“You’re not fine, dearest, and I’m at a loss as to what to do. I know this past week has been rather trying, but if you could only tell me exactly what happened—”
“I’m sorry, Auntie, but I’m not yet ready to talk about it. Please understand. I just wish to...rest.” Yes, that’s all she wanted—some rest. But instead, each night as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon and the moon rose to reign in the skies she found herself pacing the floor of her chamber, unable to sleep. She’d spent the past week in bed, staring at the walls, too lethargic to get up, to eat, to do anything at all. Eventually she’d get over it; she’d get up and go on with her life. But...not just yet. After all, she’d lost everything in a single day. Her hopes, her dreams. Even her precious memories of a virtuous, faithful mother. All shattered to bits, just like her heart.
“There he is now. Oliver!” her aunt called out as the creaking stairs heralded her father’s approach.
“Ah, and how is my patient?” Her father appeared in the doorway. “A bit out of curl, I hear.” He moved toward the bed, his brows knitting together as his eyes swept across her face. “Good lord, little one. I had no idea...” He looked to Aunt Agatha with a frown.
“I told you, Oliver. She’s quite unwell.” She blew her nose loudly into her handkerchief. “I must go see if Cook has the broth ready,” she said, hurrying out of the room.
Lucy submitted to a thorough examination, allowing her father to listen to her heart and lungs, check her ears and throat, her pulse. His worried expression did not diminish as he finished his task.
“I see nothing physically wrong besides a lack of nourishment and rest. Lucy, you must eat. You must tell me what’s wrong. You’re a strong girl—I’ve never seen you so despondent. What happened in London? What brought you home, and in this state?” He sat down on the edge of the bed and took Lucy’s hands in his.
Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. “A bit of a broken heart, Papa, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” He leaned closer, peered at her face anxiously. “I feel it’s more than that, little one. There’s something you’re not telling me. You’ve been avoiding me since your return.”
At last, the dam burst. “Oh, Papa, how could she? How could Mama do that to you?”
He looked taken aback. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I...I learned the truth about...about Mama. And Lord Rosemoor. Can it be true?”
He sighed and patted her hand. “Lucy, dearest, I hoped this day would never come. Yes, it is true.”
“How could she? How could she do such a thing?” Lucy felt her cheeks burn as she reached for her papa’s hand.
“Please do not think ill of your dear mother. I’ll tell you, Lucy. I’ll tell you everything, and then perhaps you’ll understand.”
Lucy nodded mutely, fearing the truth. Could it possibly be worse than what she’d imagined?
“Firstly, you must know your mother never wronged me. The indiscretion took place before I wed her, after all.”
“Whatever do you mean? I was born more than a year after you wed.”
“I’m afraid we weren’t truthful about the date of our nuptials.”
“But why?”
“Let me finish, little one. You see, I was your grandfather’s personal physician in Shropshire. It was I who confirmed your mother’s pregnancy. I do not know the details of her affair with Lord Rosemoor—I never wished to know. But your mother and I had always shared a measure of respect. As I’m sure you know, her love of literature and philosophy far surpassed her station. We often talked, discussed books. When Lord Wexley was faced with the situation of his daughter’s ruin, he offered me her hand in return for my silence and my acceptance of her child. I was a bit despondent at the time, having just lost my own wife. You knew I was married once before your mother?”
“Yes, of course,” Lucy murmured. His short-lived and tragic first marriage had never been a secret in their household.
“I agreed, but only if Sarah conceded to the match. I did not want to force her into the life of the gentry when she’d been bred to the nobility. But Sarah agreed. We eloped at once, and Lord Wexley set us up here in Nottingham. Ludlow House was part of your mother’s dowry. As you well know, your mother’s relationship with her father’s family was quite distant.”
Lucy nodded. She barely knew her mother’s relations.
“As we set up household and awaited your birth, our affection deepened. She assured me that the affair with Lord Rosemoor was nothing more than a lapse, and that it would never happen again. I was uncomfortable when she wanted to take you to Glenfield to visit the year after your birth. But Lady Rosemoor was your mother’s dearest friend, after all, and I could not deny her the continuance of their affection.”
“But how could you forgive Lord Rosemoor?”
“I’m not certain I ever did. I couldn’t bear his company. Many a year they invited us to join them in London. Your mother wished to go but was reluctant to travel to Town without me. I’m afraid I could never bring myself to go, unable to see past my jealousy. Yet, despite it all, Lord Rosemoor has given me my greatest treasure. You, my precious child.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I have never once thought of you as anything other than my true child, and I shall feel the same until I am in my grave. You are my daughter, Lucy. It was I who held and rocked you as an infant, I who kissed your scrapes and comforted you when you had nightmares. Not Lord Rosemoor.”
“But Nicholas...is...is he—”
“Yes, dearest, Nicholas is indeed my own son, of that I am certain.”
Lucy was relieved at this, although it meant that she and Nicholas were only half siblings, no more closely related than she and Colin.
“I will not lie and say our relationship was perfect. There was a strain, yes. Much went unsaid between us. But I did come to trust her, and I do believe she loved me. I know that she loved you with every breath in her body.” He patted her hand again. “And that is all there is to tell you. Now, my child, will you eat something? Can I bring you up the broth Cook has prepared? Perhaps some toast and tea?”
Lucy nodded wordlessly.
A half hour later she sat up in bed, spooning the last of the broth into her mouth. She was surprised at how good the warm nourishment tasted. She sipped her tea appreciatively while her aunt sat by her side busying herself with needlework, the first smile Lucy had seen in days on the woman’s face.
Lucy set down her cup as she heard the faint clatter of hooves in the distance, drawing closer. Aunt Agatha looked up, then went to the window to peer out curiously. “Why, who could that be? I’ll be right back, dear. You just rest a bit.” She collected Lucy’s tray and hurried out.
She heard the front door open several minutes later, and...could it be? She thought her ears must be deceiving her... She could’ve sworn she heard her aunt call out, ‘Lord Mandeville’.
Henry?
Henry took off his hat and bowed stiffly. “Mrs. Stafford.”
“Goodness gracious, Lord Mandeville, whatever are you doing here at Ludlow House?” The woman looked flustered. His appearance here must be quite a shock, he supposed.
“I’m sorry to arrive unannounced like this, Mrs. Stafford, but I just arrived by post chaise and I must see Lucy at once.”
“Is something amiss? Is it the Rosemoors?”
“No, nothing like that. But I must speak with her.”
“Well, my lord, I’m afraid that Lucy is doing quite poorly at present. I’m not sure that she’s up to visitors, and besides, she might not wish...that is to say, I mean...” She cleared her throat uncomfortably, refusing to meet his gaze.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Stafford. She might not wish to see me. I accept that. But please, make her understand how vital it is that I speak with her.”
“I must say, Lord Mandeville, the poor girl has suffered quite enough at your hands. I’m not certain I’d like to convince her to see you.” Her features hardened, her mouth set in a tight line. Her disapproval
was evident.
He reached for the woman’s hand, grasped it firmly between his. “Please, Mrs. Stafford. I was wrong, terribly wrong, and I must set things right with her.”
The old woman’s eyes became damp and she sniffled before her mouth curved into a weak smile. “Let me speak with her,” she said, leading him to the parlor to wait.
His heart raced and his palms grew damp in anticipation as he took a seat. It had been a long journey—two tedious days— and he’d gone over and over what he would say to her in his mind. Yet now that the time drew near, he was second-guessing everything, unsure what he could possibly say or do to make things right. Would she forgive him? He’d never stopped to consider the possibility that she might not.
When Mrs. Stafford finally reappeared, her face looked pinched and she was wringing her hands nervously. He stood expectantly.
“I’m afraid, Lord Mandeville, that she has refused to see you. I tried, my lord, but she is resolute. She is a terribly stubborn girl, my niece. I’m afraid you must give her some time, that’s all.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow. The chaise left off at an inn in the village. I’ll stay there for the night.”
“Yes, well, I meant perhaps more time than that. You see, she’s just had quite a shock, and I’m not sure she’s yet up to hearing what you have to say. Perhaps in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?”
“I’m afraid she isn’t herself these days. She needs some time. She’s not well.”
He felt the blood drain from his face. Perhaps she was seriously ill. He raked a hand through his hair. “Not well? Is it serious?”
“No, nothing that time won’t mend. Please, my lord. Come back in a fortnight.”
“No, I shall return in the morn. Thank you, Mrs. Stafford. I know you tried your best. I will see you tomorrow. Perhaps by then she will be ready.”
For two days he appeared at the doorstep of Ludlow House, only to be turned away. “Please, just give her time,” Mrs. Stafford said over and over again until he could no longer bear it. If she needed time, then he would give her time. He couldn’t deny her whatever she needed, not after what he’d done to her. What was a fortnight when they had the rest of their lives to spend together? He would go to Covington Hall and wait till she was ready to hear him out. He donned his hat as he stepped into the lane, looking up one last time at the vine-covered façade of Lucy’s home.
A curtain fluttered in a first-floor window, and for an instant Henry was sure he saw a halo of golden hair framed in the glass before the fleeting image disappeared. A sharp pain wrenched his gut. How could he make things right if she wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t even see him? He kicked a rock, sending it flying in the air with a puff of dust, before setting off on foot toward the village inn.
Lucy moved from the window when she saw him look up. Had he seen her? She hoped he hadn’t. She sank to the moss-colored velvet chaise longue and forced herself to breathe normally. Would the man never give up? She’d been nothing short of a prisoner in her own bedchamber these past few days, afraid to venture past the safety of the house lest he find her alone. Perhaps now he would return to London, where he belonged. She fiddled absently with the embroidery on the hem of her frock.
A knock sounded upon her door.
“Yes,” she called out.
The door opened and Aunt Agatha peered in, a frown darkening her features. “It’s just me, dear. He’s gone.”
“Thank you, Auntie. I’m sorry to leave you to such an unpleasant task.”
“Well, I think perhaps he is returning home at last. Do you not think...that is, is it not possible for you to hear him out? To give him one chance to say his piece?”
“Why should I?” Lucy sat up abruptly. “Did he give me a chance to say my piece before he believed Lady Charlotte’s lies?”
“What you say is true, but he only wants to tell you he was wrong.”
“Well, of course he was wrong, the fool. Never again will I allow him the opportunity to hurt me.” Her cheeks were burning. She was glad he had come to his senses. Perhaps now he knew how it felt to be cruelly rejected, cast aside without thought.
“I’m sure you feel that way now, but with time—”
“Time won’t change my feelings, Auntie.”
“If you’re certain, then.” She reached over and patted Lucy’s cheek. “He’s a good man, Lucy. I know he is. He made a mistake—a terrible mistake—and I hope he realizes what a dear price he’s paying for it.”
Lucy hoped her aunt was right, that he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. She hoped he was miserable. Most of all, she hoped she’d never see him again. It was the only way she knew to protect her damaged heart. And yet there was a giant void in her chest, an empty place that would remain that way as long as he was missing from her life. Whatever was she to do?
***
Lucy wriggled her feet out of her boots and tossed them to the grass, then slipped down her stockings and rolled them over her ankles. Raising her skirts to her knees, she tentatively dipped one toe into the water. She shivered as the cool ripples rushed over her foot. She couldn’t resist glancing down appreciatively at her bare legs, growing more defined with muscle. Each day she felt physically stronger than the day before. She waded further into the shallows, the refreshing water cooling her ankles. If only her emotional well-being was recovering so rapidly. She went through the motions of returning to her life as it once was, but she felt hollow inside.
Princess ambled over and dipped her head into the water for a drink. “It’s nice, isn’t it Princess? I suppose we should be getting home, though, hadn’t we?” The horse eyed its mistress curiously, and whinnied in response. Lucy laughed and looked at the sky. The afternoon sun had moved toward the horizon. Yes, the hour grew late, and she’d promised to help Aunt Agatha plan next week’s menu before dinner. Roast pheasant tonight, her favorite. It was good to be home, she reminded herself. This was the life she was meant for, not the glittering world of the beau monde.
A half hour later, she led Princess to her stall and pitched a square of hay through the door. She brushed her hands and wiped them on her skirts before peering into the remaining stalls to make certain Nicholas had hayed the rest of the horses. Just as she finished her inspection, her brother came running breathlessly into the barn.
“Lucy,” he called out, “you have a letter.”
“Thank you, Nicholas.” She smiled at her brother and took the envelope he held out. “Have you taken a look at Princess lately? Look how defined she’s become. The new diet is clearly working. I can’t understand how you allowed her to become so flaccid.”
“Well, what do you expect?” Nicholas’s brow was knitted over green eyes so much like her own. “No one was riding her all these months. She’s your mare, after all, and you can’t expect me to go around on a mount called Princess now, can you?”
Lucy laughed. It felt so good to laugh again. “True enough, but that’s no excuse for not exercising her properly. Honestly, Nicholas, I thought I was leaving her in good hands.” She saw him frown as he followed her out of the barn.
Moments later, she stepped into the house and inhaled the succulent scent of roasted fowl. Her stomach grumbled noisily in reply.
“There you two are.” Aunt Agatha stepped into the parlor, wiping her hands on her apron. “Dinner’s nearly ready. So much for helping me with next week’s menu, Lucy.”
“I’m so sorry, Auntie. I lost track of time.”
Her aunt shook her head, her eyes raised to the ceiling. “Isn’t that why I pinned a watch to your pelisse? Nicholas, have you seen your father?”
“He’s in his study,” Nicholas said. “I’ll fetch him. Aren’t you going to open your letter, Lucy? Who’s it from?”
Lucy turned over the envelope in her hand. “This is the Rosemoors’ seal, so it’s from Jane, I suppose.” But it looked like Colin’s hand. Curiously, she broke the wax as Nicholas hurried off toward the study.
Sh
e opened the page and smoothed it with shaking hands. Her eyes scanned the neat script, and a knife twisted in her heart as she took in the terrible words. On weak legs, she sank to the sofa with a cry of despair.
“Lucy, what’s wrong?” Aunt Agatha hurried to her side.
“It’s Henry. Lord Mandeville. Colin says he’s been injured, perhaps mortally wounded.”
“Oh, no, I think I’m going to swoon!”
“Please, Auntie,” she cried out sharply, “you mustn’t swoon now.”
Aunt Agatha nodded and closed her eyes. Lucy watched as the woman swallowed, gulping the air convulsively. Finally she found her tremulous voice. “Goodness, dear, does Colin say how?”
Lucy turned the page and read on, her vision blurring as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Returning home from Hollowsbridge. His post chaise was attacked by highwaymen and...Dear God!” She dropped the letter and it fluttered to the ground. “He was stabbed. It’s grown infected and they aren’t sure he’ll survive.” She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, afraid she was going to be ill. Aunt Agatha dropped her head into her hands.
Lucy rose from the sofa on shaky legs. “I must go to him,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“Yes, Lucy. I’ll help you pack your things at once.”
Chapter 22
Three full days passed before Lucy arrived in Essex following a brief stop in London. Both Colin and Jane accompanied her to Glenfield while Susanna remained in London with Lord and Lady Rosemoor for the Season’s final weeks. Heavy rains had slowed their progress since leaving Town, and Lucy’s patience was wearing thin. She was grateful for the company as the carriage bumped across the rain-rutted road toward Covington Hall—toward Henry. She tightened her grasp on Jane’s hand as the yellow stone walls rose up in the distance. They were nearly there.
“Colin, tell the driver to hurry. Please.” For a moment, Lucy considered throwing open the door and jumping down to run the last half mile as fast as her feet would carry her. It had been days since they’d heard any news. What if...what if he hadn’t pulled through? No. Lucy shook her head vigorously. He must have; had he left this world, surely she would have felt it in her heart. He was still alive—he had to be.
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