Lucy sat quietly, attempting to understand. She certainly recognized that when she showed kindness to the staff at Ardmoore, their initial response was one of uncertainty or even fear. Still, she could not dismiss Henry’s treatment of the tenants and wondered if an alternative approach was possible.
“’Tis a stupid rule,” she said. “However, for the sake of the mission, I will strive to maintain proper distance with the servants, despite counter examples.” She looked at Henry, who quickly launched a detailed study of his fingernails.
“Thank you,” said Charlotte. “As onerous as such protocol seems, the behavior is woven into the fabric of Society. We must all maintain our places lest the fabric unravel.”
Lucy acknowledged the sage advice while pondering the nature of her place. Rules dictated she behave one way, but her upbringing urged her to behave another. In short, she was a child of the wilderness who now faced true wolves—beasts that would tear her limb from limb for an indiscretion as minor as a breach of protocol. How could she ever belong to a Society that struck her with such disdain and mortal fear?
Chapter Eighteen
Henry was confident the visit to the tenant village the previous day had altered his relationship with Lucy. Every time he caught her gaze, her eyes had been more circumspect. More inscrutable. At first, he wondered if the confession of his dark nature was to blame. However, an epiphany at breakfast had shifted his view—that Lucy’s striking eyes held no judgment. The desire to recapture something of their first meeting took a firm hold and propelled him to the library with her in tow.
“Of course, you will remember this room, Crusoe.”
He watched Lucy’s eyes roam the space, taking in the tall shelves stuffed with books and the comfortable furniture before landing on the panel that protected the hidden room. She raised a finger.
“Yes, Friday. Just there, if I recall, lies your oh-so-secret hideaway.”
“Your memory serves you well.”
She tipped her face upward inquisitively and nodded toward the shelves. “May I?”
He gripped his lapel, frowned, and adopted the gruff presentation of a disgruntled elder statesman. “I should think not, given my opposition to the education of the weaker sex on the grounds that it confuses their entertaining but clearly muddled brains. Best to leave well enough alone, I say.”
She matched his frown and spoke with the high squeak of a featherheaded debutante. “Why, sir! My undying gratitude is yours for saving me from the curse of original thought. I thank you.” Then she smiled. “I will take that as an affirmative.”
He chuckled as she approached the shelves. She ran her fingers along a row of philosophy books. “I’ve read this one. Quite illuminating, you know, especially regarding the nature of knowing one’s existence. Read this one as well. Not as good, but serviceable. And this one, also. I believe the author was either drunk or insensible when he wrote it.”
While standing behind Lucy, Henry shook his head at her continuing uniqueness. He knew few people who’d read so prolifically. Others of Society might dismiss her eclectic interests as unladylike, baffling, or odd. Not Henry—not anymore. His admiration for her only grew as she perused the shelves.
“You have read widely,” he said.
“I had little else to do in Dartmoor these past eleven years.”
The loneliness implicit in her reply pricked his heart. As he mused, she turned her attention to an array of science texts. She glanced at Henry with shining eyes.
“I see you possess a copy of Sir Newton’s Principia Mathematica. I was just beginning to understand the mathematics of it when, well, this all began. I should like to finish it sometime.”
A thud erupted in his chest, which he suppressed with confusion. He looked to the window and squinted as if something of great interest had appeared outside. The gesture distracted him long enough to regain his composure. After a deep breath, he strode to join her at the bookshelves and selected a volume of biology. He began flipping through pages of cramped text and detailed sketches of plants and animals.
“My worst subject, I’m afraid. Never could get past the drawings of dismembered creatures.” He offered the book to Lucy. “You should have it.”
She eyed him skeptically as if searching for the jest. After hesitating, she accepted the hefty tome. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Who can say? Perhaps I thought it might be of some interest to one who apparently has read everything else.”
She smiled and hugged the book to her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Beaumont.”
“And that is another thing,” he said abruptly before he could silence his tongue. “Enough of this ‘Mr. Beaumont’ business. You should call me Henry.”
Her eyes grew wide before narrowing as a lovely grin shaped her lips. “Why, sir! Is that not an overly forward request to make of a pupil? Should not such impropriety violate at least four or five of the many rules on which you have drilled me?”
He stumbled mentally, not expecting that response. “See here. As your mentor in the mysterious ways of Society, I am a bastion of wisdom in which you must place your unwavering trust. My requests must be obeyed without question.”
She curtsied deeply—and perfectly. “Yes, oh, wise and erudite scholar. I trust you implicitly, despite your continuous stream of illogic and unreason regarding the rules of this befuddling game. To mistrust you would end the game, and for now, I find it sufficiently amusing to continue.”
He glared down his nose at her. “Take care with your ridicule, oh, unworthy student, or I shall be required to rap your knuckles and enforce a diet of split pea soup for the duration of your stay.”
“Wonderful! When do we begin? I rather adore split pea soup, especially as it matches the spot on your cravat.”
He lowered his eyes quickly to scan his cravat before realizing she had duped him. He shook a finger and shot her the stern glare of a mirthless schoolmaster. “I warn you, young lady. You must show proper respect, or I will…I will…”
“Will what?” she said with a giggle. He impulsively stepped toward her and gripped an elbow in each hand. Her laughter died immediately, and she stared at him with uncertain eyes while breathing rapidly. He held his position for the space of several yammering heartbeats, his lips frozen in mid-utterance. Lucy was a well of enticement, a storehouse of wishes and dreams, a source of life and revitalization. And he was tilting ever nearer to a decisive and perhaps fatal plunge. The subtle pressure of Lucy leaning slightly into his grip allowed him to regain a modicum of reason. He dropped his hands, stepped away, and averted his eyes to avoid her remarkable gaze.
“Pardon me, my lady. I overstepped my bounds. Please forgive my impudence.”