Joined by Love Page 2

  Her heart skipped a beat, as she realised that she could not leave the salon without pushing past this man and he showed no sign of moving, but carried on leaning against the door.

  “Shall we dance, then?” he suggested with a laugh, dodging from side to side and blocking Lucilla’s way as she tried to edge past him. “Seriously, honey, I’ve been tryin’ to figure out a way to get you for my partner all evening. You must be the cutest little thing in the ballroom.”

  Lucilla felt her cheeks grow fiery hot, for he was staring at her with his little grey eyes in a way that made her feel most uncomfortable.

  “Hellooo!” There was a commotion outside the door and Lady Armstrong’s head appeared as she pushed it open. “Oh! There you are, Harkness! I didn’t realise you were a connoisseur of music.”

  “Oh yes, ma’am!” the man grinned. “Can’t resist, especially when there’s a pretty gal playin’.”

  “Harkness! You are really a naughty old so-and-so,” Lady Armstrong smiled. “This lovely creature is Lady Lucilla Welton. From Dorset. Terrible tragedy,” she went on in a lower voice. “Both parents lost, very sad.”

  Lucilla looked through the open door behind Lady Armstrong and longed to escape, but her Ladyship was still there talking now in a much louder voice.

  “Lucilla, dear, this is Mr. Harkness Jackson from America. A friend of my future-son-in-law, Mortimer. Mr. Harkness owns quite a number of oil wells, I believe!” And then Lady Armstrong fluttered her eyelashes at the American.

  Someone else had now come to the door and was looking into the salon.

  “I thought I heard someone playing Chopin?” It was the young man with the dark hair, who had been sitting reading a book on the sofa. “Yes – it was me.” Lucilla piped up. She wanted to speak to him, as she thought he was still looking rather sad, but Harkness Jackson had caught hold of her hand.

  “Lady Lucilla, I claim the next dance,” he grinned. “And let anyone who tries to cut in look out for himself!”

  Lucilla shivered at the touch of his thick hands on her arm and on her waist, and tried to hold herself away from him as he spun her around on the dance floor, but it was rather difficult, as he was quite overweight and kept pulling her against his bulky waistcoat.

  She knew that Harkness Jackson’s grey eyes were staring down at her, but she could not look up at him. Instead, she looked out for the young man with the dark hair and the sad brown eyes, but the sofa where he had been sitting was empty and he was nowhere to be seen amongst the other dancers.

  “One more dance, honey!” Harkness insisted, as the waltz began to draw to a close.

  “I am feeling rather tired,” Lucilla said, trying to pull her hand from his.

  “You English girls!” he laughed and he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Off you go then, run away from me! But I’ll catch up with you again soon, little Lady Lucilla!”

  Lucilla’s legs were trembling as she made her way to the entrance hall of Lady Armstrong’s mansion. “My wrap, please,” she said to the butler, who was standing by the front door. “And – would you see if my carriage has arrived yet? I have an awful headache and I should like to go right away.”

  She knew that it was very rude of her to leave early, but she just could not face another dance with Harkness Jackson.

  The butler brought her velvet wrap and helped her to drape it around her shoulders.

  “Your carriage arrived a few minutes ago and is waiting for you on the drive, my Lady. I shall inform her Ladyship that you are unwell and have gone home.”

  Lucilla made her way down the front steps to the carriage and felt the cool air blowing across her forehead.

  ‘How lovely,’ she told herself. ‘I have escaped and I need never see that man ever again!’

  And there was a smile on her lips as she lay back on the cushions and felt the wheels of the carriage bumping over the cobblestones.

  *

  Next morning, a robin was singing outside Lucilla’s bedroom window and the sweet notes broke into her sleep.

  For an instant she felt she was in her bedroom at Wellsprings Place and she could almost smell the delicious crisp bacon, the fresh-baked bread and the fragrant coffee that was always served at breakfast in her old home.

  But when she opened her eyes, instead of her own pretty white furniture and rose-patterned curtains, she saw the dark wooden wardrobe and the drab green walls of the small bedroom her aunt had allocated to her.

  On the other side of the net-curtained window, the robin sang bravely on, perched high in the bare branches of a plane tree in the street outside. ‘How can that little bird keep singing in the middle of London and in February, when everything is so dismal and grey?’ Lucilla thought. And as she dressed and went down to breakfast, she decided to follow the robin’s example and be as cheerful and bright as she could.

  Her Aunt Maud was already seated at the table and gave Lucilla a black look as she came in, for she insisted on punctuality at mealtimes.

  “If I have seen fit, out of the kindness of my heart, to offer you board and lodging, the least you can do is turn up in good time for the food that is prepared for you,” she grumbled, as she had done on so many previous occasions.

  Lucilla smiled at her aunt and apologised politely, although her heart sank at the sight of the vast tureen of porridge in the middle of the table. If only, just once, they could have some delicious fried bacon!

  “I hope you slept well, Aunt Maud,” Lucilla said, as she spooned the thick porridge into her bowl.

  “As a matter of fact,” her aunt replied, looking at Lucilla down her long nose, “I did not. I had just retired to my bedroom, when I heard the carriage and I realised that you had returned from Lady Armstrong’s. What were you thinking of, to leave so early?”

  “I – had – a headache,” Lucilla stammered.

  Aunt Maud snorted with disapproval. “And no wonder! If you ate the wholesome food that I provide for you, instead of finicking about with it, you would not be plagued with these ridiculous ailments.”

  Lucilla dipped her spoon in the grey porridge and tried to eat a mouthful of it, but it was tasteless and lumpy and made her feel sick.

  “So, before your ‘headache’ overtook you, I trust that you made the most of all the Social opportunities that came your way?” Aunt Maud continued, a questioning look in her little green eyes. “To whom did you speak? And who asked you to dance?”

  “I spoke to Ethel and I thought she looked very beautiful.”

  Aunt Maud shook her head. “You are being absurdly irritating, Lucilla. Which gentlemen did you speak to?”

  “Oh, there was a young man with dark hair – ” Lucilla began.

  “What was his name? Did you dance with him?”

  “I didn’t ask his name – and we didn’t dance – ”

  Aunt Maud’s long face was now turning red with annoyance. “Do you know how much that pale-blue dress cost, young lady? I wanted you to look your very best, as Lady Armstrong told me that some of the wealthiest and most significant men in England – many of them still unmarried – would attend that party. Did you hide in the cloakroom all evening? Did you manage to dance with anyone at all?”

  Lucilla felt a sharp chill run down her spine, as she thought of Mr. Harkness Jackson’s heavy hand holding her waist. “I did dance with an American gentleman, Aunt.”

  Aunt Maud sniffed. “Some young bounder, no doubt.”

  “Oh, no. He is quite old and Lady Armstrong told me that he owned a lot of oil wells.”

  “Really?” Aunt Maud’s neck lengthened and Lucilla thought she looked like a hen, which has spied a tasty morsel of grain. “Well, of course young Ethel has done so well for herself with her New York banker. The Armstrongs will never go short once she has tied the knot with him.”

  She smiled at Lucilla. “You are very lucky you have your title, my dear, and a modicum of good looks, for you have very little else to recommend you. What was this gentleman’s name?�
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  “Mr. Harkness – Jackson,” Lucilla muttered and felt her throat catching on the words. As she thanked her aunt for the porridge and asked if she might leave the table, Lucilla fervently hoped that she would never have to see that stout bald gentleman ever again.

  *

  The Marquis of Castlebury lay stretched out on the sofa in the drawing room at Appleton Hall, his ancestral home in Hampshire.

  His head was propped on a round pillow which had a posy of white daisies embroidered on it.

  “How could she do it to me, Violet?” he asked his elder sister, who was sitting opposite him on the other side of the fireplace and stitching some snowdrops onto a piece of cloth.

  At her feet, a little black-and-white dog was curled up asleep in its basket, its pointed nose resting on its long legs.

  “Dermot, I did tell you that you shouldn’t go to the engagement party,” Violet said, looking at her brother over gold-rimmed glasses. “I knew you would be upset.”

  “I had to go, Violet! I thought maybe she might see me and – change her mind.” The Marquis groaned and then buried his face in the pillow. “Dermot, darling boy, please try and forget her. I am sure Ethel really does like you very much indeed, but the Armstrongs have been in financial trouble for a long time. And this American – ”

  “Mortimer! Mortimer van Millingen!” the Marquis hissed. “What a ridiculous name!”

  “Ridiculous or not, he is supposed to be incredibly wealthy. And we are – well – we have enough money to be comfortable, but even with the income from the estate here at Castlebury, we would never have had enough to save Ethel and her family.”

  Violet’s large brown eyes stung with tears as she looked at her brother’s long limbs stretched out on the sofa with his dark curly head buried in a cushion.

  She hated to see him unhappy. It was still a shock to her, sometimes, to realise that he was a man now and the Head of the Family and not the cheerful little boy she had always loved and protected.

  “It must have been just horrid for you,” she sighed. “Was there anything nice at all about the party?”

  The Marquis sat up and swung his long legs to the floor. “Violet, I love you!” he cried. “You never fail to look for the good in everyone and everything.”

  He ran his hands through his curly hair, his eyes showing a spark of enthusiasm, as he continued, “Actually, there were a good number of politicians there and I was telling some of them about the restoration work we’ve been doing here at Appleton. One of the MPs, a chap with some sort of responsibility for trade and export was bemoaning the fact that we have all these wonderful country houses and such glorious treasures here in England and nobody from abroad ever comes to see them.”

  “That’s very true,” Violet agreed. “I always come back to England after a trip away and think it’s absolutely the most beautiful country in the world. And yet hardly any Europeans come to visit us, whereas we are always travelling to France, Italy and Germany.”

  “There is so much history tied up here and so many wonderful old buildings. So, this MP chap was asking me if I’d like to be an Ambassador, sort of, and go round some of the Cities in Europe to talk to people and persuade them to come over here and see some of our unique heritage.”

  “Yes!” Violet cried, laying her embroidery down and clasping her hands in excitement. “That’s a wonderful idea! After all, the Americans really appreciate our history and they are coming over in droves.”

  The Marquis looked as if he might be about to subside into the pillow again and Violet realised she had said the wrong thing.

  “Oh – Dermot, I didn’t mean – ”

  “Yes, they are coming here and they’re stealing our best girls as well!”

  “You’re just feeling bitter about Ethel.” “I am,” the Marquis nodded ruefully. “I just cannot believe what she’s done to me, Violet. She told me she loved me. And then she turned around and got engaged to this American, who’s old enough to be her father by the look of him.”

  Violet did not like the gloomy depressed expression that was clouding her brother’s handsome face. She had never known him to be so unhappy before.

  “I think it would be wonderful idea for you to go to Europe,” she said. “It will be a change of scenery for you and you will meet all sorts of interesting people.”

  The Marquis sighed. “I know what you are trying to do! You think, if I go off to Paris or somewhere and go to lots of receptions and parties, I’ll meet another girl and fall in love. Well – I won’t!”

  Violet tried to encourage her brother, but he was not having any of it.

  “I love Ethel and I know I’ll never meet a woman who could take her place in my heart,” he added bitterly. He stood up and walked to the window to look out over the wintry park, where a soft rain was now falling over the trees.

  “No, of course not. There will only ever be one Ethel,” Violet agreed, thinking perhaps it would be wise to go along with him. “But Dermot – just think! Paris in the springtime – ”

  Her brother spun round, turning his back on the grey skies and the rain. “All right, Violet. Maybe you have a point. I’ll go and do this Ambassador thing, but only if you come with me!”

  Violet tried not to show how much the thought of going abroad horrified her. She loved her home at Appleton Hall so very much, especially the beautiful gardens, where she had planted so many rare and delicate specimens.

  The thought of being away from the garden when the first bulbs would be coming out and leaving behind her precious little dog, Daisy, was most upsetting to her.

  But more than anything else she loved her brother.

  Violet then forced a bright smile onto her lips and enthused, “Oh, Dermot! What a wonderful idea. I can’t think of anything nicer. When shall we leave?”

  As soon as Violet spoke these words, she knew she had made the right decision, as her brother’s eyes were suddenly shining. “Just as soon as we can, Violet! We are going to have a great adventure, I just know it!” He strode from the window to hug his sister in his strong arms, as she valiantly hid the dread that welled up inside her, for a great adventure was the last thing Violet desired.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was a grey and rainy morning several days after Ethel’s engagement party, and Lucilla felt very despondent as she flicked a feather duster over the china ornaments on the corner cupboard in Aunt Maud’s drawing room.

  The fact that she was wearing an old cotton dress, and on top of it a big blue apron wrapped around to protect her from the dust did not help to raise her spirits.

  Aunt Maud was sitting in her usual armchair by the fireplace, wearing blue fingerless mittens to keep her hands warm as she worked away at her crochet.

  There was a fire in the grate, but it was a very small one, since Aunt Maud did not like to waste valuable coal, and the few flickering flames did not give off much heat.

  “Oh, do be careful!” Aunt Maud scolded, frowning at Lucilla. “I don’t like the way you are waving that duster so wildly. My china is priceless.”

  Lucilla apologised and then tried to be gentler, but it was difficult to reach the tallest of the ornaments without standing on tiptoe and holding the feather duster at arm’s length and this made her aunt even more annoyed.

  “Desist, you ridiculous girl!” she snorted, “you will have the whole lot on the floor in another moment. I shall have to find some other useful employment for you.”

  Lucilla stood on the rug in front of the fireplace and waited for her aunt to think of another tedious task for her to perform. ‘If only there was a piano I could play,’ she mused, as she had done every day since she had come to live with her aunt.

  Even if she could only practice her scales, she knew that the sound of the notes would make her feel so much better and, surely, Aunt Maud would consider scales to be a suitable improving occupation for a young lady. Suddenly, Lucilla heard a rusty squeak from the garden, which she knew meant that someone had opened the f
ront gate.

  “Aunt Maud, I think we have a visitor!” she said, forgetting herself and running to look out of the window.

  Two elegant ladies were now walking slowly up the path, their fashionable narrow skirts causing them to take very small steps.

  “I am not expecting anyone,” Aunt Maud remarked with a frown. “But now you have forgotten all decorum and gone rushing to peer our through the curtains like some tradesman’s wife, you might as well tell me who it is.”

  The two ladies were wearing stylish hats that were swathed in satin ribbons with veils of spotted net that hung down over their faces.

  Lucilla detected a glint of white-blonde hair under the veil of the tallest lady.

  “I think it might be Ethel and her Mama, Lady Armstrong!” she exclaimed.

  Aunt Maud now stood up and pulled the fingerless mittens from her hands.

  “Out of the way at once, Lucilla!” she ordered her. “Go to your room. And don’t come down again until you have put on one of the new dresses I have bought for you. You look a perfect disgrace.”

  As Lucilla ran up the stairs, she heard a polite rat-a-tat at the front door and then her aunt’s voice calling for the parlour maid, telling her not to answer the door until she had brought more coal for the fire.

  When Lucilla came down the stairs again in a blue-and-white striped day dress that her aunt had given her to wear on special occasions, she heard voices coming from the drawing room.

  She paused on the bottom step and held her breath to try and hear who was speaking.

  “I really must apologise, Lady Armstrong, for the rudeness of my niece in leaving Ethel’s party so early. I am doing my best with her – but really, she is still such a little country bumpkin!”

  It was her Aunt Maud and Lucilla winced as she heard herself spoken about in such a disapproving way.

  Next Lady Armstrong said something, but her voice was so quiet it was impossible to make out her words. Aunt Maud began again, “I have taken her in out of the kindness of my heart – and spared no expense to ensure that she has everything she needs. But it really is the most frightful inconvenience to be burdened with her at the moment.”