Lucy (14 page)

“Miss Balfour-MacGregor!”

She looked up and found Andrew Harvey smiling down at her. He was mounted on a tall restless black horse which curvetted and whinnied.

Lucy smiled as the crowds, the carriages, MacGregor, Lady Vivian, the ambassadors, the dowagers, and the debutantes all fled a long, long way away, leaving her in a magic circle with Andrew Harvey.

“When did you arrive?” she asked while her heart cried out how much she had missed him.

“Only yesterday. I called to see you as soon as I could but you were too busy. Am I always going to have to pursue you?”

“I don’t know,” said Lucy in a small voice, feeling very gauche and stupid. The crowds and noise came rushing back and she was aware of interested glances in their direction.

“Well, I’m sure of it,” said Andrew lightly. “You rushed away from the ball without saying goodbye and then you rushed away from Dinard without saying good-bye. What an elusive girl you are. At least I’ve got you trapped for a few minutes.”

“Ah, we all know what a flirt you are, my dear Viscount,” said Lady Vivian. Andrew stared down his nose at her with thinly masked irritation. “I think I have just given up flirting, Lady Vivian.”

“My dear Andrew, you must never do that,” she teased. “What would us poor ladies do then? That is one thing about Andrew Harvey, we always say, he loves us all. The eternal bachelor.”

“It looks as if I shall remain the eternal bachelor,” said the much-goaded Andrew, “if I am never allowed to be serious.”

Lady Vivian waved her fan languidly to and fro. “Really! Who or what are you being serious about?”

“Isn’t that a friend of your husband over there,” said Andrew desperately. Lady Vivian turned around to look and Andrew again addressed himself to Lucy. “I’m giving a house party this weekend. Do say you’ll come.”

“If my father lets me,” said Lucy with a pleading look at MacGregor.

“It’s a bit sudden. The invitation, I mean,” said MacGregor.

Andrew had, in fact, just thought of it. “Oh, you’ll enjoy it, Mister Balfour-MacGregor. Bit of country air.”

“Where is your place?” asked MacGregor, who knew exactly where it was, how many rooms, and how much acreage.

“In Surrey, near Godalming. Not far. Lovely this time of year.”

“Then,” said MacGregor, “we shall be happy to accept your invitation.” Lucy gave a sigh of relief. The carriage jerked forward. They were nearly at the palace gates. Andrew Harvey swept off his hat. “I shall count the minutes until your arrival,” said Andrew.

Lady Vivian had turned back in time to catch his last remark. “Go along with you, Andrew,” she mocked. “I declare you’ve become quite a masher.” She caught a flash of pure rage in Andrew’s blue eyes and sat back in the carriage feeling startled. Could the eternal bachelor actually have fallen for Lucy?

Once outside their carriage and inside the palace, Lucy was appalled to find all these gorgeously dressed women turning into a veritable mob. They pushed and jostled and shoved like a rugby scrum in the anterooms, each one trying to be first. There was a wooden barrier held by ushers so that only so many were allowed in at a time. The rooms and the staircases of the palace were filled with flunkeys wearing royal-red liveries. They conducted the ladies into the dressing rooms where maids took care of their wraps.

Their Majesties entered the throne room from a side staircase, preceded by Lord Dundonald, the gold-stick-in-waiting, the silver-stick-in-waiting, the master of the horse, the Duke of Portland, the lord marshal of ceremonies, and the Duke of Norfolk. They all entered walking backward as well as they could in front of the king and queen. Captain Godfrey’s band played during the ceremony.

Queen Alexandria and King Edward VII took their places on the golden thrones that stood on a red dais. Standing around them were all the important royalties and the diplomatic corps. Jostling and pushing outside, the society ladies in gowns which had cost from one hundred to five hundred guineas, swore and scrabbled and punched.

At last it was Lucy’s turn.

Lady Vivian watched with bated breath. She saw the slim elegant figure of the girl move forward and make a beautiful curtsy. She was rising! Would she remember to walk backward? The king was saying something to her. Lucy was replying. The king and queen laughed. A lord-in-waiting moved forward and threw Lucy’s train over her arm and Lucy made her exit backward.

Lady Vivian clutched hold of Lucy’s arm. “What did he say?” she practically babbled. “And what did you say to make them laugh?”

Lucy smiled at her dreamily and said, “I don’t remember.”

“His Majesty speaks to you and
you don’t remember?”

How could Lucy tell the ultrasophisticated Lady Vivian that she had been thinking only of Andrew Harvey and dreaming of the visit to his home?

* * *

“What news from the front, my love,” demanded Lady Hester as Jeremy Brent strode into the room.

“Bad news,” he said, depositing his hat and cane on a table and coming forward to plant a perfunctory kiss on her rouged cheek. “Mmm! You smell divine. Lucy was all togged out in court dress and looking splendidly otherworldly and ethereal, flanked on one side by her father and on the other by that enameled bitch, Vivian Rochester. Andrew Harvey rides up to the carriage. The sleeping princess comes awake. She looks at him with her heart in her eyes. La Vivian says
quelque chose
and the usually urbane Harvey looks daggers at her. Followed Harvey to his club and Harvey tells his best friend, David Whitshire, that he’s having a house party this weekend. Whitshire says something about it being damned short notice and Harvey laughs and says the campaign is urgent. What do you think of that?”

Lady Hester bit her lip. “I could strangle Andrew Harvey,” she said. “Why does he have to go and get smitten after all these years? We must get ourselves invited!”

“How? Don’t know Harvey. Not in the army set myself, you know.”

“Let me think!” Lady Hester got up and began to pace the room, the blond lace of her tea gown trailing across the carpet. “I have it! His aunt, the dowager Marchioness of Homeleigh, acts as hostess when he’s entertaining. I know her slightly. She will invite us.”

“How?”

“I shall simply tell her we are coming. By the time she receives the wire we will be already on our road. Then it is all up to you. I shall keep Harvey amused. I am not without experience, you know.” She gave a little laugh and wound her arms around his neck. He held her close and they stayed for a few minutes entwined together, each with their own thoughts.

Hester was thinking that, with money, she would be able to hold Jeremy for much longer. And Jeremy was thinking, as he felt the wrinkled face against his own, that it would be extremely jolly to have all that money and a young bride as well. He would use Hester and drop her as soon as he was safely married. He gently disengaged himself.

“And you are sure no one suspects us of anything?” he asked. “Think what happened at Madame Rejinsky’s.”

“Pooh!” said Hester lightly. “Madame consorts with some very odd people and she’s such a leech. Probably someone she is blackmailing decided to hit back. She is so terrified, she won’t even speak to me. The silly old frump actually believes the voice came from the other world.”

“Have you ever wondered why the voice knew your name, my dear?”

Hester shrugged her lacy shoulders. “I appear in all the society pages. Everyone knows me.”

“So you say. Be very careful. Mr. Balfour-MacGregor is a wily old bird.”

“He is no match for me. Hand me that railway timetable. What’s the name of the place? Lyneham Hall. Now be quiet until I work out our route.”

Unaware of the plots that were being hatched around his weekend party, Andrew Harvey fussed over the arrangements and nearly drove his aunt Emily, dowager Marchioness of Homeleigh, quite mad.

“I don’t know what’s come over you,” she said for the umpteenth time. “Anyone would think the king was coming. Everything is in order. I’ve never seen the place look so beautiful.” She cast a proud eye over the shining rooms and waxed floors.

Andrew took a deep breath of country air and looked over the rolling lawns, lying stretched out as green and smooth as a billiard table, glistening faintly under the early morning coating of dew. This was the type of English morning he had dreamed of when he was in India.

The smells of a well-run country house surrounded him—woodsmoke, tobacco, roses, and dog. He felt as nervous as a schoolboy. Would Lucy look right in this setting? Or did she only belong in the city? He ran over the guest list in his mind. Apart from Lucy and her father, there was Didi and her compte—enjoying a protracted honeymoon away from the wrath of the compte’s parents. There was his friend David Whitshire, and Elinor Belling. He frowned. He wished now he had not invited Elinor but the whole business had been so rushed that he had automatically selected some of the people he had known in Dinard. Then there was Boodles who had just become engaged to a Miss Pyeford and another old army friend John Hannaway. Nothing, however, could possibly go wrong.

The old house was looking its best, unashamedly Georgian from its pillared portico to its long Palladian windows.

The only modern additions were a vast iron and glass conservatory to the east, with the huge and rambling servants’ wing behind it. His high-nosed ancestors stared down in an autocratic way from their gilded frames and huge bowls of roses filled the rooms.

Roses spilled from the urns on the balustrades and filled every nook and cranny of the rose garden. If all went well this weekend, Andrew thought, he would take Lucy to meet his parents, the Earl and Countess of Glyn-Rammington. He realized with a little shock that he must have been thinking of marriage all along.

“I declare! There’s a carriage already,” said Aunt Emily, coming to join him. Her snapping black eyes peered out from under a thatch of woolly white hair giving her the appearance of a small plump bird. “Who can that be?”

They moved out on the front steps and stood arm in arm as the carriage came to a stop.

Lady Hester descended, followed by Jeremy Brent. She threw her arms around the bewildered Aunt Emily and said, “So kind of you to let us drop in on you.” Then, seeing the bewilderment on the marchioness’s face, added, “You did get my wire, didn’t you?”

“Oh, that was you,” said Aunt Emily faintly. “I didn’t recognize the name and thought that if I didn’t reply, whoever it was would not bother to come. But I’m glad you’re here. Good Heavens! It
is
little Hester. Is this your son?”

A look of bad temper flitted across Hester’s face and then vanished quickly into the high-boned ruffles at her neck. “No, my dear. How
could
you think such a thing! This is a young friend of mine, Mr. Jeremy Brent. I knew his dear mother.”

Lover
, thought Aunt Emily crossly.
That will upset the sleeping arrangements.

She said: “Well, since you are here, you may as well trot along to your rooms and settle in. Andrew, dear, do give them some refreshment first, while I go and talk to Miss Whittaker.” Miss Whittaker was the social secretary.

“Would you care for tea?” asked Andrew politely.

“No, dear boy,” said Hester with a languorous smile. “Something a little stronger, if you please.” Andrew politely ordered champagne and wished Hester would stop ogling him.

“We have a mutual acquaintance,” said Jeremy suddenly. “Miss Balfour-MacGregor.”

“Really!” said Andrew politely, looking at Jeremy for the first time and wishing Mr. Brent were not quite so handsome.

“Yes. We got to know each other very well on the Continent.”

“Then you will be delighted to know that she is to be a member of my house party,” said Andrew frigidly. “Please help yourselves to champagne. I have several things to attend to.”

“Not exactly welcoming,” murmured Jeremy, watching Andrew’s retreating back.

“But he has
it
,” said Hester.

“I thought only gels had
it.
“

“No, I assure you. He also is reputed to be terribly rich, which is an odd thing in old-county families these days. Look at all these costly little knick-knacks just lying around.”

“Want me to pinch some?” asked Jeremy lazily.

“Don’t,” said Hester briefly. “That old cat Emily would notice if there was so much as a rose petal missing.”

The housemaid arrived to show them to their rooms, which were in the West Wing and adjoining, a fact which Hester noted with slightly raised eyebrows. Very shrewd of old Emily. This was perhaps going to be more difficult than she thought.

She allowed her maid to unhook the buttons on her tiny kid boots and then stretched out on the bed with a sigh. A little sleep. She got so very, very tired these days. If it weren’t for Jeremy, she would be able to relax. To throw away the long confining corset, to forget the nightly face masks and massage, to never, ever endure the hundred-and-one tortures it took to keep a young man by her side and old age at bay. She heard the rumble of arriving carriages but her eyelids were heavy. Just a little sleep …

The frivolous little French clock on the mantel was chiming two when she finally awoke. She rang for her maid and dragged herself over to the window. Andrew Harvey and his guests were playing croquet on the lawn. Damn, damn, damn! He had his arms around the Lucy girl, showing her how to play. Damn! Off with their heads! Why in hell’s name had Jeremy not woken her. Andrew Harvey’s courtship must be progressing by leaps and bounds.

Andrew was at that moment wondering why there seemed to be a conspiracy among his guests
not
to leave him alone with Lucy. Jeremy Brent was constantly at her elbow and Didi was constantly at his.

Lucy was also wondering why marriage to her compte had not seemed to make Didi any less fond of Andrew Harvey. The American girl laughed and flirted and tossed her flaming hair while all the while her husband, a sallow young man, seemed to stand on the sidelines watching her sadly.

Didi had given Lucy an effusive greeting. Now they could be friends, she had declared. She had got over that silly nonsense. Wasn’t her compte a duck? And all the while her eyes searched out Andrew. She had overwhelmed Lucy with friendship at the beginning and was now turning absolutely nasty.