“But…” Lucy prompted.
“But he is an unapologetic rake.”
“That balding little man is a rake?”
“Yes. He has ruined many a reputation with promises of future nobility. If I were you, I would spit in his eye and turn him away. However, do what you must.”
She stifled a giggle with her fist. “I look forward to doing just that before this affair is over. Tell me then about Lord Rayleigh.”
“Ah, yes. Rayleigh is a notorious gamer and drinker. I fear he would squander your dowry in no time.”
“And your Bow Street knight?”
Henry caught the playful accusation in her words, but also the angst beneath. “Sir Hugh earned his title during the Peninsular War and is a favorite of the Duke of Wellington. I don’t know him well but trust his character.”
“And he is not here to arrest me?”
“No.” The half-truth chipped another shard from his soul.
Lucy fell silent, examining her folded hands. Then she glanced up at him, her eyes flat. “So, you approve of Sir Hugh?”
Henry wanted to tell her that none of them was suitable, but he did like Sir Hugh, even if his presence was not as a suitor. “If I had to choose among them, I would select him.”
She lowered her head again, seemingly struck by melancholy. He waited, not knowing what to say. When she finally lifted her face, questions riddled her countenance. “Last night in the ballroom you appeared withdrawn. Were you disappointed with my performance?”
“Of course not. It pains me to admit as much, but your performance was nothing short of magnificent.”
Blush crawled up her neck, but she squinted at him. “Your social interaction, on the other hand, seemed limited to whispered conversations with Lady Isabella. She would certainly help your social status.”
The mild accusation stirred his ire. “What does it matter to you? You seemed more than content to flirt with James. In fact, you appeared quite taken with the man.”
“You disapprove of my conversation with your brother?” The glint of her eyes told Henry she was ready to spar.
“Yes, I disapprove.”
“Why? Because he shows interest in me?”
“No. Any interest he has in you is merely a financial transaction, nothing more.”
Her jaw trembled. “Because I am not fit to attract the interest of an earl? Because I am not enough of a lady for a true gentleman?”
“Because he means to capture or destroy you!”
Lucy leaned away from him, apparently taken aback by his explosive reply. Regret flooded him, but before he could recover, her eyes flashed. “Tell me what you mean by that, Henry Beaumont, or I swear, I will snatch out your eyes.”
He lurched up and paced away from her. She rose to follow. “Tell me what you mean!”
He turned to face her. “I cannot. I will not.”
Lucy stepped backward as if slapped, while hurt colored her pretty face. The urge to hold and comfort her overtook him. When he stepped in her direction, though, she moved away before whirling to confront him.
“Is this what you prepared me for? To be fattened and sold like a brood sow to the highest bidder? Is that all I am to you?”
Henry stood silently. He could not argue her accusation, for it described succinctly the mission assigned to him by the duchess, albeit in rough terms. However, he was inclined to argue her final question. “No. You mean more to me than that.”
She crossed her arms. “What do I mean to you, then? What?”
His selfish nature wished to confide his raging attraction for her, and to confess his betrayal. A stream of explanation formed in his mind and nearly crossed his lips.
Nearly.
However, his thoughts again retreated to how his brother would describe his attachment to a woman raised by a thief. Just as I predicted, he would say. From criminal seed grows a criminal tree. Every taunt, every insult, every degradation of childhood flooded his memory and rendered him woefully silent. She glared at him before tears descended her cheeks.
“I thought so,” she said brokenly. Then quieter, “I thought so. But it matters not. I am who I am, Henry, and neither of us can fix that. Neither of us can change the past.”
She turned away without further comment and walked toward the footbridge, leaving him alone and consumed by questions and absolute shame.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As four days passed, Lucy withdrew from Henry hour by hour, turning her interest instead to the suitors. Now, the day he most dreaded had arrived. Lucy would choose a husband before the night was done to allow sufficient time for the reading of the banns. All his efforts, training, and tutoring had led her to this day. And he could not have been more miserable.
Owing to comfortable cloud cover, the house party had elected for an outing on the moderate but lush lawn behind Ardmoore. Manicured shrubbery, lacy trees, and bursts of flowers lined three sides. Henry found himself relegated to the margins while watching Lucy hold court with the suitors, all under Charlotte’s watchful eye. Not one to accept overshadowing, Isabella insinuated herself into the fray, dragging Miss Braye and Miss Wharton along for support. Even then, Henry chose to hover near enough to listen but far enough away to remain outside the conversation. The suitors peppered Lucy with questions, some more personal than others.
“What is your favorite dish? I prefer roast pheasant and cabbage myself.”
“Might you favor us with a poem in Italian?”
“What manner of man was your father?”
Most of these questions she answered as diligently as she could without betraying the more sordid details of her past. Some she brushed aside with a grace Henry did not recall noticing when he first met her. He nodded approval for her handling of the stressful interview, even though it crumbled his heart moment by moment. Isabella soon resumed her efforts to humiliate Lucy.
“Lady Margaret.” Isabella waited until she commanded all eyes. “I heard a most unbelievable rumor about you that I cannot imagine to be true.”
Henry tensed and watched Lucy do the same.
“Is that so?” Her response sounded calm, but he sensed the underlying anxiety. Isabella smiled, knowing she had touched upon a secret.
“A little bird told me…” She paused dramatically. “That you fence. That you handle a foil in the manner of some dastardly pirate. Imagine that!”
Henry craned his neck, wondering how Lucy would escape such a direct question.
“Imagination is unnecessary, for the rumor is true.”