxurious chaise longue with a cashmere shawl around her shoulders.

  It was delightful to see how much the old lady was enjoying herself at the elegant Hotel de la Reine.

  But, in spite of the fact that she had barely touched her champagne, Lucilla was finding it difficult to keep a level head.

  The Marquis’s speech had been a rousing success and he had finished to a torrent of applause.

  He had spoken so well, his dark eyes flashing and his whole being expressing the great passion he felt for his subject, that he had had an electric effect on the whole audience.

  And Lucilla could still feel the sharp thrill that had coursed through her body when he had looked straight at her and into her eyes, as he began his speech.

  For a moment she had felt as if he was speaking just to her.

  ‘I really must remember that I am Letitia!’ she told herself, and tried to keep a modest, quiet expression on her face as an elderly French politician came up to her and complimented her on her dress.

  “Surely it was inspired by the visit to us last year of the fantastic Ballets Russes!” he remarked, his wide white moustache waggling as he was speaking. “You must have seen them, mademoiselle?”

  Lucilla was about to tell him all about her Mama, and how she had bought the dress for her daughter after she had seen the dancers and their fabulous costumes, but she stopped herself just in time.

  “Non, monsieur!” she replied, looking down at her pretty gold-embroidered skirt, “I have never been to Paris before.”

  The Frenchman threw up his hands in amazement, exclaiming how he could not believe for a moment that anyone quite so exquisite could have spent all her life in the backwaters of the English countryside. And Lucilla was about to seize the opportunity of telling him that this proved the sentiments of the Marquis’s speech about English culture and heritage to be absolutely correct, when she became aware of a disturbance on the other side of the salon.

  “Why dontcha just gimme the bottle!” she heard a loud American voice shouting.

  “No!” whispered Lucilla, feeling the warmth and joy of the evening draining away from her, leaving her cold with fear.

  It was Harkness Jackson, exceedingly drunk, and trying to wrestle with one of the nimble French waiters, who was hanging on grimly to a magnum of champagne.

  “Excuse me, monsieur, I have to leave,” she told the politician, backing away from him so that she was as far away from Harkness Jackson as possible.

  She must leave the salon and find somewhere quiet and dark to hide herself away.

  It was no use turning to the Marquis for help, as a crowd of dignitaries were surrounding him, all vying for his attention.

  Lucilla had almost reached the door of the salon, when she heard the sound she most dreaded. A great roar of “Princess!” Harkness Jackson had seen her and was fighting his way through the crowd to reach her.

  “Lucilla!” he cried and lurched up to her, reeking of the champagne that had been spilled over his coat during his battle with the waiter.

  There was no escape. She could only stand and face him and try to make him leave her alone.

  “My name is Letitia, and I do not believe we have been introduced,” Lucilla battled back resolutely, fixing him with what she hoped was a cold blank stare.

  Harkness shook his head, as if trying to untangle the words he had just heard. “Letitia, Lucilla, whatever you like,” he muttered and then, as he shouted again, “you are my Princess,” he threw himself at her feet, wrapping his arms around her legs.

  Everyone standing around them was now backing away, their eyebrows raised in polite surprise.

  “What are you doing, sir?” The Marquis suddenly appeared at Lucilla’s side, his eyes flashing and his hands balled into fists.

  “Who the hell are you?” Harkness slurred, clinging tightly to Lucilla’s knees, so that she could hardly stand.

  “I am the Marquis of Castlebury and I would thank you to release my sister at once,” the Marquis asserted, his voice sharp as ice.

  “She’s my sweetheart – my Princess!” Harkness blurted out as he kissed the hem of Lucilla’s blue dress.

  “I think you are drunk, sir,” the Marquis hissed, “but that will not stop me hitting you if you do not desist from your ungentlemanly conduct right away!” He raised his fists, but just as he was about to fall upon Harkness Jackson, two of the waiters rushed up and seized the American by his arms, pulling him away from Lucilla.

  Harkness Jackson snarled with rage and blinked up at the Marquis. “Cash-thel-burry!” he slurred. “You scoundrel! You’ll be real shorry for thish!” And then the waiters dragged him away.

  Lucilla staggered to her feet, feeling suddenly faint and the Marquis turned to her and caught her in his arms.

  “My dear sweet girl,” he muttered, pressing his lips against her hair. “Are you all right?”

  Lucilla could not speak, for the shock of being in his arms, of feeling his tender clasp and the warmth of his body against hers was too great.

  But she managed to nod her head.

  Then she felt him gather her up as if she was a child and carry her to the door of the salon.

  “My sister has had a most terrible fright,” she heard him say. “I must attend to her, if you will excuse me.”

  And then they were outside in the fresh cold air and he put her down, so that she was standing next to him on the deck, under a multitude of stars glimmering in the night sky.

  “Lucilla,” the Marquis asked after a short moment. “That was the man you told me about the other day, wasn’t it? The American who wants to marry you?”

  Lucilla nodded.

  “What was he doing here?”

  “I just don’t – know!” she managed to say. “He is a very wealthy man – perhaps he is just the sort of person who would be invited – to these functions.”

  “I thought for a moment, when I saw him at your feet” the Marquis responded, his voice suddenly deep with emotion, “that you must have been – expecting him!”

  “No!” Lucilla cried. “I never want to see him again in my life!”

  The Marquis took her in his arms again. “It shocked me to see you like that,” he whispered.

  Lucilla leant against him, her heart so full of joy she could not move or speak, but could only watch the lighted windows of the elegant buildings on the riverbank drifting past.

  “How beautiful it is,” the Marquis remarked, after a moment. “I am so glad you are here with me.”

  “I am glad, too, my Lord. I think I have never been so happy in all my life.”

  “I suppose that I should go back inside,” he sighed. “There are so many people I must speak to. Lucilla – what do you want to do? Will you come with me?”

  Lucilla shook her head. She could not face going back into the crowded salon, where people were bound
to be curious about what had just happened.

  “I will sit out here and look at the beauty of Paris, and think how I shall describe it all to Nanny tomorrow!”

  The Marquis laughed and went to fetch her fur stole from the cloakroom.

  As he then wrapped its delicious warmth round her shoulders, he bent to whisper in her ear, “I quite understand that you might not want to go back into the salon now – even though I am sure that awful brute is quite safely out of the way. But I shall miss you, Lucilla. Promise me that you will take luncheon with me tomorrow – just the two of us!”

  Lucilla nodded, snuggling into her fur and watched him walk away from her back into the salon. Then she sat down on a little bench and looked up into the mass of stars glittering in the night sky above.

  *

  The next day, with Mariette’s help, Lucilla chose another of the dresses that her Mama had given her.

  This one was made from pink-and-cream striped satin with a large bow at the back of the waist.

  “It’s just perfect for a day dress, mademoiselle,” Mariette said, as she brushed Lucilla’s hair. “For it is so pretty and yet it is not at all – how do you say – formal?”

  There was a rap at the door and Mariette opened it to find one of the young boys who worked at the hotel.

  “A gentleman waits in the lobby for my Lady,” he said, struggling to speak in English.

  Lucilla jumped to her feet. “That will be the Marquis!” Mariette brought her a cream velvet coat with silver buttons and helped her into it.

  “This was Mama’s,” Lucilla told her with a sigh, as she slid her arms into the sleeves. “But it feels – a little odd, Mariette. It’s quite heavy!”

  She could feel the coat weighing on her shoulders, which did surprise her, as it was made of the finest sheer velvet.

  “It’s beautiful, mademoiselle!” Mariette enthused, adjusting the folds of the coat. “Yes, it is a little heavy, but it’s the perfect colour to go with your dress and perhaps the dressmaker has sewed a little something extra into the hem, to make it hang just right!”