“You have come not a moment too soon, Lucy,” the duchess said. “I believe Lady Garvey and Lady Barrington have arrived. Take your place over there. You are the hostess and must make an impression.”
She physically shrank from the words, leaning in to Henry. He shot her a smile of encouragement. “Shall we assume our places?”
She stared up at him with uncertainty and nodded. He guided her a few steps to a spot near the door where proper greeting might occur. As the duchess came alongside, Lucy disentangled her hand from his elbow and began to fidget.
“Hands clasped at the waist, Lady Margaret.”
She did as he advised and waited. Moments later, Hawes announced the arrival of the duchess’s longtime friends.
“Lady Garvey. Lady Barrington.”
The older women paraded regally through the doorway with polite nods toward the duchess. Apparently overcome by anxiety, Lucy crowded the guests.
“Your ladyships. The pleasure of your attendance brings me much joy! The duchess speaks fondly of your long friendships and of your families and charitable works.” Henry tugged at Lucy to restrain her rambling greeting, but she seemed not to notice. “And she told me also of your journey together to Bath some years ago, complete with weather travails and spa treatments, and how you helped that poor farmer stranded beside the road, and how his sheep were in such need of a shearing. I feel as if I know you already!”
The guests reacted much as he might have expected, recoiling from the verbal spray with expressions of barely restrained alarm. Lucy finally seemed to notice him tugging her elbow and stepped back with head bowed.
“My apologies, your ladyships. I am too forward and inexperienced by half.”
The duchess intervened before Henry could. “Allow me to apologize on my granddaughter’s behalf. You see, she has spent this past decade in a remote and isolated place, free of training in proper etiquette. She is a babe in the woods in that regard.”
Lady Garvey, a tall silver-haired woman with a severe countenance, nodded. “Of course. We should have prepared our expectations, for you did warn us.”
When Lady Barrington expressed similar understanding, Henry found a slight smile on his face. He sensed the loyalty and empathy the women held just beneath the surface, despite their stoic demeanors.
“As you can see,” the duchess said, “your keen eyes and extensive experience are needed here. As I explained in my letters, we must prepare my granddaughter for the inevitable trials and tribulations of Society. I turn to you, my oldest and dearest friends, in this time of great need.”
The genteel women broke into a chorus of concurrence, offering support for the endeavor. Lady Barrington approached Lucy, who stood in humiliation with head bowed.
“Lady Margaret.” The woman said the name firmly but with a hint of warmth. “You must never drop your eyes to anyone but the immediate royal family. You outrank me by far.”
Henry watched as Lucy raised her eyes slowly to meet those of Lady Barrington. The visitor nodded approval. “See there. Is that not better?”
Lucy nodded uncertainly. “I suppose. You are very considerate of my unusual circumstances.”
Lady Barrington cocked her head toward the duchess with a warm smile. “It is just as you said. She is a lovely girl, certainly tempting to any suitor. And, oh, so fresh.”
As the visitors began to remark on her fine looks, Henry watched the flush climb Lucy’s neck and cheeks. Hearing such praise of the young woman’s beauty swayed him to study her yet again. Thus far, he had seen her as attractive, but mostly as combative, forthright, and openly disdainful of Society rules. In this rare moment of humility, however, her dark eyes and pouting lips drew him like a force of nature, like gravity pulling a falling man. When had this happened? He absently pulled at his collar and intercepted the conversation.
“Mr. Henry Beaumont, at your service.” He bowed to the women. “Perhaps you might offer Lady Margaret sage advice for the guests yet to come.”
Lady Garvey nodded at the suggestion. She peered down at Lucy from her impressive stature. “Dear, with your rank comes the need for reserve. When guests arrive, you must not rush to them for approval. It is they who must come to you and offer respectful gratitude for the honor of calling upon you. Remain as a statue and maintain a cold eye until your guests do so.”
Lucy accepted the advice and further recommendations from Lady Barrington before the women followed the duchess to the parlor. She glanced at Henry as if in apology. He attempted to exude calm as he whispered to her.
“What began roughly ended well. Steady on, Miss Locket. Steady on.”
She glanced up at him with narrowed eyes. “So, now I am Miss Locket?”
“Just between us, yes.”
She smiled and turned toward the door again at the sound of another coach halting on the cobblestone street outside. Seconds later, Hawes called out again.
“Lady Isabella Sedgewick. Miss Braye. Miss Wharton.”
Henry balled his fists at the names. Lady Isabella swept through the door with two other young women in tow. All were possessed of great beauty, bedecked in dresses of finest silk and with matching honey hair formed and constructed for the sole purpose of entangling a man’s attention. He noted how much the presence of such refinement contrasted with Lucy’s plain manner. However, he also noticed with relief that Lucy’s beauty this evening outshone that of the new arrivals.
As he watched, Lucy adopted a facial expression he had seen from her before—one reserved for cardsharps when bluffing—and she appeared to wait for the newcomers to react. Isabella locked eyes with her and paused, entering a contest of wills with the would-be lady. Lucy maintained her stoic and unmoving position for the space of three breaths before Isabella spoke.
“Lady Margaret, is it not customary to show delight at the arrival of guests? You appear as if waiting for Death on his horse.”
Lucy’s focus broke and she glanced furtively at Henry before returning her attention to the guests. “Lady Isabella. How nice of you to come.”
Isabella dropped a hint of a curtsy, and Lucy reciprocated in kind with a slight dip of the chin. Isabella’s accomplices, whom Henry recognized from past events, floated in beside their friend. They curtsied modestly and swept their eyes discriminately over Lucy.
“I should offer congratulations,” said Miss Braye, “for your marvelous dress. The fact that your dressmaker assembled it in only a few days is hardly noticeable, especially in the moderate light of evening.”
Henry saw Lucy’s face fall. “How do you know about that?”
Isabella laughed lightly. “Oh, my dear. Let this be our first lesson for you this evening. The haute ton knows all. The more desperately you hide a secret, the more aggressively Society seeks to expose it. The desire to humiliate is proportional to the magnitude of the potential shame.”