Page 62 of Not Quite a Lady
‘Mr Lovington is married. I imagine he will invite me to stay.’
‘Then you must write to warn him.’
‘And give him time to adjust the books? I may be doing him an injustice and the fall in business is merely a change in local demand. But he might be dishonest, or he might be simply idle. I shall see.’
Lily sat down and began to make a list. ‘I may even travel over to the Lakes afterwards. It would be a pity to go that far North and not take advantage of seeing the sights.’
If one was to become resigned to being a wealthy spinster, one may as well take advantage of the freedom that should accompany that state.
For after all, if one was not in the Marriage Mart, one did not have to behave like a meek little ninny. Only, resignation seemed a hard state to achieve just at the moment.
Jack reined in the landlord’s cob and sat looking out over the shallow valley which cradled Allerton Castle. Home.
Home almost forty five hours after he had left the Bull and Mouth, ten since he climbed down into the yard of The Saracen’s Head in Newcastle.
It had been three in the morning when he arrived after thirty five hours on the coach, thanks to a cast shoe just North of Stamford.
There had been coffee gulped scalding in a dozen crowded tap rooms, indigestible meals left half eaten, and the enforcedcompany of five other people, who, however many times they changed at the various halts, always seemed to include one man who snored, two who had never washed in their lives, one woman with a rich head cold and a convivial soul who just wanted to talk.
And despite the discomfort, the distractions, the pain in his arm, there had been far too much time to think.
His wound throbbed sickeningly and he thought he was probably running a low fever, despite the few hours of snatched sleep at the Saracen’s Head.
He had slept like the dead, only to be awoken by a shriek. He opened one eye, saw the door shutting on a flurry of skirts, then glanced down. Ah. Hazily he recalled dragging off all his clothes and falling onto the bed. There had been apologies to be made before he got any breakfast.
Now, with the breeze ruffling the trees and bringing him the soft sound of the Aller running over its bed of stones, he began to feel almost human again.
The stark mass of the castle, one corner tumbled into ruin, glowed gently in the morning sun. Home. He shook the reins and the cob responded, taking the light gig down, to the bridge over the long-dry moat and into the courtyard in front of the castle.
‘Jack.’ It was Penelope, hurling herself down the front steps without a thought for the fact that her hair had gone up, and her hemlines come down, upon her sixteenth birthday two months previously. ‘You’re home! Grimswade, tell Mama that Jack is back.’
Jack grinned as the butler appeared through the battered oak doors.
‘Good morning, my lord.’ He fixed a dour, but affectionate, eye on the youngest Miss Lovell. ‘Miss Penelope, I believe that her ladyship is well aware of his lordship’s arrival, having heardyour cries of joy from the turret, as we all did. Wilson, take the gig round to the stables and bring in his lordship’s luggage.’
Jack handed the reins over and climbed down, fending off his sister’s bear-hug with his good arm. ‘Hello, brat. Have you been good while I’ve been away?’
‘Of course. I am a young lady now, after all.’ She tipped her head to one side and regarded him critically. ‘You lookdreadful.Have you been carousing? I expect you have. And visiting dens of iniquity, whatever they are.’
‘Only one, and that was not so very iniquitous,’ he admitted. ‘I had a very long and uncomfortable journey back on the stage, that is all. And young ladies know nothing at all about carousing.’
‘Pooh,’ Penelope retorted inelegantly. ‘I think it is all a hum anyway, being a young lady. I mean, my hair is a nuisance, I keep tripping over my skirts, I am supposed to behave all the time but I don’t get any of the fun. No balls, no parties, no flirting.’
‘You are in training,’ Jack explained, tucking her hand under his elbow and nodding his thanks to the butler who was standing holding the door. ‘How is everyone else?’
‘Boring,’ Penelope pronounced. ‘Mama nags me about my deportment, Caroline is mooning over George Willoughby of all people and Susan is writing poetry and insists on reading it to us after dinner.’
‘Is it any good?’
‘Ghastly. It is all about how depressed the moors make her and how the lowering face of nature reflects something or another in the human spirit. I wish she would fall in love like Caro, at least she droops about quietly.’
‘No-one in this house droops, least of all young ladies. Darling, how are you, you look frightful!’
Jack grimaced as his mother swept out of her sitting room and kissed him, then took him by the shoulders and stood backto survey him. ‘Are you running a fever, Lovell?’
‘Possibly. I was a little under the weather when I left London. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure. I was just telling Penny that the stage was hideously uncomfortable.’
‘Did you have to travel in the basket?’ his youngest sister crowed. ‘And look at your hair! Is it all the crack?’
