Chapter Six

Lucy’s eyes wandered, absorbing every detail of the house as the duchess led her up the central staircase to the second floor. The forty-two-candle chandelier suspended above the entrance hall. The lengthy hallway at the top of the stairs running north to south, lined with paintings of the former dukes and duchesses of Ramsbury. The doors to well-appointed bedchambers dotting the walls along the way. Everything appeared as she remembered from her lone visit, years earlier, when her father had led her through the vacant house. However, now it seemed sadder, more worn, more disheveled, and neglected. She recalled, as if yesterday, her father’s misting eyes as he’d pondered the small rose garden on the patio, awash in memories. Regret filled Lucy that he’d never seen the house again.

“Here, my dear,” said the duchess. “These are your chambers.”

Lucy peeked tentatively into the room and stifled a gasp. A French bed encased by voluminous drapery dominated the room, flanked by an ornate bureau and reclining sofa. Pastel pink curtains framed a window, allowing ethereal light to permeate the space. Despite the dust suffusing the room, she stood briefly speechless.

“For me?”

“Yes. For you.”

She stepped inside with wide eyes. For the first time in years, she recalled what it was to live in such a place. Soft beds. Attentive servants. An endless supply of fine food and drink. The flood of memory nearly overwhelmed her.

“Thank you, Duchess.”

“Grandmother,” she reminded.

A young woman appeared at the doorway and curtsied. The duchess waved a hand toward her. “This is Miss Barrett, my lady’s maid. She will help you settle until I find a suitable attendant for you.”

Lucy attempted another curtsy in greeting to the young woman. The duchess’s hand shot out to grasp her arm. “You must never curtsy to a member of the staff.”

Lucy dipped her head. “My apologies. I am not accustomed to the rules of engagement.”

“Did your father not teach you?”

“No. Italy was different.”

Her eye caught Henry’s scrutiny. He remained in the hallway, watching the scene unfold with barely restrained amusement. She shot him a glare that rendered his handsome face stone. He bowed to the duchess. “If Her Grace agrees, I will wait in the parlor while you two…acquaint.”

The duchess nodded and he left. Despite Henry’s adversarial demeanor toward her, his abrupt absence left Lucy oddly adrift. Nerves captured her as she found herself alone with the austere woman. The duchess searched her face again. “What happened afterward, my dear? To where did you disappear for a decade?”

That was the question Lucy had dreaded most. She sighed. “Perhaps you should sit before I tell you.”

Alarm washed over the duchess’s face, and she perched on the sofa with trembling hands. “I am listening.”

Lucy clenched her fists. “A highwayman found me. He intended to keep me isolated a short while to prevent my disclosing the truth of his misdeed. When Father died, a short while stretched into a decade.”

In a manner very unbecoming of nobility, the duchess let her jaw go slack with surprise. “A highwayman? A common criminal?”

“A criminal, yes, but common, no. He was a castaway from a noble house, driven by vengeance to rob the rich and share his bounty with the poor. A Robin Hood of sorts.”

“And did this man…did this man ever…”

“Never. He raised me as a daughter in the wilds of Dartmoor, protected my honor with the flat of his fist, and educated me as one would educate a noble son. He taught me how to ride, fence, and regale a pack of thieves. He showed me how to scrub a floor, roast a pig, and balance a ledger. He opened my world through knowledge but kept me sequestered in a remote country house. As a result, I know how to cheat a cheater, shout down a brawler, and finesse a sharp. But I know nothing of Society beyond what I recall as a nine-year-old coming of age in a foreign land.”

The duchess absorbed the information, her face disturbed by a ripple of horror while a hand rose to her chest. “My dear girl. You have suffered beyond the pale. My heart weeps for you.”

Lucy kneeled before her. “Do not weep for me. I survived. I have known genuine caring and concern from those around me. And now, I am finally free.”

The duchess smiled sadly. “I see also that you are strong. That pleases me greatly.” She stood and called for Miss Barrett before turning to Lucy. “I will have the servants draw you a warm bath so you may wash away the road and anything else you wish to leave behind.”

Lucy began to disagree but then remembered the spectacular pleasure of a warm bath. “Thank you. A bath would be most welcome.”

…

While bathing occupied Lucy upstairs, the duchess bid Henry to join her in the parlor. He hoped their discussion might entail an offer of reward for the return of the wayward granddaughter. However, she began with a very different tack.

“My husband and I were well acquainted with your father. We found him to be a straightforward man, true to his word and not given to indiscretion.” She appraised Henry carefully. “I wonder, is his son cut from the same cloth?”

He pondered the question. “My sister is dearer to me than anyone and I trust her good judgment. Often, she has said that I very much resemble our father in demeanor and behavior. I do not know how to answer more directly than that, for judging oneself is a biased enterprise. I tend to ignore my flaws until I or another lies wounded.”

The duchess grew a wan smile. “I have found that those most aware of their faults tend to practice discretion when entrusted with the secrets of others.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. You are very kind.”

Her smile faded. “I am not ‘very kind’ as you claim. That is my confession. I am, however, immensely practical and ferociously defensive of my family. Until today, I believed my family lost forever. You, however, have restored me to life, and I shall not forget that debt.”

Henry leaned forward on the sofa and waited for the offer of a sum that might offset the risks he had taken for Lucy. The duchess, however, shifted directions again.

“Mr. Beaumont, what is your assessment of Lucy? After all, you spent the past two days in her company.”

He froze. What could he say that would prove truthful yet kind, frank yet considerate? He waffled as the longcase clock ticked behind the duchess. She rolled her eyes.

“Do not think you must flatter me. I desire your frankness above all.”

He absently rubbed his neck and stared at the floor. “If you seek frankness, then I apologize for any coming offense.”

She motioned for him to continue, so he pressed onward.

“How do I assess Miss Locket? Well, she is quite rough around the edges. Too brash, too forward, too quick with a challenging word. Too sloppy in her dress, too coarse in her movements, too uncaring of her appearance. She has associated with the most despicable of men and knows nothing of the behavior of a proper lady. Society will feed her to the gristmill and laugh at her agony while doing so. In a land that prizes delicacy above fortitude and demureness above intelligence, she stands squarely on the wrong side of the fence and quite without a key to the gate.”

After the words rushed forth, he leaned back into the sofa, preparing to wince at what would surely be a torrent of disagreement from the duchess. Instead, she smiled.

“Thank you for that. I rarely hear the truth from anyone these days.”

He blinked twice. “You are not angry?”

“Not angry. A little sad, but also determined and more than inspired.”

As she locked eyes with him, he felt distinctly that he should flee. Before he could muster the good sense to do so, she raised a finger to point at his nose.

“You shall help her, sir. You shall provide the key to the gate.”

He blinked again as confusion settled. “I beg your pardon. What are you saying?”

She sprang from her chair as if thirty years younger and much less genteel and began to pace before Henry.

“Lucy must be made fit for Society.” She stabbed a forefinger at him to make her point. “Must, I tell you. Her future lies in the balance. She must be schooled deeply in the ways of gentility before I let her loose in London. She must learn what has been denied her before she can obtain what is rightfully hers. She must become fit for a suitor, and remarkably soon.”

He finally released the expected wince. She loomed over him as much as her sprightly frame would allow.

“You are the only one fit for the job. You must do this for me and for Lucy.”

He sat motionless for the space of two breaths. “Why me?”

“Because you alone of Society know her sordid history, and no other can be allowed to possess such information. If the ton learned the truth of her recent past, it would never suffer her presence long enough to accept her as an equal.”

He swallowed hard. “My deepest apologies, but I cannot. The task is too tall for the elite of London, let alone for the exiled second son of a country earl.” He withheld his primary reason for declining—his desire to be free from the web of lies that threatened to render true every dire prediction his brother had made of him. “Besides, I am expected at Bow Street for duty in the morning.”

“I will send a letter to Sir Nathaniel. As a dear friend, he will most certainly grant you leave.”

“With all due respect, I have no inheritance. I must work if I am to eat.”

She leaned toward him, driving him into the sofa cushions. “I will pay you handsomely for your efforts.”

He considered the disrepair of the house while harboring doubts about her means. “Any sum I accepted from you would be no better than blood money, tainted by my inevitable failure to accomplish the task.”

In response, the duchess performed a remarkable act, one Henry had not thought possible. She sat beside him on the sofa with her hands in her lap and begged.

“Please, I implore you. If only you realized what is at stake for Lucy, then you would understand my desperation.”

His curiosity mounted. He sensed in the plea a profound secret and the woman’s desire to disclose the truth. His morbid interest overcame good sense.

“Perhaps if you explain the stakes, then I might know better what game you ask me to play.”

“Indeed. Indeed. I suppose I owe you that privilege, considering what I ask of you.” She stared ahead, not looking him in the eye. “My son, Edwin, whom I loved dearly and whom we cultivated to inherit the dukedom, was always passionate and impulsive. He often spoke inappropriately and acted without considering the consequences.”

“That describes someone else we know.”

The duchess smiled briefly. “Yes, it does. Despite his shortcomings, Edwin seemed poised to accept the mantle of his duties. However, he met and married a common bar wench, rendered her with child, and fled to Italy to escape the wrath of his father. The duke was livid. He tried to disinherit Edwin in favor of our younger son. Edwin returned to England to convince members of the Committee of Privileges to deny my husband’s request. But his actions proved moot when he drowned returning to Italy. And then…”

Henry waited in silence before prompting her. “Then what?”

She turned her face toward him, eyes filled with regret. “Then his younger brother died a year later, from fever. My husband shattered. He was gone within six months. However, since our granddaughter was never found, he poured his last ounce of hope into his written will. Should she return and marry someone appropriate and approved by the age of one and twenty, his will settles on her a sum of one hundred thousand pounds.”

Henry whistled in awe. “Your granddaughter will inherit a fortune if she marries before the age of one and twenty?”

“Yes.”

“And if she does not marry by then?”

“She inherits nothing. The dowry reverts to the estate of the new duke, the scoundrel.”

He nodded grimly. “I see. How old is she now, if I might ask?”

The duchess grew grimmer still. “She is twenty and will reach her next birthday in a little more than three months. So, do you not see the stakes and urgency of the situation?”

He nodded, overwhelmed. “I do.”

“You will help her, then?”

“It depends. What did the duke mean by ‘appropriate and approved’?”

“Born of a British family in good standing with the Crown and in possession of a royally bestowed title, or heir to one.”

He clenched his jaw with mild frustration. “I see. In other words, Lucy must be prepared to impress a class of suitors likely to ridicule her in her current state.”

“That is how I interpret the situation, Mr. Beaumont.”

Henry pressed a fist into his chin as he considered the mounting challenge and his dire personal situation. Despite Lucy’s lofty new station, his very association with the ward of a criminal would serve only to drag him toward an unwelcome destiny. And yet, he could not simply abandon her. Visions of Lucy sailed through his mind. Her courage. Her determination. Her intelligence. And her seeming inability to understand how beautiful she was. With some reluctance, he came to a decision that would surely prove disastrous on every level.

“Agreed, then. I will devote my energy to the task, but I can spare only two weeks. This is a perilous affair fraught with inevitable ruin. I cannot squander what little reputation I have on such a risky project.”

She sighed. “Two weeks, then, Mr. Beaumont.”

“Very well, Your Grace. It will be as you say.”

She nodded approval but grew serious. “I expect your best, and nothing less.”

“You will have it. I am a man of my word.”

“Very well. Perhaps you may begin by using her given name rather than the one from a street rhyme.”

He dipped his forehead. “Lady Margaret Huntington it shall be then.”

As he made to leave, however, he admitted silently that a change of name would probably accomplish little. She was Lucy Locket and likely would remain so, despite his best efforts. And he would be destined to become a criminal.