Page 21 of Not Quite a Lady
‘Yes sir. Miss France got as far as here with this – Indian it is, or Mr Fakenham says, Chinese – and then when they reached the landing she changed her mind and said it all had to be redone like that, with columns and things.’
He lowered his voice, ‘And there are all the statues, in the nude! But Mrs Herrick said she wouldn’t have them in the house, however much Miss France said they were art so it didn’t count, them not having so much as a fig leaf on, so they’re all in the stables, wrapped up.’
Savouring the thought of the ranks of nymphs and gods filling the stables, Jack followed Percy down the sweep of the double staircase.
A middle-aged woman in pelisse and bonnet was just drawing off her gloves at the foot. For a moment Jack failed to recognise her, then she glanced up and he remembered her all too well.
Quite what did one say to a respectable matron before whom you had, however inadvertently, revealed all?
‘Good morning, ma’am.’
‘Good morning, Mr Lovell. Dressed at last I see.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Could that possibly be a satirical glint in her eyes?
‘Percy, go over there.’ She waited until the young man was out of earshot, then smiled. Jack did not make the mistake ofinterpreting it as a warm gesture.
‘Mr Lovell. I may faint when confronted by strange young men in a state of undress, but I am not a conventional chaperone. In fact I am a very poor one by any usual standards: I leave all that to Lady Billington.
‘I am a vulgar woman, Mr Lovell, the daughter of a master weaver and the wife of a mill owner, and I would do my niece no favours in Society by being seen with her.’
He opened his mouth to make some demur, but she waved him into silence.
‘I love my niece, who is an intelligent, headstrong girl. At the moment she is also a very hurt and fragile one. Believe me, sir, should another man do anything to upset her further he would find that I can still recall how to use a pair of nap-cutting shears, even if they are a bit rusty.’
The chilly smile did not waver. ‘Good day, Mr Lovell.’
Fighting the instinctive urge to place his hands protectively over his groin, Jack followed Percy out into the back garden and down the path to a gate in the wall.
Gradually a grin spread over his face. Vulgar Lily and her aunt might be, but they were refreshingly willing to say exactly what they thought. He decided he could grow to like it.
‘What are you doing?’ Lily demanded.
The footmen looked guilty, Jack had that expression she was beginning to recognise. Determined, he would no doubt describe it as. Or resolute. Mulish, stubborn and pig-headed were the politest of her words for it.
‘This is a lovely carpet. It is a very masculine carpet. It usually lies in the study and all my trustees consider it most handsome. Why are you having it rolled up? And what is wrong with those lamps?’
‘It is indeed a magnificent carpet,’ Jack agreed. ‘Far too finefor me. I would be forgetting and walking on it in my boots half the time. Or dropping my breakfast. I am not used to such splendour, Miss France.’
Lily pushed the rolled-up carpet open with her foot. Jack hooked a toe under the edge and flipped it back.
The footmen sat on their heels and both gazed tactfully out of the window with the air of men who wished they were anywhere else but where they were.
She glared at Jack. He was standing there with his arms crossed, one foot on the end of the roll, showing every sign of being prepared to stand there all day if need be.
Brangling in front of the servants was out of the question, she would have to give way with good grace. She just wished he did not look like asahibwho had shot a tiger and was posing with his foot on its head: it made her want to giggle.
‘Take those lamps and fetch some plain branched candlesticks,’ she said tightly to the men. ‘And bring the old carpet that we took out of the housekeeper’s room for Mr Lovell’s approval.’
Lily waited until she could see them in the garden before she swung back to confront him. She found her arms were crossed, her hands gripping her elbows as though to hold in her irritation. Nobody thwarted what she, Lily France, wanted: not in her own house.
‘It is nothing to do with your boots, is it? You find my taste vulgar and will not live with it, even for a week or so.
She kicked the roll hard so that it shot from under his foot and opened up to reveal ornate medallions on a dark red ground. ‘You see? Lovely. It is copied from Roman wall paintings.’
‘My taste runs to plainer, older things,’ Jack admitted with a shrug. ‘It all depends what you are used to, and what you can afford. You can afford to indulge your taste to buy the very latest and finest. That is your right.
‘I believe I have the right to worry that I will spill ink on it and tread dirt into it. I had no wish to trouble you personally in the matter.’
