Her friend's words filled Lucy with bleakness at the dismal reality they presented. She knew Caroline was right. Since she'd arrived in London, her options were grossly limited, and most aristocratic men who'd approached her only wanted one thing—to make her a mistress.
She couldn't sink to that point, at least not yet.
"But I have to try, dear girl. You won't understand, and it's too complicated to explain."
"But I do, Miss Lucy. I really do."
Lucy turned to the maid and felt a chill at the awareness in her eyes. She felt vulnerable and exposed suddenly and her heart began thudding in fear, but Caroline's next words relaxed her somewhat.
"I know there is something else weighing on your heart, apart from the poverty caused by losing your father, and you and your mother being forced into penury. I know there is another secret that plagues you, but it's all going to be alright soon." Caroline suddenly reached for her gloved hand and squeezed.
Lucy felt an overwhelming sensation of warm care and she squeezed the other girl's hand in return; feeling a certain kinship she'd never had.
"Thank you, Caroline. I know you think me materialistic in this regard, but I really am not bent on this for the wrong reasons. This is fiercely important to me in ways you cannot imagine. There are things I wish I could share with you, and I hope soon to be free to do so."
Lucy wished for nothing more than to unburden her heart of the lies and the weight of the deception that was almost too heavy to carry sometimes. But it was just too risky. She knew Caroline had her best interest at heart, but the facade she wore was so shocking that it was better kept to herself for now.
Or for forever if I know what is good for me. But how can I carry this burden all my life? What if it crushes me?
She had never had a friend before, not even in her former life where everyone thought she was different, silly, and the butt of jokes for her grandiose dreams.
Lucy couldn't bear to return to that life. She simply couldn't. Memories and pictures flashed through her mind. The big pails and basins of laundry ... the broken nails and deep calluses on her chapped hands ...the heavy scowls and hard slap of the matron's hand when she slackened at her task …the deep gnawing pangs of hunger in the night and the tears muffled into the threadbare pillow so no one would hear as she struggled to fall asleep on the cold floor of the workhouse...
She couldn't return to that life, even if it meant working hard to earn the reputation of a noteworthy companion, and searching tirelessly for another position..
Thoughts of Edmund drifted back again like a thick persistent smoke, and she remembered his eyes shining as he spoke.
Lucy got up abruptly and urged Caroline up as well. Thoughts like that wouldn't do at all. She was going to do all it took to block any idea of Edmund.
She was supposed to be out scouting for noble gentlemen, and insinuating herself into their strolls. She was supposed to be finding ways to make herself more attractive rather than thinking about the earl's solicitor. No matter how good looking he was, or how much of a sweet man, there was no hope of anything happening between them.
The next thirty minutes were spent strolling through Hyde Park, noting and greeting familiar people, by whom she was only snubbed twice; she'd visited the pond where a cluster of gentlemen stood throwing snacks of bread, and biscuits to the fat ducks waddling about.
Lucy had seen a handsome, brown-haired gentleman walking down the path she was on, and had deftly bumped into him. The shocked man had steadied her, apologized, and left hurriedly as though she had suddenly sprouted horns.
By then, Lucy was ready to return to the house, her high spirits and confidence in tatters.
"Do you know what they say, Miss Lucy?" Caroline's voice was sympathetic. "Things find you when you aren't searching so hard to find them. Don't be discouraged; we can still return tomorrow."
Lucy sighed as they walked down the gravelled path, heading for Belgrave Square. She wasn't feeling particularly optimistic, as she'd tried her best to be seen and desired. But few people in the park walked alone; rather, it was filled with groups of friends, women strolling arm in arm, happy couples, nannies pushing prams, and young men trotting past fast on spirited horses. As she wasn't wealthy enough to be acknowledged, her party of one had pretty much been ignored.
Searching for a husband the way she was doing didn't seem likely to yield any result, and she found her thoughts straying to Viscount Hilgrove. Should she make a bold play for him? Find a way to wrestle his interest from Lady Mary to herself? That would require a lot of machination, and the matter of the debt owed to the earl posed a significant problem. But just as the thoughts arose in her mind, Lucy felt a flood of disgust and shame. As time flew by, she seemed to be changing into something she hated and dreaded. The viscount wasn't a nice man, not one bit. Surely she couldn't let desperation turn her into a heartless, jaded person, willing to lose her self-respect and morality, could it?
There had to be another way to get what she wanted; all she had to do was think hard and find it.
Chapter Seven
The charming opulence of the Earl of Langford's office did nothing to alleviate the heavy frown Edmund gave as the razor-sharp man explained the arrangement of his dastardly plans to free his friend, Viscount Oliver of Northam, while ensuring his debt was paid in full.
It was a discussion they'd had the day before, and one Edmund hadn't taken with the utmost seriousness due to the vileness of its nature. He wished he had. He was distracting himself by focusing on the fine oak paneling that clad the spacious room, and was covered with ceiling to floor tapestries of rich chocolate brown, red and gold. The table was made of the same fine oak as the paneling. The plush velvet cushions on the chairs had been obtained recently; the earl being a man of eclectic taste.
Edmund did a quick calculation in his head, needing to jog his memory because he'd been the one who'd solicited the maker in Pennsylvania, and handled the payments and legalities.
The salary of the manager of the Langford's estate, along with the entire staff in the house, had been cut recently to accommodate expenses which he'd found quite unnecessary. The house was already tastefully furnished, and Edmund did not hold with the staff being paid less for the same service, whilst the earl squandered the money on Italian statues and paintings.
"You don't look very sure, Swinton. Do you have any objections? Does this feel like something you can bring yourself to handle?"
Edmund turned to the Earl of Langford, John Barlow, and gave a fake half-smile in response to the sharp, biting questions, veiled by menacing undertones. He met the man's coldly glittering, dark eyes and took a long gulp from the snifter of brandy in his grasp.
"Why don't you explore the other option, of having Viscount Hilgrove sell off some of his recent unnecessary acquisitions, and settle the debt? It's the logical approach. This plan is precarious at best, and like I said the last time; I wouldn't advise it, My Lord."
"Well, it's your place to advise, and mine to decide whether your words any usefulness in the grand scale of things, Swinton. This approach is the best one," the earl said in a prosaic tone, flicking open a pocket watch, and closing it in a final manner.
Edmund knew the tall, darkly imposing man sitting before him was ruthless and cold, but he didn't think he was an ogre enough to go through with such an appalling plan.
He tried one more time to appeal to any shred of conscience left in him, unease creeping steadily into his mind. "I must admit, this doesn't seem morally right, My Lord, and could turn ugly in a heartbeat; especially if Lady Mary's father were to get involved. I would like to know if there are other ways to approach this without bringing disgrace to the lady in question."
The earl gave a short humourless laugh, and regarded him with a disappointed disdain. "The chit's father is a sick old fool and closer to the grave every day. I would think you'd have some disposition for this kind of business. Do you think there are moral ways to approach everything? How
foolish and myopic your thoughts actually are, my boy."
Edmund ignored the insult, not even granting the man the satisfaction of a flinch. He was pretty used to such arrows by now. Working for a year now had offered him no other choice but to grow a thicker shell, and build a tall wall over fragile things like feelings and ego.
The man enjoyed blood sports, and enjoyed the gratification of finding out that his barbs hit their marks, and wounded.
Edmund was quietly determined not to let that be the case now. He was more concerned about finding ways to avert the disaster that was about to happen.
"You might be right, My Lord, and my thoughts might be a little myopic sometimes; but don't you think it's wise to see it as the missing voice of caution, rather than cowardly concern?"
He had the unexplainable pleasure of watching the earl's eyes darken, showing off a degree of chilly offense—he apparently didn't like to be bested in any situation.
"Very well, then," his tone was acerbic, "I will let you be the voice of caution in this arrangement, and that requires you taking care to choose the men responsible for this task so it doesn't blow up. Is that caution enough for you?"
Anger swept through Edmund as he stared at the man whose expression of ire had been replaced by a chilling triumph.
"But, My Lord, this isn't right—"
"Need I remind you that you're currently in my employ, and there is more at stake here than the reputation of some flimsy chit?"
Edmund stiffened. He'd been waiting for the strike and he wasn't disappointed. He'd been rendered powerless once more.
He emptied the rest of the brandy in one long gulp, welcoming the sharp burn in his throat.
The earl regarded him with cool speculation that grated on his nerves; the earl's lips turned down in a sneer.
Edmund cleared his throat and said in defeat, "Very well then, My Lord. I will see to setting the wheels in motion just as you've strategized.
"Excellent!" The earl's grin was broad, and his features finally relaxed to their usual smirk. "I'm pleased you've finally decided to let go of maudlin sentiments and to face business. I expect a report in three days' time. Let's have a drink to seal this, and wipe that morose look off your face."
Lucy breathed in the sweet smell emanating from the garden, enjoying how it affected her senses and lifted her mood considerably. Ever since the outing at the park with Caroline two days ago, she'd been decidedly miserable as the daunting uncertainty of her future loomed.
Being determined to find a husband couldn't work while Lady Agnes's health plummeted with each passing day. Lucy had been at her absolute wit's end to know what to do next, and when the older woman had woken up an hour ago and decided a walk would soothe her spirit, Lucy had been happy for the diversion.
Her relief hadn't been at the prospect of her ladyship's health taking a turn for the better, but at the fact that she'd be going outside after sewing by Lady Agnes' bedside for the past two days. Suddenly being outside offered the same thrill as several gold sovereigns. Who would have thought that!
After making sure Lady Agnes was well covered, with a thick woollen shawl draped across her bony, frail shoulders, Lucy assisted her down the stairs and to the garden behind the house.
One of the footmen had brought out a chair and attached a large parasol over it, and Lady Agnes sat reclining on it; a warm duvet resting across her legs.
"Would you cut some peonies and roses and place them by my bedside later in the day? They look so beautiful and are in full bloom," her ladyship said, her attention riveted on the clusters of flowers a few steps away from where she sat.
"Of course, My Lady. They look so cheerful out in the sun this afternoon, and will bring color to your cheeks," Lucy told her with a cheerful smile.
The long-term illness had ravaged the woman's looks; her skin was devoid of color, and as her dark hair had lost its shine, but the smile she wore at Lucy's words made her look younger for a fleeting moment.
"Thanks, dear girl. You are much too sweet," came the woman's pleasantly soft reply. "I have a wonderful thought to host a small dinner tomorrow. It's been a long while since I entertained and seems like a wonderful idea."
Lucy's attention was suddenly piqued, and her thoughts raced in excitement, but she asked dutifully, "Dinner? Sounds utterly delightful, but do you think you're up for that, My Lady?"
"Yes, most definitely. I feel so out of touch with everything and everyone. You must send an invitation to the Graysons, and that lovely young girl, Vivienne," Lady Agnes chattered on. "And of course, the Havershams; I miss my dear Cornelia and am itching to hear everything that's been happening in the circle. Do you think Lord Sedgwick would still be in London? That man knows just how to liven up the dinner table."
"Yes, he is, My Lady. I met him at the park two days ago," Lucy replied, smiling
Lord Sedgwick was one of the few nobles who acknowledged her and spoke with her when he could. It was just her rotten luck that he'd gotten engaged a month ago to Olivia Wilburne, the Society Ladies Magazine's sharp-tongued writer.
"Don't you find it amusing that, after butting heads with Miss Wilburn for the entirety of last Season; they ended up together for the reason of a merely assumed scandal?" Her Ladyship's grin was filled with mirth.
"Yes, My Lady. There won't be many boring moments in the course of their marriage, I can tell."
It wasn't a secret that Lord Sedgwick was absolutely smitten with Miss Olivia Wilburn, as much as he wanted to throttle her sometimes, but the progressive, freethinking woman had declared she wasn't ever getting married, least of all to someone as obtuse as Lord Sedgwick.
It was a big surprise to everyone when they'd be found in a compromising position at a soiree hosted by the Duke of Wilshire, a month ago. This was quite a striking turn of events, which Lucy thought hadn't occurred without any machinations from the rakish Lord Sedgwick.
"Could you assist me inside, dear girl? I fear I might have overexerted myself and need to lie down for a rest."
Lucy stopped her forage through the flowers, taking care to tuck a few roses in her handkerchief to press between her diaries later on. She assisted Lady Agnes to her room, waiting to make sure the woman was settled comfortably and drifting off to sleep, before exiting.
Remembering the woman's request for flowers, Lucy went down the stairs, and was just about to turn the corner, leading to the back door, when Edmund Swinton emerged from the earl's office just a few steps away.
Just like the last time she'd seen him, he looked extremely troubled and weary at the same time. His brow was furrowed in a frown, and he held on to his case with a tight grip that implied a deep withdrawn emotion.
All Lucy's pesky, distracting thoughts and feelings came rushing back like water flooding over a broken riverbank, and she couldn't help herself from weakening as he came closer.
He was undoubtedly one of the handsomest men she'd ever seen, and standing so close to him, Lucy became suddenly aware of his impressive height.
"Miss Lucy, we meet again," he said with warmth that did nothing to ease the worry barely concealed in his eyes.
"Mr. Swinton," she replied, "I'm afraid I'll have to ask again why you look so glum. Even if you insist on denying the obvious."
"And I'll maintain my discretion, Miss Lucy. As I said the last time, you don't need to worry yourself about such trifling matters. It's not something a lady such as you should be bothered with," he replied most patiently while giving her a rather unreadable perusal.
Lucy wasn't going to be deterred. She felt a strong compulsion to find out what was troubling him.
"I'm only concerned, Edmund. Something seems to be causing you trouble, and I can't help but inquire about what it might be. Forgive my forwardness and intrusion."
The guarded look on Edmund's face dissolved suddenly, replaced by a warm appreciative one. "I'm honored that you think of me in that regard, and bother yourself to worry about my troubles. Alas, I can't share whatever it is with
you; it would be highly improper and unethical to do so. You are very kind, Lucy, and I am unworthy." His expression softened as he regarded her.
Lucy smiled back, warmed by the way he acted around her. He was like a chameleon with many changing colors, and she found herself liking this part of him quite deeply.
"I must be on my way now. I have some urgent matters to attend to for the earl. A pleasant day to you, Miss Lucy."
Lucy nodded with a pleased smile, and he paused a moment longer, staring at her like a man of science appraising a recent astonishing find, before turning on his heels and walking way with purposeful strides.
Watching him leave, Lucy thought, I think of him only as a friend would think of another friend; with concern for his well-being. Nothing more.
Chapter Eight
It was in the early hours of the afternoon, and Lucy was beyond bored, craving for something to do other than reading and reworking the gowns Lady Agnes had been nice enough to gift her days ago.
Although not new, the gowns were coming along nicely, and she was optimistic about the end results. Lucy was positive that her additions of ribbons and embroidery flowers, that she'd picked up at her ladyship's modiste in the West end, would divert attention from the gowns' fading, shrinking states.
The particular one she held was a green muslin with a cowled neckline and flower trimmings drifting down its length on either side, lending it a fetching appearance. She intended to wear the gown at the dinner party Lady Agnes planned to host in a couple of days.
Beyond excited, Lucy had spent the entire morning working on the invitation letters to the guests, and it was just her luck that her ladyship had decided to include Lord Redmayne and Lancaster. Both of them were among London's top eligible bachelors respected and free from scandals or dreadful vices such as an addiction to the card tables; they were upright men who would no doubt make good husbands.
To Catch the Candid Earl: Regency Historical Romance Page 7
