Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen
stammered, realising that she had not expected to see him again.
‘Lily, my darling …’ He had taken her hand and pressed a chaste kiss on it, ‘… you must make allowances for a man in love. I should have realised how shy and innocent you are; no wonder you reacted as you did. I cannot pretend an innocence to match yours—you know that. But I have learned from this and I promise to behave from now on.’
And, to her own inner amazement, she found herself accepting his apology, accepting the engagement. It seemed the only thing to do in the face of his penitence. What would happen if she rejected him now? But he had not been in any hurry to see it puffed off in the announcement columns, which was a trifle flattening, even when he explained that it would be best to deal with ‘all that boring business with settlements’ first.
In other words, Lily brooded, the very large sum of money he was expecting her trustees would reveal to him as her inheritance. He would anticipate that all her assets would be his as her husband. A frown creased Lily’s brow in a way that would have earned her a sharp reprimand if Lady Billington had observed it. Would Adrian be very upset when the Trust was explained to him and he discovered that things were not quite that simple? And what was he going to say when he realised just how involved Lily was with the management of her inheritance?
She realised, guiltily, that she was half-hoping he would change his mind—not that that was a course of action a gentleman could take after what had passed between them. And not one a lady could tolerate either … if a merchant’s daughter who had allowed herself to be alone in a carriage at night with a man could be categorised as a lady.
Lily shook herself briskly and ordered another pot of chocolate. Each member of the family had made sacrifices in order to advance the fortunes of the Frances. Grandfather had scrimped and saved to amass the inheritance that her father had then made into a fortune. Her mother had died in India soon after childbirth, her father had weakened his health with his long hours and even longer journeys. Her duty was to capture a title and respectability at whatever cost to her finer feelings. Papa’s grandsons would be gentlemen: it had been his dearest wish.
If only she could feel more enthusiastic about Adrian. She had not expected to love him, but she wished she could at least feel warmly about him. That faint glimmering of physical attraction had vanished after the incident in the carriage and had not resurfaced, even after four weeks.
Oh, dear. She had burnt her boats, she was realising that now with the benefit of hindsight. If she could be transported back, she would not have gone with him, whatever anyone else advised her—even at the cost of his proposal.
A deep, serious voice echoed in her memory. Find yourself a new man … And with the memory came the inner stirring that she experienced every time she thought of those broad shoulders, the calm strength, the deep grey eyes of her rescuer.
The door opening to admit Blake and the chocolate also admitted a faint rumour of noise, which seemed to be coming from the street, despite the distance from the front door to the rear breakfast parlour.
‘Blake, what on earth is that racket outside?’
‘I was just coming to ask you, Miss France. Have you ordered any coals?’
‘Coals?’ What was the man talking about? ‘Blake, Mrs Oakman orders the coals, I do not.’
‘I know, ma’am. But she says she hasn’t and there are three coalmen all claiming you wrote and ordered four hundredweight of best sea coal to be delivered this morning.’
‘Well, I did not. There has obviously been a mistake. Send them away at once.’
‘Yes, ma’am. What about the fishmongers and the milkmaids?’
‘What fishmongers and milkmaids? And what is Fakenham doing, for goodness’ sake?’
‘Arguing with them, ma’am.’ The footman was looking increasingly unhappy as the sound of the elderly butler’s voice, raised in a controlled shout, reached them. ‘There’s the carters, too, with the root vegetables. And the pianoforte. The man with the pianoforte is none too pleased about being jostled by the coalmen, Miss France.’
The sound of the front door slamming cut off the worst of the noise. ‘Ask Fakenham to come in here, please.’ Lily threw down her napkin and got to her feet as her highly superior butler appeared, red-faced and spluttering. ‘Fakenham, whatever is going on outside?’
‘I have no idea, Miss France.’ The man pulled himself together with a visible effort. ‘The street is a mass of tradesmen, all, so far as I can gather, insistent that they received orders to deliver goods here or to attend upon you.’
‘Well, send them away!’
‘Miss France—’ A heavy knocking sent him hurrying back down the hall. Lily followed, then slipped into the front drawing room and drew aside the curtains just enough to peek out.
The steps were occupied by four soberly clad men, each clutching a tall hat wreathed in black gauze. Behind them a black open vehicle displayed a magnificent coffin.
At least Fakenham’s denials appeared to have some effect upon them. As one, they bowed stiffly and made their way down the steps, only to be swept up in the rush as half a dozen sturdy men jostled past the coffin brake to deposit wooden boxes on the steps.
‘No! We have not ordered any Madeira wine!’
Lily stepped back, utterly confused. It was a scene of bedlam. Behind the coffin brake several post chaises were manoeuvring amidst a crowd of delivery men, none of whom seemed backward in expressing their opinions of each other’s right to be there, the quality of their produce or what they thought of Fakenham’s denials.
A small coterie of women battered their way through the mob, wielding hat boxes with lethal determination, and gained the front steps.
‘Lily, what a racket! Is it a riot?’ Her aunt’s voice behind her was a shriek.
‘I have no idea. But at least you can see it too—I was beginning to think I had run mad and was hallucinating.’ Aunt Herrick sank into the nearest chair, fanning herself; her satin-sheathed bosom heaved alarmingly. ‘Go back upstairs, Aunt—go to one of the back bedchambers where it will be quiet.’
‘It is the Revolution! We’ll be murdered in our beds! Those wretched mill workers have infected the London mob with their dreadful continental ideas.’
‘I doubt we are being besieged by a mob of revolutionary tradesmen armed with coal and carrots. I will send for the constables,’ Lily said, tugging the bell pull with more calm than she felt. ‘Blake, find Mrs Herrick’s woman and see she helps her to her chamber and stays with her. Then send Percy and Smith to assist Mr Fakenham and you run round to the Marl-borough Street office and request as many men as possible to come at once.’
She twitched back the curtain and winced. A man had arrived with a moth-eaten bear on a chain; it was, at least, clearing a space in the road, although the group of burly chairmen seemed prepared to dispute the ground. ‘Go out of the back door and through the mews. And hurry!’ she called as the footman bowed his way out.
The youngest footman staggered in. His elaborate frogged livery was dishevelled. ‘Miss France, ma’am, there are three midwives and a surgeon and two dentists.’
‘Tell them to go away, for goodness’ sake, Percy! Does it look as though anyone here is about to give birth or needs their teeth pulling?’
‘No, Miss France.’ He ducked out again, only to reappear moments later. ‘Miss France, there’s a clerical gentleman come from the Bishop of London …’
‘That is the outside of enough!’ Lily marched to the front door, beaded trimming jingling around her hems. Poor Fakenham could not be expected to deal with this.
‘Sir.’ The clergyman stopped his involved explanations to the butler and bowed politely, his broad-brimmed hat clutched in both hands. Her appearance seemed to have an effect on the crowd and the noise level dropped