Chapter Seventeen

“Today, Lucy, we will attempt to master a few phrases of French,” said Charlotte as they circled the small but manicured lawn, “Or rather, enough to convince a suitor of your education.”

Lucy glanced over a shoulder at Henry as he trailed behind them. Her grin lit the afternoon. “Would that not be a lie?”

Henry chuckled, suspecting that Lucy was preparing to fluster Charlotte.

“Well, not exactly a lie,” Charlotte said, “but more of a harmless diversion to allow a suitor to see past mere accomplishments to your intellectual capacity.”

“Fortunately for me, fabrication will not be necessary. I speak French tres couramment.”

“You speak French?”

“Oui, oui, madame. Learning it was not so difficult owing to my fluency in Italian.”

Henry nodded, recalling her ambush of the Archambeau brothers. “We must explore another subject, then. Time is too short to waste a day.”

“With what does Lucy struggle the most?” Charlotte asked.

Henry and Lucy replied in unison. “Curtsies.”

“I am told my curtsy resembles the death throes of a mortally wounded ox.”

“Agreed,” he said.

She shot him a hostile glance that might have melted butter. “I may say so, but you must not, Mr. Beaumont.”

“Also agreed.”

“Show us your curtsy, then,” said Charlotte. “I will be the judge.”

Lucy gulped and dropped a curtsy that might have mortified the aforementioned dying ox. The blank expression on Charlotte’s face confirmed Henry’s worst fears. After a brief silence, his sister erupted into a string of advice. He stood aside, watching as Charlotte repeatedly demonstrated proper form and guided Lucy in duplicating her efforts. However, when left to her own devices, Lucy floundered. Having seen her fence, he knew the failure was not for lack of nimbleness. Suspicion that her struggles were intentional nibbled at his mind until he dismissed it. She seemed too earnest in her attempts.

After half an hour of unsuccessful training, Lucy appeared on the verge of quitting the entire affair. Henry recognized the expression on her face, having seen it at the dinner party before she’d fled the room. Her chin drooped while she regarded the misery of the ground. His heart tumbled toward her as the need to mount a rescue built within him. The burning desire to lift her flagging spirits took him by surprise, a wildfire flaring through his soul. He tamped down the sudden longing with a deep breath and the brief clenching and unclenching of his fists.

“Lady Margaret,” he said, “Please look at me.”

The exhausted woman slowly raised her eyes to meet his. He maintained a gentle tone as if to prevent the startled flight of a shy woodland creature.

“I am most puzzled. I have seen you mount a horse with no assistance and no block, a difficult undertaking for one of your slight stature. How did you manage such a maneuver?”

She shrugged. “I placed one foot in the stirrup, bent low, and leaped.”

“Very well, then. Now, imagine you are mounting a horse, but the stirrup reaches the ground. Slide one foot backward as if gathering to leap, descend as you would normally, but maintain your eyes to where your raised foot might otherwise be. However, rather than leaping, simply rise slowly to your former position.”

She squinted at him with skepticism, perhaps waiting for the rest of the joke. When his expression failed to alter, she shrugged again and did as he suggested. She descended with her head bowed, watching the space before her waist, and then rose.

“Why, Lucy,” said Charlotte, “that was nearly flawless.”

Lucy’s doubt appeared to fade slightly, but she trained her eyes on him to await his reaction. A proud smile crawled across his face. “I believe I have witnessed the perfect curtsy.”

…

Later that afternoon, Lucy slipped away to the privacy of the study to practice her curtsy. Bow, descend, rise, bow, descend, rise—over and over until she lost track of time.

“Much improved.”

She emitted a startled cry and whirled to find Henry leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed and an I-caught-you smile curling his lips. How long had he been watching?

“Have you no better business than to creep about spying on others?”

“Apparently not, although I take exception to your characterization. I am not spying, and I am most certainly not creeping. You, however, appear to be hiding, which might suggest guilt or shame. Have you been misbehaving, Miss Locket?”

“Apparently, but only in the eyes of those who make nonsensical rules.”

He dipped his head. “I will grant you that point, but only if you agree to a proposal.”

“My agreement depends on the nature of the proposal.”

He leaned away from the doorframe to stand. “I suggest we take a walk to discuss status and strategy. Charlotte’s maid has agreed to chaperone.”

Lucy clenched her fists, suddenly unnerved. Other than the brief encounter on the grounds, she had not been entirely alone with Henry since those first days on the run when only hostile words had passed between them. Since then, however, everything had changed. She did not know quite when it had happened or the extent of the change, but the difference left her hopeful, bewildered, and uneasy.

“Very well. However, if this suggestion is a thinly veiled attempt to compromise me, I shall be forced to claw out your left eye. Griff, a street boxer from Bristol, showed me how to do it, so I do not bluff.”

He chuckled. “Sadly, I believe you. In the interest of retaining my eyesight, I will abide by your rule.”

When she returned to the entrance hall with him, Charlotte met her with shawl, bonnet, parasol, and motherly advice over the proper protection of one’s complexion. As Henry, the maid, and Lucy exited the house, she strongly suspected Charlotte of scheming.

Henry chose a path that meandered toward a pair of adjacent hills dotted with stands of trees. The maid trailed at an appropriate distance—near enough to watch but not too close to overhear conversation.

“So,” he said, “What is your assessment of our progress thus far?”

“A complete disaster, I would say,” she replied cheerfully.

He seemed surprised and a little wounded. “You do not find my sister helpful?”

“Oh, but I do. I meant not to insinuate that. In fact…” She paused as emotion abruptly choked her voice. “In fact, it has been a very long time since I have enjoyed such friendship. Your sister is everything you promised and more.”

Henry’s demeanor resumed its previous ease. “My heart leaps to hear you say so.”

She pondered his smile when he spoke of Charlotte. “Your sister adores you. That much is clear. And you appear to return that adoration.”

“I do. And why not? Although our family fortune did not match those of most others of our class, my sister has risen above that fact. She possesses qualities that cannot be purchased. Beauty, a good name, and grace, in that order. Beauty draws the eye, a good name draws regard, but grace draws the heart.”

A pang struck Lucy’s chest. Hearing Henry describe his sister so warmly left her with a deep sense of inadequacy. He appeared to notice her unease and changed the subject. “If I might be so bold, may I ask if you miss your former life in Dartmoor?”

He seemed to hold his breath waiting for a response. She eyed him as they walked. “I do.”

When his face clouded, she strove to explain. “Some things, anyway. I do not miss the loneliness. The lack of friends my age, the long winters of isolation, the absence of family.”

Despite her best efforts, she failed to prevent bitterness from tainting her response.

“I am sorry for what happened to you,” he said.

She was grateful for his pity but did not wish any more of it. “However, I miss the silence of the place where my thoughts could roam untethered. I miss the routine of caring for the house and animals. I miss Gerta Plumlee, the kind older woman who supplied the house and cooked our meals. I even miss…”

“You miss what?” he asked after she hesitated.

“I even miss Steadman.”

“The man who abducted you? You miss him?”

She nodded. “I should hate him for what he took from me. However, he raised me as a daughter, saw to my education, and imbued me with strength. He treated me with utmost propriety, and I am quite certain he would have laid down his life to save mine. He is far more than what he seems, Mr. Beaumont, despite his apparent nature.”

Henry chuckled again. “You appear to describe a particular person of my acquaintance.”

She blushed and glanced away. The discomfort of the conversation drove her to shift the subject away from her past. “What of you? I have not heard you speak of your home in Northumberland. Is your brother the cause?”

A grim expression again chased the smile from his face, returning the stony countenance to which she had grown accustomed. She feared he might not answer the question.

“Yes,” he said at last. “James made clear his opinion that I am a lesser member of House Beaumont who should seek his future elsewhere and without assistance, financial or otherwise. This place became my home, not Northumberland. When I finished school, the cavalry seemed an acceptable alternative to begging my brother for funds.”

“Why?”

“Why the cavalry?”

“No, muttonhead. Why did your brother consider you a lesser member? Did you offend him?”

He nodded. “I offended him very much.”

“If I may pry, how did you earn his disapproval?”

He gazed at his open hands. “I killed my mother.”

She could only stare, speechless, as a hundred scenarios competed for ascendency in her imagination, each one more horrifying than the last. “Your…your mother?”

He glanced up with eyes devoid of life. “She died giving birth to me, the first instance of my vile destiny.”

“But you were an infant. Surely you don’t blame yourself?”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t, if not for everything else.”

“Everything else?”

He returned to the study of his hands, as if examining blood stains. “On my first hunting outing with Father, I recklessly shot and killed my favorite dog, Percy. Then, when a suitor visited Charlotte in Father’s absence, I threw myself at him like a savage animal and beat him until his nose was broken and my fists were bloody. I was only eleven.” He hesitated. “But that was not the worst of it.”

She closed her eyes, trying to remain silent, but failed. “What happened?”

“My father fell dead of apoplexy while in the process of berating me for stealing food to impress the daughter of a footman.” He stopped and whispered inaudible words, swaying slightly as his eyes grew vacant. “And James was always sure to remind me why I did these things. That mine was a lost soul because of my ancestry.”

“What ancestry?” Though she should not pry, Lucy’s curiosity could not be contained.

“My mother was the daughter of an arch rogue.”

Lucy blinked with surprise. “Your…your grandfather was a criminal?”

He heaved a deep sigh. “Yes. He ran a highly successful smuggling ring out of Dumfries in Scotland. He was a cutthroat, a scoundrel, and a villain of the first order.”

She blinked again at the shocking news. “How…how did your father come to…”

When she left the question hanging, Henry nodded. “My father dabbled in the import of illegal whiskey to burnish estate profits, and my grandfather was his, ah, contact in the enterprise. The first time he laid eyes on my mother, he fell heels over head in love with her, the lonely widower that he was.”

“She must have been a rare beauty, then.”

“Yes, from what I’ve heard.” He paused in seeming recollection. “They married after a torrid courtship. The ton eventually forgave my father that indiscretion due to his station, but my brother never did. He saw in me the seed of a criminal, come to taint the family with inevitable criminal behavior. Thus, it is my lot in life to set a solo course and strive to avoid my inevitable descent toward my grandfather’s corrupt nature.”

The confession left Lucy stunned. However, she at least understood the stigma of a criminal connection and the desire to rise above it. She also understood the life of one who walked alone in search of a better path. She mumbled, “I shall find a way or make one.”

He regathered his focus and glanced at her in surprise. “You know Seneca well enough to quote him?”

“I know most of the major Roman philosophers and a few minor ones.”

He shook his head again while watching her. An unlikely soft smile formed. “You are an odd one, Lucy Locket. Odd indeed.”

“You are not the first to offer that assessment. Only the most recent. Thank you for joining that very long list of those who discredit me.”

“I meant not to discredit you, but rather to comment on your unique quality.”

She squinted at him in disbelief. “Then you approve of my oddness?”

“I did not say that, either. I am still debating.”

“Good, then. It comforts me to know I am not alone in withholding a verdict.”

His spirit seemed to return as he cocked his head. “Your verdict of me?”

“Yes.”

“What is there not to like? I am quite the fellow.”

“Well, for one,” she said, “I question your humility. But I do agree that you are quite the something.”

“Quite the what?”

“I cannot say aloud. Steadman forbade me from cursing.”

He chuckled. “That bad, am I? Then perhaps my brother was right to disown me.”

She shook her head and gazed upon his features, so handsome when he smiled. “No. He was not right to do that.”

His eyes flashed with surprise and then perhaps gratitude. He stared ahead at the path, unspeaking. They walked in silence for a time, drawing nearer to the patch of trees. Lucy soon spied a covey of stone houses with sod roofs huddling in the embrace of the two hills.

“Who lives there?” she asked.

“Tenants of Ardmoore. Shepherds and farmers, mostly.”

“Are you taking me there to learn the proper manner in which to address tenants?”

“If you like.”

As they neared the settlement, she wrestled with a question weighing heavily on her mind until she could no longer contain it. “What will you do next, Mr. Beaumont? After we have failed utterly in this enterprise and the duchess releases you from your impossible contract?”

His eyes grew distant. “Bring lawbreakers to justice, and as many as I can. First with Bow Street and then perhaps as a barrister. The pursuit of criminals may prevent me from association with them. Or so I hope.”

The mention of association with criminals stabbed Lucy unexpectedly. Only then did she realize how her connection with Steadman conflicted with his desperate campaign to rise above his perceived corruption. She forced a growing frown from her face, hoping to hide encroaching dismay.

“And if your plan fails?” she asked. “What then?”

He grinned sadly. “If all else fails, my mother’s brother owns a smithy near Edinburgh. Perhaps I might work for him. He seems a decent man despite our shared heritage.”

She smiled, thinking him joking. However, his features remained unmoving. Her ache for his situation grew. She slowly gathered the courage to revisit his plan. “Perhaps you could find a delicate and pure lady of Society who might aid in your quest for betterment.”

His smile returned. “No. That would not be possible due to my fatal flaw.”

“And what is your fatal flaw?”

“It seems I am drawn to audacious women. The attraction lands me in all manner of trouble, present situation included.”

Her brow furrowed as she parsed his words. Had he said what she thought he had? He seemed to realize his admission because he abruptly looked away. “Ah, here we are. Let us meet the tenants.”

He pressed ahead so that she fell two steps behind. Several men and women came to meet him.

“Mr. Beaumont,” said a white-haired man. He bowed warmly, and Henry stepped forward to grasp the man’s hand.

“Isaac. Well met again.” Then he addressed the woman at the man’s side, who produced a serviceable curtsy. “And Mrs. Cain. You appear as vigorous as ever.”

The old woman blushed. “’Tis this old codger who keeps me spry, what with ’is never-ending nonsense.”

“’Tis no nonsense! ’Tis my job to keep the neighbors well entertained.”

Henry laughed. “I shall side with Mrs. Cain, as I know you too well, Isaac.”

During the laughter that followed, Lucy stepped forward to Henry’s side. He extended a hand toward her. “May I present Lady Margaret Huntington, granddaughter of the Duchess of Ramsbury and guest at Ardmoore.”

Bows and curtsies ensued, drawing a blush from Lucy. She dipped her head in acknowledgment as Henry had taught her. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Won’t you come inside for refreshment,” offered one of the other women. Henry waved his hand in amiable dismissal.

“Your offer is very kind, Mrs. Savoy, but I fear we have a terrible problem.”

Every face grew taut with concern, and Lucy frowned as she glanced at Henry. His expression was grim.

“It seems,” he said overly loudly, “We are beset by monsters, just behind those trees.”

Lucy followed his gaze to find several children of various ages peeking from behind a stand of trees some thirty yards distant, giggling and whispering. A smile replaced her concern as the faces of the tenants experienced a similar transformation.

“As protector of these lands,” he said regally, “I find it my duty to rid the area of such vile creatures.” His loud proclamation drew laughter from the trees. “So, if you will excuse me, I must fulfill my sacred obligation.”

With that, he bolted toward the trees. A cloud of children erupted from cover and fled in all directions, shrieking and screaming with delight. Henry quickly ran down two of the youngest, a boy and a girl of five or six. He hurried toward Lucy with one under each arm. She could not help but notice the ease with which he did so, or the flex of his chest beneath his shirt, or the strain of his shoulders beneath the jacket, or…

“Stop it, Lucy,” she whispered, shaking away such thoughts. Meanwhile, Henry reached her with the children.

“My lady.” His breathing was heavy from the exertion. “Will you guard these prisoners while I retrieve the others?”

She saluted. “Yes, Captain!”

When Henry put the children down, they surged from his grasp to clutch her skirt, heaving with laughter. He ran after the rest and tackled an older boy in the soft grass. The remaining children converged on Henry and made a squirming pile atop him, howling with glee. He began shouting.

“I am ruined! I am overcome by monsters! What shall I do?”

Lucy leaned down to her small charges. “Hurry now! Assist Mr. Beaumont!”

The children ran to the pile and began pulling at arms and legs in a futile attempt to unravel the jumble. Lucy watched the chaotic affair in bewilderment, astonished to witness a man of rank and social rules playing with children without regard to station, etiquette, or the judgment of others. Her breath hitched and moisture pricked her eyes as she imagined the notion of him playing with her children. When her blurring gaze found Henry’s laughing face, she could not suppress the feeling that she was seeing the man truly for the first time.

…

“What do you know of proper distance, Lucy?”

The question from Charlotte came shortly after Lucy and Henry returned from their visit to the tenant village. Lucy shook herself from distraction. “Proper distance?”

Charlotte bobbed her head. Henry smiled wryly at Lucy. “Brace yourself. You are sure to find this next portion of your education utterly baffling.”

Having been warned, Lucy prepared for the worst. However, she put on a brave face. “I am ready, then. Please explain the meaning of ‘proper distance.’”

“See here,” said Charlotte. “I have noticed these past few days an inconsistency regarding your encounters with the staff. An inconsistency that will surely be noticed by suitors and others who seek to critique you. I wish to protect you from such misguided opinions.”

“Oh? How so?”

“You appear to possess a certain familiarity with the servants. This trait, while endearing to those of us who know you, may lead to false conclusions by those who do not.”

She frowned. “I see. My apologies, for I did not realize my behavior was so out of the ordinary.”

Charlotte leaned forward. “Fret not, sweet girl. You mean well, and I admire you all the more for it.”

“Thank you. Now, please explain the extent of my ineptitude and the bounds of proper distance.”

Charlotte dipped her head. “As you are well aware, spoken and unspoken rules govern class interaction. This applies most keenly to interactions between master and servant. You must hold all servants at a proper distance that avoids familiarity, but must do so without aloofness, arrogance, or pride. Specifically, you must speak to them with a precise measure of civility. You must never speak to a servant as if he or she were an equal. Do you understand?”

“I believe so, but allow me to verify. Even though said servants live in the same house, and even though I encounter them repeatedly over the course of years, I must always speak to them as if I have never seen them before. Is that right?”

Henry appeared to swallow his tongue and choked a cough. “Pardon me. Dust again.”

Charlotte shot him a glare before smiling at Lucy. “Not exactly. You have seen them before, of course, and they may be very dear to you, but you must never…”

“Never allow them to know they are dear to me?” The fresh memory of Henry’s easy encounter with his tenants seemed to fly in the face of the well-meaning advice. In fact, she intended to say something of the sort, but a cursory glance at Henry found him shaking his head as if he knew her thoughts.

“That is not quite correct,” said Charlotte. “There are other ways to show almost familial affection to the staff. Ways that maintain distance through proper protocol.”

“Such as?”

“Generosity, such as sharing food and clothing or giving unexpected bonuses on payday. Graciousness, such as an occasional word of thanks. Consistency, so the staff knows what to do without fear of censure. Familiarity is just as discomfiting to the servants as it is to the master. Violation of protocol may cause them concern for their jobs.”

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?