Page 4 of On a Midsummer Night
Pivoting about, Beth grasped Lucy by the shoulders. “You need to speak your mind to your mother. If you don’t want to attend an event or accompany a gentleman for a ride in the park, say so. This is your life, Lucy. Don’t let other people live it for you.”
Her cousin’s chin trembled, and her next words were a hoarse whisper. “I’m not brave like you are, Beth. And Mother would never even listen to me if I tried.”
A mixture of sadness and frustration made Beth draw Lucy in for a hug. “I’ll help you be brave. You know I will.”
Lucy nodded.
Pushing the girl back, Beth smiled at her. “Now go get dressed. I’ll meet you in the breakfast parlor. If we’re lucky, your mother will still be in bed and will not scold us if we have a second cup of chocolate.”
“A second cup of chocolate would be wonderful.” Lucy grasped the door handle and paused, looking over her shoulder at Beth. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’ve come to stay with us.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” she whispered, realizing the words were true.
Beth had enjoyed the time she spent in Wales and was thankful for the opportunity to bond with her father and witness her parents’ marital felicity firsthand, but in truth, she had become bored. Her art brought her great contentment, and the potential of expanding her portfolio to include more shops and vendors elated her, but Beth was lonely. Lucy’s friendship and the bustle of the social season had been good for her spirits.
Turning to her wardrobe to select a dress for the day, Beth sighed. She would have to be on her toes if she were to help Lucy navigate the season without sacrificing her future to her mother’s whims.
A quarter of an hour later, Beth stepped into the breakfast parlor. Lucy was not alone; Uncle Charles and Aunt Meredith sat on opposite ends of the table, the former engrossed in the morning newspaper and the latter in a stack of invitations. Her uncle gave her a polite nod, but her aunt arched a sharp brow.
“Sleeping in, were you? Your mother told me that you start the day at an early hour.” She raised a cup of tea to her lips. “But perhaps you were merely keeping country hours.”
Slipping onto a chair next to Lucy, Beth murmured her thanks to the footman who poured her a cup of tea. “Oh, I was up with the birds. I simply enjoyed the morning quietly by penning a letter to my parents and brother.”
“I understand Oliver is still in Bath,” Uncle Charles said, not looking up from his paper.
“He is. His letters are filled with excitement for the new plans and how it streamlines travel to the southern counties. I imagine he’ll be eager to talk about it with you when he finally returns to town.”
“If only he would let me have him transferred to London, he’d be climbing the ranks of Great Western in no time.” Uncle Charles sighed, flipping a page of the newspaper.
Beth smiled, for she knew that was exactly why Oliver was determined to succeed on his own merit.
“I don’t know how your mother does it,” Aunt Meredith interjected, her mien drawn. “With you here in London and Oliver in Bath, she has neither of her children close to her. The thought of my dear Lucy so far away is unimaginable.”
Beth didn’t need to see how Lucy stiffened at her mother’s words to know that her cousin felt much differently about being away from Aunt Meredith.
Stirring a lump of sugar into her tea, Beth turned thoughtful. “I’m certain it’s a challenge, but then she knows Oliver and I need to lead our lives. Make our own choices and mistakes. I appreciate her for that.”
Lucy nudged her foot ever so slightly, and Beth bit back a laugh.
Aunt Meredith waved her hand. “I’d rather spare my children the heartache and guide their choices instead. It’s my motherly duty, after all.”
Beth took a sip of tea in lieu of a response.
“Which reminds me.” Directing her gaze upon her daughter’s downturned head, Aunt Meredith said, “A gentleman will be coming to call on you today, Lucy.”
The girl’s head whipped up. “I receive visitors every day.”
It was true. With Lucy’s guinea-colored hair and big cornflower-blue eyes, she was the epitome of an English rose. That she was also sweet and demure and in possession of a respectable dowry meant she was a sought-after debutante amongst the upper-middle-class families in London.
“This gentleman is different. He’s from an old Lancashire family and has found much success in the railways. Your father is fond of him and would like to see him settled as he advances in the company.” Aunt Meredith pointed a finger at her daughter. “So when Mr. Ramsgate arrives, I expect you to give him all of your attention, no matter who else might be visiting at the time.”
It suddenly sounded as if her aunt’s voice was coming to her from the end of a long tunnel. Ramsgate? He worked for the railway? Surely it could not be—
Memories of velvet-brown eyes sparkling with merriment flashed in her mind. A large, warm hand heating the flesh at her waist as they spun in a dizzying waltz around an assembly room. A deep tenor skating down her spine when he murmured her name.
Henry Ramsgate had left Bristol in the middle of the night, and she’d not heard from him since. The only thing Oliver knew of his old friend was that Henry’s father had taken ill and eventually passed away. But surely, such a terrible thing did not account for how he’d shunned his old friendships and connections and threw himself into work. By the accounts Beth had managed to find, Henry had acquired a name for himself and was considered one of the foremost locomotive design engineers in all of England.
And now he was in search of a wife. A wife as pretty, well dowered, and biddable as Lucy.
