She’d never in her life had such a pretty, comfortable bedchamber, let alone one with such a lovely view. It was quite a puzzle.
Chapter Three
Alice had made a poor start with Lucy, she realized as she washed her hands before luncheon. She’d let her resentment and anger toward Bamber spill over onto the daughter, which was hardly fair. The girl had made no effort to cooperate or even be polite, but then, if Alice had been put into a similar situation, she might feel like being rude and resentful, too.
She wouldn’t have shown it, though. Alice had spent a lifetime being a good, obedient girl. And then a good, obedient wife.
And what had that achieved? Certainly not happiness. Perhaps if she’d rebelled earlier . . . No. Pointless to repine over the past. She just had to get this girl married off, and then she would be free to become the kind of woman she wanted to be.
Whatever that was.
Lucy was just eighteen, and Alice’s memory of that age was that it was full of emotional ups and downs. At eighteen, in a matter of weeks, Alice herself had been betrothed, married and pitchforked into London society. Alone, because shortly after her wedding, Mama and Papa had sailed for the Far East.
It wasn’t all that different from Lucy’s situation now. Left alone to sink or swim.
As the elder, Alice needed to take the lead, because if this scheme were to work, she needed to establish a relationship with Lucy that was, at the very least, civil and cooperative.
Luncheon was a simple meal of clear soup, bread and butter, sliced ham and a green salad. After grace, they drank the soup in silence. Then as they were buttering bread and serving themselves ham and salad, Alice spoke. “Are you happy with your room, Lucy?”
Lucy nodded and continued buttering her bread.
“My maid, Mary, will come after lunch and to unpack for y—”
“I said, I don’t need her. I’ll unpack my own things.”
Alice blinked at the abrupt declaration, but all she said was, “Very well.”
For the next few minutes they addressed themselves to the meal.
“You’re not his usual type.”
The comment out of the blue startled Alice. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wouldn’t have picked you as one of Papa’s fancy women.”
One of his fancy women? Alice stiffened. “Are you implying that there is something—something personal—between your father and me? Because if so, you are quite, quite wrong.”
Lucy quirked a cynical brow. “Really?”
“Yes, really! I met him for the first time yesterday.”
The girl narrowed her eyes. “You never met him before that?”
“Never. I hadn’t even heard of him.”
“Then why . . ?”
“Why did I agree to take you into my home and sponsor your come-out?” It was a fair question and not unexpected.
Lucy nodded. “And go through that—that stupid godmother rigmarole. Mama had me baptized when I was a baby.”
A trickle of relief ran down Alice’s spine. So the girl didn’t know the sordid details of the arrangement her father had made with Alice. “It’s business.”
“So you’re doing it for money.” It wasn’t a question.
Alice nodded, hoping she looked convincing. Money played no part in why she’d agreed to this mad scheme, but she was accepting money from Bamber to cover the costs. But the less Lucy knew about the arrangement, the better.
At least the girl was talking now.
She tried for some more pleasant conversation. “Where do you come from, Lucy?” The more she knew about her background, the easier it would be to introduce her.
Lucy poked at her salad. “Nowhere.”
“What do you mean ‘nowhere’?” Everyone came from somewhere.
Apparently uninterested, the girl lifted a shoulder.
Alice persisted. “Well, where were you living before your father brought you to me?”
“With another woman, a Frenchwoman in Sussex.” Her tone was world-weary.
“And this woman was your father’s . . .” Alice paused delicately.
“No. She wasn’t one of his mistresses. She was old.” She glanced at Alice. “Much older than you.”
Alice was slightly shocked at the casual way this girl spoke of her father’s mistresses. At Lucy’s age, Alice had had no idea that men even kept mistresses. She’d been so innocent back then.
Bamber had implied that Lucy’s mother was dead. Perhaps that’s why Lucy was so knowledgeable about the ways of men, because she’d been brought up by her father.
“How long did you live with this Frenchwoman?”
“The comtesse? Just over a year.”
“Comtesse?”
Lucy nodded. “She escaped France during the Terror. Her husband was killed and her castle was burned to the ground, so she never went back. She had plenty of visitors, though.”
“I see. Well, where did you live before you went to stay with the comtesse?”
“With Frau Steiner.”
“Let me guess—she was German.”
“Austrian. And before you ask, I was with her almost a year.”
Alice raised a brow. “And before that?”
“School. Miss Fitcher’s Seminary.”
“And before that?”
“School. Miss Mitchell’s establishment.”
“Before that then?” Alice was getting a little annoyed at the girl’s deliberate evasiveness.
“School. And before that, another school. And before that, another,” Lucy finished, throwing Alice a faintly challenging look.
The conversation paused while Tweed bought in stewed apples and a baked-rice custard.
“Are you saying you were expelled from all those schools?” Alice said after Tweed had left. Good God, what had she got herself into?
Lucy lifted an indifferent shoulder, as if she had no idea, and cared even less. Alice frowned. Lucy had been asked to leave at least five schools, and there must have been a good reason for that.
But she could tell from Lucy’s mulish expression that she wasn’t going to explain, and Alice didn’t want to push the issue, not this early in their acquaintance.
“Did you never go home in between these schools?”
“No. I told you—nowhere to go to.”