Loving Lucy Read online

  Loving Lucy

  By Lynne Connolly

  In Regency England, Lucy Moore has it all. But when she’s forced to go on the run, she has to depend on the kindness of strangers, people she’s never met, but have every reason to dislike her. At the depths of her despair, Philip finds her. Together they discover a passion that will last them a lifetime. If Lucy can survive the machinations of her mother and Sir Geoffrey.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments or locales is purely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Loving Lucy Copyright © 2012 Lynne Connolly

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  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First electronic publication: June 2012

  Chapter One

  Lady Lucy Moore looked about her with great satisfaction. Almack’s on a Wednesday, the night devoted to the cream of society. Still one of the queens of the fashionable world at four and twenty, surrounded by devoted admirers and close friends, she knew life didn’t get much better than this. Her main attraction of fortune proved irresistible to most people, and while Lucy was shrewd enough to know it, she was also not above enjoying it.

  Her mother, the dowager Lady Royston, was suffused with a similar feeling as she watched her only daughter manage her coterie of admirers. Turning to her sister and closest companion, Miss Honoria Simonson, she murmured, “Do you think Lucy shows a preference for anyone yet?”

  Miss Simonson studied Lucy for a moment before turning back to her benefactress. “I don’t think so, ma’am but she seems very taken with one or two of them. She has such pretty manners it’s hard to tell.”

  Lady Royston nodded, smiling a little for the benefit of any onlookers. “I’m determined not to allow her to fall into the hands of anyone who can’t control her properly.”

  Miss Simonson nodded in agreement. “Her future husband must be willing to take great care of her,” she remarked, tight lipped. “Such a sweet girl deserves to be cherished.” She sincerely believed Lucy had more to offer than fortune. Miss Simonson had overseen much of the upbringing of her niece, especially when her sister had been too fatigued to cope with the high spirits of a young girl. She feared that Lucy still showed her spirits a trifle too much on occasion, but she trusted that the man who eventually breached not only Lucy’s defences, but also those of her mother and aunt, would be able to control that. She was confident that Lucy would make some man a fine wife one day, but she had a little way to go before that day was reached.

  She watched while Lucy lowered black lashes over clear, blue eyes and then lifted them again, looking straight at the gentleman who was presently complimenting her. It had the desired effect, and the gentleman’s smile became considerably warmer. Lucy would never lack for suitors, with or without her fortune, and she was still young enough to enjoy her ability to charm. While not a Beauty, she had the attraction of liveliness, and her face and figure were good.

  A movement made Miss Simonson look up to see who was striding towards her niece and her sharp features softened when she saw it was Sir Geoffrey Sanders. She always had a penchant for a well turned out figure, and Sir Geoffrey had that in spades. His coat and breeches fitted him to perfection, outlining the strong shoulders and powerful legs underneath, and his smile when Lucy looked up at him lit his stern, dark features into positive affability. Her welcoming smile was warm, but no more than for anyone else. Lucy might be castigated as high spirited in some circles, but her society manners were impeccable.

  “I think the orchestra is about to strike up.” His voice cut through the babel surrounding her with no difficulty. “My dance, I think?”

  Glowing, Lucy stood up and gave him her hand. After a struggle with the Patronesses, she had been allowed to waltz. This wasn’t her first season, and she was one of the stars of the social firmament, so reluctantly the august leaders of society had given their permission.

  Lucy was a naturally graceful dancer, and in the arms of her latest admirer she felt divine. She lifted the edge of her lilac silk skirts and enjoyed herself thoroughly. Of course, she knew better than to let her frank enjoyment show - it would not do to be seen to be too enthusiastic. But she knew everyone watched, some with envy, some with admiration, but they watched.

  Lucy was no fool. She knew that soon she would have to accept an offer from one of her swains, one approved of by her mother, and then fortune or no, she must give way to another lovely girl, another young hopeful. Her time would be over. However, for now she would relish it all. And married life had its attractions, too, she supposed. She hadn’t really thought about the personal aspects, but it couldn’t be denied that a married person could command a liberty that in a single woman would be considered fast.

  She smiled up at Sir Geoffrey. He was new to her clique, although at thirty he’d been on the town for years. He smiled back, and the smile was just for her. It made her feel even more special. “You dance better than anyone else.” His light tenor voice was at odds with his saturnine handsomeness, but Lucy found it attractive, a piquant contrast. She liked him, and so did her mother and Aunt Honoria. However, he might be amusing himself with her, using her for a pleasant flirtation, so it wouldn’t do to be too particular. It was well known that Sir Geoffrey had inherited a substantial fortune from his father, and although he lived well, he couldn’t have run through it all yet, unless he gambled to excess. So it wouldn’t be her fortune he was after. It was another reason to like him. “Are you staying in London for the rest of the season, sir?”

  “I think so,” he replied evenly. “It usually bores me beyond bearing, but I think I may have found a reason to do so.” Lucy was encouraged to think the reason might include her. “Are you at home tomorrow?”

  She frowned, thinking. “Yes, we’re always at home on Thursdays.”

  “Worn out by the dissipation at Almack’s?”

  She giggled, an enchanting gurgle of a sound. “All that lemonade, you mean?”

  “Amongst other things.” He held her perfectly correctly, but she could feel the hard muscle under the smooth sleeve of his coat, and it brought a gentle thrill to her throat. “I have something I would particularly like to say to you.” His voice softened when he looked down at her, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. “You may be able to guess,” he added, in gentle tones only she could hear. Lucy lowered her gaze again and said nothing, but her softened expression was meant to give him encouragement.

  The dance came to an end; Sir Geoffrey offered her the support of his arm to lead her off the floor. His eyebrows went up in little startled by her sudden grimace of distaste. “Him.” Her voice filled with loathing. He looked towards the door and saw the object of her opprobrium.

  The man who had taken her father’s title and land. Of course, they couldn’t object to that, it had been known forever, but Everybody knew that he resented the division of the fortune in Lucy’s favour. The late Lord Royston, endowed with an adequate estate had taken what spare cash he could find, and invested it wisely on behalf of his daughter who, with the estate entailed, would lose everything without he
r father’s prudent investments. The present Lord Royston was the son of the last lord’s cousin; the nearest male relative. He and his brother had been invited to the Grange frequently to be taught how to go on, and when Lord Royston and his own elder brother died within six months of each other, he had inherited the title and entailed property.

  Lord Royston looked around the room as he entered, and seeing Lucy, bowed to her. Her response was frosty. She was glad she was leaning on the arm of one of the handsomest men in the room, demonstrating her indifference to him and her superiority. Not wishing to make their feud more public than it already was, she would accept his hand for the occasional dance and speak to him. She and her mother had no desire to make themselves an object of vulgar speculation, and Lucy must always be guided by her mother.

  “You don’t get on with your cousin?” queried Sir Geoffrey.

  “Not particularly sir.” She looked back at her escort, her face softening into a smile. “He resents the fact that I inherited the bulk of my father’s fortune - it was not entailed, so he could leave it where he would.”

  “But surely he must have been aware of that?”

  Lucy frowned. “His brother Bernard never made any secret of his resentment. He said the fortune should go with the estate, and a mere dowry left for me. He made no secret of his disapproval and it eventually left our families in dispute, but this one is more clever. He’s never mentioned it once, but he has tried to heal the breech.” She put up her pretty nose. “Of course we know better, and I won’t have anything to do with him.”

  “His brother?” Sir Geoffrey frowned, trying to recall him. “Oh yes. Killed in the war, wasn’t he?”

  “At Waterloo. His new lordship is scarcely out of mourning.” She cast a cold look at his new lordship who was conversing with a friend on the other side of the room, seemingly oblivious to her presence. She looked up at Sir Geoffrey and smiled shyly. Somehow, she felt safer by his side. Perhaps it was his size, or the way he seemed to take possession of her when he danced or walked with her.

  Her Mama mentioned Lord Royston’s presence when Lucy was once more stationed by her side, between dances. “Encroaching creature. I feel sure he has plans, but I cannot think what they could be.”

  “Calm yourself, Mama,” Lucy said soothingly. “He can do nothing.”

  “I thought at one time he would make a play for you, but - “

  Lucy made a little sound of disgust. “Surely you don’t suppose I would listen to him, any more than I did to his brother? Bernard Moore’s proposal was infamous, no fondness in it at all. It was only my fortune he wanted, ever. Never me.” It had offended more than her sense of propriety, and her mother had seen to it that Bernard Moore was ejected from her presence forthwith.

  “I know, my dear,” said her aunt. “We were up to all his tricks, weren’t we? Well this one shall not succeed either.” She watched the new Lord Royston take a young lady on the floor, taking his position with tolerable grace. “To do him justice,” she added, in a meditative tone, “He doesn’t encroach as much as his brother did.”

  Lady Royston’s brows snapped together in a frown. “He may be subtler, but he still won’t succeed. Lucy, have you seen anyone you could fancy in the least bit?” She stared pointedly at Sir Geoffrey.

  Lucy’s gaze wandered over to her erstwhile dancing partner, now approaching another damsel to solicit a dance. “I think Sir Geoffrey may be coming up to scratch.” She spoke as though she didn’t care in the least.

  Her mother made a small sound of delight. “Oh, that should be splendid. He cannot be said to be a fortune-hunter, and his manners and address are just what they should be. Can you like him, my dear?”

  Lucy remembered the feel of his arm, his warm smile. “Maybe.”

  “Oh.” Aunt Honoria said softly. “He’s coming across.” She didn’t mean Sir Geoffrey.

  Lord Royston bowed formally to them. “Have you a dance free tonight, ma’am?”

  “Surely, sir.” She placed her hand on his proffered one with just the right pressure, not too much, not too little. In frosty silence she allowed him to lead her on to the floor.

  This time Lucy was careful to place her hands lightly exactly where she should, and she determinedly stared at his chin as he whirled her around the floor. “I think this should confound the gossips. I know you can’t accept my presence, but I admire your appearance of cordiality.”

  “Thank you sir.” Her tone was not forthcoming.

  “I wish you would believe me when I say I want to be your friend.”

  “Would you be my friend if I was not in possession of my father’s fortune?”

  Firmly, he replied, “Yes.”

  Startled, she turned her head and looked at him directly. Blue gaze met blue. They shared the blue eye colouring, the dark hair, almost black, which characterised the Moores, but where her face was small featured and her chin enchantingly pointed, his face bore the stamp of masculinity. The connection between them was distant, the Moore family being decidedly unsuccessful in its pursuit of heirs, and apart from the eyes and hair they were entirely different. Philip Moore’s looks bore character rather than handsomeness, intelligence over fashionable ennui.

  Primed by her mother’s dislike, Lucy couldn’t like him. She thought his eyes sly, his look calculating, but that ‘yes’ had sounded genuine. It had startled her from such a source, and caught unawares, she smiled at him.

  He smiled back, a pleasant, friendly smile with none of the over familiar about it. For a moment, they were in accord, but then Lucy drew back, remembering who he was and what he wanted from her. They could never be friends, although they had been, a long time ago. Not now.

  “I wish you would believe me, Lucy, and trust your own judgement over your mother’s. She has had jurisdiction over you for too long. It’s time you thought for yourself.”

  “I must always consider my mother’s opinions. She only has my happiness in mind.”

  He grimaced, but the expression was soon gone. “I won’t argue with you, Lucy. I only ask that you consider me your friend in need. One day you may be brought to consider that I have only your interests at heart. Please bear it in mind.”

  Lucy gave him a sideways glance, but she didn’t voice her disagreement. They walked back to where Lucy’s mother and aunt sat in exaggerated formality, and then Lord Royston bowed and left her without another word. He went back to his own circle of friends and murmured to his particular crony, Lord Edward Wenlock, who favoured her with one quick glance of his expressive brown eyes before he looked away again. Lucy put her chin up and turned away. “How they had the impertinence to ask for vouchers, I’ll never know.” Lucy’s mother declared.

  “Why would that be, Lady Royston?” asked a nearby matron.

  “His father married into trade, you know. They stink of the shop floor.”

  “I think,” replied the matron, raising her fan to her lips, “she was a mercer’s daughter, was she not?”

  Lady Royston sniffed. “I really couldn’t say. I try not to interest myself too much with that connection.” but she couldn’t help adding; “I hear they had fingers in all sorts of pies.”

  Lucy had heard this before, but she’d never known what pies and which fingers. Her curiosity sometimes kept her awake at night, wondering what her mother meant. It was no good asking, she knew she wouldn’t receive a reply. Either Lady Royston didn’t know, or she didn’t choose to tell her gently reared daughter.

  Lucy ventured another look at the gentleman in question and was somewhat ruffled when she discovered him looking back. He held his wineglass up to her in a salute. Damn the man, she could hardly cut him here, and he knew it. With a frosty smile, she turned away, only to see Sir Geoffrey watching her, a troubled look in his eyes. She smiled warmly at him and the troubled look disappeared, to be replaced by an equally warm one. She walked towards him.

  Chapter Two

  The door to the dowager Lady Royston’s elegant bedroom burst open, admit
ting her daughter. Her ladyship had decided on a restful morning in bed after the exertions of the previous evening, and before her ‘at home’ this afternoon. A silver tray piled with the remains of her breakfast lay on the night stand next to her bed, and the pretty lace covers could hardly be seen under a layer of letters, invitations and newspapers. Lucy suffered herself to be pulled down for a morning kiss. Her ladyship favoured a particularly sweet perfume that bordered on the sickly. Lucy tried not to breathe in.

  Leaning back, she sat on the edge of the bed when her ladyship cleared a space for her. Lady Royston surveyed her only daughter with satisfaction. Dressed becomingly in a morning gown of ivory silk with pale green stripes, given definition by the darker green velvet ribbons at her hem, wrists and throat, she was everything a doting mama could wish for. Her blue eyes sparkled with youth and life; her dark hair gleamed with brushing. She took Lucy’s hand. “Dear child.”

  “Good morning Mama,” said her beloved child, not at all put out by her Mama’s look of doting fondness. Her mother’s moods were volatile, and it didn’t do to enter them wholeheartedly, but she was always aware of Lady Royston’s care and devotion to her. “Mama, I think we may have a visitor this morning.”

  “Oh? Who? If you in any way encouraged your cousin last night, I will tell you now that the house is still barred to him.”

  Lucy looked shocked. “No indeed, Mama, how can you think such a thing? Not at all. It is Sir Geoffrey who wishes to call.”

  “Sir Geoffrey?” echoed her ladyship, frozen for a bare moment by the thought.

  Lucy bounced gently on the bed, restraining her natural enthusiasm. ”Yes, Mama, he said most particularly he wished to speak to me.”

  Lady Royston sat up. “Oh.” She clutched a wisp of lace she frivolously called her handkerchief to her ample bosom. “I never thought he would be so precipitate.”

  “Mama, what should I do?”

  “Why are you asking me, dear child?”

  Lucy looked at her mother in surprise. “Why, Mama, because you are my Mama. Who else should I ask, pray?” Lucy had always come to her mother for advice, trusting her to give her best counsel.