The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Tarley enter the room, presumably to inform him again that the midday meal was ready. If the grumbles of Seth’s stomach were any indication, he’d better not turn the man away again.

  “Give us but a moment,” Giles said before taking a look at the portrait on the canvas. “You did well.”

  “Yes, he looks like he belongs in a fable, Mama,” Seth commented, coming up behind them.

  A crease formed between Lucy’s bright blue eyes. “You think so?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He makes the perfect villain with the long crooked nose, snarling lips and bulging eyes.”

  Giles opened his mouth to chastise the boy for mocking his mother’s efforts when suddenly a peal of infectious laughter filled the room as Lucy clutched her stomach with one hand and covered her mouth with the other.

  “I’m sorry,” she choked out between giggles. “I—I—I—” She broke off in another wave of laughter. This time Giles was unable to hold back and joined her and Seth in their merriment.

  “The only thing he’s missing is a hairy wart on the end of his nose,” a masculine voice said from the door.

  Lucy’s laughter halted instantly. She bounced off her seat, her knees hitting the bottom edge of the canvas as she did so. Paying no mind to the wet paint she’d just gotten on her dress, she faced the man who’d just spoken, the delicate column of her throat working convulsively.

  “Sebastian.” Giles took to his feet and impulsively reached for Lucy’s hand. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “No, I guess not,” Sebastian said, his lips twitching. “I received your note earlier and thought I’d come by to invite you to join us for dinner tonight.”

  “We haven’t even had lunch yet,” Seth informed him.

  Sebastian chuckled. “You haven’t? Then perhaps all three of you ought to come over to my house for dinner. Belle would enjoy some female companionship, I’d wager,” he added with a pointed look at Lucy.

  Lucy’s delicate hand grew stiff in Giles’ grasp. “I—I—We—” She licked her lips.

  “Only need to arrive at six o’clock with nothing more than an appetite.” He winked. “But if you insist I allow you to paint my portrait before dining with us, I shall order all the necessary materials brought to the drawing room so you and Belle can poke fun at me together.” Then, without letting Lucy accept or reject his invitation, he slipped from the room.

  “We must go,” Lucy breathed as soon as the front door closed behind Sebastian.

  “There’s no argument from me on that score,” Giles said. He lifted an eyebrow toward Seth. “You?”

  “No. I’d love to have dinner with whoever that was.”

  “Absolutely not,” Lucy said, pulling her hand from Giles’. “You know what I meant. Seth, gather your things so we can go home. I think we’ve imposed upon Lord Norcourt long enough for one day.”

  Giles’ throat constricted. What had he done wrong? “Lucy,” he rasped, reaching for her.

  She moved away.

  “Don’t go.” He raked his hand through his thick hair and pulled. It did nothing to help him find the right words to stay. “We don’t have to go to dinner with Sebastian and Isabelle, but you don’t have to leave.”

  “Isabelle?” He wasn’t entirely certain but it seemed that her voice faltered.

  “Sebastian’s wife. He calls her Belle, but her name is Isabelle.” He closed his mouth with a snap. There was no need for him to prattle. Surely she had already made the connection.

  “If your friend married Isabelle, then I certainly don’t think it’s wise we go.”

  He jammed his fisted hands into his pockets. “Why not?”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Why not? There were dozens of reasons she and Seth shouldn’t go with Giles to his friends’ house for dinner. The least of which being that it would be highly improper considering she and Giles were not wed. Her heart squeezed painfully, but it didn’t make it any less true. She hadn’t had any business spending the day with him even and less enjoying herself so much. Joining him at his friends’ house for dinner made the impropriety of it all scores worse than it already was.

  “Do be serious,” Lucy said, forcing a laugh and unable to meet his eyes. “I’m the daughter of a servant who used to work for nobility, I have no place at a lord’s dining table.” Unless seated there in the role of his mistress. The sting of Sam’s cruel words to her the day she’d informed him that she’d conceived sounded in her head, and she winced.

  “Lucy?” Giles’ warm hands framed her face, an amused expression on his own and a hint of laughter in his eyes. “I’m the only one around here allowed to woolgather.”

  A nervous burble of laughter lodged in her throat and she pulled back. “My apologies, but we need to be going.”

  He dropped his hands, his face falling simultaneously. “What have I done wrong?” His ragged tone tore at her heart.

  “Nothing.”

  “Remember, Mama doesn’t like the titled,” Seth whispered, then added, “Not to worry, I do.”

  “Seth,” Lucy practically hissed. If the floor were to suddenly open and swallow her at this exact moment, she wouldn’t voice a word of protest.

  “Thank you, Seth,” Giles said, his tone impossible to decipher. “As for your mama—” his green eyes sought hers— “perhaps she might grow a fondness for one if she spent enough time in his presence.”

  Lucy’s breath hitched at the implication of his words. He’d said something similar to that the other day when they were at the park. She’d done her best to ignore it then, but she couldn’t ignore it now. Did Giles have a romantic interest in her or was he being inarticulate again? She moistened her lips, unsure what to say.

  “Sebastian is my closest friend,” he continued. “He’s always been most kind to me—even before he knew I had a title. His wife, Isabelle or Lady Belgrave now, is just as genuine. They won’t judge either of you for anything. They have no reason to.”

  Lucy nodded her head numbly. Here she thought he’d been expressing an interest for her to spend more time with him and he’d just been trying to persuade her to join him for dinner with his friends. She pushed away the sadness and disappointment that threatened to creep over her. “I really shouldn’t,” she protested. She gestured to her gown. It was still the best one she owned. “I’m really not dressed for such an occasion.”

  “Neither am I.” He threw a glance over his shoulder. “Neither is Seth.”

  Despite herself, she smiled at his logic. “But you have something you can change into that would be appropriate, I do not.” It wasn’t a lie. She’d worn her favorite purple gown today, the cast off from Lord Kresson’s daughter, and though the gowns his mother had given to her were nice, they weren’t what most would consider dinner attire.

  “I don’t think they invited us so they could scrutinize your clothes,” Giles said, his tone not giving anything away.

  “All the same, they are your friends and they’d like to visit with you, not us.”

  “Not at all. I’m tedious.” He traced one of his long, blunt-tipped fingers down the length of her nose at the pace of a feather floating from the sky. “You’re not.”

  A hard, inexplicable knot formed in Lucy’s throat, either from his words or gesture, she didn’t know. “You’re not tedious,” she whispered. “You’re anything but.”

  Something unnameable flashed across his face and Lucy wished she could take back the words. But it was too late, she’d just let on to how much she already thought of him “So will you join us tonight?”

  “I can—”

  He pressed his fingers to her lips, halting the rest of her protest. “I just heard an agreement. Didn’t you, Seth?”

  “Yes, I did, my lord.”

  Reluctantly, Lucy pushed Giles’ fingers away from her lips. “That doesn’t count. Besides, I’m serious, I cannot attend any dinner dressed like this.”

  “Are you
saying that if you were wearing a different gown, you’d go?”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. He had something in mind. But what, she didn’t know. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t deny it, either,” he murmured. He swallowed in a way that made his Adam’s apple bob. He was nervous. And yet, seemed to be pressing forward.

  Lucy’s resolve crumbled to dust. For a reason she couldn’t begin to comprehend, he genuinely wanted her to go with him to his friends’ house. “No, I didn’t,” she agreed. “But I can’t wear…”

  “Dinner is not for—” he withdrew his timepiece and bit down on his bottom lip with his white teeth— “three-and-a-half hours. Surely we can find you a suitable gown in that amount of time.”

  Lucy would have argued at the impossibility, but couldn’t bring herself to dash his hopes so cruelly. Instead, she flashed him her best smile and said, “If you can find a suitable gown in time, then I’d be delighted to go.”

  A sparkle lit in his green eyes that bespoke of all sorts of mischief. Mischief she didn’t understand, but made her giddy nonetheless. “Seth, ring for Tarley.”

  A moment later the butler arrived.

  “Tarley, have all of the chests retrieved from the attics and brought into the drawing room post haste.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The butler bowed and left the room.

  A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Lucy’s stomach. “I don’t mean to be rude—”

  “Then don’t be,” Giles broke in. He wagged a playful finger at her. “You said you’d go if I found you suitable attire.”

  “Yes, I did.” She idly picked at the cuff of her gown and twisted her lips. How did she tell him this without demeaning or belittling him? She took a deep breath. “None of those will fit right.”

  “With alterations they might.”

  A snort rent the air. Followed by a loud, echoing pop as Lucy’s hand covered her mouth and nose when she realized it’d been her who’d made such a rude noise. “Forgive me,” she murmured, removing her hand. Flames licked her face. “I appreciate your efforts, but there won’t be enough time to make the alterations those gowns might need to fit me.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you having all the chests brought down?”

  “To find something suitable.”

  She wanted to groan in frustration. He wasn’t making any sense. She clutched her hands into her skirts and stepped aside so he could brush past her, Seth right behind him.

  She followed.

  Across the hall in the drawing room, a footman set a large chest on the floor, and turned to go back after another.

  Giles lifted the lid of the chest and untied the ribbon that held the large cloth in place that wrapped the clothes to keep them fresh. He peeled back the blanket and frowned. The gown on top looked as if it had been made for royalty. It was a dark, shimmery purple with a vibrant gold trim around the bodice and cuffs with intricate needlework covering the bodice. “Not in here,” he muttered, dropping the lid with a bang.

  No, Lucy agreed in her mind, there was likely nothing in that box that would be fitting for her to wear. Ever.

  The footman brought in another box and paused a moment to wipe his sweaty brow.

  Giles scowled as he made quick work of picking through the next chest. He slammed the lid on that one and stood, just in time to make way for the footman. When the man put down his chest, he gripped him above the elbow and walked with him into the hall where they spoke in whispered tones.

  “I suppose this means we’re going back to the library,” Seth stated flatly.

  Lucy did her best to ignore the sadness in his voice. “Is it so bad to dine with me, then?” she teased.

  “Not at all,” Giles said from the door. He flashed her a smile. “Can you come here a moment.”

  Hesitantly, she crossed the threshold and came to an abrupt stop when she nearly collided with a maid. “Yes?”

  “Millie here will help with your hair and anything else you require.”

  Lucy blinked at him. “Pardon?”

  “I know I’m a chambermaid, but I used to do my sister’s hair when we were girls,” Millie said, her round, red face beaming with pride.

  “It’s not that,” Lucy assured the greying woman. “I don’t have a gown.”

  Giles seemed to have developed a sudden deafness because he stepped past her as if he hadn’t heard her and went back to the trunks. He knelt down and fiddled with the lock of the next one and made a flicking gesture with his free hand.

  “This way, ma’am,” Millie clucked.

  Lucy should protest. This had gone far enough. It wasn’t possible for him to find her a suitable dress in the under three hours they had left before the dinner was to start. Instead, she found herself being led up the stairs to the sparse bedroom she’d occupied only a few weeks before.

  A sense of warmth came over her when she walked inside. She couldn’t say why she liked being in the room, but she did and the thought unsettled her.

  “It looks like you only got a little paint on the front of your gown,” Millie commented, pointing at the front of her purple skirts.

  Lucy looked down and gasped. How had that gotten there? She lifted her skirt and tried to wipe it off. But it was dry. Changing tactics, she used her thumbnail to try to pick it off.

  “Don’t fuss with it,” Millie said, pulling at her skirt. “Lord Norcourt stains his clothes with paint all the time. I’ll just take this down to the kitchens to scrub the stain while you bathe.”

  “Bathe?”

  “It won’t be a full bath, I’m afraid,” she confessed, blushing. “It’d take too long to heat up enough buckets, so you’ll just have to use a basin. I hope that’s all right.”

  No. It wasn’t all right. It wasn’t all right at all. It was nonsense. This whole dinner invitation and expectation that she could attend with him was nonsense. “Thank you, but I really don’t see—”

  “I know.” Millie’s soft voice brought her up short. “Sometimes Lord Norcourt doesn’t make sense, and sometimes he does,” she allowed. “I’ve only been in his employ a short time—about a month or so, to be honest—but it’s been long enough to learn two things about him. First, he’s odd. I’m sorry to say it, and I know I’d get sacked if anyone else heard me say it, but it doesn’t make it any less true. He’s odd and his brain…” She shrugged. “Well, it works differently than others, I’ve noticed.”

  Lucy had noticed that, too. Not that it was a bad thing, it wasn’t. Not at all. It just made it hard to know what to say or do sometimes. “The second thing?”

  Millie chuckled. “That fella always has a plan. No matter how strange, obvious, or unimaginable by anyone else it might be, he always has a plan. Always. I believe this trait is actually part of the first, but you can’t fight him, you just have to trust him.”

  Lucy blinked at the older woman. If she didn’t know any better she might think this lady had formed an affection for Giles. Not a romantic one, mind you. It was more a motherly type of affection. “All right. I’ll trust him.”

  Giles had a suspicion that she didn’t think it would be possible for him to find her adequate attire. But perhaps that was only because she didn’t know how badly he wanted to spend more time with her—selfish ingrate that he was. He stiffened and lowered his lashes to stare down at the chest that had just been placed at his feet. She was Simon’s lady. He had no right to coerce her into going to dinner with him. Her spending the day with him was far more than he could have ever asked for. But oh how he wanted just a little more time with her and Seth.

  Falling to his knees, he flipped open the top on the fifth chest that had been brought down. Who knew his mother had packed away so many of her gowns and those of her mother and the Lady Norcourt before her. One thing was certain, if he ever married, his wife wouldn’t lack for gowns if any of these ever came back into fashion. Even if they didn’t, surely they could be altered to fit if she desired it.

 
; He released a breath. His wife? Likely he’d never have one of those. He tightened his grip on the lid of the chest and mindlessly untied the chord. Even if his father’s will demanded he marry or be disinherited, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t possibly imagine marrying anyone but Lucy. An iron weight lowered onto his chest. It wasn’t fair to her or him or even Simon for him to think of her that way. He freed the knot in the string and then pulled the blankets apart.

  “I don’t think these will work, either, my lord,” Seth said on a sigh. “They’re not even gowns.”

  Giles grinned with excitement. “I know.” He released his hold on the lid of the chest and used both hands to sort the clothing. Memories of when he’d last seen them filled his mind. He might have been the simple son of a baron, but he was still of nobility and on the occasion that the Sisters would take the boys to a village, he was always to be dressed in finery. He hated it. Rather than making him feel important, it made him more uncomfortable. As if everyone was staring at him and laughing at his plight. He despised the clothes and refused to wear them when not forced to. As he outgrew them, they’d been returned to London. He hadn’t cared one way or the other what had happened to them at the time, but they’d be perfect for Seth.

  Giles withdrew a white shirt, green coat, yellow waistcoat, dove trousers and even a pair of black shoes with a hideous silver buckle across the top and tossed them into a pile at his feet. “This is it. You can take these chests back up, now,” he said to the footman who’d just come back into the room. “Take these clothes to the kitchen and see if Franks can work some of the wrinkles out, then have him bring them up to my room.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Seth?”

  “My lord?”

  “I thought I heard you call me Giles earlier.”

  “I did.”