“What makes you think it will be like that?”
“It was at school—every one. Papa always chose really exclusive schools, the kind that only take girls from aristocratic families. He lied. He told them I was the granddaughter of a baron.” She rolled her eyes. “The girls invariably knew, of course. First it was my accent—”
“But your accent is quite good.”
“It is now,” Lucy said. “After five fancy schools it should be.”
“Oh.”
“And it’ll be the same here. People will soon find out I’m not ‘one of them,’ and it will be just like school. So I’d rather not go through any of it, if it’s all the same to you.” She leaned forward, her expression pleading now. “So will you do it, my lady—give me the money, I mean?”
After a short silence, Alice sighed. “I’m sorry, Lucy, I can’t do that. Your father and I made an agreement and I—”
Lucy flung up her hands. “Oh! You’re just like Papa! You don’t care about what I want at all! It’s all about money with you people, isn’t it? A person’s happiness doesn’t matter to you at all!” She stormed out of the room, furious and, if Alice was any judge, on the verge of tears.
Alice sank onto the nearest chair, shocked by the outburst and what it had revealed. The reasons for Lucy’s atrocious behavior were clear to her now—and in retrospect, she should have realized. But she’d assumed that Lucy was merely spoiled and indulged and used to having her every whim met.
Some frank talking was required. And an apology.
Because understanding Lucy’s reluctance to enter the ton didn’t make Alice’s situation any better. If anything, it made it worse. Somehow, she had to get those letters back. But how?
Maybe she could talk Bamber into changing his mind about a lord. But in that case, would he still give her the letters? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t do nothing.
The first step was to find out where Bamber was living. And where he kept the letters.
* * *
* * *
Lucy,” Alice said at breakfast next morning, “Do you know where your father lives?”
Lucy looked up sharply. “Why? Are you going to tell him—”
“It’s just in case I need to contact him. He never left me his address.”
Lucy sniffed. “That’s because he hasn’t got one.”
“What do you mean?” He must have one. Everyone had an address.
“I told you I never had a home, didn’t I? Not since Mama died. That’s because Papa doesn’t stay anywhere very long.”
Alice was troubled, and not just by what Lucy was telling her. There was a brittleness beneath the girl’s seemingly careless outlining of her situation. “But how do you contact him?”
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t.”
“But what if you were ill or in desperate need of him?”
Again she shrugged. “I survive or I don’t. But he finds out eventually. He seems to have eyes and ears all over the place.”
“What about letters? Doesn’t he have an address to which people can send correspondence?”
“He had to leave an address with the headmistress when I was at school,” Lucy admitted.
“Well then—”
“But it was a different address every time.”
There was a short silence. “So there is no way of contacting him.”
“No.”
“You’re not lying to me, are you?”
Lucy snorted. “Would it make any difference if I was? But no, I really don’t know where he is, or how to contact him. I never have.”
Alice’s tea was cold. She drank it anyway. So much for her plan to steal the letters back.
Lucy continued eating her breakfast, feigning indifference, but Alice was filled with unexpected compassion. What must it be like to be so alone? Her only relative a father who arranged her future without consultation, a father whose whereabouts was unknown—even to his daughter.
Alice glanced at the door. No sign of the servants. “Lucy,” she said quietly, “I would give you all your father’s money”—Lucy looked up, hope shining in her eyes—“if I could, but I can’t. Our agreement wasn’t about money.”
“But—”
“Yes, he gave me money, but that was just to cover your expenses. He did promise me a bonus once you were married, but the reason I agreed to bring you out in society was . . . was nothing to do with money.”
“But if you don’t care about the money, you could give me whatever is left.”
Alice shook her head. “No. I’m afraid the consequences for me would be . . . unbearable.” There was a short silence, then she added, “Your father has some . . . documents that will ruin me if he releases them.”
“Blackmail?” Lucy’s mouth twisted. She gave a harsh laugh. “That’s more like it. He wants me off his hands, so—”
“He wants you settled and happy.” Alice was learning not to be shocked at Lucy’s acceptance of her father’s less-than-sterling qualities.
Lucy snorted. “No, he just wants me off his hands. I know my father. But at least I understand now. You’re as unhappy with this situation as I am, but we’re stuck with it.”
Alice nodded. She refilled her cup, the tea now not only cold but bitter. It suited the moment.
“We have to find some way to go forward, Lucy—something that will not upset you or endanger me.”
Lucy gave her a sharp look. “He hasn’t threatened you, has he? Because he’s never—”
“No, no, nothing physical. It’s a . . . it’s a different sort of threat.”
“I’m sorry. I wish he wouldn’t do this kind of thing but—”
“It’s not your fault, Lucy. Now, think—could you bear to continue with this scheme?”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. Alice’s tension mounted. Without Lucy’s cooperation, she’d never get those wretched letters back.
“I like the clothes,” Lucy said after a minute. And then added, “But I’m not very good with all that society stuff.”
“I wasn’t either when I was your age. I was frightfully shy.” Lucy might not be confident, but she wasn’t shy. “Believe me, all of that can be learned. As long as you’re willing, I can teach you how to go on.”