Loving Lucy (14 page)

“Yes indeed. Port is such a sweet drink it’s easy to forget how strong it is. I don’t think Mama would have approved of my tastes if she had found out.”

Philip laughed at that, and fell to remembering about his own childhood, not very different to Lucy’s, before they had met, before her father had despaired of producing an heir of his own. Brought up quietly in the country, taught at home before he was sent to Eton, and then up to
Oxford
. They continued for a while, sitting opposite each other, chatting and resting, until she stifled a yawn.

“Time for bed,” he said firmly. “I shouldn’t have kept you up so long.”

“Where do you sleep?”

He indicated the shabby upholstered chair next to the fire. “That and the footstool does me very well. But before we settle for the night - I should turn into your nurse again. I’m sorry, Lucy, I need to attend to your hurts.”

She didn’t protest. What would be the point? Instead, she took off her dressing gown and lay on her stomach, allowing him to draw up her night gown and bathe her wounds. Her trust almost unmanned him. “They’re getting much better now.” He used the same conversational tone he had used earlier. “Tomorrow we’ll work out what to do. I have a few ideas; we’ll talk it over then.” He worked in silence for a while. “You know what he did to you, don’t you? Everything, I mean?”

She paused, and then said, in a very quiet voice; “Yes. He raped me.”

There was a short pause and then he said, in a voice that shook very slightly, “Yes. When Porter was here I asked her to look and she assures me there was no lasting damage. You should know she dealt with all that, I left the room.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

With a surge that felt like being hit in the stomach by a clenched fist, she remembered it as though it was happening all over again. It didn’t help that she was lying on her stomach; the same position she was in when he’d violated her. The pain, the degradation, the despair, it all hit her again, and the wish that she could die now, suffer no more which had helped to block out the subsequent days in her memory.

She tried hard, very hard, but she felt the tears come, and then she couldn’t control them. She felt him pull her night gown back down, and then he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to him. He lifted her so she rested her head on his shoulder, and he let her cry.

She sobbed uncontrollably for a while, hearing her own breath come in struggling gasps, feeling the hot tears on her face, until she could take some breaths and try to control it a little better.

Lucy began to speak. “He hurt me. He said he loved me and then he hurt me so much. How could he do that?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, his lips against her hair. “I don’t know.”

“I knew what he was doing was wrong and I cried out but nobody came, nobody came. Philip, I cried for my mother, I haven’t done that
 
- “ she stopped to catch her breath - “for years, and she must have heard something, but she never came. I felt so alone.”

“Never again. Never again my love, I’ll never leave you alone.”

Bitterly she sobbed, and he held her tightly against him and rocked her as he might a baby. “I didn’t know what to do, where to go.” Again, a racking breath.

“He said - he said I must learn to be an obedient wife, do whatever he required of me. Best I learn now, he said, than later. He talked about taming me, like a dog, he said. Oh God, God.”

She cried again for a long time, and then gradually, she felt it leave her. The tension, the horror, all receded to manageable proportions, and she knew for certain that she would never be in that situation again, never be so helpless. She would make sure of it, make sure for herself. The determination replaced the despair, the helplessness, and she knew herself to be in control again.

He still murmured soothing words to her, and she could listen now. “I’ll always be here. Always be your friend. I’ll be anything you want me to be, anything you need.”

She sniffed doughtily and lifted her head, looking at him. They gazed at each other and then Lucy laughed shakily. “I must look a sight.”

“Not at all.” Keeping one arm protectively about her he dipped the cloth in the warm water at his feet and carefully wiped her face for her. “You look beautiful.”

She wrinkled her nose, some of her old self coming back. “Pooh. I’ve never been beautiful.”

“It depends who you ask,” came the steady reply.

Gazing at him she saw something, remembered something. “You called me ‘my love’,” she said. “Is that like - a man would say to his sister?”

He gazed steadfastly back at her. “No.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “Then - what? I’m too tired to think, Philip, tell me.”

He bit his lip. “I should have known I couldn’t keep it to myself in these circumstances.” He took a deep breath. Lucy felt it against her breasts, the sudden heave of his chest. “Since you will have it - I love you Lucy. I’ve loved you since we were children, and it’s just grown with me, become part of me. I’ve never loved you like a brother, because I loved you before I knew what it truly meant.” He held her in silence for a moment, and she let herself relax in his arms while he told her. “I’ve always known you weren’t for me. First Bernard wanted you, then your mother decided I wasn’t good enough for you, then you became betrothed to Sanders. If he’d loved you, treated you properly, I would have kept out of your way and got on with my life, but he didn’t. What else could I do, my love, except care for you?” He drew back, looked at her and smiled. “I’ve become so used to knowing I would have to do without you I almost persuaded myself I loved you like a brother. But I don’t. I never have.”

He looked at her calmly, but now she looked at him closer she could see the warmth in his eyes, the tenderness reflected on his face. And she didn’t know what to say.

“It’s all right,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to do anything, be anything. Just be happy. We’ll get out of this mess with as little fuss as we can contrive, and then you can get on with your life. I won’t repine, gaze at you with longing, I promise you that. Outside the works of certain imaginative authors that doesn’t happen. We’ll go our own ways, stay friends, I hope, and you will make me happy if you’re happy.”

“Oh Philip.”

“What is it, love?” He said the word caressingly, but not possessively.

“I’m so confused - I don’t know what I want, how I feel. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You can’t think properly after such a shock as you’ve had. You’ve been invaded - violated - how can you think at all? But I swear I won’t let that happen to you again. Just remember that I’m your friend, I’ll always come if you want me. Nothing else. I know you’re not for me, I’m used to that now, but to have your friendship means a great deal. And we are friends, are we not?”

“Oh yes.” She was certain of that at least. “How do you know you love me?”

He smiled. “I don’t know. I just do. When I look at you it makes me happy, gives me a feeling of contentment and restlessness all at the same time. I didn’t ask for it - but I’ve learned to live with it.”

Gently he lowered her until she lay against the pillows, making sure her hurts weren’t paining her too much. “You look tired. Sleep safe.” He kissed her forehead gently, bent down to pick up the basin, and left her.

He was right. She fell asleep almost at once.

Because she had slept so early, Lucy woke early the next morning. When she turned her head on the pillow, she saw Philip, head lolling against the back of the upholstered chair, sleeping peacefully, noiselessly. She lay still, anxious not to disturb him, and put her mind to thinking.

When she had woken up, when she had seen him, the wave of warmth, of happiness had been unmistakable. She had thought it was so yesterday but then she was still confused, despairing. Her torrent of tears last night had washed a lot of that away. It would always be there somewhere, but she was determined now that it shouldn’t control her life. And she would never marry Geoffrey Sanders, never.

How could she have been so blind? She thought of him, remembered how she had felt with him. Safe, cherished. She’d never felt that with Geoffrey, only, in the early days, a feverish excitement. But there was more here. Looking at his chest rising and falling with his breathing she wanted to touch it, wanted him to hold her again. And wanted to care for him, too. Could that be love? Not that fleeting thrill she had felt when Geoffrey kissed her but this deep, quiet, abiding feeling? Her mother’s prejudices gone, she looked at him anew. And knew it was so. They had spent a lot of time together when they had been young, and she supposed she had fallen into the habit of looking on him as her erstwhile playmate, but he had grown into a very attractive man, very popular, and not just for his new earldom. She knew him as she had never known Geoffrey. That, she saw now, had been a passing fancy, an infatuation. She wondered how many infatuations had grown into bad marriages, now the marriage market was an established thing and young people were allowed to choose for themselves, within reason. And how many had grown and blossomed into a livelong partnership, like the one she wanted now.

There was something she could do for him, and perhaps it was something she could also do for herself. She knew Philip would never presume on their situation now, unless she forced it, so she pushed her maidenly modesty aside and decided to act. Now, when they were forced into unnatural intimacy, before society regained its hold over both of them. Her head was clear, her mind made up. She only wondered how it had taken her so long to work it out.

Feeling the need to use the necessary, she slipped out of bed and made her way to the tiny powder room, the only other room they had been assigned. Although she tried to be quiet, when she returned he was awake.

They looked at each other for a moment and then smiled. Lucy was certain now. The warmth that filled her was unmistakable. “Good morning,” she said. “You couldn’t have slept well on that tiresome chair, but I hope you got some sleep.”

“I’ve slept on floors before. I can manage.” Throwing back his blanket, he revealed himself in shirt and pantaloons, now sadly creased without his valet to help him. The shirt was open at the neck, the formality of a stock or neckcloth dispensed with. He stood up and went into the little room, while Lucy got back into bed.

When he came back ten minutes later, Lucy saw he had changed into a fresh shirt and shaved. He seemed much brighter. “I’ll ring for breakfast.”

Breakfast was very quick in coming. It must be ready downstairs. Lucy ate from a tray on her bed. The conversation was kept determinedly mundane, but the maid brought a newspaper up with the breakfast this time, and while he ate Philip perused it for news.

He found something.

Glancing at Lucy, he read out,

The Dowager Lady Royston would like it known that her daughter, Lady Lucinda Moore, has gone into the country to recover from a severe chill. No serious effects are expected, and the proposed marriage to Sir Geoffrey Sanders will take place as arranged
.

“Strange she should choose the same excuse we did,” Lucy commented, her voice carefully devoid of expression.

“Not really,” he replied, in the same conversational tones. “It’s a common excuse. That and the headache.” They looked at each other and smiled, for no particular reason.

He glanced back at the paper, shaking the pages flat. “Some account of where your wedding breakfast will take place for the benefit of the curious. Nothing else. Your mother has managed to keep your flight secret.”

“She must be so worried.” She clasped her hands together tightly. “Should I not write to her?”

“No,” he said firmly. “When they find you - and they must be looking - they’ll try to make you marry Sir Geoffrey. The contract is still in force.”

“How can I cancel it?”

His voice held regret. “It has to be cancelled with the agreement of both parties, but there is another way.”

“What’s that?”

“Wait until after your proposed wedding day. Keep hidden. Then the day after, the contract will be void and you’ll no longer be bound to him.” He looked up from the paper. “We could go through with it, go and see your mother, defy her and refuse to marry Sir Geoffrey. A marriage which doesn’t have the free consent of both parties isn’t valid, you know.” He frowned. “But there will be a lot of dust kicked up, and I’m not sure you can cope with it all at the moment. He’ll be bound to sue you for breach of contract. He might do that anyway, but we may be able to find a way to dissuade him from taking that course.”

Lucy opened her mouth to protest, to say she was quite capable of denying her mother if he supported her, but then she thought of something else. Something she could not accept. Philip’s plan of hiding until after the wedding day would go along with that, would be better all round. Had he thought of it? She wasn’t sure. “But where can I go? I’m bound to say I think that’s the best option. I don’t think I can trust Geoffrey to keep his side and sign away my fortune. He’ll create trouble, perhaps sue me for breach of contract. But there aren’t many places I can go. And now,” she added, “I’m as poor as a church mouse.”

She looked comically crestfallen which made him burst into laughter. “I think we’ll manage. Even if you don’t have access to your funds, I can get at mine. But,” he continued, frowning, “I can’t take you to the Grange, or anywhere else near the fashionable world. The news would get back to her, try as we might to stop it. And if we’re discovered here or anywhere like it, your honour will be compromised entirely, and I won’t have that. No, you must be somewhere you can live in perfect propriety. I want you free to make your own decisions this time, not hemmed in by what is expected of you.”