He shrugged. “She’s eighteen, a grown woman. I’ll keep an eye on you, naturally, to make sure you’re holding up your end of the bargain, but I’ll do it from a distance. I’ll attend the wedding, of course, give the bride away, but that’s the extent of it. I want her off my hands and settled. Oh, and Lady Charlton, you have until the end of the season. If she’s not married, or at least betrothed by then, I will have those letters published.”
“The end of the season? But that’s—”
“Plenty of time. Now, good day to you, your ladyship.” He climbed into his carriage, rapped on the roof and drove off, leaving Alice staring after him with her mouth open.
He’d left Lucy without a backward glance, without even a proper farewell. Leaving his daughter in the care of a woman who had every reason to despise her.
What sort of a man did that? Foolish question. Bamber was a blackmailer. A scoundrel with delusions of grandeur. And apparently a heartless parent as well.
She stuffed the banknotes into her reticule and climbed into the carriage, feeling the first glimmer of sympathy for Lucy. But the girl scowled and turned her face away, hunching herself into the corner of the carriage and staring out the window. Dumb insolence or nerves? It was hard to tell.
They set off back to London. The miles passed in silence.
Alice considered her options. If she ever wanted peace again, she had to get this girl married off as quickly as possible, to a lord and by the end of the season, no less. But who would want her?
She had no desirable family connections. Her father was unspeakable, but he seemed to have plenty of money. Lucy wasn’t bad-looking: if she could be brought to behave in a more amenable manner—and to dress better—there might be a chance.
But who? She sat staring blankly out the window, making a mental list of unmarried lords. No point pursuing those gentlemen who currently graced the ton’s unwritten list of the catches of the season. That left the less desirable ones, the fortune hunters, the sworn bachelors, the widowers...
Alice knew plenty of widowers. Her sister-in-law, Almeria, was forever pushing them at her. She was determined to get Alice off the family’s hands and ignored Alice’s repeatedly expressed intention never to marry again.
But Lucy was very young. Alice was reluctant to match a young girl with a much older man. She might not like the girl, but she didn’t want her to be miserable in her marriage.
Oh, why did it have to be a lord? There were plenty of perfectly nice, perfectly eligible gentlemen looking for a bride.
Her eyes ran over the frilled and flounced orange dress the girl was wearing. The first thing would be to get her some elegant new clothes. Alice would have to approach that tactfully. Taste was such a personal thing.
Several times on the trip back to London, Alice tried to make conversation, but the girl answered with either a shrug or a flat, insolent glance or with nothing at all.
Alice’s mood went from seething with anger to despair and back again. How on earth was she going to get this overdressed, mannerless creature accepted into society? For two pins she’d send her back to her father. But the consequences of that would be appalling.
She was well and truly stuck with her.
Eventually the carriage pulled up in front of Alice’s house. The coachman put the steps down and began to dump Lucy’s luggage on the front steps. For a girl about to make her come-out, there wasn’t much. Lucy picked up a battered old carpetbag and a bandbox. Tweed appeared at the door, and after ushering Alice and Lucy inside, he began collecting bags.
Mrs.Tweed, the cook-housekeeper, waited in the hallway. Alice greeted her with relief. “Mrs.Tweed, this is Miss Bamber, who is going to be staying with us for some time. Would you show her to her bedchamber, please?”
“Pleased to, m’lady. Welcome to Bellaire Gardens, miss. Tweed and me hope you’ll be happy here.” Mrs.Tweed gave the girl a motherly smile and took the bandbox from her. She would have taken the carpetbag, too, but Lucy clung to it.
Alice said briskly, “Yes, welcome, Lucy. Now off you go upstairs. Mrs.Tweed will answer any questions you have about the house. Freshen up and we’ll take a spot of luncheon in half an hour. After that, my maid, Mary, will help you unpack. We’ll have to share her, I’m afraid. My staff is rather... sparse at the moment.”
Lucy frowned. “I’ll unpack for myself.”
“As you wish,” Alice said indifferently. Less work for Mary. She’d inherited her grandmother’s staff along with the house. None of them was particularly young, and Alice had known them all her life. Grandmama had also left her an allowance that covered the servants’ wages and the household expenses. If she were frugal.
She just hoped that Octavius Bamber hadn’t underestimated the cost of launching a young lady in her first season.
“Tweed generally sounds a gong ten minutes before mealtimes to let you know when to come downstairs. Mrs.Tweed will show you where we will eat.”
Lucy went upstairs with the Tweeds, and Alice fought the urge to collapse into the nearest chair and pour herself a glass of something strong.
She regretted now that she’d had the blue room preparedfor Lucy. She’d given the instructions in a foolish moment of sympathy, a reaction to her own dislike of the father and his impossible ambition for his daughter. But now, having spent several hours in a carriage with her, exposed to her sullen, barely cooperative conversation—like drawing teeth, and she wasnotshy, whatever her father claimed!—Alice had decided any sympathy was wasted.
Lucy Bamber was reserved, difficult and prickly. And her dress sense was dreadful. It was not a promising start.
Somehow Alice had to find a titled gentleman willing to marry this rude, spoiled hedgehog of a girl.
***
