by Abby Ayles
“Do not think that Lucille’s tendency to stay indoors has kept her entirely out of the limelight,” Edgar said with a self-satisfied smile.
“In fact, she did have the chance to meet the Duke just last week at a dance. You were gone, of course, and so you can’t be expected to know everything about your sister.”
“Is this true?” Sarah asked.
Lucille nodded dumbly.
“Of course it is true,” her father went on with an expansive wave of his hand. “I have secured a reasonable match for your sister, and she is very lucky in the choice I made for her. The Duke is not only titled, but he is wealthy as well. I serve alongside him in the House of Lords.”
“Yes, Father,” Sarah said slowly. “That is the only context in which I have ever heard his name spoken, and you have never done so with anything but disdain. What has convinced you to give your daughter to such a man in marriage? You detest the man.”
“I have my reasons, and Lucille can hardly complain.” Edgar hardened his jaw. “I dislike your impertinence, Sarah, and you should know it is just that sort of headstrong behavior that makes you an unfit candidate for such social and political alliances.”
“You speak of it as if it were business rather than a matter of the heart.”
“It is business.”
Edgar hurled his napkin to the table and stood suddenly, rattling the glasses.
“I will have no more lip from you, lass. The marriage will happen, and sooner rather than later.”
He strode from the room in long, lanky strides and, in his absence, the table was momentarily silent. Then Edmund rose too, hurling his own napkin down.
“You ought to listen to Father,” he said with his nose tilted to the sky. “Women ought to know better than to question their elders.”
When he had gone, Sarah turned to her mother. “Mama, you cannot think this is a good idea. A sudden arranged marriage to a man Father despises? It cannot be right.”
Marianne raised her eyes slowly from her plate and looked at her headstrong daughter with an uncertain air. “I hate when he talks like that,” she said at last.
“Like what?” Sarah asked.
“Like his father.” She stood to leave as well. “Edmund could be so much, but he mimics Edgar in the most awful manner.”
“What of Lucille, Mama? What of her future?” Sarah asked, feeling frantic.
Marianne left with a sad smile, evidently unwilling to raise her hand against the will of her husband. Sarah watched her go and then turned to her sister with earnest eyes.
“Lucille, you must tell me everything.”
The girl looked up at Sarah with tears in her green eyes. “I thought it would be some time before I married, Sarah. Father says I have the disposition for it, but I don’t think he’s right. I get so nervous, as you know, and I hate to travel. I want to be brave like you, but I’m so afraid.”
Sarah looked at her with pity in her eyes. Lucille had never been made of the stern, rebellious stuff that kept Sarah’s spirits high, and she had always been a little weaker, suffering from bouts of ill health even as a child.
Sarah could see the brave little set of her chin and the way she tried to be strong even while her hands were shaking, and it tore at her heart.
“Tell me what happened, Lucille. Why the Duke? When did you learn of all this?”
“I don’t know why the Duke. Have you met him, Sarah? He’s a fierce man with dark eyes and a frightening disposition.
“I met him at the dance, just as Father said, but we hardly talked. I knew enough of Father’s dislike for him and so I kept my distance. The few words we exchanged were curt and cold. His eyes are so dark, Sarah.”
Sarah had not met the man herself, but the idea of him looming over her sister brought a spurt of defensiveness into her heart.
“He shouldn’t have frightened you like that,” she said.
“He didn’t mean to, I’m sure.” Lucille swallowed hard and cast a worried glance at the door. “And he’s not the reason this betrothal is a problem, Sarah. I have other reasons.”
“Tell me.”
“You must promise not to share.”
Sarah tilted her head as though to say, “Have I ever betrayed your trust?” and Lucille rushed forward as though she feared to lose her nerve otherwise.
“I love another.”
Sarah felt a chill of nerves and she, too, looked to the doors to make certain of their privacy. “What? For how long?”
“For how long?” Lucille asked with a sad little laugh. “What an odd opening question. Shouldn’t you be wondering who this gentleman is?”
“Well,” Sarah said sensibly, “I can assume from the cast of your face that the gentleman you love is not the Duke, and therefore other questions rise to the surface.”
“I cannot tell you who it is at the moment, but I’ve fancied this man for some time.”
“I will not ask you to tell,” Sarah said slowly.
“I know this is selfish,” Lucille said softly, “but in my heart, I wish it was you that our father had chosen to marry Lord Whitehall. You are beautiful and talented and brave. You have no other that you love; you are free.”
Sarah felt a catch in her heart, and she stared at her sister. “As for the beauty,” she said gently, “we share that qualification to perfection, I’m afraid. And you are braver than you think, Lucille.”
Something was blossoming in her mind, an idea that she wanted desperately to push away but nonetheless indulged. “Maybe there is a way out of this for you.”
“How?” Lucille burst into tears at last, the wetness sliding down her cheeks and dripping onto the lace of her gown.
“I’ve thought of it all week while you were gone, Sarah. If our father wants me to marry this man, you know I haven’t the courage to stand up to him.”
Sarah wanted to protest; to assure Lucille that she could stand up to Edgar Lockridge, but in her heart, she knew that her sister was not ready.
Any show of resistance would be met with a force too mighty for poor Lucille, and Sarah knew her sister would end up as vacant and tired as Marianne had become over the years.
The subtle thought was growing in her head, and impulsively she put out her hand and grasped her sister’s arm.
“What about me, Lucille?”
“What about you?” she asked.
“I could do it,” Sarah said, hating the words but feeling in her gut that it was right all the same.
“We look identical; no one would ever be able to tell us apart, and Father never pays us any mind anyway. He wouldn’t realize that a switch had been made until it was too late.”
“Sarah, I wasn’t serious when I said I wished you would take my place. I mean, I think you’d be better suited to the madness to be sure, but I wouldn’t wish such an arranged mess on you for anything.
“You are a wild and free spirit and you shouldn’t commit yourself to a marriage so early in your life.”
“I’ve always wanted an adventure,” Sarah said softly, trying to look braver than she felt, “and what greater adventure than to save your sister’s true love?
“I have no one I care for, as you pointed out, and no prospects. I can pretend to be mild-mannered and sweet until the Duke has been convinced, and then you are safe to pursue your own heart.”
“This is preposterous!” Lucille protested, twisting her hands nervously in her lap. “I can’t ask you to do this.”
“You aren’t asking - I’m offering. Lucille, you deserve more than to be a pawn in our father’s game. Everyone does. This way I get to show him what I’m worth for once, even if he’s too blind to know the difference until it’s too late.”
“What if the Duke is a brute?” Lucille asked.
Sarah thought about that. In truth, she wondered if someone her father despised so much might, in fact, be an honorable man, but that was all beside the point.
Even if the Duke was a brute, Sarah was better suited to take his abuse than
Lucille would ever be. Lucille was soft and delicate, and needed tender care.
Sarah forced a smile. “He’s not a brute, I’m sure. That kind of thing only happens in dramatic stories.”
Both girls fell silent because both girls knew it wasn’t true. Brutes weren’t only in stories - their own father was proof enough against that theory.
At last, Lucille looked up with tears brimming in her eyes anew.
“Are you sure, Sarah?”
It was an acceptance, and despite her fear, Sarah felt relieved that Lucille would be out of danger.
Putting on her bravest smile she said, “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
Chapter 4
“Will you be having the lady in the parlor for tea?” Robbins asked, bending at the waist and keeping his eyes distant from Augustus.
He had been calm after the broken vase, but Augustus could see that the butler was still wary of everything surrounding Lucille Lockridge’s visit that day.
“I will,” Augustus said as kindly as he could manage, wishing to allay the older man’s fears.
“We may take a tour of the house and grounds afterward. Doubtless, her father will want to know the fullness of my estate.”
The last comment came out dry and sarcastic, and he saw Robbins’ face whiten a bit.
“Your Grace, if you don’t desire the marriage then what reason have you to go through with it?”
Augustus sighed, his heart heavy. “Robbins, your service has been invaluable over the years, and you have earned your place as a trustworthy butler, but you will understand that the circumstances surrounding this union are private.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“She will be coming with a chaperone,” Augustus went on. “Her brother, Edmund.”
He’d been glad to hear that; as glad as one could be under the circumstances. The idea of enduring Edgar Lockridge’s presence as well as his blackmail was unimaginable. He would barely be able to remain civil as it was.
“I will serve tea shortly after they arrive, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Robbins.”
The butler left and Augustus sat in a chair to wait for his guests.
He had met Lucille Lockridge once before, and then only for a few minutes. He hadn’t known then what her father had been planning, and so he hadn’t committed her image to serious memory.
Now, he tried to recall her face. She had been pretty, he thought, though a bit pale and frail. She’d spoken hardly at all, and if he remembered correctly, he’d wanted the conversation to end as quickly as possible to be rid of her fearful trembling.
He had a pit of dread in his stomach at the thought of their impending meeting, and an added guilt. It was as though he could feel Lettie over his shoulder, her memory betrayed and worn through by his decision to give in to Lord Huxley’s demands.
Robbins reappeared, bowing formally and showing the two guests into the room.
“Miss Lucille Lockridge and Mr. Edmund Lockridge,” he said stiffly.
She was not just pretty, after all. She was beautiful.
Augustus remembered Lucille having a sort of fragile beauty, but there was something wild in her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before, like the sea.
She stood by her brother with her head down, only raising her eyes after going through the dutiful curtsy, arrayed in a pale pink gown that set off the almost white hue of her feathery hair. She had lace everywhere, and a ribbon braided into her hair.
“Lord Whitehall,” she murmured.
“Miss Lockridge. A pleasure to see you again.”
He could hear the lie in his voice. He sounded anything but pleased by their meeting, and he was doing nothing to hide it.
He turned stiffly to Edmund. “And I don’t believe we’ve had a chance to meet.”
Edmund was a tall young man, but he still had the frail, slender form of a boy. He smiled politely at the introduction, but his eyes were too much like his father’s.
“Lord Huxley sends his greetings,” he said, eyeing Augustus as though he had been commissioned to bring back a minute report on the Duke’s every action.
“I’m sure he does.”
Robbins returned with two maids and a footman in tow. “Tea?”
“Yes, lay it over there before the fireplace and we shall partake of it at once,” he said, thankful for the mundane distraction.
They walked together to the hearth and sat around a low table as the maids apportioned cake and tea to each in their turn.
Augustus took the opportunity to scrutinize his guests, primarily his future wife.
Her movements were graceful and refined, but there was something in Lucille that he had missed at their first meeting - a sharp intelligence in her eyes, as though she was waiting for something to happen.
“I’m glad you could come today,” he said awkwardly.
“Are you?” she returned innocently, meeting his eyes for the first time since her arrival.
Her eyes were two pools of emerald. He thought of Lettie and felt suddenly guilty.
Instead of answering her question, he turned to Edmund. “Have you been out riding much this season?” he inquired.
Edmund raised his eyebrows. “I’ve no interest in roaming about outside like a peasant,” he said serenely. “There is too much to attend to indoors.”
“You’re a young man,” Augustus pressed. “This is the time in your life when you can afford to explore a bit. Get outside, see the fresh air.”
“I have different interests.”
“Do expound.”
“I wish to grow up like my father, with his political prowess and aspirations. Such intellect must be built in books and a study of social occasions, not out in a field under the open sky.”
“When you say a study of social occasions, do you mean balls and needless parties?” Augustus asked wryly, already disliking the boy for his attempt at imitating Edgar.
“If you will take such an uncharitable view of the situation, then yes.”
Augustus took a sip of tea to cover his disgust and then turned the conversation to Lucille’s direction.
“And what do you think?” he asked. “Do you think your brother could benefit from some time in the sun, or are you of the opinion that his education up until now has been sufficient?”
Something in Lucille’s face shifted as though her thoughts ran much deeper than the service, but in the end, she simply lowered her eyes and said meekly, “I wouldn’t question my father’s judgment in this matter.”
Something about the way she said it confirmed a fear Augustus had had since he first received Edgar’s threatening letter: this arranged marriage wasn’t just about the Earl’s daughter ending up with a duke, it was a dangerous political move to silence one of Lockridge’s most vocal opponents.
Augustus couldn’t be certain of Lord Huxley’s motives, but looking at the quiet girl sitting across from him, he began to suspect that the Earl wanted to use this girl to leverage Augustus’ vote in the House of Lords.
The marriage wasn’t just a chance to demean his opponent; it was a chance to further Lord Huxley’s control.
The man’s gall infuriated him, and he couldn’t separate Lucille from her father. He stood abruptly and walked a few steps towards the window.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said harshly.
“Excuse me,” Lucille ventured after a moment’s pause, “were you addressing me?”
“Yes,” he turned on her with a hard stare. “Tell me about yourself.”
She looked back at him with a steady gaze, and for a moment, he thought he saw the wild look in her eyes again, but then she blinked, and all seemed meek and empty-headed again. “Well, you know my name is Lucille.”
“What are your interests?”
“Everything that ought to interest a young lady,” she said softly, twisting her hands in her lap. “I sing and play the pianoforte. I embroider.”
Augustus wanted desperately to roll hi
s eyes; to make her feel her ignorance, but something in her small face halted him. He took a deep breath. “You embroider.”
“Yes, quite well.”
“Perhaps you would play something for us on the pianoforte,” he said, motioning towards the instrument in the corner.