by Sawyer North
“Lady Isabella,” the duchess interrupted, “I think we have had quite enough of this type of questioning.”
Lucy waved a hand. “All is well, Your Grace. I do not mind answering these questions. The information will come to light eventually, so why not now?”
The duchess nodded, perhaps observing the spark in Lucy’s eyes. “Very well, then.”
Lucy pinned Isabella with a hard stare. “I quite agree that some would find the situation unscrupulous. Especially those lacking scruples.”
Isabella’s smile faded, and Lucy pressed ahead before the shrew could attack again.
“In fact, the man took charge of me as my guardian and protector after my father’s passing. He took that duty very seriously and executed it with the utmost propriety and vigor. Unlike those who might judge him, his scruples regarding propriety were above reproach.”
“What of your education, then?” Isabella’s question hinted impatience. “In such a remote place? While your lack of finishing school is a matter of simple observation, I assume you had a governess? Or perhaps private tutors?”
Lucy straightened with pride. “No. The gentleman taught me everything he knew, and I taught myself the rest by reading and questioning everyone I met.”
“Is that so? What sort of knowledge did he and a pile of books impart to you?”
“Literature. History. Philosophy. Theology. Astronomy, chemistry, and horticulture.” She paused, deciding not to add her coarser knowledge, such as how to spot a cheat, jimmy a door, or swing a foil. “Let me see…also bookkeeping, architecture, classical debate, elements of common law…”
“Those are positively manly pursuits,” said Isabella. “Although befitting of your general presentation, they are unsuited to your newfound status. Did you not learn anything of feminine pursuits?”
Lucy dipped her head humbly. “You must forgive me, then. I did not know feminine pursuits included general ignorance and rumormongering. I thank you for so ably mentoring me in that regard.”
Isabella recoiled from the barely concealed ridicule. She quickly recovered, however, and sighed. “I fear that undoing your education is too difficult a task. One cannot restore silk once the moth has corrupted it.”
“Yes, of course,” Warwick injected. After swallowing his wine, he added, “A pig in silk is still a pig, no matter what one calls it.”
Lucy held a palm to the duchess to prevent her agitation from growing and pretended Warwick’s remark did not sting, even though she cringed inside. She hoped her act might prove convincing but doubted as much.
“Thank you, Lord Warwick. You are nearly as kind as Lady Isabella.”
“Perhaps we should converse on a different subject for a while,” said Henry. “The fare is delicious, don’t you think?”
Conversation drifted from there, but twice more during the main course, Isabella probed maliciously into Lucy’s mysterious past. True to her plan, Lucy avoided revealing the more damaging details of her exile and even managed to land a few soft insults while simultaneously feigning appreciation for the interest. However, each of the episodes drove her spirits lower. Several times she looked to Henry for help and support, but he offered none. In fact, he seemed amused by the banter, either unaware of her pain or simply uncaring of it.
With the arrival of dessert, she began to believe she might survive the evening with both her reputation and emotions intact. However, Isabella proved relentless.
“Tell me, Lady Margaret,” she said as a lioness might inquire of its prey. “Her Grace says you will entertain the interest of suitors soon. What sort of man do you desire?”
All other conversation ceased and every face turned to regard Lucy, some filled with hopes of decorum and others with desire for scandal. Regardless, everyone waited with interest for her next words, none seemingly more than Henry.
“I do not know,” she said.
“Come, now.” Isabella seemed to abandon all concern for the duchess’s feelings. “I understand your coarseness and lack of refinement are befitting of a farmer or blacksmith’s wife, but surely you aspire for more given your recent good fortune of returning to House Huntington. To what do you aspire?”
“Really, I have not given the matter much thought.”
Warwick laughed. “Of course, you have. All women do, as such activity is inherent to their frivolous natures. If I did not know better, I might believe you prefer the attention of rakes and rogues over those of gentlemen.”
The demeaning tone piqued her anger. “Sir, I do not. I prefer an intelligent man to a self-important oaf. A man who is kind and considerate, and appreciative of my qualities and nature. If he is also pleasing to the eye, then I consider that serendipitous.”
Isabella shared a laugh with Miss Wharton and Miss Braye before explaining her mirth. “Oh, my dear! Men of that nature seek sensible mates, not one as unorthodox as you are.”
Lucy’s lips went grimly tight as the irritating woman’s response stabbed her soul. However, Isabella had not finished.
“No, dear. You might find more luck with a man who is none too bright and rather plain. You should seek a suitor lacking in wealth so your riches might elicit a stronger sense of loyalty.”
Henry’s indicting words to the duchess from days earlier stirred in her mind, words that had not been far from her thoughts since she’d overheard them.
“No such men would desire your granddaughter in her current state.”
Her chin quivered as she stared at a triumphant Isabella. All pretext of witty banter evaporated, leaving only her vulnerability on display for all to see. “So, Lady Isabella, you believe as Henry does that no reasonable man of good character would want me as a wife?”
Henry’s eyes grew wide with the implication of her words and the understanding that she had overheard his assessment to the duchess.
“Look at you.” Isabella’s tone softened. “You are as an infant in your understanding of propriety and seem utterly lacking in even a shred of the delicacy required by such a man. Only your ties to a dukedom give you a seat at this table. Otherwise, we would not even look your way.”
The patience of the duchess shattered. “That is quite enough, Lady Isabella. I will not stand another second of you denigrating my granddaughter.”
Isabella dipped her head. “My apologies, Your Grace. Perhaps I was too forward in my assessments. I wished only to offer guidance that might help your granddaughter’s cause.”
The duchess seemed ready to commence battle, but Lucy once again calmed her with a staying hand. Tears had already begun to roll down Lucy’s cheeks as she faced Isabella.
“Your assessment is correct.” Her voice grew husky. “But you need not relentlessly remind me of the fact. I am well aware of my shocking inadequacies and my deep unworthiness of the position handed me. That I am little more than a pretender is more obvious to me than to anyone else.”
She shifted her eyes toward Henry. He regarded her with a deep frown.
“I realize, Mr. Beaumont, my company is not something desirable. I know that any attentions toward me are bought with silver.”
His frown grew deeper still. Let him frown, she thought, and let him judge. I am past caring what he thinks. She paused to dab the tears with her dinner cloth.
“I thank you, Lady Isabella, for your candor and frankness. Your words are truer than what I have received from others, even from those whom I believed cared for me. Now, if you will excuse me, I am feeling unwell and wish to retire for the evening.”
She immediately rose from her chair in the deafening silence and leaned toward the duchess. “I am deeply sorry,” she whispered, “but I cannot maintain this charade. I cannot become what you wish me to be. I thank you for your kindness and good faith, however ill-spent.”
With the truth confessed, she departed the silent dining room and made her way upstairs. To both he
r relief and dismay, Henry did not follow.
…
Henry’s frown grew deeper still as he watched Lucy depart the dining room. Gone was his amusement with the spectacle of her adept and repeated deflections of Isabella’s attempts to discredit. The last attack had gone too far, though, and his light mood had evaporated as he watched his capable pupil sink beneath the onslaught of Isabella’s judgment—and of his. She had clearly overheard his private conversation with the duchess; that much was certain. That she now classified Isabella and him as equal antagonists created a remarkable knot in his gut.
“Can you believe that?” Miss Braye said, breaking the pall of silence that had descended on the dining room. “To abandon her guests! What utter disregard!”
Henry glanced at the duchess, who seemed broken in her silence. He focused a glare at Isabella across the table, waiting for her concurrence with Miss Braye. She avoided his eyes but said nothing. Miss Wharton, however, showed less restraint.
“We should have expected as much. The girl is out of her depth in gentle company. What she said about birthing a colt still mortifies me.”
“We apologize for having upset her,” Miss Braye said to the duchess after a giggle. “We meant no harm. However, her sensibilities seem more akin to one who is lowborn.”
The duchess remained silent, apparently quite shaken by the occurrence and perhaps realizing that Lucy’s future was slipping away.
“Why are you apologizing, Miss Braye?” said Warwick. “Why are we avoiding the obvious? Lady Margaret was a disaster this evening. That she represents this house must appall the duchess.”
At Warwick’s pronouncement and the continued chortling of Miss Braye and Miss Wharton, the carefully maintained emotional dam inside Henry broke for the first time in years. He leaped up so vigorously that his chair crashed against the wall and clattered to the floor. All faces swiveled toward him with an array of wide eyes and open mouths.
“Hold your tongue, sir! I will not listen to you besmirch Lady Margaret’s honor any longer.”
Warwick apparently had never experienced such reprimand, especially from those beneath his station. His face at first grew angry, but Henry’s unflinching glare and clenched jaw slowly melted the rage into bland befuddlement. As Henry shifted that glare to each of the women opposite him, they glanced away in turn. His next words surprised even him.
“For your entire pampered lives, since you came wailing into this world until now, you have been tutored, trained, and educated in the finest points of socially appropriate behavior. No lesson or expense has been spared to clarify to you every rule and nuance of Society. Lady Margaret’s education has lasted only a fortnight. Two weeks! And yet she bravely faced you all tonight and endured a fusillade far beyond what any of you would have suffered without failing.”
He paused to run a hand through his hair, to breathe, and to allow the hot flame of his anger to subside.
“You should show more charity to Lady Margaret. Her efforts this night far exceeded yours.”
At that, he strode to the duchess. The old woman peered up at him with moist eyes. He bowed deeply. “I must apologize, Your Grace. My skills were clearly unequal to the task, and I will no longer be party to your granddaughter’s humiliation. You may retain all intended payment as I have not earned it. I bid you good evening.”
He exited the dining room and made for the entrance hall. As he collected his hat, Hawes rushed to open the door for him and nodded with seeming gratitude. Henry stepped through the opening into the night, feeling abruptly adrift. He would never again engage in a rousing contest of wills with Lucy. Never again admire her astonishing eyes. Never again feel the remarkable touch of her hand on his elbow. He lingered in the darkness with his head hanging low before turning in the direction of his lodging on Bow Street.
Chapter Fourteen
Lucy refused to leave her chambers for three days, accepting trays delivered to her door but returning them mostly untouched. Several times, the duchess tried to reason with her, to no avail. During the isolation, her thoughts kept returning to Henry’s bemused expression that evening as Isabella and the others tore her limb from limb. His blithe lack of interest wounded her more deeply than any attack Lady Isabella had mounted. By the end of the third day, though, she rolled out of bed in disgust.
“Enough, Lucy. Show some pride. No man is worth this much misery.”
She dressed alone and wandered downstairs to find the surprised duchess in her favorite place.
“Lucy! You have risen from the dead.”
“So it seems. I grew bored of the poor company and sought better.”
“In that case, you must settle for mine.”
Lucy joined her in a nearby chair. After minutes of silence, the duchess threw up her hands. “My dear, I worry over you so.”
The plaintive statement tore at her heart. Her dinner party humiliation had likely blackened the Huntington name for all time. She noted with concern the woman’s drawn face, seemingly aged a decade in a few days. Guilt besieged Lucy over her part in the duchess’s misery. Her chin fell to her chest.
“Say what you will, Your Grace. I deserve it.”
The duchess paused with something akin to fear in her eyes. “Do you regret coming here? Do you regret your return to family?”
Lucy slowly shook her head. “No. How could I? Had I not come, I would not have experienced the pleasure of knowing you or the joy of your kindness toward me.”
“And yet you hide as a winter vole, tucked away from the world. This seems the very image of unhappy regret.”
She heaved a sigh. “You speak truth. I am unhappy. These rules… They overwhelm me. I seem to choose incorrectly whether silent or conversational. I am inadequate in movement, ineloquent in spoken word, and insufficient in face and form. How can I satisfy rules that I barely comprehend?”
The duchess leaned nearer, her eyes misting. “My granddaughter, my dear. Nothing of you is inadequate, ineloquent, or insufficient. My breast swells with pride at your progress, your quick wit, and your tireless effort. As for face and form? I consider you second to none.”
A tremor wracked Lucy. She wished to leap from her chair, rush to the duchess, and lock her in a grateful embrace. Decorum kept her planted where she sat. “I am grateful for your kind words.”
The duchess frowned in consideration. “Will you leave now? Perhaps return to your old life?”
Lucy’s hands fidgeted in her lap and she chewed her lip while attempting to bring forth a lie that might comfort the old woman. She failed.
“I do not know. For that, I am deeply regretful.”
…
Henry’s annoyance grew with each passing day. Freed from his moral morass and the impossible mission of reforming Lucy, the weight of the world should have lifted from his shoulders. Instead, deep remorse and unquenchable longing seeped into his soul, lowering his spirits hour by hour. Even an overnight patrol along the Bristol highway failed to moderate the mounting darkness. Initially, he blamed a sense of failing an assignment, a rarity for him. However, he slowly realized that the source of his dismay was something different, something wholly unexpected. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw only Lucy’s wounded expression before she fled the dining hall, all pluck and spirit drained in the face of relentless ridicule. And now all he wanted was to see her again and perhaps set things right, despite the danger of slipping further downslope toward the abyss. Instead of seizing the opportunity to refocus on his mission of redemption, he allowed himself to be drawn toward an all-consuming flame. It was with astonishment, then, that he rode toward Grosvenor Street three days after the disastrous dinner party, questioning himself aloud and drawing suspicious stares from passersby.
“What are you doing, Henry Beaumont? Leave well enough alone, muttonhead.”
He did not heed his self-advice and soon arrived at the house of the D
uchess of Ramsbury. He rapped the door sharply. When it opened, Hawes regarded him with some surprise and mild approval.
“If you will allow me to pass, Hawes, I must speak to Her Grace about the completion of our agreement.”
“Come inside, sir. I will summon the mistress.”
Henry waited in the parlor, nervously pacing the floor. The duchess soon found him. “Mr. Beaumont! Your presence is most unexpected.”
“Unexpected? Or unwelcome?”
“I mean what I say. After what you did for Lucy, you are never unwelcome here.”
“What I did for your granddaughter? I did nothing but fail her miserably.”
“I disagree.”
She approached him and uncharacteristically seized his right hand in both of hers. Discomfort crawled up his neck at the breach of etiquette, but he held his ground. Moisture brightened her eyes.
“You vigorously and righteously defended my granddaughter’s honor even though it was disadvantageous for you to do so. You risked your reputation to cry shame for the unkind behavior toward the girl. For that, I will always be grateful.”
The claim took Henry aback. Had he done that for Lucy? Recalling the moment, he saw her point. The defensive anger that had roiled within him three nights earlier seemed fresh once again and brought into focus the indistinct feeling that had returned him to House Huntington.
Captivation.
Lucy’s spirit, sharp wit, and lovely face had grown within him a desire for the young woman. He did not wish to fail her. The duchess released his hand and examined his stunned expression as if harboring an amusing secret. He pried his collar away from his neck.
“Your Grace, it was my duty and pleasure to defend her honor. However, what has become of her? Is she still here?”
The duchess motioned for Henry to sit. She took her place across from him and explained Lucy’s three days of isolation and deep uncertainty about the future. As he listened, his resolve grew. When the duchess finished, he stood.
