For a moment, Lucy forgot the fine art of breathing. When she remembered, the air rushed from her lungs in an astonished and horrified gasp. “I am to marry? Within three months?” She bounced to her feet and began edging toward the door. “This is unacceptable! This is abominable! I cannot… I will not consider such a travesty! I am not cattle!”
Henry jumped up and caught her elbow none too gently. “Wait! You must hear the rest.”
She glanced down at his uncomfortable grip. He followed her gaze and abruptly softened his hold but did not release it. She found his eyes. “I must do nothing, sir. I will take leave of this madhouse.”
Henry leaned perilously near to speak in a dark whisper. “Please, I beg of you. Just listen to what your grandmother says. If afterward you feel no abatement in your desire to flee, then I will hold the door open as you pass. However, grant at least this one request from a woman who has shown you nothing but kindness.”
Try as she might, Lucy could not resist the prideful man’s sudden show of humility and concern for the old woman. After a lengthy pause, she whispered too harshly, “Right, then. Now unhand me.”
Henry released his grip but hovered nearby. She tentatively resumed her seat and held the eyes of the duchess with unrestrained heat. “Her Grace has the floor.”
The duchess nodded with only minimal relief. “If you marry an appropriate and approved member of Society by your next birthday, you will inherit a sum of one hundred thousand pounds that has been held in reserve in the event of your return.”
Lucy coughed in surprise. “How much?”
“One hundred thousand,” said Henry. “Pounds.”
“And if I do not marry?”
The duchess shook her head. “You inherit nothing. The money reverts to the estate, and hence, to the new duke. The blackguard asked after it recently, gleefully anticipating its imminent return.”
Something in the old woman’s eyes spoke of more to the story. A desperation that seemed out of place to Lucy. “That amount, while a fortune, seems too much for the likes of me. Could you not scrape together a smaller dowry at a later time?”
The noblewoman sat in silence for beat upon beat of Lucy’s heart. Henry cleared his throat auspiciously.
“I will leave if you prefer privacy, Your Grace.” His conspiratorial tone indicated he might know something that had escaped Lucy.
“Not necessary. You clearly suspect the truth.” She faced Lucy. “Because my sons died, the dukedom passed to the duke’s contemptible brother who maintains open animosity toward me. The duke, God rest him, intended to leave me sufficient funds to make comfortable my dotage. However…” Her voice hitched. “However, his final investments proved disastrous. My remaining funds are enough to support me and a small staff for at least a few years. Meanwhile, the house falls into disrepair. I cannot, as you suggest, scrape together a smaller dowry.”
Empathy suffused Lucy. The duchess had treated her with such kindness. One hundred thousand pounds could certainly entice a class of suitor who would see to the duchess’s comfort for the remainder of her days. How could she walk away from such charity, such duty, without guilt? As Lucy massaged her temples, an answer came.
I cannot.
Despite her utter contempt for the wealthy class, despite her desperate sense of unworthiness, despite her complete lack of social graces, despite the dark secrets of her past. She dropped her hands and lifted her eyes. “What constitutes an ‘appropriate and approved’ member of Society?”
The duchess glanced to Henry for help. He adjusted his cravat. “According to the specifics of the will, he must be a man born of a British family in good standing with the Crown and in possession of a royally bestowed title, or heir to one. In other words, the kind of man who would not even notice you in your current state.”
“My current state? And just what is so repulsive about my current state?”
“The answer to that question is so expansive that I hardly know where to begin.”
“Try.”
Henry gripped his waistcoat earnestly with one hand. “Everything a lady is, you are not, neither in manner, speech, nor appearance. To aspire to become a proper lady in three months is as the sparrow aspiring to become the eagle.”
Anger burned within Lucy, partly because his words were true, but mostly because he dared utter them. She inhaled a few breaths, driving her rage down to a simmer. Then she faced the duchess calmly. “Your Grace, I will try to fulfill your request, if for no other reason than to prove Mr. Beaumont a liar. When do we begin?”
Surprise and relief washed over the woman’s face. “Let us retire from this business for today to allow emotions to abate. We will begin tomorrow at one o’clock.” She cut her eyes at Henry. “I trust that Mr. Beaumont will have discovered some measure of tact by then.”
His jaw flexed. “I will do my best, as promised.”
The duchess accepted his reply with a nod of her head. Lucy, however, harbored significant doubt over his ability to see her as anything but the ward of a thief. She should not have cared, but the thought of his disregard stung more than she wished to admit.
Chapter Eight
Lucy rose early the following morning as was her custom. She donned a new dress—that is, new to her. The duchess had given Lucy several of her dresses the night before, and they more or less fit. After admiring the elegance of the garment, she wandered toward the stairs barefoot. While descending, she spied a maid briskly dusting the entrance hall. The girl glanced up and jumped with a start.
“Lady Margaret! Oh, I did not know you would rise so early!”
She curtsied twice and hurried away. Lucy paused, taken aback by the odd encounter. First, the maid had called her Lady Margaret, a name she had become certain she would never hear again. Then, she had fled as if Lucy carried the plague, gone to nether regions of the house not frequented by the family. She finished her descent in the throes of angst.
“I see you eschew the bed as well.”
Lucy turned to find the duchess watching her. She curtsied badly. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Grandmother. Call me Grandmother.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I will.”
The duchess shook her head. “Come, dear. I always break the fast with a slice of buttered bread and a cup of strong tea. Your pleasant company would add to my enjoyment.”
Lucy swallowed unease and followed her to a cozy drawing room that effused the scent of cedar and roses.
“I like this room,” Lucy said. The duchess smiled.
“Your approval delights me. This is where I prefer to spend my time, although I am usually alone.”