She smiled adoringly at him. “Once again, sir, I thank you for illuminating the dark corners of my benightedness. Your generous sharing of equine lineage is most appreciated.”
He nodded with seeming suspicion. “You’re welcome.”
Isabella sighed. “One must know details of fine horseflesh if one is to walk among gentry, Lady Margaret. Dispelling your ignorance on this and other subjects is of utmost importance.”
Lucy nearly flinched at the earnestly mocking tone. Her well-maintained façade wavered. “I know of horseflesh in a manner you never will.”
Isabella cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Henry leaned forward to catch Lucy’s attention, likely hoping to stop further explanation. She ignored him. “One can never truly know a horse until one has reached into a mare’s birth canal to extract a struggling colt, and then nursed both mare and colt to health. As I have done.”
Expressions of ghastly horror instructed Lucy that she had overstepped her bounds. A brief glance at the stricken face of the duchess told her just how far. Miss Wharton broke the silence.
“Well, I have never heard of such indelicacy!” She raised a hand to her forehead and feigned a swoon. Miss Braye fanned herself with shocked indignation. Isabella, however, smiled like a cat before the kill. Lucy looked to Henry for support, but his forehead remained in one hand. Lady Garvey, however, rode gallantly to her rescue, with saber swinging.
“I will have you know, ladies, that I am third cousin to His Majesty, and I helped my noble father birth a colt when I was a girl. I see no wrong in charity toward such fine creatures.”
She shifted her glare from person to person, daring anyone to denigrate the actions of a royal relative. In a manner that threatened to impress Lucy, Isabella rose to the challenge.
“Oh, I quite agree, your ladyship. Birthing a foal is a fine skill that would prepare Lady Margaret for any number of professions, including groomsman or midwife. And see, she has suitable hands for the task.”
Lucy clutched her calloused hands to her waist, wary of the gazes now trained there.
“Of course,” added Miss Braye. “And her nonverbal manner would calm the dumb creatures. They might even view her as one of their own. A fine talent indeed.”
The mocking words had the effect of bringing Lucy ramrod straight. She peered intently at Isabella. “You need not patronize me. If you wish to insult, then do so directly and with courage. Your acting skills are not sufficient to pretend earnestness.”
Isabella’s eyes went wide, and her cohorts gasped. The older women, though, exchanged wicked smiles. The duchess leaned toward Lady Barrington and spoke in low tones.
“Now there is the aplomb of which you spoke earlier.”
Warwick sneered. “I see no aplomb. I see only a milkmaid pretending to be a lady.”
Lucy watched as the face of the duchess grew red with rage. “Scurrilous boy, why…”
Henry leaped from his chair. “Ladies! Gentleman! Please! There is something you must know about Lady Margaret.”
Lucy’s clenched hands became white-knuckled. When all eyes turned to Henry, he motioned toward her. “Through no fault of hers, she passed adolescence in a remote place without the company of finer people or a more conventional education.”
Warwick mumbled, “That explains much.”
Henry faced her with a grave expression. “Lady Margaret. As hostess of this affair, I think it only appropriate that you apologize for such frank and shocking talk.”
She glared at him, wishing to burn him to the ground with her eyes. His lack of support wounded her more painfully than any daggers from the haughty guests. He seemed no friend after all. After gritting her teeth, she offered what words she could manage.
“Please accept my apology. Now, let us dine before I say something actually worthy of one.”
…
Once the duchess settled at the head of the table, Lucy took the appointed place to her right, while Warwick sat to her left. Lady Garvey, Lady Barrington, Miss Braye, and Miss Wharton occupied the next chairs, the older women on one side of the table and the younger on the other as if two armed camps prepared for bloody battle. Despite her rank, Isabella asked to be seated across from Henry in the lowest chair, a maneuver that appeared to miff Warwick. Lucy frowned. What game was she playing?
As the staff served dinner, conversation commenced among the guests. Lucy remained largely silent, not wishing to begin the meal with an immediate breach of etiquette. At the prompting of the duchess, she managed to string together a few sentences for Lord Warwick, but he seemed barely aware of her presence and more interested in the mostly inaudible conversation between Isabella and Henry. Lucy found herself craning her neck toward them as well. She failed to discern anything meaningful.
The main course had only just arrived when Isabella suddenly broke off conversation with Henry and trained her eyes on Lucy. “Lady Margaret.”
“Lady Isabella?”
“Please, dear. You must tell us more of this very intriguing upbringing. What words did Henry use? Remote? Unrefined? Unconventional? We must know more of the details.”
“There is little to say.”
“Oh, come now. At least tell us where it was.”
She glanced at the duchess and then at Henry from the corner of her vision. Both appeared cautious of the question but not overly alarmed.
“Go ahead, dear,” the duchess said. “You can say a little, or as little as necessary. Whatever you deem appropriate.”
She nodded. “A house in Devon many miles from any village.”
Isabella pressed. “With a genteel family, at least?”
“Yes. With a gentleman who, shall I say, represented my father’s interests.”
“What is the gentleman called? Perhaps I know of him.”
Henry’s eyes cut sharply to Lucy and spoke warning. However, his earlier advice of playing the game still echoed through her head. “Oh, I doubt you would know of him. He moved in different circles than the pampered folk of London, as he felt most of them were beneath him.”
Isabella’s forehead creased with the verbal shot, but quickly smoothed. Lucy braced for a countermove.
“This gentleman, I assume, is a relative of yours?”
“No, he is not.”
As expected, Miss Braye and Miss Wharton expressed dramatic disbelief by covering their surprised mouths with gloved hands and exchanging shocked glances. Isabella blinked slowly as a wry smile crept across her face. “That sounds positively scandalous! Some would call the man unscrupulous for housing a young girl not his relative. They might even call you the same by association.”