Everything a Lady is Not

by Sawyer North

  The duchess absorbed the information, her face disturbed by a ripple of horror while a hand rose to her chest. “My dear girl. You have suffered beyond the pale. My heart weeps for you.”

  Lucy kneeled before her. “Do not weep for me. I survived. I have known genuine caring and concern from those around me. And now, I am finally free.”

  The duchess smiled sadly. “I see also that you are strong. That pleases me greatly.” She stood and called for Miss Barrett before turning to Lucy. “I will have the servants draw you a warm bath so you may wash away the road and anything else you wish to leave behind.”

  Lucy began to disagree but then remembered the spectacular pleasure of a warm bath. “Thank you. A bath would be most welcome.”

  …

  While bathing occupied Lucy upstairs, the duchess bid Henry to join her in the parlor. He hoped their discussion might entail an offer of reward for the return of the wayward granddaughter. However, she began with a very different tack.

  “My husband and I were well acquainted with your father. We found him to be a straightforward man, true to his word and not given to indiscretion.” She appraised Henry carefully. “I wonder, is his son cut from the same cloth?”

  He pondered the question. “My sister is dearer to me than anyone and I trust her good judgment. Often, she has said that I very much resemble our father in demeanor and behavior. I do not know how to answer more directly than that, for judging oneself is a biased enterprise. I tend to ignore my flaws until I or another lies wounded.”

  The duchess grew a wan smile. “I have found that those most aware of their faults tend to practice discretion when entrusted with the secrets of others.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. You are very kind.”

  Her smile faded. “I am not ‘very kind’ as you claim. That is my confession. I am, however, immensely practical and ferociously defensive of my family. Until today, I believed my family lost forever. You, however, have restored me to life, and I shall not forget that debt.”

  Henry leaned forward on the sofa and waited for the offer of a sum that might offset the risks he had taken for Lucy. The duchess, however, shifted directions again.

  “Mr. Beaumont, what is your assessment of Lucy? After all, you spent the past two days in her company.”

  He froze. What could he say that would prove truthful yet kind, frank yet considerate? He waffled as the longcase clock ticked behind the duchess. She rolled her eyes.

  “Do not think you must flatter me. I desire your frankness above all.”

  He absently rubbed his neck and stared at the floor. “If you seek frankness, then I apologize for any coming offense.”

  She motioned for him to continue, so he pressed onward.

  “How do I assess Miss Locket? Well, she is quite rough around the edges. Too brash, too forward, too quick with a challenging word. Too sloppy in her dress, too coarse in her movements, too uncaring of her appearance. She has associated with the most despicable of men and knows nothing of the behavior of a proper lady. Society will feed her to the gristmill and laugh at her agony while doing so. In a land that prizes delicacy above fortitude and demureness above intelligence, she stands squarely on the wrong side of the fence and quite without a key to the gate.”

  After the words rushed forth, he leaned back into the sofa, preparing to wince at what would surely be a torrent of disagreement from the duchess. Instead, she smiled.

  “Thank you for that. I rarely hear the truth from anyone these days.”

  He blinked twice. “You are not angry?”

  “Not angry. A little sad, but also determined and more than inspired.”

  As she locked eyes with him, he felt distinctly that he should flee. Before he could muster the good sense to do so, she raised a finger to point at his nose.

  “You shall help her, sir. You shall provide the key to the gate.”

  He blinked again as confusion settled. “I beg your pardon. What are you saying?”

  She sprang from her chair as if thirty years younger and much less genteel and began to pace before Henry.

  “Lucy must be made fit for Society.” She stabbed a forefinger at him to make her point. “Must, I tell you. Her future lies in the balance. She must be schooled deeply in the ways of gentility before I let her loose in London. She must learn what has been denied her before she can obtain what is rightfully hers. She must become fit for a suitor, and remarkably soon.”

  He finally released the expected wince. She loomed over him as much as her sprightly frame would allow.

  “You are the only one fit for the job. You must do this for me and for Lucy.”

  He sat motionless for the space of two breaths. “Why me?”

  “Because you alone of Society know her sordid history, and no other can be allowed to possess such information. If the ton learned the truth of her recent past, it would never suffer her presence long enough to accept her as an equal.”

  He swallowed hard. “My deepest apologies, but I cannot. The task is too tall for the elite of London, let alone for the exiled second son of a country earl.” He withheld his primary reason for declining—his desire to be free from the web of lies that threatened to render true every dire prediction his brother had made of him. “Besides, I am expected at Bow Street for duty in the morning.”

  “I will send a letter to Sir Nathaniel. As a dear friend, he will most certainly grant you leave.”

  “With all due respect, I have no inheritance. I must work if I am to eat.”

  She leaned toward him, driving him into the sofa cushions. “I will pay you handsomely for your efforts.”

  He considered the disrepair of the house while harboring doubts about her means. “Any sum I accepted from you would be no better than blood money, tainted by my inevitable failure to accomplish the task.”

  In response, the duchess performed a remarkable act, one Henry had not thought possible. She sat beside him on the sofa with her hands in her lap and begged.

  “Please, I implore you. If only you realized what is at stake for Lucy, then you would understand my desperation.”

  His curiosity mounted. He sensed in the plea a profound secret and the woman’s desire to disclose the truth. His morbid interest overcame good sense.

  “Perhaps if you explain the stakes, then I might know better what game you ask me to play.”

  “Indeed. Indeed. I suppose I owe you that privilege, considering what I ask of you.” She stared ahead, not looking him in the eye. “My son, Edwin, whom I loved dearly and whom we cultivated to inherit the dukedom, was always passionate and impulsive. He often spoke inappropriately and acted without considering the consequences.”

  “That describes someone else we know.”

  The duchess smiled briefly. “Yes, it does. Despite his shortcomings, Edwin seemed poised to accept the mantle of his duties. However, he met and married a common bar wench, rendered her with child, and fled to Italy to escape the wrath of his father. The duke was livid. He tried to disinherit Edwin in favor of our younger son. Edwin returned to England to convince members of the Committee of Privileges to deny my husband’s request. But his actions proved moot when he drowned returning to Italy. And then…”

  Henry waited in silence before prompting her. “Then what?”

  She turned her face toward him, eyes filled with regret. “Then his younger brother died a year later, from fever. My husband shattered. He was gone within six months. However, since our granddaughter was never found, he poured his last ounce of hope into his written will. Should she return and marry someone appropriate and approved by the age of one and twenty, his will settles on her a sum of one hundred thousand pounds.”

  Henry whistled in awe. “Your granddaughter will inherit a fortune if she marries before the age of one and twenty?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if she does
not marry by then?”

  “She inherits nothing. The dowry reverts to the estate of the new duke, the scoundrel.”

  He nodded grimly. “I see. How old is she now, if I might ask?”

  The duchess grew grimmer still. “She is twenty and will reach her next birthday in a little more than three months. So, do you not see the stakes and urgency of the situation?”

  He nodded, overwhelmed. “I do.”

  “You will help her, then?”

  “It depends. What did the duke mean by ‘appropriate and approved’?”

  “Born of a British family in good standing with the Crown and in possession of a royally bestowed title, or heir to one.”

  He clenched his jaw with mild frustration. “I see. In other words, Lucy must be prepared to impress a class of suitors likely to ridicule her in her current state.”

  “That is how I interpret the situation, Mr. Beaumont.”

  Henry pressed a fist into his chin as he considered the mounting challenge and his dire personal situation. Despite Lucy’s lofty new station, his very association with the ward of a criminal would serve only to drag him toward an unwelcome destiny. And yet, he could not simply abandon her. Visions of Lucy sailed through his mind. Her courage. Her determination. Her intelligence. And her seeming inability to understand how beautiful she was. With some reluctance, he came to a decision that would surely prove disastrous on every level.

  “Agreed, then. I will devote my energy to the task, but I can spare only two weeks. This is a perilous affair fraught with inevitable ruin. I cannot squander what little reputation I have on such a risky project.”

  She sighed. “Two weeks, then, Mr. Beaumont.”

  “Very well, Your Grace. It will be as you say.”

  She nodded approval but grew serious. “I expect your best, and nothing less.”

  “You will have it. I am a man of my word.”

  “Very well. Perhaps you may begin by using her given name rather than the one from a street rhyme.”

  He dipped his forehead. “Lady Margaret Huntington it shall be then.”

  As he made to leave, however, he admitted silently that a change of name would probably accomplish little. She was Lucy Locket and likely would remain so, despite his best efforts. And he would be destined to become a criminal.

  Chapter Seven

  Lucy wondered why Henry had left the previous evening without bidding her farewell. However, after contemplating the steady stream of antagonistic words between them, she concluded that his action was not surprising. She might have considered his departure a good riddance if only he had not been such amusing company and so easily riled by her teasing. And so devastatingly handsome in his uniform. She would miss the gritted square of his jaw and the flash of his luminous eyes when they argued.

  The warm bath, soft bed, and sumptuous fare had lifted her spirits. Never far from her thoughts, though, was the specter of arrest and hanging for her unwitting participation in a crime. On the heels of that concern came the formulation of an escape plan. Despite the kindness of the duchess, Lucy had no desire to stay. Now truly free for the first time in her life, she wished to escape the clutches of a careless and corrupting Society and disappear from the eyes of Bow Street completely. If only she might borrow a small sum from the duchess, perhaps then she could set the plan into motion. She was debating just how to broach the subject with the duchess during breakfast when the butler, Hawes, entered the breakfast room.

  “Mr. Beaumont has arrived as requested, Your Grace.”

  “Very good, Hawes. Send him in straightaway.”

  Lucy stared quizzically at her. The duchess smiled but offered no explanation. When Henry entered and failed to meet her eyes, fear crept up Lucy’s spine. Had he changed his mind? Had he told the duchess what she’d done at Shooter’s Hill?

  “Good day, Your Grace,” Henry said with a bow.

  “And to you, Mr. Beaumont.”

  When Henry joined them at the table, Lucy shifted her glance between him and the duchess, waiting for an explanation. Both appeared content to leave her in suspense.

  “What is this?” she blurted finally. “And where is the guillotine?”

  He smiled, apparently amused by her unease. The duchess faced Lucy. “There is no guillotine, dear.”

  “I will be the judge of that.”

  The older woman rolled her eyes. “Lucy, Mr. Beaumont is to educate you in the finer points of Society so you may quickly adjust to your new life.”

  The hairs on Lucy’s neck stood on end. “What sense of urgency drives the need for immediate education?”

  When the duchess and Henry exchanged a wordless glance, she became certain that foul plans were afoot. She sat straighter and folded her arms.

  “No urgency, my dear,” said the duchess. “I wish only to ease you into Society.”

  Sensing the game, Lucy played along. She unfolded her arms and assumed an expression of relief. “Wonderful. Then I will adjust to my new surroundings at my leisure—before leaping into deeper water. Perhaps by New Year’s I will be ready to begin a more formal education, at which time we may call on Mr. Beaumont’s services.”

  The duchess peered sharply again at Henry, her eyes filled with desperation. He cleared his throat and leaned toward her. “Perhaps you should opt for frankness. During my brief but highly eventful acquaintance with your granddaughter, I have learned one truth of her preferences. She prizes blunt speech over finesse and does not suffer evasion.”

  The duchess breathed deeply through her nose. “Very well, then. Lucy, I shall be as frank as a Cheapside stall maiden. However, I should first ask if you recall your current age.”

  “Twenty.”

  “And your birthday is when?”

  “September.”

  “Yes. September. A mere three months hence, which means we possess only that measure of time to prepare you for Society, find an appropriate suitor, and get you married.”

  For a moment, Lucy forgot the fine art of breathing. When she remembered, the air rushed from her lungs in an astonished and horrified gasp. “I am to marry? Within three months?” She bounced to her feet and began edging toward the door. “This is unacceptable! This is abominable! I cannot… I will not consider such a travesty! I am not cattle!”

  Henry jumped up and caught her elbow none too gently. “Wait! You must hear the rest.”

  She glanced down at his uncomfortable grip. He followed her gaze and abruptly softened his hold but did not release it. She found his eyes. “I must do nothing, sir. I will take leave of this madhouse.”

  Henry leaned perilously near to speak in a dark whisper. “Please, I beg of you. Just listen to what your grandmother says. If afterward you feel no abatement in your desire to flee, then I will hold the door open as you pass. However, grant at least this one request from a woman who has shown you nothing but kindness.”

  Try as she might, Lucy could not resist the prideful man’s sudden show of humility and concern for the old woman. After a lengthy pause, she whispered too harshly, “Right, then. Now unhand me.”

  Henry released his grip but hovered nearby. She tentatively resumed her seat and held the eyes of the duchess with unrestrained heat. “Her Grace has the floor.”

  The duchess nodded with only minimal relief. “If you marry an appropriate and approved member of Society by your next birthday, you will inherit a sum of one hundred thousand pounds that has been held in reserve in the event of your return.”

  Lucy coughed in surprise. “How much?”

  “One hundred thousand,” said Henry. “Pounds.”

  “And if I do not marry?”

  The duchess shook her head. “You inherit nothing. The money reverts to the estate, and hence, to the new duke. The blackguard asked after it recently, gleefully anticipating its imminent return.”

  Something
in the old woman’s eyes spoke of more to the story. A desperation that seemed out of place to Lucy. “That amount, while a fortune, seems too much for the likes of me. Could you not scrape together a smaller dowry at a later time?”

  The noblewoman sat in silence for beat upon beat of Lucy’s heart. Henry cleared his throat auspiciously.

  “I will leave if you prefer privacy, Your Grace.” His conspiratorial tone indicated he might know something that had escaped Lucy.

  “Not necessary. You clearly suspect the truth.” She faced Lucy. “Because my sons died, the dukedom passed to the duke’s contemptible brother who maintains open animosity toward me. The duke, God rest him, intended to leave me sufficient funds to make comfortable my dotage. However…” Her voice hitched. “However, his final investments proved disastrous. My remaining funds are enough to support me and a small staff for at least a few years. Meanwhile, the house falls into disrepair. I cannot, as you suggest, scrape together a smaller dowry.”

  Empathy suffused Lucy. The duchess had treated her with such kindness. One hundred thousand pounds could certainly entice a class of suitor who would see to the duchess’s comfort for the remainder of her days. How could she walk away from such charity, such duty, without guilt? As Lucy massaged her temples, an answer came.

  I cannot.

  Despite her utter contempt for the wealthy class, despite her desperate sense of unworthiness, despite her complete lack of social graces, despite the dark secrets of her past. She dropped her hands and lifted her eyes. “What constitutes an ‘appropriate and approved’ member of Society?”

  The duchess glanced to Henry for help. He adjusted his cravat. “According to the specifics of the will, he must be a man born of a British family in good standing with the Crown and in possession of a royally bestowed title, or heir to one. In other words, the kind of man who would not even notice you in your current state.”

  “My current state? And just what is so repulsive about my current state?”