by Sawyer North
He nodded. “I offended him very much.”
“If I may pry, how did you earn his disapproval?”
He gazed at his open hands. “I killed my mother.”
She could only stare, speechless, as a hundred scenarios competed for ascendency in her imagination, each one more horrifying than the last. “Your…your mother?”
He glanced up with eyes devoid of life. “She died giving birth to me, the first instance of my vile destiny.”
“But you were an infant. Surely you don’t blame yourself?”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t, if not for everything else.”
“Everything else?”
He returned to the study of his hands, as if examining blood stains. “On my first hunting outing with Father, I recklessly shot and killed my favorite dog, Percy. Then, when a suitor visited Charlotte in Father’s absence, I threw myself at him like a savage animal and beat him until his nose was broken and my fists were bloody. I was only eleven.” He hesitated. “But that was not the worst of it.”
She closed her eyes, trying to remain silent, but failed. “What happened?”
“My father fell dead of apoplexy while in the process of berating me for stealing food to impress the daughter of a footman.” He stopped and whispered inaudible words, swaying slightly as his eyes grew vacant. “And James was always sure to remind me why I did these things. That mine was a lost soul because of my ancestry.”
“What ancestry?” Though she should not pry, Lucy’s curiosity could not be contained.
“My mother was the daughter of an arch rogue.”
Lucy blinked with surprise. “Your…your grandfather was a criminal?”
He heaved a deep sigh. “Yes. He ran a highly successful smuggling ring out of Dumfries in Scotland. He was a cutthroat, a scoundrel, and a villain of the first order.”
She blinked again at the shocking news. “How…how did your father come to…”
When she left the question hanging, Henry nodded. “My father dabbled in the import of illegal whiskey to burnish estate profits, and my grandfather was his, ah, contact in the enterprise. The first time he laid eyes on my mother, he fell heels over head in love with her, the lonely widower that he was.”
“She must have been a rare beauty, then.”
“Yes, from what I’ve heard.” He paused in seeming recollection. “They married after a torrid courtship. The ton eventually forgave my father that indiscretion due to his station, but my brother never did. He saw in me the seed of a criminal, come to taint the family with inevitable criminal behavior. Thus, it is my lot in life to set a solo course and strive to avoid my inevitable descent toward my grandfather’s corrupt nature.”
The confession left Lucy stunned. However, she at least understood the stigma of a criminal connection and the desire to rise above it. She also understood the life of one who walked alone in search of a better path. She mumbled, “I shall find a way or make one.”
He regathered his focus and glanced at her in surprise. “You know Seneca well enough to quote him?”
“I know most of the major Roman philosophers and a few minor ones.”
He shook his head again while watching her. An unlikely soft smile formed. “You are an odd one, Lucy Locket. Odd indeed.”
“You are not the first to offer that assessment. Only the most recent. Thank you for joining that very long list of those who discredit me.”
“I meant not to discredit you, but rather to comment on your unique quality.”
She squinted at him in disbelief. “Then you approve of my oddness?”
“I did not say that, either. I am still debating.”
“Good, then. It comforts me to know I am not alone in withholding a verdict.”
His spirit seemed to return as he cocked his head. “Your verdict of me?”
“Yes.”
“What is there not to like? I am quite the fellow.”
“Well, for one,” she said, “I question your humility. But I do agree that you are quite the something.”
“Quite the what?”
“I cannot say aloud. Steadman forbade me from cursing.”
He chuckled. “That bad, am I? Then perhaps my brother was right to disown me.”
She shook her head and gazed upon his features, so handsome when he smiled. “No. He was not right to do that.”
His eyes flashed with surprise and then perhaps gratitude. He stared ahead at the path, unspeaking. They walked in silence for a time, drawing nearer to the patch of trees. Lucy soon spied a covey of stone houses with sod roofs huddling in the embrace of the two hills.
“Who lives there?” she asked.
“Tenants of Ardmoore. Shepherds and farmers, mostly.”
“Are you taking me there to learn the proper manner in which to address tenants?”
“If you like.”
As they neared the settlement, she wrestled with a question weighing heavily on her mind until she could no longer contain it. “What will you do next, Mr. Beaumont? After we have failed utterly in this enterprise and the duchess releases you from your impossible contract?”
His eyes grew distant. “Bring lawbreakers to justice, and as many as I can. First with Bow Street and then perhaps as a barrister. The pursuit of criminals may prevent me from association with them. Or so I hope.”
The mention of association with criminals stabbed Lucy unexpectedly. Only then did she realize how her connection with Steadman conflicted with his desperate campaign to rise above his perceived corruption. She forced a growing frown from her face, hoping to hide encroaching dismay.
“And if your plan fails?” she asked. “What then?”
He grinned sadly. “If all else fails, my mother’s brother owns a smithy near Edinburgh. Perhaps I might work for him. He seems a decent man despite our shared heritage.”
She smiled, thinking him joking. However, his features remained unmoving. Her ache for his situation grew. She slowly gathered the courage to revisit his plan. “Perhaps you could find a delicate and pure lady of Society who might aid in your quest for betterment.”
His smile returned. “No. That would not be possible due to my fatal flaw.”
“And what is your fatal flaw?”
“It seems I am drawn to audacious women. The attraction lands me in all manner of trouble, present situation included.”
Her brow furrowed as she parsed his words. Had he said what she thought he had? He seemed to realize his admission because he abruptly looked away. “Ah, here we are. Let us meet the tenants.”
He pressed ahead so that she fell two steps behind. Several men and women came to meet him.
“Mr. Beaumont,” said a white-haired man. He bowed warmly, and Henry stepped forward to grasp the man’s hand.
“Isaac. Well met again.” Then he addressed the woman at the man’s side, who produced a serviceable curtsy. “And Mrs. Cain. You appear as vigorous as ever.”
The old woman blushed. “’Tis this old codger who keeps me spry, what with ’is never-ending nonsense.”
“’Tis no nonsense! ’Tis my job to keep the neighbors well entertained.”
Henry laughed. “I shall side with Mrs. Cain, as I know you too well, Isaac.”
During the laughter that followed, Lucy stepped forward to Henry’s side. He extended a hand toward her. “May I present Lady Margaret Huntington, granddaughter of the Duchess of Ramsbury and guest at Ardmoore.”
Bows and curtsies ensued, drawing a blush from Lucy. She dipped her head in acknowledgment as Henry had taught her. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“Won’t you come inside for refreshment,” offered one of the other women. Henry waved his hand in amiable dismissal.
“Your offer is very kind, Mrs. Savoy, but I fear we have a terrible problem.”
Every face grew taut with co
ncern, and Lucy frowned as she glanced at Henry. His expression was grim.
“It seems,” he said overly loudly, “We are beset by monsters, just behind those trees.”
Lucy followed his gaze to find several children of various ages peeking from behind a stand of trees some thirty yards distant, giggling and whispering. A smile replaced her concern as the faces of the tenants experienced a similar transformation.
“As protector of these lands,” he said regally, “I find it my duty to rid the area of such vile creatures.” His loud proclamation drew laughter from the trees. “So, if you will excuse me, I must fulfill my sacred obligation.”
With that, he bolted toward the trees. A cloud of children erupted from cover and fled in all directions, shrieking and screaming with delight. Henry quickly ran down two of the youngest, a boy and a girl of five or six. He hurried toward Lucy with one under each arm. She could not help but notice the ease with which he did so, or the flex of his chest beneath his shirt, or the strain of his shoulders beneath the jacket, or…
“Stop it, Lucy,” she whispered, shaking away such thoughts. Meanwhile, Henry reached her with the children.
“My lady.” His breathing was heavy from the exertion. “Will you guard these prisoners while I retrieve the others?”
She saluted. “Yes, Captain!”
When Henry put the children down, they surged from his grasp to clutch her skirt, heaving with laughter. He ran after the rest and tackled an older boy in the soft grass. The remaining children converged on Henry and made a squirming pile atop him, howling with glee. He began shouting.
“I am ruined! I am overcome by monsters! What shall I do?”
Lucy leaned down to her small charges. “Hurry now! Assist Mr. Beaumont!”
The children ran to the pile and began pulling at arms and legs in a futile attempt to unravel the jumble. Lucy watched the chaotic affair in bewilderment, astonished to witness a man of rank and social rules playing with children without regard to station, etiquette, or the judgment of others. Her breath hitched and moisture pricked her eyes as she imagined the notion of him playing with her children. When her blurring gaze found Henry’s laughing face, she could not suppress the feeling that she was seeing the man truly for the first time.
…
“What do you know of proper distance, Lucy?”
The question from Charlotte came shortly after Lucy and Henry returned from their visit to the tenant village. Lucy shook herself from distraction. “Proper distance?”
Charlotte bobbed her head. Henry smiled wryly at Lucy. “Brace yourself. You are sure to find this next portion of your education utterly baffling.”
Having been warned, Lucy prepared for the worst. However, she put on a brave face. “I am ready, then. Please explain the meaning of ‘proper distance.’”
“See here,” said Charlotte. “I have noticed these past few days an inconsistency regarding your encounters with the staff. An inconsistency that will surely be noticed by suitors and others who seek to critique you. I wish to protect you from such misguided opinions.”
“Oh? How so?”
“You appear to possess a certain familiarity with the servants. This trait, while endearing to those of us who know you, may lead to false conclusions by those who do not.”
She frowned. “I see. My apologies, for I did not realize my behavior was so out of the ordinary.”
Charlotte leaned forward. “Fret not, sweet girl. You mean well, and I admire you all the more for it.”
“Thank you. Now, please explain the extent of my ineptitude and the bounds of proper distance.”
Charlotte dipped her head. “As you are well aware, spoken and unspoken rules govern class interaction. This applies most keenly to interactions between master and servant. You must hold all servants at a proper distance that avoids familiarity, but must do so without aloofness, arrogance, or pride. Specifically, you must speak to them with a precise measure of civility. You must never speak to a servant as if he or she were an equal. Do you understand?”
“I believe so, but allow me to verify. Even though said servants live in the same house, and even though I encounter them repeatedly over the course of years, I must always speak to them as if I have never seen them before. Is that right?”
Henry appeared to swallow his tongue and choked a cough. “Pardon me. Dust again.”
Charlotte shot him a glare before smiling at Lucy. “Not exactly. You have seen them before, of course, and they may be very dear to you, but you must never…”
“Never allow them to know they are dear to me?” The fresh memory of Henry’s easy encounter with his tenants seemed to fly in the face of the well-meaning advice. In fact, she intended to say something of the sort, but a cursory glance at Henry found him shaking his head as if he knew her thoughts.
“That is not quite correct,” said Charlotte. “There are other ways to show almost familial affection to the staff. Ways that maintain distance through proper protocol.”
“Such as?”
“Generosity, such as sharing food and clothing or giving unexpected bonuses on payday. Graciousness, such as an occasional word of thanks. Consistency, so the staff knows what to do without fear of censure. Familiarity is just as discomfiting to the servants as it is to the master. Violation of protocol may cause them concern for their jobs.”
Lucy sat quietly, attempting to understand. She certainly recognized that when she showed kindness to the staff at Ardmoore, their initial response was one of uncertainty or even fear. Still, she could not dismiss Henry’s treatment of the tenants and wondered if an alternative approach was possible.
“’Tis a stupid rule,” she said. “However, for the sake of the mission, I will strive to maintain proper distance with the servants, despite counter examples.” She looked at Henry, who quickly launched a detailed study of his fingernails.
“Thank you,” said Charlotte. “As onerous as such protocol seems, the behavior is woven into the fabric of Society. We must all maintain our places lest the fabric unravel.”
Lucy acknowledged the sage advice while pondering the nature of her place. Rules dictated she behave one way, but her upbringing urged her to behave another. In short, she was a child of the wilderness who now faced true wolves—beasts that would tear her limb from limb for an indiscretion as minor as a breach of protocol. How could she ever belong to a Society that struck her with such disdain and mortal fear?
Chapter Eighteen
Henry was confident the visit to the tenant village the previous day had altered his relationship with Lucy. Every time he caught her gaze, her eyes had been more circumspect. More inscrutable. At first, he wondered if the confession of his dark nature was to blame. However, an epiphany at breakfast had shifted his view—that Lucy’s striking eyes held no judgment. The desire to recapture something of their first meeting took a firm hold and propelled him to the library with her in tow.
“Of course, you will remember this room, Crusoe.”
He watched Lucy’s eyes roam the space, taking in the tall shelves stuffed with books and the comfortable furniture before landing on the panel that protected the hidden room. She raised a finger.
“Yes, Friday. Just there, if I recall, lies your oh-so-secret hideaway.”
“Your memory serves you well.”
She tipped her face upward inquisitively and nodded toward the shelves. “May I?”
He gripped his lapel, frowned, and adopted the gruff presentation of a disgruntled elder statesman. “I should think not, given my opposition to the education of the weaker sex on the grounds that it confuses their entertaining but clearly muddled brains. Best to leave well enough alone, I say.”
She matched his frown and spoke with the high squeak of a featherheaded debutante. “Why, sir! My undying gratitude is yours for saving me from the curse of original thought. I thank you.” Then s
he smiled. “I will take that as an affirmative.”
He chuckled as she approached the shelves. She ran her fingers along a row of philosophy books. “I’ve read this one. Quite illuminating, you know, especially regarding the nature of knowing one’s existence. Read this one as well. Not as good, but serviceable. And this one, also. I believe the author was either drunk or insensible when he wrote it.”
While standing behind Lucy, Henry shook his head at her continuing uniqueness. He knew few people who’d read so prolifically. Others of Society might dismiss her eclectic interests as unladylike, baffling, or odd. Not Henry—not anymore. His admiration for her only grew as she perused the shelves.
“You have read widely,” he said.
“I had little else to do in Dartmoor these past eleven years.”
The loneliness implicit in her reply pricked his heart. As he mused, she turned her attention to an array of science texts. She glanced at Henry with shining eyes.
“I see you possess a copy of Sir Newton’s Principia Mathematica. I was just beginning to understand the mathematics of it when, well, this all began. I should like to finish it sometime.”
A thud erupted in his chest, which he suppressed with confusion. He looked to the window and squinted as if something of great interest had appeared outside. The gesture distracted him long enough to regain his composure. After a deep breath, he strode to join her at the bookshelves and selected a volume of biology. He began flipping through pages of cramped text and detailed sketches of plants and animals.
“My worst subject, I’m afraid. Never could get past the drawings of dismembered creatures.” He offered the book to Lucy. “You should have it.”
She eyed him skeptically as if searching for the jest. After hesitating, she accepted the hefty tome. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Who can say? Perhaps I thought it might be of some interest to one who apparently has read everything else.”
She smiled and hugged the book to her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Beaumont.”
“And that is another thing,” he said abruptly before he could silence his tongue. “Enough of this ‘Mr. Beaumont’ business. You should call me Henry.”
