crawled onto her bed and curled up, hugging herself. Such feelings she had experienced when he had kissed her. Such emotions had welled up. When she had first raised the idea of finding employment, her mother had warned her of the dangers that lurked in a gentleman’s household. She had told her how persuasive men could be, had explained something of the dangerous charms of a seducer, but Lucy had pictured then a leering, lecherous man like her Uncle Edgeworth. Mama had not told her that she must also beware of the treacherous longings of her own body.
The mere memory of Ralph’s kiss made her writhe and hug herself even tighter. How would she be able to face him, to be in the same room with him, without wanting to touch him? She knew she would stare longingly at his mouth, desperate for him to kiss her again.
All too soon Ruthie returned with a jug of hot water. Lucy managed to wash with tolerable calm, and she allowed her maid to help her into the high-waisted evening gown of midnight-blue embroidered with silver thread. As the skirts shimmered into place Lucy was reminded of standing on the roof with Ralph, gazing up at the blue-black vault of the night sky. She had felt such happiness then, with his hand resting upon her shoulder and his deep voice murmuring in her ear as he talked to her about the stars.
‘Miss, miss? Will you sit down, miss, so that I can dress your hair?’
Lucy gave herself a mental shake and sank down on the stool before her mirror. She watched patiently as Ruthie caught her hair up in a blue ribbon and nestled little silver stars amongst her curls. She frowned.
‘I remember being fitted for the gown, but I cannot recall Mrs Sutton supplying the hair ornaments.’
‘No, miss, they belonged to Lady Adversane. It seems the master has kept them all this time. Fancy that!’
Lucy stared in the mirror and a cold chill of reality began to trickle through her veins.
‘And this gown, Ruthie. Do you remember Lady Adversane wearing one similar?’
‘Of course, miss. She said she chose the midnight-blue to match her eyes.’ Ruthie gave a gay little laugh. ‘She was that beautiful, but of course the stars didn’t show up quite so well against her gold curls as they will in your darker ones.’
If Ruthie meant this as a comfort it fell far short. Lucy stared at her reflection and felt something inside turning to stone. Ralph wanted her to look like Helene. It was his late wife he had imagined he was kissing earlier. He did not want her at all, merely someone who looked enough like Helene to arouse him.
Lucy sank her teeth into her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. She wanted to sweep her arm across the dressing table, to send the pots and brushes and the rest of those exquisite little silver ornaments flying across the room. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap. This was what she was being paid for—to recreate the image of a dead woman.
* * *
The murmur of voices when she went downstairs to the drawing room told Lucy she was not the first, but that was what she had planned. She had deliberately left it as late as she dared to put in an appearance. As she entered the room a silence fell. Lord Wetherell raised his looking glass to stare at her. Sir Timothy goggled, and Margaret exclaimed, in her frank way, ‘Good God, she is just like Helene!’
‘Do you think so?’ murmured Ralph, coming towards her. ‘I do not see it.’
He was smiling, and Lucy forced herself to smile back. She had no wish now to gaze at him adoringly, to think of his kiss. When he would have taken her hand, she moved away slightly and made her own way into the room. Caroline patted the seat beside her and smiled invitingly.
‘Everyone wears these styles and colours, Margaret. Leave the girl alone.’
But Lucy saw the speculative glance Caroline threw at her brother.
* * *
Lucy discovered that playing a role was much easier than being herself. She existed only as Ralph’s fiancée; quiet, complaisant and totally without emotion. When Ralph escorted her in to dinner and asked her if she was all right, she smiled sweetly and told him she was very well. Conversation ebbed and flowed around her. After dinner the ladies retired to the drawing room, where Lucy recited without a blush the story she and Ralph had concocted about how and where they had met.
‘So it was love at first sight,’ said Margaret.
‘Not exactly.’
‘Well, I must say I was surprised to learn that Ralph had found himself another bride,’ remarked Caroline. ‘I thought Helene’s death had put him off marriage for ever.’
‘Did he...? Did he love her very much?’ Lucy thought it quite reasonable that a fiancée might ask the question of Ralph’s sisters.
‘I never thought so,’ replied Caroline frankly. ‘She was exquisitely beautiful, of course, but when one got past that she had very little else to recommend her.’
‘My dear, she was the sweetest girl,’ protested Ariadne.
‘Yes, the sweetest little nodcock.’
‘Well, I think we have only ourselves to blame that he married her,’ said Margaret, coming to sit on the other side of Lucy. ‘We urged Ralph to marry, and to please us he went to Harrogate, looking for a wife. Preston hurled the gel at his head and with her beauty it is hardly surprising that Ralph should fall head over heels in love and offer for her.’
‘And she bored him within a month of the ceremony,’ declared Caroline. ‘Whereas you, my dear...’ She turned and caught Lucy’s hands. ‘You have intelligence and a sharp wit, if I am not mistaken, that will keep a man interested for a lifetime.’
Shocked out of her role, Lucy blushed.
‘How can you say so when you hardly know me?’
‘I knew it as soon as we met. You have a ready sense of the ridiculous and although you are no chatterbox, what you do say shows you have an active and enquiring mind.’
‘But many men do not want an intelligent wife, Caro,’ said Margaret. ‘The very thought frightens them.’
‘Not Lucy,’ cried her sister, smiling, ‘Who could be frightened of her?’
Lucy laughed and disclaimed. How she would have liked to make real friends of these women, but it could not be. When the time came for her to jilt Ralph they would despise her, she knew it.
‘Let us have some music!’ cried Margaret, jumping up and going to the piano. ‘Do you play, Lucy?’
‘A little, but not that well.’
‘Then we are all evenly matched. Come along, there is some music here somewhere...’
* * *
When the gentlemen came in some time later they found all four ladies gathered about the piano, singing folk songs. Margaret immediately called across the room to them.
‘Ralph, your fiancée has the sweetest voice. Do come and join her in a duet.’
Lucy forgot to be complaisant and said hurriedly, ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t—’
‘Do
