‘What’s that you say?’ their father asked, exasperated that his poor hearing meant he had missed much of their conversation. ‘What must I do?’
Lucy spoke slowly and clearly: ‘Captain Harvington will come to see you at eleven. When you speak with him, just remember that I love him very much and want to be his bride.’
After breakfast, Dorothea followed her father down the hall to his study, where he liked to spend the morning snoozing over his newspaper. She waited till he was settled in his comfy leather armchair, with a view over the leafless trees of Russell Square, before speaking.
‘Papa, I hope you agree that Lucy’s ridiculous scheme to get married and go to war with the troops would be disastrous.’
‘Quite.’ Her father nodded in agreement.
Dorothea wasn’t convinced that he understood the gravity of the situation, so she continued: ‘She and Captain Harvington are both good-natured, happy-go-lucky characters, but neither has a practical bone in their bodies. And Lucy is far too young and giddy for marriage.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ He opened the newspaper.
‘You have to stop them, Papa. I know it puts you in an awkward position, but I have a suggestion. Don’t refuse permission outright, but play for time by telling them they can marry on Captain Harvington’s return from war. Doubtless Lucy’s head will have been turned by some other charming fellow by then and the marriage won’t go ahead. Only a couple of months ago she was smitten with Henry Pendlebury, and before that it was Alexander Gwynn Jones. Make them wait and I’m sure this one won’t last.’
‘I expect you’re right. Remind me: what is it that I am to do?’
Dorothea explained again, speaking slowly and clearly until it seemed the message had got through. The carriage clock on the mantel chimed ten, meaning she would be late for her work unless she got a move on. She was a member of the ladies’ committee at a small charitable hospital in Pimlico and counted herself fortunate to have an occupation, unlike most ladies of her social class who spent their days sitting idly at home or calling upon friends for tea and gossip. If Chalmers had the carriage ready and traffic was not too heavy around Covent Garden, there was still a chance she could make it on time.
‘Thank you, Father.’ She leaned in to kiss his brow and he murmured his goodbyes before opening the newspaper and closing his eyes.
Looking back, Dorothea couldn’t put her finger on a time when her father’s mental acuity had begun to decline. In her youth he had run a thriving bespoke furniture business and was clearly an astute businessman who had earned enough to buy a large house and employ five members of staff, as well as keeping a carriage. Russell Square was not a fashionable area of London but it was convenient for the City, and therefore popular with merchants such as her father. He’d often been away from home during her childhood, but when he was there he used to regale his girls with tales of explorers such as Christopher Columbus and Captain Cook, a subject that held endless fascination for him. There was a globe in his study on which he showed them the countries to which these pioneers had sailed, some of them right on the other side of the sphere. But since he sold the business – there being no son to inherit – it seemed his brain had shrunk. When had that been? Maybe six or seven years ago, she thought. A couple of years before his wife – Lucy and Dorothea’s mother – had lost her long battle with illness. Were these events linked, she wondered? It was hard to remember why he’d made the decision to stop working although still only in his early fifties. Maybe it was grief, or perhaps he already felt his abilities lessening and had bowed to the inevitable. Either way, the man who shuffled around the house, snoozing his days away and rarely receiving company, was a pale shadow of the fine gentleman he had once been.
When Dorothea returned, exhausted, from her work at the hospital, Lucy was sewing by the fireside in the drawing room with a half-smile on her lips.
Dorothea chose a chair closest to the flames so as to warm her frozen fingers.
‘Did Captain Harvington call today?’
‘Yes.’ Lucy looked demure.
‘Did he accept Father’s decision?’
‘He certainly did.’ Lucy beamed in triumph, the smile lighting up her face. ‘And he’s delighted. We plan to be wed as soon as we can arrange it after the reading of the banns.’
‘Father consented?’ Dorothea felt a kick in the pit of her stomach.
‘Please be happy for me,’ Lucy entreated. ‘I know you are opposed to the match, but you can’t deny you like Charlie. Everyone likes him! We’re so happy together.’ She threw down her sewing and clenched her fists in excitement.
Dorothea was momentarily lost for words. ‘I’m not opposed to the match, Lucy. It’s just too soon. You scarcely know each other.’
Lucy leapt from her chair and came to kneel at Dorothea’s feet, head tilted, her clear blue eyes peering up, her pretty lips pursed with the same endearing expression that must have swayed their father earlier. It always made Dorothea want to kiss the flawless skin of her little sister’s cheek and stroke that soft strawberry-blonde hair. Lucy’s was a beauty that turned heads in the street and made it hard not to stare.
‘Oh, but you’re wrong! It’s because you’ve never experienced that glorious feeling of falling in love and finding you already know everything about the other person because you are so perfectly matched. We laugh at the same things, cry at the same things, think the same way about simply everything … You’re soon going to learn to love Charlie as I do. I know you will.’
Dorothea stood abruptly and stepped over her sister’s legs, ignoring the disappointment that clouded her expression. ‘Forgive me,’ she murmured. ‘I really must change for dinner. We’ll talk more later.’
As she climbed the stairs with leaden feet, one thought was foremost in Dorothea’s mind: the marriage must be prevented, one way or another. She was the only responsible guardian the girl possessed, since she could patently wrap their father around her little finger. It was up to Dorothea to take action and she felt the weight of the responsibility keenly. If Lucy wouldn’t listen to her, who else could she appeal to?
The following morning, Dorothea left early and asked Chalmers to take her via Lincoln’s Inn, where a gentleman of her acquaintance was a barrister in chambers. Mr William Goodland was the brother of her friend Emily and around a year ago he had begun to call on them for tea every Sunday afternoon. He would ask after their father’s health and Dorothea’s work, comment on the weather, then Dorothea would struggle to maintain a conversation of sorts until he wished her good day and left after barely an hour.
Behind his back, Lucy made fun of him for his bushy side-whiskers and social awkwardness, and was rather good at imitating his tedious conversation: ‘These scones seem to me the perfect combination of lightness and sweetness. It is quite some time since I have encountered such a sublime scone. You must compliment your cook on their sublimity.’
‘Don’t be so cruel, Lucy,’ Dorothea had chided, unable to suppress a smile. ‘We can’t all have your conversational skills.’
Dorothea was unsure of the purpose for Mr Goodland’s regular visits. Did he feel protective towards them as two women living under the roof of a father whose mental capacities were failing? Or did he consider himself a potential suitor for one of them? If so, he had never made his intentions clear. However, she had decided to seek his advice about the legal position regarding Lucy’s proposed marriage.
‘She