“But your aunt,” persisted the dowager viscountess, “is a Fanshaw by birth.”
“And your father died!” piped up Nora.
“Nora!” hissed Nell.
Jack grimaced in sympathy as an awkward silence fell. Lucy was suddenly exhausted, none of it funny anymore.
She was no heiress, never would be, and the moment they realised it, all Jack’s family would treat her with the same indifference they always had done. Little Lucy, an amusing friend, not suitable to be anyone’s wife. Least of all Lord Orton’s.
“These are excellent cakes,” announced his mother loudly, though she had not yet tried one. The tray was untouched on the table. Seven pairs of eyes now looked at it.Yes, yes, let’s talk about cake, much more palatable than dead relatives.
“Thank you!” Caroline sprang gamely to the topic. “Do try several!”
“You must have your cook give me the recipe.”
“Oh, we buy them in, I’m afraid.”
“Is that so? Marvellous, some of these London bakeries, are they not?”
Several people sallied forth gratefully with declarations of their favourite cakes. Nell doted on a lemon confection, Caroline a coconut, the captain was discovered to be an ardent admirer of a raspberry and almond pastry he’d had from somewhere, but for the life of him, couldn’t remember where.
“The boulangerie on Albermarle Street,” said Jack. “With the red and white awning. I bet you it is.”
“Good God! You’re a saviour!”
“Jack knows London as well as anyone,” commented his proud mother, seemingly moved by this exhibition of pâtisserie prowess. “It has been such an age since I was last in Town. Other than Nell’s come out, and her marriage, and a few visits here and there, I have been quite confined to the countryside.Mylungs are weak, I’m sad to own it. But, Jack, you must take me all around town in the weeks I am here. I heard you went to the Royal Academy exhibition recently, and you with him, Miss Fanshaw? Do you still draw?”
“I do,” admitted Lucy with a sad feeling of foreboding. The cakes had been a mere bridge over troubled water. Now the dowager strode back into the current.
“You were always such an admirer of her work, Jack,” she declared. “Don’t you remember? You were forever bringing me some sketch or other, asking for them to be framed and hung. You had quite a collection in your bedroom.”
Jack gave a somewhat rigid smile. Lucy was very aware of Nell and Nora watching the exchange—both studying her face for any betraying blush. They weren’t alone. The captain’s interest had been piqued. He looked from Jack to Lucy, and then to his sister, a questioning crease in his brow. As far asheknew, Jack was still an admirer of Miss Sedgewick. He didn’t realise the Orton womenfolk had decided otherwise.
“Do you have any of your artwork here, Miss Fanshaw? I’d dearly love to see it,” said the dowager viscountess. “And how improved you must surely be after all these years! Do go and fetch some, I beg you. And you go with her, Jack. You can help her carry them.”
“I can bring a sketchbook,” Lucy attempted.
But Jack got to his feet with a smooth, “Of course I’ll help,” and went to open the door.
No sooner were they through it, the door safely closed behind them, when he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Lucy.”
She shook her head, walking briskly to her studio at the end of the hall. Jack hurried along with her, apologising again. “I knew Nell and Nora both had no sense, but to see my own mother act so tactlessly…! It’s almost more than I can bear.”
“I’m sure it’s very awkward for you.”
“For me!” He closed the studio door behind them and fixed her with a look. “It’syouI’m sorry for. You’ve been nothing but a target since you came to town. But I suppose…I suppose it’ll soon be at an end. George’s parents arrive next week. He’ll tellthem then, and the engagement can be made public.” He toyed with a stacked pile of canvases, straightening their corners into alignment. “I suppose you’ve written to your aunt by now?”
But she stared at him, aghast. “George’s parents are coming to town?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“N-no… Not yet…”
“Perhaps he only just heard. I only heard it myself last night.” Jack looked up at her, grey eyes subdued. “I could tell her. My mother. She’d keep the secret if I asked her too. And it would save you any more of…this.”
“No! No…don’t tell her, Jack, please.” She mighthaveto marry George if all town believed their engagement. “Jack, I…” Yes, it was time for the truth. She’d promised herself to tell him, if that argument outside Mr Thornton’s hadn’t distracted her, if he hadn’t climbed into her bedroom and started to roll up his sleeve… Her heart raced, making her dizzy. “I need to tell you something—”
The door opened. Captain Sedgewick came in, his smile hard-edged with suspicion. “Ah, you didn’t get lost as I began to fear! Direct me, Miss Fanshaw, tell me what to carry. I am, as always, your slave.”
