Everything a Lady is Not

by Sawyer North

  “Oh, our relationship extends far into the past. My father was a friend of his brother-in-law, and thus we visited his sister’s estate many times. While Father hunted pheasant, Henry and I found different diversions to occupy us.”

  Lucy furrowed her brow. She wondered about the nature of the diversions and if he’d ever showed Isabella his secret room. Isabella continued to speak over those thoughts, commanding attention with dramatic descriptions of her nearness to Henry, all the while failing to spare even a glance toward Lucy.

  “We last saw each other when Henry was fifteen and just entering manhood. However, as fate would have it, we reacquainted in Town during my first Season and shared many dances over that time. Until yesterday, I remained unaware of his return to London after the war. You might imagine my surprise when I learned he had joined the Robin Redbreasts.”

  “Bow Street Horse Patrol,” Henry corrected. “The other is a nickname given us by criminals. It should not cross a lady’s lips.”

  Lucy shot a hot glare at him. Not once in a week had he given her the same advice. The slight reinforced her suspicion that he would never consider her free from the taint of thieves. However, he did not appear to notice her upset. He seemed too focused on Isabella.

  “And I rather think,” he added, “you are far more disappointed than surprised by my joining of the patrol.”

  She dipped her chin and batted long eyelashes. “Oh, Henry, silly man. You could never disappoint me.”

  He smiled in a warm, relaxed manner that Lucy had not yet seen from him. She found it immensely appealing, but also galling that the smile’s target was this haughty woman.

  “Isabella, I will strive never to damage your good opinion of me.”

  The duchess interrupted the interplay rather forcefully. “Where are my manners, Lady Isabella? Perhaps you have not met my granddaughter, Lady Margaret Huntington.”

  Isabella acknowledged Lucy’s presence for the first time by shifting blue eyes slowly toward her. The woman coolly appraised her for the space of two breaths before offering comment to the duchess rather than addressing Lucy.

  “So, then, I see the rumors are true. It seems your wayward granddaughter has returned to London after all. If I might ask, where has she been hiding?”

  The duchess returned Isabella’s gaze without flinching. “Elsewhere. However, she is here now.”

  Isabella regally shifted her attention to Lucy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Let me say, Lady Margaret, that I commend you.”

  Lucy cocked her head. Despite the nagging in her gut that the comment was a trap, she took the bait. “Commend me? For what?”

  “For your courage. I do not know a single young lady of the ton who would venture into public without a little powder or rouge, and certainly not wearing a dress that faded from style a decade ago.”

  With those words, Lucy finally recognized Lady Isabella for what she was. The young woman was every cheat, sharp, and manipulator who had paraded through her Dartmoor home the past decade. She was one who crafted phrases of duplicitous meaning, casting doubt and confusion to sway every situation to her benefit. Fortunately, Lucy had learned how to respond to such a person—play along and never let the other know you are aware of their game.

  “Thank you, Lady Isabella,” she said with as much naiveté as she could. “You are very kind.”

  Henry intervened, seemingly confused as he spoke to Lady Isabella. “You must understand, Isabella. Miss Loc…Lady Margaret lived remotely from Society for some years. My presence here is as something of a tutor to prepare her for presentation.”

  Isabella smiled conspiratorially at him. “Then that rumor proves true as well. Lady Carrington insinuated as much, but her credibility remains in question. I mean not to gossip, but she seems to imbibe to the point of insensibility. I should disclose no more or risk impropriety, but she appears to have been accurate in this case at least. And do let me say, Henry, that I am certain you are up to the task. No matter how daunting.”

  He smiled oddly. “I would not be so certain of that.”

  Lady Isabella turned to Lucy. “Then perhaps I should place my confidence in you, Lady Margaret. And you should not concern yourself over your unfashionably dark hair or small nose. I am certain many suitors would overlook such disadvantages.”

  “The late Duke of Ramsbury certainly overlooked my dark hair and small nose when he courted me,” injected the duchess with a tone bordering on threat. Lucy’s hand found that of her grandmother, sending a message of restraint.

  “Your Grace, I meant not to offend.” Isabella’s quick reply proved sticky with earnestness. “I merely suggest that one can never account for the fickle tastes of Society. You know how quickly fashions change, as if blown by the wind.”

  “Yes. In fact, I do.”

  During the exchange, Henry’s face had shifted from amusement to discomfort. “Lady Margaret,” he said. “Did you select a suitable design for your new dress?”

  Lucy nodded, happy for the diversion. “Yes. A new dress for Saturday is underway, with two more to follow.”

  “I am certain you will look lovely for the dinner party, dear,” the duchess offered.

  Lady Isabella sat straighter. “Which dinner party, might I ask? The Witherings? The Stuarts? Please do not say you will attend the function at the Wellesfords. I should not speak of this, but it is widely known that Wellesford has involved himself in a disastrous banking venture. You would be well advised to avoid their company, but that is not for me to say. I do not wish to spread rumors.”

  The duchess peered at Isabella with an expression bordering on sour. “No, Lady Isabella, none of those. I am hosting a private affair with a few of my longtime friends in attendance. Nothing more.”

  Isabella smiled shrewdly. “I see. Might I assume this affair is a trial for your granddaughter’s eventual entrance into wider Society?”

  The duchess glared at her. Henry broke the awkward silence. “Perhaps. However, it is a simple informal gathering.”

  Lady Isabella clapped her hands. “Wonderful! In that case, you must invite some younger ladies to offer, should I say, a fresher societal perspective. I mean no offense, Your Grace, but I doubt your friends know exactly what suitors seek these days.”

  The duchess smiled darkly. “Suitors always seek the same things, girl. Beauty, money, and fertile loins.”

  “I do not mean to disagree, but men these days will not glance twice at a woman who does not present a certain feminine quality.” She looked to Henry. “Do you not agree?”

  His face blanched. “Well, I…”

  “Do you see, Your Grace? He agrees. A fortuitous agreement it is, as your granddaughter clearly has much to learn.”

  The duchess’s dark glare grew icy as well. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  “Merely that I bring two or three of my friends to help. I so wish for your granddaughter to prepare fully for her introduction into broader circles. The observations of youth may serve a constructive purpose.”

  The offer sounded to Lucy’s ears more like a threat, such as, “Here, let me relieve you of the burden of your immense wallet.” The duchess must have heard the same, because she hesitated before relenting.

  “I suppose younger eyes might observe minor details the more mature might miss.”

  “Then the matter is settled. Please have your butler inform my footman of the particulars, and I will attend.” She turned again to Henry. “You will be in attendance, will you not?”

  “Of course. Lady Margaret is my charge.”

  “Perfect. I wish you good luck, Henry. Now, however, I must take my leave for I have other calls to make. I look forward to seeing you again Saturday.”

  Lady Isabella rose with the grace of dancers on a Grecian urn. Lucy stood in turn and began to curtsy before the duchess’s hand stopped her. She sheepishly res
umed her full stature. Isabella betrayed a brief flash of disdain, but Henry and the duchess seemed not to notice. She curtsied lightly and glided, as if on skates, toward the door.

  “Au revoir,” she announced. However, she stopped to cast a glance over a slender shoulder. “And Henry…”

  “Yes.”

  “Leave your uniform at home. You are the son of an earl. Do not forget your station.”

  As the young gentlewoman swept through the parlor doors and disappeared, realization struck Lucy. She had encountered a dangerous adversary and would be forced to meet her on a battleground familiar to the woman but utterly foreign to Lucy, with nothing more than her entire future at stake. The room fell silent in the wake of Lady Isabella’s departure. Once again, the duchess was first to speak.

  “Mr. Beaumont.”

  “Yes.”

  “Watch your step with that one.”

  His mouth twitched at one corner. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  He shifted his attention to Lucy, who had resumed her seat. “Now, let us at least take instruction from this experience. Lady Isabella is the first gentle lady of your age you have met since your return. What did you learn from the encounter regarding the comportment of a lady?”

  Her eyes rolled toward the ornate ceiling as she collected her thoughts. She grew a wry smile. “I learned that one must understand the latest fashions appealing to men of a certain station. I learned that one must be privy to the latest rumors and must repeat said rumors without discretion while making much of not repeating them.”

  Henry frowned at her. “I see. What else did you learn?”

  “I learned that one must never acknowledge the presence of anyone deemed socially inferior to oneself until forced to do so by another of superior social status.”

  Henry’s frown grew deeper while the duchess smiled. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps that is enough…”

  “No, Mr. Beaumont. I learned one other important behavior.”

  He paused, his expression somewhere between reluctance and a wince. “And what is that?”

  “Today, I learned a lady must flirt relentlessly with any eligible man of her station, and the man must reciprocate.”

  His face flushed. “I did not flirt. I simply offered cordiality.”

  She peered at him down the bridge of her nose. “You and I have very different definitions of the word ‘cordiality,’ then.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The evening of the dinner party, Henry stood alone with the duchess in the entrance hall, tall and stiff in his British Cavalry uniform. The duchess had insisted on military dress, despite Isabella’s suggestion. Because Lucy had yet to emerge from her chambers where Miss Barrett worked furiously to prepare her, Henry’s concern for the schedule grew. However, he experienced more worry over Lucy’s readiness for the trial to come.

  “Pardon my saying so, Your Grace, but my doubt outruns my optimism. Although your granddaughter has been an apt pupil, I fear the challenge is too great. Gentility is a quality cultivated over years, not days. Perhaps we are unfair to demand a miracle of her.”

  The duchess stretched her spine and lifted her chin. “Come, now.” Her tone was comforting yet convicting. “Do not abandon hope. The girl may yet surprise you.”

  He smiled wistfully. “That, I know. She has done nothing but surprise me since our first meeting.”

  “Regardless, our agreement remains intact. I promised you a substantial sum, and in return, you promised me your best. Thus far, you have met your end of the bargain. I ask that you continue doing so for a few hours more. Her future may lie in the balance tonight.”

  The ominous and inviting nature of those last words stoked Henry’s curiosity. He suspected she withheld information of great importance. If he had learned anything from his father, it was never to leave critical words unspoken. “Tell me, then, what lies in the balance this evening? If I am to give my best, then I must know the game. I must know the rules and stakes. All of them.”

  Relief brushed her features, confirming that she wished to confide. She glanced up the empty central staircase and leaned toward him. “I invited the heir to the Earl of Uckham, who is just the class of suitor who might court Lucy.”

  Henry’s hackles rose. “Lord Warwick? You invited him?”

  “Yes.”

  He tried to suppress a scowl. “I see.”

  The duchess grew a sly smile. “You do not approve?”

  “Not particularly. However, as you like, Your Grace.”

  “I care little for him as well,” she said, “but I know his father, was certain I could force his son’s attendance, and wish to see how Lucy responds to a potential suitor.”

  The mention of a flesh-and-blood suitor stirred inside Henry feelings of protection…and of surprising jealousy. He attempted to appear unaffected. “Does Lord Warwick know of Lucy’s dowry and availability?”

  “Not yet. His father’s financial straits are well known. I want Lord Warwick to see Lucy as someone to court and not as a potential windfall.”

  Henry struggled to remain stoic. “Does she know he is coming?”

  “No. I did not wish to unnerve her.”

  A commotion upstairs interrupted his planned protest.

  “Wait, my lady! Your gloves! You must not forget your gloves!”

  Miss Barrett’s admonition sounded from above, followed by a mumbled complaint from Lucy. A half minute passed before Lucy appeared at the top of the stairs. Henry inhaled a startled breath at what met his eyes. Her dark hair coiled richly atop her head, save a thick strand cascading dangerously over one shoulder. The new dress, light blue and shimmering as if made of water, clung to her slender form. A touch of rouge on her cheeks and lips set into contrast mahogany eyes large with uncertainty. He gaped, as if seeing her for the first time, astonished anew by her beauty. Words of assessment lodged in his throat. True to Lucy’s forward nature, she did not wait for his appraisal.

  “Am I remotely presentable or should we begin again?”

  The duchess clapped her hands. “Marvelous, my dear! You are the vision of the goddess Aphrodite!”

  “More like the goddess Diana, for I am supposed to be on the hunt.” Then she shifted her attention. “Mr. Beaumont? Your opinion?”

  He cleared his throat of the words clogging it, and then attempted to underplay his unexpected reaction. “You look very well. Please, harbor no concerns about your appearance.”

  She appeared satisfied with his conclusion and began descending the steps rather quickly.

  “Slower,” he advised. She paused before gliding downward in her best impression of an ice skater. When she reached the bottom, he added, “Well done.”

  When she finally appraised his cavalry uniform, seeming approval lit her face. Of course, she did not admit it. “Where is your wet nurse medal? I have looked forward to learning what manner of medal one receives for excellence in wet nursing. Although, I must admit, I have some preconceived notions as to its shape.”

  He continued to stare at her without moving or responding while attempting to quell remarkable sensations of protection, pride, and…longing. The first two he could explain, for she was his pupil. The last one left him bewildered. She misinterpreted his ongoing silence as disapproval. She smoothed her dress nervously and traded the wry smile for a proper expression of grim dismay. She approached him slowly with chin dipped, while cutting her eyes upward through eyelashes that seemed longer than he had noticed before. When he held an elbow for her, she slipped a gloved hand under his arm and gripped it gingerly. He exchanged a wordless glance with her. She seemed as confused as he was.

  “You have come not a moment too soon, Lucy,” the duchess said. “I believe Lady Garvey and Lady Barrington have arrived. Take your place over there. You are the hostess and must make an impression.”

  She physically shrank from the words,
leaning in to Henry. He shot her a smile of encouragement. “Shall we assume our places?”

  She stared up at him with uncertainty and nodded. He guided her a few steps to a spot near the door where proper greeting might occur. As the duchess came alongside, Lucy disentangled her hand from his elbow and began to fidget.

  “Hands clasped at the waist, Lady Margaret.”

  She did as he advised and waited. Moments later, Hawes announced the arrival of the duchess’s longtime friends.

  “Lady Garvey. Lady Barrington.”

  The older women paraded regally through the doorway with polite nods toward the duchess. Apparently overcome by anxiety, Lucy crowded the guests.

  “Your ladyships. The pleasure of your attendance brings me much joy! The duchess speaks fondly of your long friendships and of your families and charitable works.” Henry tugged at Lucy to restrain her rambling greeting, but she seemed not to notice. “And she told me also of your journey together to Bath some years ago, complete with weather travails and spa treatments, and how you helped that poor farmer stranded beside the road, and how his sheep were in such need of a shearing. I feel as if I know you already!”

  The guests reacted much as he might have expected, recoiling from the verbal spray with expressions of barely restrained alarm. Lucy finally seemed to notice him tugging her elbow and stepped back with head bowed.

  “My apologies, your ladyships. I am too forward and inexperienced by half.”

  The duchess intervened before Henry could. “Allow me to apologize on my granddaughter’s behalf. You see, she has spent this past decade in a remote and isolated place, free of training in proper etiquette. She is a babe in the woods in that regard.”

  Lady Garvey, a tall silver-haired woman with a severe countenance, nodded. “Of course. We should have prepared our expectations, for you did warn us.”

  When Lady Barrington expressed similar understanding, Henry found a slight smile on his face. He sensed the loyalty and empathy the women held just beneath the surface, despite their stoic demeanors.