Chapter Eleven

For Lucy, the ensuing days continued as before in intensity and frustration. Endless drilling. Interminable practice. Hour after hour and day after day of what to say or not to say, what to do or not to do, what to think and what thoughts to shun. However, gone was the mild playfulness that had crept into the banter between Henry and her. Gone was the belief that she did not care about the experiment’s outcome or what Henry thought of her. To worsen matters, she could not dismiss Henry’s prediction of what would happen if anyone learned of her involvement in the robbery of Lord Colvin. The duchess noticed her turn toward melancholy.

“You will need a dress, Lucy. One that stuns everyone you greet.”

“There is no time for that. A dressmaker would need to work around the clock to finish in time.”

The duchess flicked her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. The clock falls silent and sleep becomes mere annoyance when a duchess makes a request. There is always time when high station calls.”

Lucy heaved a sigh. “Then let us give our business to the Archambeau brothers. They performed a minor miracle last time. Perhaps they will again.”

Within the hour, Lucy and the duchess stood in the shop of the very surprised Archambeaus. No person of rank had haunted their shop in years, and never had a duchess darkened their doors. Phillipe and Jacques fell over each other to please the visitors. Though happy for their windfall, Lucy’s spirits failed to lift. After all, a dress was simply a dress. Still, she patiently submitted to extensive measuring and lengthy conversations regarding fabric and color. Ultimately, she placed all faith in the good tastes of the duchess and the Archambeaus, a necessity now that she was so keenly aware of her shortcomings.

As they rode away from the shop in the coach, the duchess calmly considered her from the opposite bench. “I see by your countenance that you did not find the experience as enjoyable as I had hoped.”

She tried to smile. “I enjoyed it more than my disposition might indicate. I am happy to spend time with you. I am happy to bring such opportunity to Phillipe and Jacques.”

“And the dress? Does that please you?”

She tilted her head indecisively. “A dress is only that, and no more. What is it compared to meaningful matters, such as friendship or a future?”

“I quite agree, my dear. A dress is naught but cloth and thread and no substitute for character or grace. However, a dress is also a doorway. If you catch the appropriate eye, then friendship and a future may follow.”

“I hope you are right on that matter. I must trust your word on it.”

Even as the duchess smiled with satisfaction, Lucy continued battling doubts. As the carriage rocked through the streets of London, its walls closed in on her, caging her like an exotic bird.

Upon arriving back at the house, they were surprised to find an unexpected caller waiting in the parlor. Henry sat in silence near an unfamiliar young woman. When the duchess saw the visitor, she let slip a quiet groan overheard by only Lucy. That, and the visitor’s general demeanor, lifted Lucy’s hackles. The young woman turned to consider them, allowed a cool smile to cross her lovely features, and rose with a fluid motion. She dropped an elegant curtsy so graceful swans might have sighed.

“Your Grace.” Her greeting ignored Lucy’s presence. The duchess exhaled a pent breath.

“Lady Isabella Sedgewick. How nice to see you.” Lucy had not known the duchess long but guessed she was lying through her teeth. Henry stood and motioned to them.

“Will you join us? Isabella called some half an hour ago, and we were merely biding time in hopes of your return.”

“Why not,” the duchess replied flatly. Lucy followed her to the sofa opposite the chairs occupied by Henry and his visitor, oddly stung that he had called the woman by her Christian name. She studied Henry, but he remained a closed book, other than his seeming regard for the visitor. She immediately saw the appeal. Lady Isabella’s honey hair formed a luscious pile atop her head, drawing attention to delicate cheekbones, a proud nose, and full lips. Faced with such fragile beauty, Lucy became painfully aware of her less than delicate appearance. After a numbing silence, the duchess spoke.

“Lady Isabella,” she said with forced cheer. “What brings you to call? You have not visited in some time. Not since last your grandmother forced you.”

Lady Isabella dipped her head and responded in that fluidly nasal manner of those accustomed to speaking down the nose to others. “Yes, Your Grace, and I apologize profusely. However, I only just learned of our shared acquaintance in Mr. Beaumont. I asked why I should not call on two old friends with a single visit and found no reason to stay away.”

The duchess’s regard shifted toward Henry, who did not rebut the claim, before returning to Isabella. “Mr. Beaumont is an old friend, you say? How did you come to know him?”

“Oh, our relationship extends far into the past. My father was a friend of his brother-in-law, and thus we visited his sister’s estate many times. While Father hunted pheasant, Henry and I found different diversions to occupy us.”

Lucy furrowed her brow. She wondered about the nature of the diversions and if he’d ever showed Isabella his secret room. Isabella continued to speak over those thoughts, commanding attention with dramatic descriptions of her nearness to Henry, all the while failing to spare even a glance toward Lucy.

“We last saw each other when Henry was fifteen and just entering manhood. However, as fate would have it, we reacquainted in Town during my first Season and shared many dances over that time. Until yesterday, I remained unaware of his return to London after the war. You might imagine my surprise when I learned he had joined the Robin Redbreasts.”

“Bow Street Horse Patrol,” Henry corrected. “The other is a nickname given us by criminals. It should not cross a lady’s lips.”

Lucy shot a hot glare at him. Not once in a week had he given her the same advice. The slight reinforced her suspicion that he would never consider her free from the taint of thieves. However, he did not appear to notice her upset. He seemed too focused on Isabella.

“And I rather think,” he added, “you are far more disappointed than surprised by my joining of the patrol.”

She dipped her chin and batted long eyelashes. “Oh, Henry, silly man. You could never disappoint me.”

He smiled in a warm, relaxed manner that Lucy had not yet seen from him. She found it immensely appealing, but also galling that the smile’s target was this haughty woman.

“Isabella, I will strive never to damage your good opinion of me.”

The duchess interrupted the interplay rather forcefully. “Where are my manners, Lady Isabella? Perhaps you have not met my granddaughter, Lady Margaret Huntington.”

Isabella acknowledged Lucy’s presence for the first time by shifting blue eyes slowly toward her. The woman coolly appraised her for the space of two breaths before offering comment to the duchess rather than addressing Lucy.

“So, then, I see the rumors are true. It seems your wayward granddaughter has returned to London after all. If I might ask, where has she been hiding?”

The duchess returned Isabella’s gaze without flinching. “Elsewhere. However, she is here now.”

Isabella regally shifted her attention to Lucy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Let me say, Lady Margaret, that I commend you.”

Lucy cocked her head. Despite the nagging in her gut that the comment was a trap, she took the bait. “Commend me? For what?”

“For your courage. I do not know a single young lady of the ton who would venture into public without a little powder or rouge, and certainly not wearing a dress that faded from style a decade ago.”

With those words, Lucy finally recognized Lady Isabella for what she was. The young woman was every cheat, sharp, and manipulator who had paraded through her Dartmoor home the past decade. She was one who crafted phrases of duplicitous meaning, casting doubt and confusion to sway every situation to her benefit. Fortunately, Lucy had learned how to respond to such a person—play along and never let the other know you are aware of their game.

“Thank you, Lady Isabella,” she said with as much naiveté as she could. “You are very kind.”

Henry intervened, seemingly confused as he spoke to Lady Isabella. “You must understand, Isabella. Miss Loc…Lady Margaret lived remotely from Society for some years. My presence here is as something of a tutor to prepare her for presentation.”

Isabella smiled conspiratorially at him. “Then that rumor proves true as well. Lady Carrington insinuated as much, but her credibility remains in question. I mean not to gossip, but she seems to imbibe to the point of insensibility. I should disclose no more or risk impropriety, but she appears to have been accurate in this case at least. And do let me say, Henry, that I am certain you are up to the task. No matter how daunting.”

He smiled oddly. “I would not be so certain of that.”

Lady Isabella turned to Lucy. “Then perhaps I should place my confidence in you, Lady Margaret. And you should not concern yourself over your unfashionably dark hair or small nose. I am certain many suitors would overlook such disadvantages.”

“The late Duke of Ramsbury certainly overlooked my dark hair and small nose when he courted me,” injected the duchess with a tone bordering on threat. Lucy’s hand found that of her grandmother, sending a message of restraint.

“Your Grace, I meant not to offend.” Isabella’s quick reply proved sticky with earnestness. “I merely suggest that one can never account for the fickle tastes of Society. You know how quickly fashions change, as if blown by the wind.”

“Yes. In fact, I do.”

During the exchange, Henry’s face had shifted from amusement to discomfort. “Lady Margaret,” he said. “Did you select a suitable design for your new dress?”

Lucy nodded, happy for the diversion. “Yes. A new dress for Saturday is underway, with two more to follow.”

“I am certain you will look lovely for the dinner party, dear,” the duchess offered.

Lady Isabella sat straighter. “Which dinner party, might I ask? The Witherings? The Stuarts? Please do not say you will attend the function at the Wellesfords. I should not speak of this, but it is widely known that Wellesford has involved himself in a disastrous banking venture. You would be well advised to avoid their company, but that is not for me to say. I do not wish to spread rumors.”

The duchess peered at Isabella with an expression bordering on sour. “No, Lady Isabella, none of those. I am hosting a private affair with a few of my longtime friends in attendance. Nothing more.”

Isabella smiled shrewdly. “I see. Might I assume this affair is a trial for your granddaughter’s eventual entrance into wider Society?”

The duchess glared at her. Henry broke the awkward silence. “Perhaps. However, it is a simple informal gathering.”

Lady Isabella clapped her hands. “Wonderful! In that case, you must invite some younger ladies to offer, should I say, a fresher societal perspective. I mean no offense, Your Grace, but I doubt your friends know exactly what suitors seek these days.”

The duchess smiled darkly. “Suitors always seek the same things, girl. Beauty, money, and fertile loins.”

“I do not mean to disagree, but men these days will not glance twice at a woman who does not present a certain feminine quality.” She looked to Henry. “Do you not agree?”

His face blanched. “Well, I…”

“Do you see, Your Grace? He agrees. A fortuitous agreement it is, as your granddaughter clearly has much to learn.”

The duchess’s dark glare grew icy as well. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Merely that I bring two or three of my friends to help. I so wish for your granddaughter to prepare fully for her introduction into broader circles. The observations of youth may serve a constructive purpose.”

The offer sounded to Lucy’s ears more like a threat, such as, “Here, let me relieve you of the burden of your immense wallet.” The duchess must have heard the same, because she hesitated before relenting.

“I suppose younger eyes might observe minor details the more mature might miss.”

“Then the matter is settled. Please have your butler inform my footman of the particulars, and I will attend.” She turned again to Henry. “You will be in attendance, will you not?”

“Of course. Lady Margaret is my charge.”

“Perfect. I wish you good luck, Henry. Now, however, I must take my leave for I have other calls to make. I look forward to seeing you again Saturday.”

Lady Isabella rose with the grace of dancers on a Grecian urn. Lucy stood in turn and began to curtsy before the duchess’s hand stopped her. She sheepishly resumed her full stature. Isabella betrayed a brief flash of disdain, but Henry and the duchess seemed not to notice. She curtsied lightly and glided, as if on skates, toward the door.

“Au revoir,” she announced. However, she stopped to cast a glance over a slender shoulder. “And Henry…”

“Yes.”

“Leave your uniform at home. You are the son of an earl. Do not forget your station.”

As the young gentlewoman swept through the parlor doors and disappeared, realization struck Lucy. She had encountered a dangerous adversary and would be forced to meet her on a battleground familiar to the woman but utterly foreign to Lucy, with nothing more than her entire future at stake. The room fell silent in the wake of Lady Isabella’s departure. Once again, the duchess was first to speak.

“Mr. Beaumont.”

“Yes.”

“Watch your step with that one.”

His mouth twitched at one corner. “Yes, Your Grace.”

He shifted his attention to Lucy, who had resumed her seat. “Now, let us at least take instruction from this experience. Lady Isabella is the first gentle lady of your age you have met since your return. What did you learn from the encounter regarding the comportment of a lady?”

Her eyes rolled toward the ornate ceiling as she collected her thoughts. She grew a wry smile. “I learned that one must understand the latest fashions appealing to men of a certain station. I learned that one must be privy to the latest rumors and must repeat said rumors without discretion while making much of not repeating them.”

Henry frowned at her. “I see. What else did you learn?”

“I learned that one must never acknowledge the presence of anyone deemed socially inferior to oneself until forced to do so by another of superior social status.”

Henry’s frown grew deeper while the duchess smiled. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps that is enough…”

“No, Mr. Beaumont. I learned one other important behavior.”

He paused, his expression somewhere between reluctance and a wince. “And what is that?”

“Today, I learned a lady must flirt relentlessly with any eligible man of her station, and the man must reciprocate.”

His face flushed. “I did not flirt. I simply offered cordiality.”

She peered at him down the bridge of her nose. “You and I have very different definitions of the word ‘cordiality,’ then.”