Chapter Twenty

"You're quiet this morning. Is everything alright?"

Flinching, Lucy glanced up from her letter, which hadn't progressed beyond the opening sentence. While she was lost in thought, a huge ink droplet had welled up from the nib of her pen, dropping onto the paper below and ruining it. With a sigh, she crumpled the ruined letter and tossed it away, replacing her pen and turning to Beatrice, who was still eyeing her with concern.

Generally speaking, Lucy and Beatrice took an hour or two away from their guests every morning, to write letters, work on various tasks, and manage household matters. Today was a little more hectic than most days, as the summer ball was happening tonight. Lots to do, lots to do.

"I'm fine," Lucy managed. It was, of course, a lie, but one that seemed to satisfy Beatrice well enough.

In truth, Lucy's head was spinning. She could think of nothing beyond how Felicity had acted last night, and how aggressive Miranda had become. Surely this couldn't be allowed. Surely something had to be done.

After the ball, she reminded herself. Arthur and Beatrice have enough to think of besides that.

Setting aside her letters, Lucy got to her feet. "Do excuse me. I'd like to talk to Felicity about something."

"Of course, of course," Beatrice said, smiling. "I'm sure you want to make the most of it, before she goes home."

Lucy paused. "Goes home?"

"Yes, Mrs. Thornhill told me this morning that they intend to leave after the summer ball. I asked if Felicity could stay longer - I know she's a particular friend of yours – but Mrs. Thornhill said no, I'm afraid. I am sorry."

Lucy swallowed hard. "I see. Well, thank you for telling me. Do… do excuse me."

She found Felicity in the library.

"I thought you were forbidden from books," she remarked, settling beside her on the window seat.

"I was. I am," Felicity responded, not looking up from the page. "But as I'm sure you've heard; we're going home after the ball. I won't be allowed to continue my studies once we're home. So, I might as well enjoy books while I'll allowed to have them."

Lucy bit her lip. "Oh, I am sorry. Stay here, Felicity, please. We can take care of you."

"I can't stay in the house with an unmarried man, you know that. Besides, I would have no money, no status, no family. They'd cut me off. I can't do that, Lucy."

There was a silence after that, the two women sitting together, each wrapped up in her own private thoughts.

"Papa tells me that Lord Vincent is seriously thinking of proposing to me," Felicity said, after the pause had dragged on. "I want to marry for love, Lucy. Whenever I say that, Mama just laughs at me. Sometimes she gets angry and tells me that I'm a stupid girl who doesn't understand how the world works. I'm just so tired, Lucy. I'm so very tired."

Lucy took a moment to compose her thoughts. Leaning forward, she waited for Felicity to look up and met her eye.

"I thought… and correct me if I am wrong," she said hesitantly, "I thought that perhaps you had… you had feelings for somebody else."

A flush rose to Felicity's cheeks. "Do you mean…"

"I mean, Arthur."

More silence.

"It hardly matters," Felicity said, sounding so weary that it nearly broke Lucy's heart. "None of it matters now."

And then, while Lucy was thinking of something to say – some magic words that would break through Felicity's tiredness and misery and convince her that the world waiting outside was not all sadness and loss – a servant came, and politely asked Lucy to come and attend to Mrs. Langley in the ballroom.

"You should go," Felicity said, before Lucy could reply. "I know you have a lot of work to do before tonight. I'll join you soon, I promise."

A lot of work to do felt like an understatement. The summer ball had been a Langley tradition for decades, and it was Lucy's idea to revive it. Poor Beatrice was in a flutter about it and determined to set a fine standard for future years.

Maids were vigorously polishing, footmen rolling up carpets and getting out the very best silverware and glassware, and even the huge old chandelier had been lowered for a thorough cleaning. It was being lifted now, a team of trained footmen and glass-workers hauling it up to its position, ropes and chains securing the heavy old thing in place.

As promised, Felicity had arrived to help, and was folding paper flowers on a table alongside Lucy. Arthur was over at the other end of the ballroom, discussing wines with the butler. As expected, Miranda was lurking around, keeping an eye on him.

She avoided Lucy and Felicity. Apparently, all pretence of friendship had been dropped. Lucy watched the woman closely.

If it were me, she thought, I'd be too embarrassed to stay somewhere where I wasn't welcome, especially after I was caught threatening a house-guest.

But perhaps Miranda had very strong hopes of catching Arthur, although why she would have such hopes, Lucy could not say. Try though she might, Arthur had not given Miranda the slightest bit of encouragement.

We'll tell her to go the morning after the ball, Lucy thought. She knew that Arthur would back her up, and Beatrice would have to submit. It was clear that Miranda's health was stable enough for her to leave, and probably had been since she was dragged out of the lake.

As she watched, Miranda hovered by the rising chandelier, near where the ropes were affixed discreetly to the wall.

"Ouch! Ah, Lucy, I cut my finger on a piece of paper. Have you a handkerchief?"

Lucy's attention was diverted by Felicity, and when she looked back, there was no sign of Miranda at all.

***

Lucy's experience of parties and soirees were… were rather different from that of other people. She was fairly used to sitting quietly in the corner and would really rather be observing others than dancing. Her willing spinster status was well known, and gentlemen tended to avoid her. That did not bother her, either.

Oh, there'd been years when she worried about her singleness, worried about what would happen when her father died, and worried about her future. She didn't want to be lonely – nobody did – but all the gentlemen who expressed interest in her were so eminently unsuitable.

Or rather, unsuitable by her standards. There had been a few rather nice men who were eligible enough, and a few matrons took it upon themselves to take pity on her motherless status and suggest that she accept the gentlemen's proposals.

On all occasions, Lucy listened politely and carefully, and then did whatever she wanted anyway. Sometimes the matrons and dowagers who tried to take her under their wings were miffed that their advice was not taken, but that was unfortunately unavoidable. They seemed to pity her, she knew that much.

And yet it didn't quite matter. Not to her, at least.

It meant that on a night like tonight, Lucy could take a seat near the wall, and quietly watch everything that was going on in their house.

She could see Beatrice, surrounded by friends, chatting merrily. She saw Arthur, standing in a corner with his aunt, Amelia, and Lord Daniel Thornhill. She saw Miranda eyeing him, clearly keen to approach him, but not seeming to dare, not with his aunt and his friend around him.

Scanning the crowd, Lucy looked out for Felicity. She spotted her, as she knew she would, standing with Lord Vincent, looking miserable. Mrs. Thornhill sat nearby, keeping a keen eye on them, and scuppering Felicity's chances for escape.

Lucy's heart sank.

My poor friend. Will she really force herself down the aisle with Lord Vincent, simply because she thinks she has no other choice?

The answer seemed increasingly likely to be yes.

Lucy was so concentrated on watching the crowd that she didn't see Beatrice approach, until the woman plopped down into a seat beside her.

"I do hate to see you sitting here alone, Lucy," Beatrice said regretfully. "I wish you'd let me introduce you to some people."

"I have plenty of friends, my dear Aunt Beatrice. I enjoy people watching, you know I do."

"I know, I know, but you know how I like to see everybody enjoying themselves at a party."

Lucy shot her a wry smile. "I am enjoying myself."

That earned her a chuckle, and the two women sat in companionable silence for a moment or two.

When Beatrice and Arthur had first arrived, Lucy had braced herself for ill-treatment at worse, icy politeness at best, and had applied herself to trying to find somewhere – anywhere – else to live. She was pleasantly surprised, of course, to be welcomed into the family. Arthur felt the brother she had never had, and Beatrice like the mother she could scarcely remember. The place felt like home again, in a way it hadn't since her father had passed away.

Lucy was lucky, she knew that. She was in a position to help others. Other like Felicity, in fact.

"Felicity's parents are making her living situation almost unbearable," Lucy said, breaking the silence. "She finally confided in me. I am worried about her, Beatrice. I am afraid she'll marry a man she does not love to escape."

Beatrice sighed. "Oh, dear. That is so devastating. I can assume you're talking about Lord Vincent? I confess, I cannot bring myself to like that man. If I didn't happen to know that he was rich, I'd think he was a fortune-hunter. He acts like one, certainly."

"Looks can be deceiving," Lucy remarked. As she watched, another set of dancing was starting up again. Felicity had been obliged to dance the first set with Lord Vincent, and it seemed that now he was trying to convince her to stand up with him again. With him and Mrs. Thornhill guarding her like a pair of dragons, there was small chance of Felicity dancing with anybody else.

Or no, wait – was that Arthur, pushing his way determinedly through the crowd? Lucy's heart leapt. Arthur was going to ask her to dance. She could see it in his face. Felicity had noticed him now, too, and a flash of hope appeared in her eyes.

And then, out of nowhere, Miranda appeared, stepping into Arthur's path and obliging him to stop. She began to chatter to him, eyelashes fluttering, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Seizing the moment, Lord Vincent redoubled his efforts, and a moment later, Lucy saw a subdued-looking Felicity being led onto the dance floor, watched by Arthur, who looked entirely miserable.

She sank back into the seat with a sigh.

"The only thing about people-watching," Beatrice said meditatively, seemingly from nowhere, "is that it is purely a spectator sport. It can be infuriating to watch things go on without you, especially when one has the power to get up and change things, if one wished."

Lucy shot her a look. "Is this your way of telling me I should get up and join in?"

Beatrice widened her eyes, looking like the very picture of innocence.

"Oh, my dear Lucy, I should not dare tell you what to do."

Before Lucy could shoot back with some quip or other, a juddering, screeching groan filled the ballroom, pitching over the music and making the musicians falter and the dancers miss a step or two.

People looked around, frowning, trying to ascertain the source of the noise. Rising to her feet, Lucy scanned the ballroom. A nasty sense of unease had lodged itself in her gut.

A shimmer of movement caught her eye, and she glanced up. High above the heads of the dancers, the chandelier was shuddering, the individual glass pieces, so recently cleaned, bouncing and dancing. The whole chandelier was beginning to tip, just a little, to one side.

"The chandelier!" Lucy heard a voice shout, realising that it was her own, "The chandelier is falling!"

As she spoke, there was one last, horrible groan, and the chandelier pitched downwards, dropping like a stone.

People screamed shrilly, disappearing from the dance floor like ants scattering from the path of a falling stone. Only the dancers in the centre, knotted together as they were, struggled to get out of the way.

One dancer, Lucy saw with a sickening realization, was Felicity. She was struggling to get away, with Lord Vincent nowhere to be seen.

The chandelier hit the floor with an earth-shaking crash, and people screamed louder.