by Sawyer North
Chapter Nineteen
When Lucy chose to take supper in her room that evening, worry consumed Henry. He could not help but suspect his awkward invasion of her privacy had dampened her spirits. As a result, he was pacing the west hallway when the world shifted beneath his feet.
“I see your suspect behavior continues well into adulthood.”
Henry jerked around at the sound of the familiar voice to find his brother, James, not ten feet away. He cut a striking figure with his dark hair swept back from a widow’s peak and piercing blue eyes. Though Henry had avoided the man for five years, every word of judgment from earliest childhood flew back to him in a rush.
“Lord Ravensheugh.” He clipped the name more than he intended. “Why are you here?”
James’s stony brow failed to move. “To visit my beloved sister, of course.”
Despite the gulf between them, Henry could tell when his brother was lying. “Tell me and be done with it. You need not play coy with me.”
The flat line of the earl’s lips curled slightly. “Still frank. Perhaps your only redeeming quality.” He sauntered nearer, stopping an arm’s reach away. “I will respond in kind, then. I received a letter from an associate of the well-known criminal, Sir Steadman. You have heard of him?”
Perspiration immediately dotted Henry’s brow. “Who hasn’t?”
“Of course. He informed me that you had entangled yourself with a duke’s granddaughter who had participated in a highway robbery. He was bitter about the loss of a fortune and demanded one hundred pounds for my silence.”
“And you believed this man? And paid him?”
James chuckled darkly. “I did believe him, as the story fit so well with your character. However, I had him beaten and committed to a London asylum to keep him quiet for now.”
The phrase “for now” caught Henry’s attention. James clearly harbored a plan that somehow involved tormenting his inferior younger brother. “What is your intention, then?”
“I am pleased you ask. When I heard the rumors of an enormous dowry, I suspected money was your motivation. However, when I learned of the requirement of a title, it gave me pause. Thus, I could only assume that your involvement was one of simple trajectory. Your downward spiral leads in the same direction as Lady Margaret’s does.”
Henry nearly turned to walk away, but the unspoken threat of dire conditions held him. “What do you want of me?”
“Simple, really. Redemption for your miserable soul. A chance to sever your ties with your poisonous lineage and do something right, perhaps even noble, for once in your life. An opportunity to remove the blight of your existence from the Beaumont family name.”
James crossed his arms and peered down his nose at Henry, expectantly. Henry worked his jaw back and forth in debate before swallowing James’s lure. “How?”
Satisfaction painted his brother’s lips. “Push Lady Margaret and her fortune in my direction. I will fix her brokenness; tame her stubborn will. Or, you may turn her over to the Bow Street magistrate for prosecution. Either will do.”
Bile rose in Henry’s throat. “And if I choose neither?”
“Then I will send her to hang. She is nothing to me.”
James’s conditions hammered Henry. In the face of insidious logic from his familiar judge, jury, and executioner, he crumbled. His association with Lucy had put him on the wrong side of the law and on a course opposite the one that might free him from a dark destiny. His only options were to hand Lucy to his lifelong tormentor or betray her altogether. He felt his soul shattering piece by piece as he agonized over what he must do.
…
Unable to sleep, Lucy wandered away from her chamber in the west wing during the depths of night, armed with only a flickering candle. Deep in thought, she stopped and blinked upon arriving at the end of the long hallway. A nondescript door occupied the wall, and it stood ajar. She pushed carefully inside.
“Hello? Anyone?” No response. Raising the candle, she scanned the room. The tile floor was devoid of furniture short of a large cabinet against one wall. Recognition drove her toward it. She opened one of the two doors and held the candle inside. Steel glinted back.
“Swords!” she whispered. She opened the other door to reveal an array of rapiers, fencing foils, and weather-beaten swords.
“An armory,” she said aloud, “and this is a fencing room.”
“What the devil are you doing in here?”
She whirled around to face the voice, nearly losing the candle in the process. Henry stumbled backward.
“Mr. Beaumont! Why do you insist on frightening me at every turn?”
He seemed grim. “Why do you insist on wandering the house alone in the dead of night? And in your night dress?”
She pulled her dress tighter and noted with relief that Henry at least had donned breeches. “I could not sleep and simply went exploring. What is your excuse?”
“The same. It’s just…”
They stood in awkward silence as he rubbed his neck, seemingly unable to speak his mind.
“Just what?”
“Nothing.”
He glanced at the open cabinet and his eyes lit. “Care for a rematch?”
“At this time of night?”
“Why not?”
She debated briefly. “Very well. But I must warn you, if I fence too much, I may begin dancing. And we both know that if I begin dancing, you may feel the need for a long walk.”
“Let us hope,” he said with a soft laugh.
Henry retrieved a pair of foils while she set the candle on the floor to one side. It cast a pitiful glow that barely reached the walls.
“Take care not to kick the candle,” he said. “My sister would never forgive me if I burned Ardmoore to the ground.”
“Of course.” She adopted a fencer’s stance. “Now, en garde!”
He matched her stance. They circled each other twice before she lunged. He easily deflected her foil and then counterattacked. She parried his thrust and circled away with a grin.
“Well done,” he said.
“And you.”
They repeated the intricate dance several times. She could tell he was holding back in an attempt to keep the contest equitable. His skills were even better than he claimed. She marveled again that she had managed to disarm him in the forest that day. Soon, sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and dotted her forehead. The candlelight caused the perspiration of Henry’s face to shine, illuminating his exertions. They both breathed heavily with the effort. Finally, he produced a lunge that caught her foil by the guard and he twisted it from her hand. She gripped her wrist to rub away the shooting pain of the twisting motion.
“Are you injured?” He dropped his foil and reached for her wrist. She glanced up quickly at his face just inches from hers.
“Only my pride,” she squeaked softly.
He held her wrist gently until she began to tremble. Her eyes locked with his while uncertainty and desire welled simultaneously within her. Without warning, he leaned to plant a gentle kiss upon her forehead. She froze as he held the kiss, wondering, hoping for what might follow. However, he released her wrist and leaned away, clenching and unclenching his empty fist.
“We are even.” He inhaled a ragged breath. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must try to sleep. I have a long journey ahead tomorrow.”
“You are leaving?”
“I must.”
“But the suitors will arrive in a week!”
“I will return by then.” He paused. “In the meantime, do your best to avoid my brother until the others arrive.”
“Your brother? The earl? He is here?”
“Yes.”
“But…” Further words died as she realized his meaning. His brother was her first suitor.
When she failed to speak, he bowed. �
�Good evening, my lady.”
He briskly exited the room. Lucy stood alone in the light of the flickering candle, more than a little shocked at what had just unfolded. Mostly, though, she just wondered, regretted, and grieved. Wondered what had just passed between them. Regretted that she must choose another, and soon. Grieved that Henry could love her only if she had not been abducted and raised by a criminal; if she were delicate and demure and unblemished and a completely different person; if he were not so convinced of his dark destiny.
After replacing the foils in the cabinet, she bent slowly to retrieve the candle and rolled her gaze one last time around the fencing room. She returned to bed with a single thought on her mind.
“If only.”
Chapter Twenty
“Sir Steadman!”
The infamous highwayman stood slowly, perhaps sensing the danger in Henry’s tone. “What can I do for you, Mr.…”
“Beaumont.”
Seeming recognition of the name raised Steadman’s brows. “Is Lucy well?”
“She is, no thanks to you.”
Relief swept the man’s features. “And how did you find me?”
Henry stepped nearer, hoping to pin the highwayman in the corner of the tavern where he had been sitting. He rested his hand on a loaded pistol as a warning. “One of your gang languishes in an asylum thanks to his greed. He was eager to trade information for release.”
Steadman nodded and touched the dagger affixed to his belt. “You’ve come to kill me or take me in. Which will it be?”
Henry couldn’t help but be impressed by the man’s frankness. “The latter, because I require your cooperation.”
Steadman appeared surprised. “Tell me.”
Henry explained everything. His encounter with Lucy, the return of the gold, and his work for the duchess to prepare Lucy for suitors. It was only when he described Bow Street’s interest and his brother’s blackmail that Steadman grew dour. However, the man seemed to shake away even that and stepped toward Henry with palms outstretched.
“You fear Lucy will hang if the truth comes to light?”
“Unless you clear her name by surrendering to me. You are the only one who can save her.”
Steadman shrugged. “Not possible. So, Lucy will marry an earl at worst. Earl’s wives never hang.”
“You fail to understand. My brother is a bad man.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Henry’s persistent frown grew deeper. “We are. But was it always your intent that Lucy wed a scoundrel who would make her miserable for the remainder of her life?”
Steadman seemed to deflate, but it proved a ruse. He was simply coiling. Before Henry could react, he found himself sprawled on the floor with a dagger at his throat. Steadman peered deep into his eyes. “You fail to understand. I have unfinished business. Lucy is strong and will survive.”
“Will you kill me, then?”
“I am not a cutthroat, despite what you might have heard.” Steadman lifted his eyes. “Bronson, my good man. Would you mind very much pinning this gentleman to the floor while I make good my escape?”
Henry heard a grunt, and within seconds, a mountain of muscle and flesh settled on him with a crush. The big man smiled. “We’re gonna stay nice and still, now, aren’t we?”
Without another word, Steadman stood and began to leave the tavern. One with the floor, Henry shouted after him. “You don’t understand! My brother will destroy her!”
His words echoed through an empty doorframe. Bronson chuckled down at him. “Too late, friend.”
Henry touched the tender spot on his neck where the blade had kissed it, overwhelmed with regret. His failure to take Steadman left him with no option but to engage with Bow Street. It was either that or surrender his soul altogether.
…
For an entire week since Henry’s departure, Lucy had mostly managed to avoid the serpentine advances of Lord Ravensheugh, partially due to her disgust at his steady stream of disparagement aimed at Henry. However, as the procession of guests began arriving at Ardmoore, she fought to maintain her fragile confidence. First to arrive was the duchess, accompanied by the indomitable Lady Garvey and a stately older man with a gushing head of silver hair.
“Your Grace.” Lucy dropped a graceful curtsy that caused the duchess to smile. She then dipped her forehead to Lady Garvey and her companion.
Lady Garvey turned to the man at her side. “Did I not tell you of her loveliness and how she has progressed?”
“You did, indeed.” He addressed Lucy with a stately bow. “Lord Garvey, here to lend my services to this grand effort.”
For a fleeting moment, she suspected Lord Garvey was Lady Garvey’s brother-in-law, here to pursue her hand. The duchess appeared to sense the discomfort.
“Lucy, dear. Lord Garvey is the esteemed husband of Lady Garvey and executor of my late husband’s will. He has come to vet the suitors.”
“Vet the suitors?”
Lord Garvey leaned forward and gave a kindly wink. “Any blackguard seeking your hand must first pass muster with me. When and if you come to an arrangement with a suitor, I will verify his compliance with the terms of the will.”
His warm manner put her somewhat at ease. She felt relieved to learn of allies—others working for her best interest. Henry could do only so much, given his lack of status.
“You have my gratitude, my lord.”
He smiled at his wife. “As you said. Lovely and extraordinarily pleasant.”
“Indeed.”
“Indeed,” repeated the duchess with pride in her eyes. “Now, Lucy, tell me all about your training and spare no details.”
Although Lucy’s relationship with the duchess had been brief, she had come to love her. She wanted desperately to be the granddaughter the duchess deserved. Playing her role as best she could, she walked with the new arrivals inside and spent the next hour providing the requested details about her stay at Ardmoore. Her spirits lifted as the time passed, until the footman came again with a bow.
“Visitors, my lady.”
The new arrivals nearly knocked Lucy from her chair. Lady Isabella appeared in the doorway and curtsied to the duchess, as did Miss Braye and Miss Wharton at her side.
“Your Grace.”
“Lady Isabella.”
Lucy shot the duchess a look of alarm. While her grandmother appeared unenthusiastic about the guests, she did not seem surprised. Dark memories of the dinner party humiliation rampaged through Lucy’s head. Why were they here? The ones who had cut her publicly and with such fervor? And why would the duchess allow it? As if reading Lucy’s thoughts, the duchess locked eyes with her.
“Mr. Beaumont invited them.”
Lucy clenched her fists in raging disbelief. Why would Henry do this to her? After all the progress they had made? She forced herself to lock eyes with Isabella. The smug women curtsied again, but only just so.
“Lady Margaret. How nice to see you.”
Angry resolve bloomed abruptly in Lucy. She loosened her clenched fists but declined to dip her chin. “Join us, if it suits you.”
The women had no sooner sat when Isabella faced Lucy. “Lady Margaret, allow me to express my admiration for the resilience of one who fails utterly in public but returns as if nothing disastrous has happened.”
Isabella’s friends snickered at the slight. Lucy, however, produced a fierce smile for her adversary. “And yet here you are, Lady Isabella. I must commend you.”
Lucy’s smile did not abate as she considered Isabella’s stunned reaction. The haughty woman had not changed these past several weeks. However, Lucy most definitely had.
…
Several hours later, Lucy was wandering the grounds alone, in an attempt to find separation from her visitors, when she spied the other suitors approaching. A stately, open carriage with a d
river and four passengers raced up the driveway, flanked by a pair of outriders in military uniforms. She ducked reflexively behind a bank of manicured shrubs, self-conscious. Only when the parade halted at the entrance did she realize that one of the uniformed outriders was Henry. Her hand flew instinctively to rest against her breast as she watched him. She lowered the hand as her outrage returned. His invitation of Lady Isabella still stung deeply even hours after the woman’s arrival. She did not know whether to embrace Henry or spit in his eye.
As the men dismounted from horse and carriage, she craned her neck to spy on them through the dense foliage. She recognized Warwick from his stature. The others remained strangers to her eyes. With the loose but shallow comradery that seemed the realm of men, the arrivals sauntered up the walk while servants wrestled with baggage.
She abandoned her espionage and sighed. This, of all moments, was the one she had dreaded most. Her gaze found the tenant farms a mile distant, and she entertained the notion of running there to hide. The sound of her name on the breeze dashed her burgeoning plan.
“Lucy, dear! Where are you?”
She could not resist Charlotte’s concerned call and emerged from the shrubs. “I am here.”
“Are you well?”
“Of course,” she lied. “Now, if you will, please lead me to my execution and make it clean.”
Charlotte laughed. “Really, Lucy. Cease with the gallows humor. It cannot be as bad as all that!”
She nodded but thought differently while making the slow walk toward certain humiliation. To her horror, the suitors waited patiently in the entrance hall, leaving her no time to prepare nor any space to flee. She forced a smile and dipped her head at the watching men. Her eyes lingered hotly on Henry, who gave a reassuring soft blink and lifted a palm toward her.
“Gentlemen. Lady Margaret Huntington, granddaughter of the Duchess of Ramsbury.”
The men bowed in unison. Henry then stepped forward to introduce the potential suitors.
“Lady Margaret, you will remember The Viscount Warwick, heir to the Earl of Uckham.”
Warwick shot Lucy a warm grin that immediately raised her suspicions. When last she’d seen him, he had laughed at her expense. His smile seemed discordant with that unpleasant memory.