Lucy noted the warning in the dark-haired woman's tone. She knew without any doubt that Amelia knew more than she'd just told. It felt as though she were shielding Lucy from something quite hurtful, judging from the warning and her reluctance to reveal the identity of the watch's previous owner.
This knowledge, combined with her broken resolution to keep Edmund as nothing but a friend, worried her. Lucy was filled with relief when Bridget joined them shortly, and began a steady stream of questions about the aristocratic lifestyle and how grandiose it was.
Answering Bridget's questions was a bid to forget about her troubling thoughts, but soon, Lucy began to enjoy the discussion. Like the young, dear girl, she'd once been passionate about living the life of the nobility, and didn't hesitate to give her strong opinions on the importance of wealth and privileges.
Bridget began to ask another question and Lucy looked up and locked gazes with Edmund, who'd suddenly appeared beside the couch.
His eyes were direct and probing; filled with speculation and some other expression she couldn't decipher. As soon as it had come, it disappeared like a fleeting memory. He flashed a smile before leaving to see Lord Shelbroke out.
Lucy wondered if she'd imagined the look, and it left her worried. She had no time to ponder further on the strange moment, because Aunt Winifred brought out a tray of tea and sweet cakes, and resumed an earlier gossip in her singsong voice.
It was two hours before midnight, when Lucy finally bid Edmund's family a goodnight. She'd been having such a good time and completely forgotten the hours flying by, until Edmund whispered the time into her ears.
Amidst hugs and promises to visit again, Lucy left with Edmund in a commercial hackney, back to the Langford's residence.
"Thank you," he said suddenly.
"For what?" Lucy was surprised.
"For honoring my aunt's invitation, and spending time with my family."
Lucy smiled, a blush traveling up her cheeks as Edmund regarded her warmly. "There is no need to thank me, Edmund. I had a good time, and your family is beyond lovely."
"For what it's worth, you've made my cousin Bridget's night. I'm sure she has quite a lot of information to lord it over her friends with now."
Lucy's smile grew awkward and uneasy, as she suddenly remembered how forceful she'd sounded during the conversation. She avoided Edmund's gaze, also remembering the way he'd stared contemplatively at her afterwards.
They fell into an unexplainable silence for a short minute that yawned like hours—before Edmund broke it.
"Her name is Kate Charrington and we were supposedly in love and planned to get married after I completed school and began working as a solicitor."
"What? What do you mean?" Lucy steadied her fearful, arrhythmic heartbeats, confused at Edmund's words.
"The initials on my pocket watch," he said in a subdued tone and brought out the watch in question, rubbing his thumb almost reverently on the glass surface.
"She was the most beautiful woman I had seen, and I thought she felt the same way about me as I felt for her. She told me she did, at least." Edmund's countenance grew weary and sad, the pain on his face squeezing tightly around Lucy's heart like a vise. "It was quite a surprise when I returned home from school for a short break, and found out she was set to marry a nabob; the son of a landed squire who'd gone over to India and amassed himself a great fortune, returning home to marry. "
Lucy drew in a quick breath, feeling sorry for Edmund whose face had darkened with a mixture of pain and helpless anger.
"Foolish me, I couldn't let myself believe it was true. I rushed over to her father's house to see her and was told by her mother never to return there. Her daughter was going to marry a wealthy man with influence in the East India Company, and I didn't need to darken their doorstep with my presence anymore."
Lucy heard herself gabbling, "That is horrible and insensitive of her, Edmund. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." Lucy was filled with anger both at the unknown girl and her despicable mother. How could they have been so undeservingly cruel? "Did you ever get to see her again?" she couldn't help but ask.
There was a ghost of a smile on Edmund's lips. "I did, that night. She came to find me in our rendezvous spot, full of apologies and reasons why she'd agreed to the marriage. She needed to help her father pay the lease on their land, and make her family's life easier. Besides, even if I completed school and training to become a solicitor, I wouldn't be capable of keeping her in the kind of style she favored. She reminded me that I would never amass any great wealth, and she had expensive taste that only a man of significant wealth could maintain." Edmund turned to Lucy whose tongue had suddenly frozen inside her mouth as guilt pricked at her.
Edmund continued, "This pocket watch was a parting gift from her. A symbol of our love and a means for me to remember her by. I know you think it's strange I keep something which carries so much pain and hurtful memories, but it's quite important to me in a different way. It's a way to remember how horrible the pain felt at that time, and to take care in the future to avoid women in whose love bears conditions such as wealth and status." His expression grew contemplative as he said, "Love doesn't come with conditions, and when you love someone, you don't see their flaws or blemishes, but their heart and spirit. True, pure love isn't given for the sake of money or security."
Lucy remained speechless as her stomach heaved and her palms sweated. Waves of guilt and discomfort crashed through her heart.
Here I am, committed to finding someone with wealth and status, while a gentle, sweet man such as Edmund longs for me.
Lucy didn't want to be another cause of the stark pain she'd seen on Edmund's face. She couldn't bring herself to hurt the poor man who'd gone through a terrible experience once.
There had been something in his voice, a certain vulnerability, which had given her great insight into the kind of man he was.
Edmund Swinton appeared to be a straitlaced, reserved man who could be referred to as stuffy on occasions, but that didn't extend to his heart.
It was soft and easily wounded, and Lucy felt like the worst heel.
Taking an introspective trip at that moment, Lucy saw herself for what she was turning into for the sake of security and a comfortable life.
Her actions filled her with a flood of disgust.
Chapter Twenty
Three evenings later, after the picnic outing and dinner at Edmund's aunt's house, , Lucy fell into a sofa in Lady Agnes's bedchamber, exhausted, but happy that the woman had finally fallen into a less troubled sleep.
Upon her return to the house, Lady Agnes had taken a bad turn as if she'd been holding on strongly while Lucy was away. Lucy had been wracked with fresh waves of guilt for leaving in the first place, and had thrown herself into taking care of the woman and making sure she was at her bedside every single moment.
Lucy had struggled with her tears in these few hours because caring for the woman, and watching her battle with the dreaded illness, reminded her of her own mother's last days.
Lucy found herself reliving the terrible weeks she'd sat by her mother's side, powerless to do anything else but watch as she slipped slowly away. There hadn't even been enough money to afford a little medicine to make the process easier and less painful. Her mother had suffered horribly till the very end.
At least Lady Agnes had laudanum, hot compresses, and enough syrup to ease her pain, but the disease, which had eaten deep, was intent and determined to take her away regardless.
Lucy's thoughts had been so bleak and morose that she hadn't even spared time to think of anything else, not even Edmund, the picnic, Lord Hilgrove, the earl's plans, or her quest to find a rich husband, which should have seemed imperative given the current situation. Her companionship and employment would soon come to an end.
Time was indeed running out, and she needed to be on the move, rather than sitting on the sofa, staring vacantly into space. She needed to work on a strategy; a plan to make herself more
pleasing in Lord Rutherford's eyes, and remain in his graces.
There was also the matter of her strong feeling for Edmund. She couldn't control it, she couldn't kill it, and it hung glaringly at the forefront of her mind; taunting her as she tried to come up with a strategy to solve the viscount's issue and find herself a good settlement for the future.
After everything Edmund told her of the pocket watch, and the woman who'd shattered his heart, by tossing out their love and affection for money and a good life, Lucy hadn't been able to keep her stinging conscience at bay, nor had she been able to stop hating her situation. She wasn't any good for him, she knew it. She practically wanted the same thing as his intended, even if her desire was borne from a great desperation to never return to a life of extreme hardship and poverty.
After their talk at Aunt Winifred's, Lucy had felt her feelings and affection for Edmund engraved in stone, and couldn't deny how much she wanted him. How badly she needed to be with him. She could no longer claim their relationship was mere friendship, because it had transcended into a murky area; an area she had little to no control over. But even as she'd known that, she had held back part of her heart, thinking that being without him would be less painful than being without everything she was currently privileged to enjoy, by living a life of pretence and working as companion to Lady Agnes.
She'd known the long-term effects of lye and soda on the fingers after years of scrubbing laundry; the evidences were marks and calluses on her hands which couldn't totally be wiped away, even with the most effective ointment. The necessities of poverty were imprinted in her brain.
There was no erasing the memory of vertigo and blurry vision while she'd struggled to stitch by candlelight.
The gruelling pangs of hunger still lingered like a specter in her mind, and most nights she found herself awakening to clutch at her stomach despite having eaten a full supper.
All of the feelings of being without still haunted her, along with the harrowing fear of ending up in the workhouse again. That was a fate too grim to be trifled with.
Unlike Edmund's former love interest, she didn't have a mother or father to look up to. There was no one she could turn to, and even Lady Agnes, who had treated her more lovingly than a mere employee, was gradually slipping away.
Lucy was all alone, and needed to think of her security and survival, and a life after her job here.
She could not afford to create romantic fairy tales in her head; they were literally impractical, just as impractical as thinking the earl would allow her to stay on in the house once his aunt passed away. She suspected she'd be packed and out of the house even before Lady Agnes's body chilled.
There was no disputing that the man had never really liked her, and had merely tolerated her presence.
Just like fairy tales and their impracticalities, she knew how impractical it would be to marry Edmund, who had staggering responsibilities making demands on his meagre salary. She knew how much he cared for his family, and couldn't bring herself to be a burden on him as well.
There was no other way but to continue valiantly with her plan of securing her future.
After all, love faded over time. But money would keep her from going hungry until the end.
A knock at the bedchamber door pulled Lucy out of her heavy, brooding thoughts and she turned just as Caroline entered and shut the door with a gentle click.
"Has the cough finally stopped? Is she sleeping properly now?" the maid asked in a hushed voice, eyes wide with concern as she glanced towards the big, canopied bed.
"Yes, she is, so please keep your voice low," Lucy told her with a weary smile, and scooted over slightly for her to be seated.
"I have not had a chance to ask until now, but how did the picnic with Edmund's family go? You looked relaxed when you arrived so I'm sure you had a pleasant time." Caroline's face held a questioning, speculative smile, which had Lucy blushing.
"Well, yes I had a good time," Lucy began, twiddling the fringed edge of a throw pillow, and carefully avoiding Caroline's teasing look. "Edmund has a wonderful, loving family which shows why he seems so balanced and unflappable. He even has a sister who loves to dress up in trousers occasionally and give the village boys a hard time." This part was said with a grin as her mind wandered to the stories of the precocious Mary Josephine and her hair-raising antics.
Caroline laughed. "They must be lovely people, Miss Lucy."
"Yes, they are. It was a wonderful feeling to spend time with Edmund's sister and cousin. His aunt is a sweet, dear woman and his best friend, Lord Shelbroke, is an absolute hoot. I'm quite happy I went." And she was, despite how everything felt confusing now. The closeness, the kiss and the warm camaraderie she'd enjoyed could never be forgotten. Lucy was happy she'd allowed herself to concede to going with her heart, and had, for once in her life, experienced being in the bosom of warm and affectionate people. Her past had never contained that and neither—she felt sure—would her future.
"So, how did things develop between you and Mr. Swinton? Do you still feel unsure about your feelings for him?" Caroline probed.
Lucy was silent for a few seconds, before she found herself shaking her head. There was no need to deny it.
"Edmund is amazing and the sweetest man I've ever met," she admitted, rubbing her fingers together.
Caroline gazed at her as if finding something amiss with her answer. "How do you really feel about being with him, Miss Lucy?"
Lucy smoothed her hand over her pink day gown, and sighed. "I would want nothing more than to do exactly that; but no matter how I may wish it weren't so, life is complicated."
Caroline seemed to digest the answer slowly, before her face stretched in a smile and a mischievous light twinkled in her eyes. "Remember your once-stated desire to marry a titled man, rather than someone you love? Can you see how inadequate such a marriage would eventually become?"
Lucy felt a spark of annoyance. "That is uncalled for, and who says I've abandoned the desire anyway?"
"I don't understand, miss."
"No, you don't and can't understand because you don't realize what's at stake. You don't realize how difficult it would be for me to settle into a new reality. How scary being uncertain about the future really is."
Lucy realized her tone was sharper than she'd intended when she saw by Caroline's hurt expression.
"I'm sorry, Miss Lucy. I was just concerned for your happiness. Forgive the intrusion and forwardness. Please excuse me; I need to put away the linens." The maid was up and out of the room before Lucy could call her to a halt, and apologize for her testiness and irritability.
While she sat there, she couldn't help but ponder her friend's words over again.
Caroline was right, no matter how much she'd tried to wish it all away.
After experiencing the closeness she'd had with Edmund, she had to admit that being with someone only for security was grossly inadequate.
Money and wealth make you feel happy for a while, but they won't hold you close late at night and keep you warm.
They won't make your heart sing, like someone who gazes at you like the sun and the moon are both in your eyes.
These thoughts haunted Lucy throughout the rest of the day, and no matter how much she tried to dismiss them, she was unable to budge them; they were as stubbornly present as all the images of Edmund that inhabited her mind.
Sitting almost obscured in a corner of the Donovan's large drawing room, Lucy watched everyone of class mingling, plagued by a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
When Lady Agnes had informed her the day before that she'd be attending a soiree alone, as her representative, Lucy had been over the moon, and saw it as the fortunate break she'd been asking the universe for.
It hadn't taken too long after she arrived at the Earl of Westford's home, before realization dawned on her that perhaps she'd been mistaken.
She was not fitting in, despite the fact that she'd employed special care with her looks, and was dr
essed in an ivory colored gown with a slightly plunging neckline, accessorized with a lone pearl strand--another gift from her ladyship, which called attention to the graceful arch of her neck. No-one had approached her, or initiated a conversation with her, except Lord Sedgwick who was in the company of Miss Olivia Wilburne, his fiancée. He was currently standing by her side as she played the impressive pianoforte that took centre stage in the room, adoration and love etched on his features while he gazed at her, almost reverently.
Lord Redmayne, one of the gentlemen she'd set her sights on the other day at the dinner, had also stopped to exchange pleasantries with her, but it had only being for a short while before he'd left to join the men conversing at the opposite end of the fairly crowded room..
He hadn't even acted like he was interested in spending longer time in her company than was deemed polite. Lord Rutherford, the gentleman she'd met at the park the other afternoon, was nowhere in sight, Lucy didn't think he was in attendance.
It had been a painful, frustrating moment, when Lucy had come to the realization that, when she was not in the company of Lady Agnes, most of the gentlemen didn't pay any special interest to her, except the deplorable rakes, like Lord Carlisle, who'd leered at her on her way to the powder room a few minutes ago.
Why would they be interested in me when I'm from no significant family, or possess any dowry?
This was the third time in a row that such a realization had occurred to her, and it was almost pointless for her to keep aiming for marriage to a titled man, when they weren't the least bit interested in her.
Lucy had known this for a while, but had persevered, thinking a miracle would happen. It was unfortunate that it happened not to be the miracle season yet, and she was doomed if she couldn't think of some other way to help her future immediately.
Sighing, Lucy got up and made her way to the arched doorway, leading to the terrace, as tears of frustration burned in her eyes. She leaned by a pillar, near a potted ornamental plant, and tried to get herself under control.
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