have done well. We did not foresee this peculiar circumstance.’
‘I have met the lady, sir, and she is perfectly respectable, I assure you.’
‘You met her?’
‘Quite by chance. I could not see any difficulty there.’
No, but Sloane could. He ought to have been wise enough to warn Elliot not to place him in any close proximity to a single lady of any age. But the cousin of his intended? Miss Hart, of all ladies.
Nothing could be done. He leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its back legs. ‘When do I take possession?’
Elliot brightened. ‘Today, if you like. The papers will be here for you to sign this morning.’
The chair nearly slipped out from under him. ‘Give me a day or so. You may take possession today, however, and make sure all is in order for me.’ Sloane needed a few days, if for nothing else, to alert the Cowdlins of his move. Would Lady Hannah dislike him living nearly in the pocket of her cousin? He was certain her father would.
‘Come with me, Lucy.’ Morgana practically had to drag the maid out of doors into the fine spring weather. She’d invented the excuse of desiring a walk in the park and needing a companion. Though it was not the fashionable hour, the park would be busy with other townspeople this fine day. A lady walking with her maid would not be remarked upon.
In some ways Morgana felt more kinship with her servants than with the few family members she possessed. The Cowdlins, including Hannah and Varney, treated her more as an obligation than a beloved relation, and her grandmother, the dear lady, could not even remember who Morgana was. It had not been much different growing up with her father. Baron Hart was always much too busy with some diplomatic crisis or another to attend to a little girl. As a result, Morgana had always formed attachments to the others around her, servants and governesses, short-lived as they were with her father’s frequent moves. It seemed natural for Morgana to consider Lucy’s problems as her own. She hoped to brighten the girl’s mood and encourage her to stay.
But Lucy tied the ribbons of her bonnet with a desultory air. Determined to be cheerful, Morgana led the girl to the pavement. As they neared the corner of the street, a gentleman approached.
He tipped his hat. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Hart.’
It was Mr Sloane’s secretary. ‘How do you do, Mr Elliot. How nice to see you again.’
Mr Elliot’s eyes wandered to Lucy, and she, in turn, regarded him shyly from beneath her long lashes. Morgana did so like this young man. His expression towards the maid held nothing but kindness.
‘My maid and I are going for a walk in the park.’
He touched the brim of his hat again. ‘I will not detain you.’
Lucy lagged behind Morgana as they crossed the street and turned towards one of the park entrances. As Morgana had anticipated, there were plenty of people enjoying the fine day. Governesses letting their charges run about while they passed time flirting with young men. Shopgirls and workmen eyeing each other with interest. There was even the occasional curricle and cavalryman exercising his horse.
They walked in silence for a very long time. As they reached the Serpentine and stood gazing at the water, Lucy spoke. ‘I think I’ll be leaving your house, miss.’
Morgana turned to her. ‘Oh, no, Lucy!’
The girl kept her gaze on the water. ‘I cannot stay. I’ve been thinking about it all the time. I must go.’
‘You cannot.’ She felt like grabbing Lucy and shaking sense into her. ‘The life you seek is no life for any girl.’
Lucy lifted a hand to her brow. ‘Lots of girls is in it, miss. I heard of a madam who treats her girls fair well.’
A madam. Morgana cringed at the thought of Lucy in such an establishment, where men came to pay for favours. Neither love nor the creation of children would enter into the transaction. Why, Lucy might catch a disease, one that could kill her.
Morgana had learned about such things when she kept her father’s house in Spain. She’d overheard plenty from the men who called upon her father and from servants’ talk. And, of course, the memory of the Portuguese girl always hovered in the recesses of her mind.
She wanted to spare Lucy such a life, but what did she have to offer her in exchange? A life of hard work, no matter how kind she was as an employer?
‘Lucy, what if I could procure some other sort of work for you?’
‘Like what, miss?’ Lucy asked, with little interest.
Morgana thought for a moment. It would be difficult to convince anyone to hire a maid to do another sort of job, but she could at least try. ‘In a shop, perhaps.’
‘And stand on my feet all day? I could not do it.’ Lucy shook her head.
Morgana racked her brain to think of other jobs. For every one, Lucy gave an excuse.
A nurse? Lucy hated sick people.
A governess? Worse than a maid, Lucy vowed. Besides she was not good at learning.
A seamstress? It would ruin her eyes.
‘What if I set you up in a business, like a shop of some sort?’ Morgana was grasping at straws, but she could probably get her father to release enough money for a little shop.
‘I cannot do sums, Miss Hart,’ Lucy said. ‘Besides, m’mind’s made up on the matter. I’m going to go to the bawdy house.’
Morgana took Lucy’s hands in hers and made the girl face her. ‘I believe you are making a very bad mistake, Lucy.’ She spoke in a calm but firm voice. ‘It is not too late to live a virtuous life. I am happy to employ you and keep you as part of my household. I will not make you work too hard. In time you will meet a young man who will want to marry you—’
‘No!’ Lucy wrenched out of her grasp. ‘There is no marriage for a girl like me. I want to go to the madam. She pays her girls well, I heard. That is what I want, Miss Hart. I want money and pretty dresses.’
It was no use. Morgana stared at Lucy for a long time, but could think of nothing else to say. Finally, she turned back in the direction they had come. ‘Let us make our way home.’
They returned to the path. Walking silently a few steps in front of Lucy, Morgana waited while a carriage rumbled past.
Through the carriage window she spied the auburn-haired woman she’d seen at the opera. Harriette Wilson. The woman laughed gaily and happened to turn towards Morgana, giving her a smile of recognition and of something else—something rather smug and defiant, Morgana thought.
Next to Miss Wilson, Morgana spied a gentleman, but she could not see who it was. The carriage, however, was an expensive one, and the horses, matched bays, were very fine indeed.
After the carriage passed, Morgana could not make herself move. She was frozen by a thought flying through her head.
‘Miss Hart?’ Lucy asked uncertainly.
Morgana
