A Broken Heart's Redemption

by Abby Ayles

Lord Jones looked at his own feet. “Lucy, if only you would listen to me—”

  “Well he is mine. I own him, heart and soul,” Clara said. “I may not be able to marry him, I may marry Edmund, but Andrew will always be mine.”

  “Very well,” Lucy replied. “You may keep him. It is only your own soul you are selling.”

  Lord Jones shook his head. “Please, do not listen to her. She came here to start trouble and that is just what she is doing.”

  “And I came to forgive you, and to seek your forgiveness,” Lucy said. “I do still forgive you, for what it is worth. But I do not care if a two-faced snake like yourself forgives me or not.”

  She turned and walked out the room, sweeping up her bonnet and coat in one swift motion before reaching for the door.

  She could hear him calling out for her, but she did not care. She opened the door and stepped outside. Glancing back down the hallway as she pulled the door shut, she saw him standing there, with Clara's arms wrapped firmly around his waist.

  She closed the door and, tears in her eyes, began walking back to the coach.

  This was it. At least she had told him she forgave him. Now she had to try and find it in her heart to actually forgive him.

  The ride back to the wedding was painful. She was not sure what she would do when she faced her mother, her father, her friends.

  All she knew was that the man she wanted was gone for good.

  Or, better said, he had never even existed.

  Chapter 25

  Lucy wondered whether she ought not feel a little more resolved than she presently did. After all, she did not want to marry Lord Jones anymore, he did not wish to marry her, and she had forgiven him and made her own apologies. It was all wrapped up, neatly topped with a bow, and ready to be thrown into the closet with whatever other mountain of skeletons he had accumulated.

  But she did not feel resolved. Seeing him with Clara, like that... having him lie to her face... All she felt was anger and betrayal. She had not minded that he did not want to get married. She had not minded him being too forward, if anything she had very much enjoyed his passion. But she could not forgive him for lying to her. And that hurt her deeply.

  As the coach pulled up outside the church, she noticed that coaches and horses were beginning to leave already. The church would be much less busy, and everyone would be meeting somewhere else for lunch.

  Hoping nobody had noticed her absence, she slipped back into the wedding. The room was still fairly crowded, thankfully. People milled back and forth, wine was still being served, and she couldn't see very far ahead at all. All she needed to do was inform Antoinette that she had returned and then everything would be as though she had never left.

  She looked up and down the room for her friend. Then, spying her over by the window, she began marching towards her, straight through the middle of the room. This was a poor decision. She realized she should have stuck to the walls. Suddenly it was very visible that she had just come in through the front door.

  Lady Fitzgerald, noticing someone entering, practically pounced on her daughter. “Lucy! Where have you been?”

  “Nowhere,” Lucy said as blankly as she could. “I was here.”

  Her mother's eyes narrowed. “Do not lie to me. I have not seen you in an hour. Where were you?”

  “I have simply been busy,” she replied with a slight laugh. “I am not sure how come you have not seen me, perhaps we have just managed to bump into one another?”

  “It looked to me as though you have just come back. If you continue to lie to me I shall have to punish you,” her mother insisted.

  Lucy shuffled a little and shook her head. “I was just outside. Getting some fresh air.”

  “Walking?” her mother asked.

  Lucy shook her head. “No, I took a coach. I needed to get out for a bit, that is all.”

  “Lucy, where were you?” her mother asked in an angry whisper, obviously becoming more and more agitated.

  Then Antoinette appeared, like an angel swooping in to rescue Lucy from her mother.

  “What is the matter?” she asked.

  “Lucy has been wandering off, taking coaches to heavens know where, and will not tell me what she was doing,” her mother explained. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into the child.”

  “It is fine, I simply asked the coach to take her for a drive up and down the road. She was feeling a little faint,” Antoinette said.

  “Is that so?” Lady Fitzgerald asked.

  Lucy nodded earnestly. “That is precisely the case.”

  “Then why did you not tell me sooner?” her mother asked, shaking her head. “And why did you send her out without telling me?” she said to Antoinette. “I would expect you to be more responsible, and more respectful of your elders, now you are a married woman.”

  “A duchess,” Antoinette replied casually, as though trying to remind Lady Fitzgerald that the tables had turned in terms of their social rank. “And she was just in my coach, nothing would have happened to her.”

  Lady Fitzgerald seemed suspicious, but nevertheless placed her trust in Antoinette's word. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I am simply... I was worried about my daughter, that is all,” she said, her voice much softer and a slight smile on her lips.

  Antoinette, maintaining her poise, simply nodded. “It is fine. I hope you are grateful that I am looking after her?”

  Lady Fitzgerald nodded back. “Of course I am, Your Grace.”

  “Very well, shall we return to celebrating before we all adjourn to the mansion for lunch?” Antoinette asked.

  Lady Fitzgerald nodded and curtsied, obviously uncomfortable with this new power structure. “Of course.” And with that, she left, casting a suspicious glance at the young women over her shoulder.

  “All done,” Antoinette said with a sweet smile. “It seems your mother's obsession with status serves a purpose besides irritating us.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy replied. “Had you not intervened, I am not sure I could have prevented her from locking me in my room for the remainder of the year.”

  “She would lock you in there for the rest of your days if she knew where you actually were, never mind a year!” Antoinette replied. “You're almost as bad as I was.”

  Lucy shook her head slowly. “I have heard the stories and if they are true, nobody is anywhere near as bad as you were.”

  Antoinette giggled a little. “Depends on the story.”

  “Apparently you once trekked out over snowy fields in the middle of the night, all on your own, to see Duke Perry, and he wasn't even a Duke then,” Lucy replied.

  Antoinette nodded firmly. “Well, that one is true.”

  A faint suspicion struck Lucy. “Was that when he was supposed to be courting me?” she asked.

  Antoinette shook her head. “That was before. Before I even realized what he meant to me. I just desperately wanted the company and support of a good friend.”

  “I see...” Lucy replied.

  “Did you have the conversation you wished to, and resolve the matter?” Antoinette asked.

  “Well, I had the conversation I wished to, but it did not quite go as I would have liked,” she replied.

  “Oh dear, is the matter not resolved?” Antoinette pressed.

  Lucy shrugged. What could she say? That she had extended her forgiveness to the man she wanted to marry, she no longer wanted to marry him because he was a lying lascivious adulterer, but she still resented him being a lying lascivious adulterer because she secretly still wanted to marry him? It didn't even make sense to herself. How could she be so possessive of a man she could not and would not marry?

  Lucy sighed heavily. “I suppose you could say the matter is put to rest,” she finally replied.

  “Then what is the problem?” Antoinette asked softly.

  Lucy shrugged. “I just wish it did not have to be like this. I am sure there would be a better way, if only everyone else did exactly what they ought to and none of what the
y ought not to.”

  Antoinette laughed. “Everything would be much easier, I agree. But that is not the world we live in.”

  “I know,” Lucy replied, “and in this world people end up doing things they do not want to because the things they want to do are not possible.”

  “Are you truly so intent on becoming a nun?” Antoinette asked. “From what your mother was saying you are truly committed to it. But from what you are saying it sounds as if you are not quite so happy with the situation.”

  “It is the best option for me,” Lucy replied. “Not the one I would prefer, but the best option of all the ones which are actually available to me.”

  “Sounds more to me like you are choosing the simplest option so that you do not need to overthink matters, or rely on others,” Antoinette said.

  Lucy looked away, feeling somewhat attacked. Her hands shook a little. “Perhaps so. But it is not as though I have a better option. If other people cannot be relied upon to do what is right, then I must choose a path that does not rely on other people.”

  “I thought you wanted children,” Antoinette replied.

  Lucy shrugged.

  Antoinette sighed. “Lucy, you cannot go through life missing out on all your heart desires just because you can't have some of those things. You need to try and seize what you want.”

  “Well everyone is telling me what they wish for me to do, what I ought to do, what they would do in my situation,” Lucy said angrily, “and nobody is considering what I want, or feel, or think. It's so easy to say I should make more of an effort, or do more, but you're not the one who had to do it.” Her heart ached. “Of course I want children. Seeing you and Duke Perry with little Bea... It is beautiful. But a woman needs a man to bear children. And there is no man I have met who I would trust to be a father.”

  “Not even Lord Jones?” Antoinette asked.

  Lucy's face flushed red. “Especially not Lord Jones. Even if he were available to marry, knowing what I now know I could not in good conscience subject a child to his parenting.”

  “And you're not willing to give anyone else an opportunity to prove you wrong?” Antoinette asked.

  Lucy shook her head. “I have given plenty of opportunities and largely been disappointed.”

  “And yet it is always when you least expect it that these matters resolve themselves,” Antoinette said with a smile.

  “I am giving it some time, but unless a miracle happens, I shall be heading for a convent next year,” she explained.

  Antoinette nodded. “I understand. I just hope that you do not have to make a choice which does not suit you, that is all.”

  “I hope so also,” Lucy replied. “But I shall hope for the best and prepare myself for the worst.”

  “Shall we go for lunch?” Antoinette asked, looking at the remaining people slowly making their way towards the door.

  “Yes, it seems about time,” Lucy said.

  She had been about to follow Antoinette out of the church to Antoinette's own coach, but they both immediately spotted Lady Fitzgerald stood at the door, a slightly angry look on her face, and they both knew Lucy would be travelling in the Fitzgerald coach.

  Lucy knew something was wrong when her mother did not speak to her during the entire trip back to the mansion. Everything she said was met with a monosyllabic reply, or just ignored. Lucy had never seen her mother quite like this before. She had seen it in other girls, of course. But never her own mother.

  As they descended from the coach and began to walk towards the mansion, Lucy pulled Lady Fitzgerald aside. “Mother, is anything the matter?” she asked. “Please tell me.”

  Lady Fitzgerald sighed again. “I doubt you will listen, with how you have become recently.”

  “I shall, I promise,” Lucy insisted.

  “Is there nothing we can do to persuade you to see Prince Ferdinand again?” her mother asked.

  Lucy was a little shocked. “It is not about persuading me,” she replied. “I would not mind seeing him again but the fact of the matter is that he is not quite interested in marriage.”

  “Are you sure of that?” her mother asked. “Did you even give him a chance? He is a Prince, for heavens' sake, Lucy.”

  “He had a chance and he is not interested, what more could I have done?” Lucy replied in frustration. She dug her shoe into the ground. “If he is not interested, he is not interested.”

  “Well perhaps he would have been interested if you were not such a tomboyish spoilt child,” her mother replied.

  “But it is not up to me,” Lucy insisted, “he is a free man and he has chosen the sort of life which does not lend itself to marriage.”

  “I do not quite believe that,” her mother said. “Is that not the same excuse you used against Lord Jones? That he is not the marrying type? I think it is more that they are not the type to marry a girl who acts as you do.”

  Her mother's words felt like knives through her heart. Tears filled Lucy's eyes. “I tried. I tried for both of them,” she said. The first time she had even bothered to make an effort in years and she was being told off for doing it wrong?

  “I cannot help but have my doubts, Lucy,” Lady Fitzgerald replied. “You have done this so many times before...”

  “We honestly have so little in common,” Lucy replied. “It is not my fault if a man decides to live a more unconventional life.”

  Lady Fitzgerald shook her head. “I cannot help but wonder if men are choosing such unconventional lives because girls like you are refusing to grow up.”

  “Perhaps these men are just boys who have failed to grow up also. It is not all my fault,” Lucy insisted, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, hoping nobody who knew her saw this.

  “However would you know when you have such a terrible attitude?” her mother replied.

  “But I was not doing anything. They just... they did not like me. Who I was. Who I am. How can I help that?” she said.

  “Perhaps you should try and be a different sort of a person,” her mother insisted. “Perhaps then you would not be considering becoming a nun before your twenty-fifth birthday.”

  “Do you truly believe this is what I want?” Lucy asked, shaking her head, wiping the tears again.

  “It seems to be. If you want anything else, you are going the wrong way entirely about it. All you seem to do is flit this way and that, wasting everyone's time,” Lady Fitzgerald concluded, turning her back on Lucy and walking into the mansion, leaving the girl stood just inside the porch, tears silently falling.

  Lucy was not sure what else she could say or do to persuade her mother. It was as if nothing would be good enough. Lady Fitzgerald was convinced her daughter was still pushing men away. Even when it was the men themselves who were inappropriate, it was now Lucy's fault. And until she won a man over, she could not persuade her mother that she was doing her best.

  She could not blame her, after all. She had spent so much of her life pushing men away for no reason... Now it just seemed as if all those efforts were pointless. Even when she was trying so hard to win men over, nothing worked out. The men pushed themselves away just fine without her help.

  Perhaps she really was a truly undesirable person?

  Chapter 26

  It always seemed as though every time Lucy went to a social gathering, something would happen to ruin it for her. Perhaps her mother was right, though. Perhaps it wasn't men, or social expectations, or even other people that made her social life complicated and frustrating. Perhaps it was just her. Perhaps she was the sort of unlikeable, annoying, childish person who nobody could stand, but they were too polite to say anything to her face, so they did everything they could just to get her to go away.

  She stood on the porch, to the side, away from the door, in the afternoon shade, wondering if she should even bother going in or just take the coach back home. But at least she knew she had some friends in there. Antoinette was truly her friend, and it seemed as though Duke Perry wanted to be a friend
to her too. And two good friends would be worth enduring all the two-faced people in the world.

  She was determined to make her way back into the reception fresh-faced and confident. Sneaking in, she found the ladies' room to wash away her tears and apply a new layer of makeup before she moved on to lunch. The people who loved her, however few, would not mind waiting. And those who did not love her would not notice her unless they found something to criticize. She would not give them the satisfaction.

  Once she was confident she looked pristine, and only a vague hint of puffiness remained, she made her way through to the dining room and looked for Antoinette, so that they could sit together. But as she emerged from the hall, she spied a flash of bright blonde hair. Clara. She was back from Lord Jones's house. Where they had been... No. She did not want to think about it. It was not necessary.

  Spotting Antoinette and Duke Perry already seated further up the table, Lucy made her way over to them, avoiding making eye contact with Clara. It would be for the best that they just not talk, or even acknowledge one another, ever again.

  As she approached Antoinette immediately noticed something was wrong. She stood up and invited Lucy to the empty seat beside her.

  “Please, sit with me,” Antoinette insisted. “You seem troubled?”

  Lucy followed Antoinette's directions and settled in, looking down the table a little nervously. “Clara Neal is here,” she said.

  “That's nice. The two of you got along when you last met, did you not?” Antoinette said, returning to her seat.

  “It's just that... It's just that when I was at Lord Jones's house she was there,” Lucy said.

  Antoinette nodded. “I... I do not see, if I am honest with you.”

  “She and Lord Jones were alone there. They went to his house to spend some time together,” Lucy nodded down the table.

  Antoinette's eyes followed the direction of Lucy's nod. “That makes sense. They left together.”

  “And they were there alone? Not even the servants were home. Lord Jones even lied about her being there at first,” Lucy continued. She was not sure whether to drop a heavier hint or just say it outright to Antoinette. Was it right? Was it even necessary? “He said nobody was home, and when I heard her moving around he said it was a maid.”