The possibilities of Penny Peplowe or Nanny McCubbin and the little girls were debated. Then Gerald leaned forward and said, “Actually, I have been thinking of taking Lucy to meet my grandmother, who lives outside Aylesbury.”
“Your grandmother?” Lucy exclaimed. “But I can’t—”
“She’s heard so much about you already.”
“I just bet she has,” Lucy muttered.
Gerald laughed. “I promise you’ll like her. She’s not at all like my mother. In fact, she’s been heard to say—when provoked—that Mother was a fairy changeling, and not the good sort. Grandmama would love to meet you.”
“What an excellent idea,” James said.
“Yes, and you can take my maid, Mary, with you,” Alice agreed.
“Yes, I’m sure Lady Charlton will manage perfectly without the services of her maid,” James said in a provocative voice.
A small foot kicked him on the ankle. Alice said with dignity, “Thank you, Gerald, that’s the perfect solution.”
James didn’t think Lucy was as pleased with the idea as everyone else. In fact, he got the distinct impression she was extremely reluctant to go, but he didn’t care. As long as it made Alice free to come with him, he didn’t give a damn what Lucy did.
“Good, so that’s all settled,” he said as the carriage drew up outside Bellaire Gardens. “Good night, ladies,” he said as he handed them down. “It’s been a delightful evening.”
* * *
* * *
The following morning a letter arrived addressed to Lucy in a flamboyant hand. Tweed presented it to her on a silver salver. She eyed it with a sinking heart. She knew that hand.
She looked at Alice. “It’s from Papa.”
“What does it say?”
Lucy broke open the seal, scanned the contents swiftly, then read it aloud.
My dear Daughter,
By the time you receive this letter, I shall be far away, sailing the high seas, heading for America. Congratulate me, Daughter, for I have married a Mrs. Lymon. She is a Widow from Boston, Massachusetts, the relict of an Extremely Wealthy man, so you will be Glad to know I shall be living in the Comfort, even Luxury, to which I have always aspired. I shall not be returning to England—it has become increasingly Unfriendly to me and I am glad to shake its Dirt from my boots and to start a New Life.
So, Daughter, for all your misgivings, my little Scheme was successful and you are securely betrothed to a Viscount and the Heir to an Earldom. Thus I can happily leave you, knowing I have done all I can to Assure your Future.
Please give Lady Charlton my thanks—and apologies. I had no choice.
Live well, my child.
Farewell from your Loving Father,
Octavius Bamber, esquire
She choked on the last few lines.
She ought to be used to this. How many times had he dumped her on strangers and abandoned her. This time it was forever. He was glad to go. I can happily leave you.
“Oh, Lucy, to leave the country—forever—without any warning, or even a personal goodbye.” Alice slipped an arm around Lucy and hugged her. The warm sympathy in her voice brought a blurring of tears to Lucy’s eyes. She blinked them angrily away.
She would not let her father bring her to tears, not again. Never again. How often as a young girl had she soaked her pillow with lonely, miserable, fruitless tears every time Papa had left her, assuring her that this—wherever it was, with whoever it was—would be the making of her. And then he’d drive blithely away without a backward glance. Leaving her behind to sink or swim.
And now she was alone forever, without even having the pretense of a father.
Well, better no father at all than one who regularly turned her life upside down with no warning. She could choose now how she would live her life.
And if the future stretched ahead, frighteningly blank, that simply meant she needed to make plans. She couldn’t batten on Alice much longer.
“I’m all right,” she told Alice wearily. “It’s not as if it’s anything new.”
She folded and refolded the letter until it was a small square and slipped it into her sleeve. It was so typical of Papa—the self-centeredness, the self-congratulatory tone and the complete disregard of her feelings. All he cared about was his own success. So her future was assured, was it? Did he even know—or care—anything about Lord Thornton apart from his title? For all Papa knew, he could be a horrid wife beater or cat torturer or anything.
After a moment, Alice said hesitantly, “Did he even mention the letters?”
Lucy shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Maybe he’s burned them.”
Lucy shook her head. Who knew, with Papa.
“But what would be the use of them now? He’s got what he wanted—you’re betrothed to a viscount. And he must know I have no money to buy them.”
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all over. Maybe Papa’s forgotten all about them. It wouldn’t be unlike him. He has an enviable ability to put awkward or uncomfortable thoughts out of his mind, particularly when he has a new scheme in mind.” In this case, a rich widow.
Alice sighed. “He’s acting as if his ‘scheme’ is all over, but I would feel a lot better if he had enclosed the letters.”
“It would cost more to post,” Lucy said. “Papa can be quite ridiculously penny-pinching at times.” She stood up and said briskly. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of fresh air. I’m going out into the garden. Do you want to come?”
Alice said gently, “No, my dear, you’ve had a big upset. I think you’ll be happier alone to sort out your feelings.”
Lucy nodded. Happier alone. Yes, she’d better learn how to be that.
* * *
* * *
Gerald called at Bellaire Gardens later that afternoon, ostensibly to finalize the arrangements to take Lucy to visit his grandmother, but also to bring Alice the news.
“Lucy is out in the garden,” Alice told him.
“Good,” he said. “But first some news. My man Heffernan sent a message. Bamber has left the country. He sailed from Bristol two nights ago, on a ship bound for America.”
“I know,” Alice said. “Lucy got a letter from him this morning, bidding her farewell forever. He’s married a rich American widow and says he’s never coming back.”