“What are you talking about?” Henry asked.
Sir Hugh carefully removed the medal from Henry’s grip and held it up with both hands while mouthing silently the Portuguese words of inscription. Then his eyes met Henry’s. “When I saw you rush by with this displayed on your chest, I was initially surprised. Then I recalled what you had told me of your responsibilities in France. I called immediately for Lord Garvey to bring his documentation and then chased you here.”
Henry’s bewilderment deepened as he eyed his medal. “You recognize this awful thing?”
Sir Hugh held the medal briefly to his chest before returning it to Henry. “I do. What do you think it is?”
“Just a commendation for saving the life of a worthless Portuguese duke. They also gave me a letter, likely filled with flowery but empty phrases. I don’t read Portuguese, though.”
A smile split Sir Hugh’s face. “Well, sir, I do read Portuguese. I served Lieutenant-Colonel George Elder during the Peninsular campaign. He received the same award and the same document, as did a few others of the British army. This is not ‘just a commendation.’ This medal that you seem to so despise is in reality the Portuguese Royal Order of the Tower and Sword.”
Henry repeated the words with skepticism. “Portuguese Royal Order…”
“Of the Tower and Sword. Yes. And what you describe as a mere ‘letter’ is not just that. It is a certificate of patent.”
Henry continued to stare in confusion. “What does that mean, man?”
“It means,” said Sir Hugh, “That in appreciation for your service to their family, the King of Portugal appointed you as an official knight of the Portuguese realm.”
The words of explanation tumbled through Henry’s brain. King? Royal order? Knight? He cocked his head dangerously to the right. “What does this mean?”
Lord Garvey stepped forward. “It means, Mr. Beaumont, that you are the holder of a royally bestowed title, and therefore, eligible to vie for Lady Margaret’s hand.”
Henry blinked five times. “But not a British title.”
“That does not matter.” Lord Garvey held up the portion of the late duke’s will explaining the conditions of the dowry. “The suitor must be British and hold a royally bestowed title. There is no stipulation that the title itself must be British.”
The rush of information threatened to overwhelm Henry. He shifted his gaze repeatedly between the two men, hoping for a lifeline. However, they just watched him drown in silence. He gazed again at the medal before catching Sir Hugh’s eyes.
“What should I do?”
Sir Hugh placed a hand gravely on his shoulder. “You are a knight now, Henry. You should begin behaving like one. And you may start by not throwing away precious things.”
He bowed and left with Lord Garvey in tow. Henry stood rooted to the earth, as if a tree awaiting the turn of a season.
…
Rapping on Lucy’s door prodded her again into motion. Had Henry come back? For an instant, her spirits lifted before she remembered his betrayal. She clenched her fists.
“What do you want?”
Whispering behind the door gave her pause. Then Charlotte’s voice sounded. “We wish only to inquire of your well-being.”
“We?”
“Her Grace and I.”
Lucy closed the gap to the door and flung it open. “My apologies, Your Grace. I was expecting another.”
The duchess swept an appraising eye over her rumpled dress and tear-stained face as alarm dawned. “What has happened, granddaughter?”
She froze, wondering where to begin. The truth, she decided. All of it.
“Please come and sit, both of you. I have something to tell you.”
The duchess and Charlotte entered and settled on the sofa, their eyes curious and wary. Lucy perched against the edge of her bed. “Though I have been honest about my childhood and my time with Steadman, I have been less transparent about my initial meeting with Henry.”
“He rescued you from Sir Steadman’s gang, did he not?” asked Charlotte.
“In a manner of speaking, yes. However, I am not so innocent.”
With that enticement, Lucy shared in detail the events of Shooter’s Hill, her capture of the pursuing Henry, and their agreement to return the stolen gold. The duchess blanched as the story unfolded, and Charlotte’s hand became a permanent fixture over her open mouth. When Lucy finished the tale, she realized that her gaze had locked onto her knotted fingers. She cut her eyes up at the duchess.
“So, you see, Your Grace, I am a criminal. My actions have not only endangered my life, but they have cast a stain on House Huntington that cannot be cleansed. For that and more, I am desperately sorry and do not deserve even a shred of your forgiveness.”
The duchess opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it as her gaze wandered to the curtained window. Lucy did not blame the woman if she never spoke to her again. However, the duchess recovered and reengaged Lucy.
“Mr. Beaumont agreed to lie for you?”
Tears began leaking from Lucy’s eyes. “He did, but then during his recent return to London, he informed Bow Street of my actions at Shooter’s Hill. He betrayed me.” She sniffled, and a stuttered breath climbed her throat to escape in the form of a heaving sob. “But that is not the worst of it. I have fallen in love with him, stupid girl that I am. And what did he do with my heart? He sold it to save himself.”
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to wipe away the flood of tears. The bed shifted as Charlotte settled next to Lucy and pulled her into a motherly embrace. “There, there, Lucy.”
Charlotte allowed Lucy to collect her unchecked emotion before gently pushing her away and grasping her hands. “I am a bit bewildered, though, by what you say of Henry.”
Lucy glanced at the duchess, who watched with a stony expression before looking again at Charlotte. “About his betrayal of me?”
“Yes, that.” She pursed her lips in apparent thought. “When I was eighteen, I fell in love with a dashing officer of the Royal Dragoons. I knew Father would not approve, but I wanted to be wanted. One day, he came to our estate in Father’s absence and made a show of asking for my hand. When I rejected him, he struck my face and laid hands on me.” She placed a hand to her right cheek, seemingly feeling again the blow. “Before I could say a word, Henry was there. Though just a boy, he threw his body at the officer and knocked him to the ground. By the time the man could escape the wrath of my younger brother, his pristine uniform was stained with blood. He mounted his horse and fled with Henry shaking his fist after him, crying justice. Within a month, I met my future husband. I have Henry to thank for the preservation of my honor.”