Lucy kneeled before her. “Do not weep for me. I survived. I have known genuine caring and concern from those around me. And now, I am finally free.”
The duchess smiled sadly. “I see also that you are strong. That pleases me greatly.” She stood and called for Miss Barrett before turning to Lucy. “I will have the servants draw you a warm bath so you may wash away the road and anything else you wish to leave behind.”
Lucy began to disagree but then remembered the spectacular pleasure of a warm bath. “Thank you. A bath would be most welcome.”
…
While bathing occupied Lucy upstairs, the duchess bid Henry to join her in the parlor. He hoped their discussion might entail an offer of reward for the return of the wayward granddaughter. However, she began with a very different tack.
“My husband and I were well acquainted with your father. We found him to be a straightforward man, true to his word and not given to indiscretion.” She appraised Henry carefully. “I wonder, is his son cut from the same cloth?”
He pondered the question. “My sister is dearer to me than anyone and I trust her good judgment. Often, she has said that I very much resemble our father in demeanor and behavior. I do not know how to answer more directly than that, for judging oneself is a biased enterprise. I tend to ignore my flaws until I or another lies wounded.”
The duchess grew a wan smile. “I have found that those most aware of their faults tend to practice discretion when entrusted with the secrets of others.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. You are very kind.”
Her smile faded. “I am not ‘very kind’ as you claim. That is my confession. I am, however, immensely practical and ferociously defensive of my family. Until today, I believed my family lost forever. You, however, have restored me to life, and I shall not forget that debt.”
Henry leaned forward on the sofa and waited for the offer of a sum that might offset the risks he had taken for Lucy. The duchess, however, shifted directions again.
“Mr. Beaumont, what is your assessment of Lucy? After all, you spent the past two days in her company.”
He froze. What could he say that would prove truthful yet kind, frank yet considerate? He waffled as the longcase clock ticked behind the duchess. She rolled her eyes.
“Do not think you must flatter me. I desire your frankness above all.”
He absently rubbed his neck and stared at the floor. “If you seek frankness, then I apologize for any coming offense.”
She motioned for him to continue, so he pressed onward.
“How do I assess Miss Locket? Well, she is quite rough around the edges. Too brash, too forward, too quick with a challenging word. Too sloppy in her dress, too coarse in her movements, too uncaring of her appearance. She has associated with the most despicable of men and knows nothing of the behavior of a proper lady. Society will feed her to the gristmill and laugh at her agony while doing so. In a land that prizes delicacy above fortitude and demureness above intelligence, she stands squarely on the wrong side of the fence and quite without a key to the gate.”
After the words rushed forth, he leaned back into the sofa, preparing to wince at what would surely be a torrent of disagreement from the duchess. Instead, she smiled.
“Thank you for that. I rarely hear the truth from anyone these days.”
He blinked twice. “You are not angry?”
“Not angry. A little sad, but also determined and more than inspired.”
As she locked eyes with him, he felt distinctly that he should flee. Before he could muster the good sense to do so, she raised a finger to point at his nose.
“You shall help her, sir. You shall provide the key to the gate.”
He blinked again as confusion settled. “I beg your pardon. What are you saying?”
She sprang from her chair as if thirty years younger and much less genteel and began to pace before Henry.
“Lucy must be made fit for Society.” She stabbed a forefinger at him to make her point. “Must, I tell you. Her future lies in the balance. She must be schooled deeply in the ways of gentility before I let her loose in London. She must learn what has been denied her before she can obtain what is rightfully hers. She must become fit for a suitor, and remarkably soon.”
He finally released the expected wince. She loomed over him as much as her sprightly frame would allow.
“You are the only one fit for the job. You must do this for me and for Lucy.”
He sat motionless for the space of two breaths. “Why me?”
“Because you alone of Society know her sordid history, and no other can be allowed to possess such information. If the ton learned the truth of her recent past, it would never suffer her presence long enough to accept her as an equal.”
He swallowed hard. “My deepest apologies, but I cannot. The task is too tall for the elite of London, let alone for the exiled second son of a country earl.” He withheld his primary reason for declining—his desire to be free from the web of lies that threatened to render true every dire prediction his brother had made of him. “Besides, I am expected at Bow Street for duty in the morning.”
“I will send a letter to Sir Nathaniel. As a dear friend, he will most certainly grant you leave.”
“With all due respect, I have no inheritance. I must work if I am to eat.”
She leaned toward him, driving him into the sofa cushions. “I will pay you handsomely for your efforts.”
He considered the disrepair of the house while harboring doubts about her means. “Any sum I accepted from you would be no better than blood money, tainted by my inevitable failure to accomplish the task.”
In response, the duchess performed a remarkable act, one Henry had not thought possible. She sat beside him on the sofa with her hands in her lap and begged.
“Please, I implore you. If only you realized what is at stake for Lucy, then you would understand my desperation.”
His curiosity mounted. He sensed in the plea a profound secret and the woman’s desire to disclose the truth. His morbid interest overcame good sense.
“Perhaps if you explain the stakes, then I might know better what game you ask me to play.”
“Indeed. Indeed. I suppose I owe you that privilege, considering what I ask of you.” She stared ahead, not looking him in the eye. “My son, Edwin, whom I loved dearly and whom we cultivated to inherit the dukedom, was always passionate and impulsive. He often spoke inappropriately and acted without considering the consequences.”
“That describes someone else we know.”
The duchess smiled briefly. “Yes, it does. Despite his shortcomings, Edwin seemed poised to accept the mantle of his duties. However, he met and married a common bar wench, rendered her with child, and fled to Italy to escape the wrath of his father. The duke was livid. He tried to disinherit Edwin in favor of our younger son. Edwin returned to England to convince members of the Committee of Privileges to deny my husband’s request. But his actions proved moot when he drowned returning to Italy. And then…”