“Mr. Beaumont.”
“Yes.”
“Watch your step with that one.”
His mouth twitched at one corner. “Yes, Your Grace.”
He shifted his attention to Lucy, who had resumed her seat. “Now, let us at least take instruction from this experience. Lady Isabella is the first gentle lady of your age you have met since your return. What did you learn from the encounter regarding the comportment of a lady?”
Her eyes rolled toward the ornate ceiling as she collected her thoughts. She grew a wry smile. “I learned that one must understand the latest fashions appealing to men of a certain station. I learned that one must be privy to the latest rumors and must repeat said rumors without discretion while making much of not repeating them.”
Henry frowned at her. “I see. What else did you learn?”
“I learned that one must never acknowledge the presence of anyone deemed socially inferior to oneself until forced to do so by another of superior social status.”
Henry’s frown grew deeper while the duchess smiled. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps that is enough…”
“No, Mr. Beaumont. I learned one other important behavior.”
He paused, his expression somewhere between reluctance and a wince. “And what is that?”
“Today, I learned a lady must flirt relentlessly with any eligible man of her station, and the man must reciprocate.”
His face flushed. “I did not flirt. I simply offered cordiality.”
She peered at him down the bridge of her nose. “You and I have very different definitions of the word ‘cordiality,’ then.”
Chapter Twelve
The evening of the dinner party, Henry stood alone with the duchess in the entrance hall, tall and stiff in his British Cavalry uniform. The duchess had insisted on military dress, despite Isabella’s suggestion. Because Lucy had yet to emerge from her chambers where Miss Barrett worked furiously to prepare her, Henry’s concern for the schedule grew. However, he experienced more worry over Lucy’s readiness for the trial to come.
“Pardon my saying so, Your Grace, but my doubt outruns my optimism. Although your granddaughter has been an apt pupil, I fear the challenge is too great. Gentility is a quality cultivated over years, not days. Perhaps we are unfair to demand a miracle of her.”
The duchess stretched her spine and lifted her chin. “Come, now.” Her tone was comforting yet convicting. “Do not abandon hope. The girl may yet surprise you.”
He smiled wistfully. “That, I know. She has done nothing but surprise me since our first meeting.”
“Regardless, our agreement remains intact. I promised you a substantial sum, and in return, you promised me your best. Thus far, you have met your end of the bargain. I ask that you continue doing so for a few hours more. Her future may lie in the balance tonight.”
The ominous and inviting nature of those last words stoked Henry’s curiosity. He suspected she withheld information of great importance. If he had learned anything from his father, it was never to leave critical words unspoken. “Tell me, then, what lies in the balance this evening? If I am to give my best, then I must know the game. I must know the rules and stakes. All of them.”
Relief brushed her features, confirming that she wished to confide. She glanced up the empty central staircase and leaned toward him. “I invited the heir to the Earl of Uckham, who is just the class of suitor who might court Lucy.”
Henry’s hackles rose. “Lord Warwick? You invited him?”
“Yes.”
He tried to suppress a scowl. “I see.”
The duchess grew a sly smile. “You do not approve?”
“Not particularly. However, as you like, Your Grace.”
“I care little for him as well,” she said, “but I know his father, was certain I could force his son’s attendance, and wish to see how Lucy responds to a potential suitor.”
The mention of a flesh-and-blood suitor stirred inside Henry feelings of protection…and of surprising jealousy. He attempted to appear unaffected. “Does Lord Warwick know of Lucy’s dowry and availability?”
“Not yet. His father’s financial straits are well known. I want Lord Warwick to see Lucy as someone to court and not as a potential windfall.”
Henry struggled to remain stoic. “Does she know he is coming?”
“No. I did not wish to unnerve her.”
A commotion upstairs interrupted his planned protest.
“Wait, my lady! Your gloves! You must not forget your gloves!”
Miss Barrett’s admonition sounded from above, followed by a mumbled complaint from Lucy. A half minute passed before Lucy appeared at the top of the stairs. Henry inhaled a startled breath at what met his eyes. Her dark hair coiled richly atop her head, save a thick strand cascading dangerously over one shoulder. The new dress, light blue and shimmering as if made of water, clung to her slender form. A touch of rouge on her cheeks and lips set into contrast mahogany eyes large with uncertainty. He gaped, as if seeing her for the first time, astonished anew by her beauty. Words of assessment lodged in his throat. True to Lucy’s forward nature, she did not wait for his appraisal.
“Am I remotely presentable or should we begin again?”
The duchess clapped her hands. “Marvelous, my dear! You are the vision of the goddess Aphrodite!”
“More like the goddess Diana, for I am supposed to be on the hunt.” Then she shifted her attention. “Mr. Beaumont? Your opinion?”
He cleared his throat of the words clogging it, and then attempted to underplay his unexpected reaction. “You look very well. Please, harbor no concerns about your appearance.”
She appeared satisfied with his conclusion and began descending the steps rather quickly.
“Slower,” he advised. She paused before gliding downward in her best impression of an ice skater. When she reached the bottom, he added, “Well done.”
When she finally appraised his cavalry uniform, seeming approval lit her face. Of course, she did not admit it. “Where is your wet nurse medal? I have looked forward to learning what manner of medal one receives for excellence in wet nursing. Although, I must admit, I have some preconceived notions as to its shape.”
He continued to stare at her without moving or responding while attempting to quell remarkable sensations of protection, pride, and…longing. The first two he could explain, for she was his pupil. The last one left him bewildered. She misinterpreted his ongoing silence as disapproval. She smoothed her dress nervously and traded the wry smile for a proper expression of grim dismay. She approached him slowly with chin dipped, while cutting her eyes upward through eyelashes that seemed longer than he had noticed before. When he held an elbow for her, she slipped a gloved hand under his arm and gripped it gingerly. He exchanged a wordless glance with her. She seemed as confused as he was.