Spring Muslins Read online

  SPRING MUSLINS

  A sparkling Regency romance

  by

  Melinda Hammond

  © 2019 Melinda Hammond

  First published in "A Season of Romance" Regency Romantics Box Set, July 2019

  All rights reserved.

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  This work is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any real person or incident is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  SPRING MUSLINS

  A sparkling Regency Romance by

  Melinda Hammond

  Upon the death of her father, Miss Lucia Luckington returns from school to discover that her meagre inheritance is not enough to keep herself, her cousin Grace and their old governess, Miss Morrison. Something must be done.

  Lucia comes up with a Grand Plan to make Grace a successful seamstress, but it will require the efforts of all three ladies to make it work. However, what seemed such a simple idea when they were in Little Furzewell becomes much more complicated in fashionable London, and brings Lucia into direct conflict with that notable Corinthian, Sir Darius Claversham.

  Together with her cousin and her friend, Lucia works hard to make a success of her Grand Plan but in the end, the results are very different from what she had envisaged!

  "…Melinda Hammond writes a heart-warming, Austen-ish style historical romance…" (Romance Reader at Heart, Thoughts & Ponderings)

  "Melinda Hammond is one of the brightest stars in the Regency firmament. Her plots are fast-paced, her characterization impeccable and her ability to evoke the past in a vivid and colorful way superb!" (www.singletitles.com)

  CHAPTER ONE

  1813

  It was only September but a chill, blustery wind was blowing from the north when the mail coach pulled up at the market cross in Little Furzewell. The horses snorted and stamped impatiently as the guard jumped down and opened the door for a solitary female to alight. He was not one to bestir himself for his passengers, but he had decided to make an exception for the dainty female who had given him such a sweet smile when she had embarked. Who could fail to take a fatherly interest in such a pleasant young lady, with her pansy-brown eyes set in a heart-shaped face, framed by dusky curls that were kept in check by a modest bonnet? She thanked him prettily and gave him a coin when he handed over her portmanteau, and he touched his hat, wishing her a very good day.

  The young lady turned away and crossed the square, struggling to carry her bag while keeping her cloak pulled tight with one hand and using the other to prevent her bonnet from being blown away. Somehow, she succeeded and eventually arrived at her destination, a small house just off the square.

  Her appearance was expected, for as she walked up the short path the door opened and a girlish figure in a dimity gown ran out to meet her.

  ‘Lucia, Lucia! Oh, how glad I am to see you!’

  Miss Luckington dropped her bag just in time to be enveloped in a fierce hug.

  ‘And I you, Cousin!’ she declared laughing.

  Her travelling bag was swept up and she was almost dragged inside, her companion chattering all the time.

  ‘We have been looking out for you since dawn, Lucy. Poor Morry has been in agonies, fearing an accident, or highwayman, or any number of disasters!’

  ‘Now that is quite enough, Grace.’ An angular figure tending the fire straightened and turned towards the door, waving her poker in a most alarming manner. ‘Stop teasing Lucia and come in and close the door before we lose all the heat.’ Miss Phoebe Morrison’s rather harsh face softened as she looked at the newcomer. She put down the poker and said quietly, ‘Welcome home, my dear.’

  With something like a sob Lucia gave up trying to unfasten the ties of her cloak and ran forward, throwing herself into the older woman’s arms.

  ‘Oh Morry, I have missed you all so much!’

  There followed a few moments of confusion until at last Lucia had divested herself of her bonnet and cloak and was seated in the best chair beside the fire with Grace on a stool beside her while Miss Morrison busied herself with the kettle and teapot.

  ‘I wish I had come home earlier,’ said Lucia, accepting a cup of tea.

  ‘Now, now, my dear, there was nothing you could do here, and you know your dear papa was adamant you should remain in Bath as long as possible.’ Only by the greatest exercise of willpower did Miss Morrison refrain from sniffing. ‘After all, Lady Quidenham has done little enough for you, and you her niece and goddaughter, too!’

  ‘Great niece,’ Lucia reminded her with a little smile. ‘Aunt Evadne was severely disappointed when Mama married for love rather than a fortune, we must be thankful she did anything for me.’

  ‘Sending you to the most select seminary in Bath was indeed good of her,’ put in Grace, fair-mindedly.

  ‘Appearances,’ Miss Morrison muttered darkly. ‘She is so rich she could do no less without being thought a nipcheese.’

  ‘Excuse me but she could have done a great deal less,’ Lucia corrected her. ‘Papa was so rude to her at Mama’s funeral four years ago that I was surprised when she wrote offering to pay for me to go to school. I expect,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘that she thought it might wean me away from what she called Papa’s disastrous influence.’

  ‘Lucia!’ Grace looked up at her, eyes wide. ‘She never said that to you.’

  ‘Oh yes she did. Last year, just after my eighteenth birthday. Aunt Evadne came to Bath to see me. She offered to take me in, as long as I cut all ties with Papa. It gave me great pleasure to refuse!’

  ‘And you do not regret it?’ Miss Morrison wrung her hands and gazed at her anxiously.

  ‘Not for a moment,’ declared Lucia stoutly.

  ‘But you might have been rich,’ said Grace. ‘She might have made you her heir.’

  ‘Yes, and she might not. My great-aunt is an eccentric and not to be relied upon. She said if I would not forsake Papa then the family would not receive one penny at her death.’

  ‘My dear child, one might wish you had done something to placate her,’ said Miss Morrison, refilling the teacups. ‘Our position here is most precarious.’

  ‘As you said in your letter.’ Lucia nodded. ‘Which is why I am come home. At nineteen I could not justify staying at Miss Emerson’s Academy any longer, although my experience teaching the younger girls might be useful, if I have to become a governess.’

  ‘I pray it will not come to that,’ said Miss Morrison sitting down opposite Lucia. ‘I will strain every sinew to prevent you having to suffer such a fate. I know what it is to be at the beck and call of a selfish, demanding employer – not here of course,’ she went on hurriedly. ‘I was extremely fortunate that your sainted papa employed me to educate you and your cousin. Here I have always been treated with respect and made to feel I was part of the family. Most employers would have had no compunction in turning me off, when Lady Quidenham took charge of your education.’

  ‘How could Papa do that, Morry?’ Lucia reached out and gasped her hand. ‘Mama had just died and I was going off to school. Someone had to help Grace and look after the house. And besides,
he never really paid you a wage after that, did he?’

  ‘He provided for us all with never a murmur of complaint,’ replied the old governess, hunting for her handkerchief. ‘And he left both Grace and myself fifty pounds in his will, which he could ill afford.’

  ‘But even if you add that to the interest from the one thousand pounds in Funds that he left me, it is still barely enough to live on,’ said Lucia. ‘It is certainly not enough to allow us to keep this house.’

  ‘It gives us something to live on for the moment. Then perhaps we might take in a lodger,’ suggested Grace.

  ‘That is possible, I suppose,’ said Lucia. ‘But it would hardly support us all. At least, not without the strictest economy.’

  With an anguished sob Miss Morrison buried her face in her hands.

  ‘Dear Mrs Luckington would turn in her grave if she knew you were reduced to this.’

  ‘I do not think she would be surprised about my looking for work,’ reasoned Grace. ‘After all, if she and Uncle Charles had not taken me in, I should have had to find employment of some sort. As it is, I was allowed to share your lessons, Lucia, and even when you went to school Morry continued to teach me. Although I confess I am not a great scholar.’

  ‘Your talents lay in your hands, Cousin,’ said Lucia, smiling. ‘You are the most accomplished needlewoman I know. Oh dear, how vexatious this all is, not knowing what is to become of us.’ She yawned. ‘Perhaps it is because I am so tired that I cannot think straight. I suggest we all go to bed, and perhaps in the morning we shall be able to see things more clearly.’

  *

  However, by morning no new solution had occurred to any of them. Lucia fetched a sheet of paper to work out their finances, several ideas for making money were discussed and abandoned. Miss Morrison suggested she might find work as a governess again, and Grace could take in sewing.

  ‘That might bring in enough for you to remain living here, Lucia,’ said Grace, hopefully.

  ‘What, have you two working yourselves to the bone to keep me in luxury? That is not to be thought of. We might perhaps open a dame school.’

  Miss Morrison shook her head. ‘Mrs Groves already runs one, and there are not enough pupils to support two such establishments.’

  By the end of the day nothing had occurred to them and at dinner that evening Lucia suggested that they should begin to sort out the attics in the morning.

  ‘We shall need to put a bed up there if we are to take in lodgers,’ she reasoned. ‘And besides, we are going around in circles and not finding any new ideas. The attics have not been touched since Mama died, so at least if we clear them we will be achieving something.’ An irrepressible dimple peeped. ‘And who knows, we might find a strongbox full of jewels hidden away!’

  The following morning the three ladies set to work with a will. They donned their linen aprons and began by cleaning away years of dust and cobwebs from the trunks and boxes stored under the eaves before bringing them downstairs, a few at a time, to examine the contents.

  ‘Goodness,’ exclaimed Lucia, peering into one particularly large trunk. ‘Just look at all these gowns! The materials are so heavy…and the skirts are enormous. I think these must be from Grandmama’s day.’

  ‘Oh, this is beautiful,’ breathed Grace, pulling out a quilted petticoat and a gown of rich blue wool damask.

  Carefully they unpacked the trunk, revealing bundles of embroidered silks, thick velvets and heavy corduroy.

  Lucia smiled. ‘I can see your hands are itching to get to work making something from all these, Grace.’

  ‘Oh yes, I would very much like to work with such wonderful stuffs.’ She held up a swathe of cream silk embroidered with a colourful array of exotic birds. ‘No one wears such gowns now, but imagine what a pretty reticule this would make. Or even a spencer to wear over a summer gown. Or this velvet would make a wonderful redingote!’

  Grace’s enthusiasm was infectious. Lucia and Miss Morrison became caught up in the excitement as they knelt by each trunk, carefully taking out the contents. Most of the materials were hardly worn and their colours still jewel-bright.

  ‘Do you know, I think we could do something with all this,’ said Lucia, sitting back on her heels. ‘We might fashion new muffs from the fur lining of the cloak, and a tippet and hat from those velvet skirts. Or rather, you might do so, Grace. Your sewing is so fine I believe you are a match for any seamstress in Bath.’ She looked up, her eyes shining. ‘We could set you up as a dressmaker’.

  ‘Yes!’ Grace bounced up and began to pace the room, her brow furrowed as ideas flooded in. ‘We could turn these gowns into new clothes, tippets, caps, gloves and so on that we can sell. Even the quilted petticoats might be turned to good use! We could then buy more fabric, sprig muslins and light silks – ‘

  ‘Morry and I could help,’ added Lucia. ‘Although my sewing is not nearly as good as yours. And Morry could also keep the accounts. You would be famous in no time!’ She swung around towards the old governess. ‘What say you, Morry?’

  ‘It is a splendid idea,’ agreed Miss Morrison. ‘However.’ She paused. ‘I am not sure there would be that many customers in Little Furzewell.’

  Her soft words were like a dowsing of cold water. Grace subsided back to her knees and Lucia stood, biting her lip.

  ‘We would need to move to a large town,’ she said slowly. ‘Bath, perhaps. Or London.’

  Miss Morrison threw up her hands. ‘Heavens, my dear Lucia, have you thought of the costs such a move would incur? If we cannot afford the rent here then we would never manage anywhere else!’

  ‘I could use my inheritance. Once Grace’s gowns are in demand, we could soon recoup our investment.’

  ‘Oh no, Lucia, I could not let you do that!’

  Grace’s anguished cry was so heartfelt that Lucia did not press the idea.

  ‘I agree,’ added Miss Morrison. ‘We could not let you take such a risk, Lucia. Think how disastrous it would be if our little venture should fail.’

  ‘I do not see how it can fail!’

  Her cheerful response brought a sorrowful look from the old governess.

  ‘That is what your dear papa used to say, every time he came up with a new scheme. They were all, without exception, unsuccessful.’

  Crushed, Lucia lapsed into silence, but when Grace reminded them all that it was market day and suggested they should all walk into the high street to buy provisions, she declined.

  ‘I will stay here and pack everything away again in the trunks,’ she said. ‘Whatever we decide to do with these gowns, we need to look after them.’

  When Grace and Miss Morrison had gone out, Lucia set to work folding up the rich material, pausing to admire a particularly beautiful French silk brocade. The fabrics were far too valuable to leave mouldering in the attics, but for now they would have to go back there. When she reached the final trunk, she discovered that it was not quite empty, for a number of fine linen chemises and petticoats lined the bottom. They had been disturbed and needed refolding so she pulled them all out, and discovered beneath them a small bundle of letters tied up in pale pink ribbon.

  Intrigued, Lucia lifted out the papers. The ink was faded but she could read the address, written in an elegant flowing script.

  ‘Mistress Joanna Verwood,’ she murmured. ‘That was Grandmama, before she was married.’

  Her heart gave a little skip. That was forty years ago! She had a faint memory of her maternal grandmother, a kindly lady habitually dressed in black. She must have packed away all these gorgeous clothes when Grandpapa had died, shortly after the birth of their only daughter. The gowns forgotten, Lucia sat on the floor surrounded by a riotous sea of colour and began to read.

  *

  When Miss Morrison and Grace returned from the market, they found the little room had been tidied, the trunks were all shut and Lucia was sitting by the fire, deep in thought.

  ‘We should not have stayed out so long!’ declared Grace, unbuttoning her
pelisse. ‘I beg your pardon, Lucia. Are you quite fatigued with packing everything away?’

  Lucia looked up at that.

  ‘On the contrary,’ she said, her dark eyes shining. ‘I have had an idea. What Papa would have called A Grand Plan!’

  CHAPTER TWO

  The ancient town of Quidenham was situated some fifty miles from Little Furzewell. After its heyday as the centre of a wool producing area in the Middle Ages, it had sunk into a quiet backwater and was not now on any main coaching route. Lucia was therefore obliged to take the mail coach to Broadway and then hire a gig to carry her the five miles to the Dower House, where she hoped to find her great-aunt in residence.

  Miss Morrison, whom Lucia had brought with her for propriety’s sake, voiced her worry that the Dowager Viscountess might not be at home but Lucia was more confident.

  ‘My great-aunt is a creature of habit,’ she told her companion as she guided the gig’s sluggish pony through the winding country lanes. ‘She is always in town by the beginning of April, then she spends August in Ramsgate for the sea air and returns here for the autumn and winter. Her habits have not changed for the past ten years or more. How do I know? Because it is always trumpeted in the society pages of the newspapers. The Dowager Viscountess Quidenham, dear Morry, is very rich, and therefore, very important.’

  ‘And do you think she will see us?’

  Lucia’s dainty little chin lifted a fraction.

  ‘Having put so much effort and money into coming this far, I am determined she will!’

  The Dower House was a surprisingly restrained residence for such an eminent personage. Built in the local honey-coloured stone, it stood four-square within gardens that even on a late September day were full of colour and interest.

  ‘Well,’ said Morry, brightening as she looked about her. ‘This is very pretty. Very welcoming.’

  Lucia said nothing. She knew appearances were deceptive and expected no welcome from Lady Quidenham.