The Likelihood of Lucy

by Jenny Holiday

  He had taken care to hide his face, lest the gentleman pick him. He needn’t have worried, though, because of course the man selected Hugh, who, though he looked like an angel with his golden curls, was Lucy’s chief tormenter. Trevor had only just allowed himself to feel some measure of relief that the awful boy wouldn’t be around to bother Lucy anymore when the man murmured to his wife, “Not now, dear. We’ll come back next week and get you a girl. Let’s get the boy settled first.”

  We’ll come back next week and get you a girl.

  Trevor had hardly left the spot in the week that had elapsed, that same refrain echoing through his head. Lucy had wanted him to keep her company under the bridge, but he’d declined, making up reasons to be away.

  So he could watch. Wait.

  And now their chance was finally here.

  “What’s going on?” Lucy said, panting as the crowd forced them to slow.

  He said nothing, just kept hold of her hand, ignoring the curses thrown their way as he elbowed through the crowd, towing her toward the front.

  “You deserve better,” he said, the furrow between her eyebrows telling him she didn’t understand. “Go back to the life you were born to.”

  And with that, he shoved her—hard. She stumbled into the open space around the carriage, drawing everyone’s attention, including the fine lady’s.

  The woman had been surveying the children with her lip slightly curled. But when she saw Lucy, her decision was made. How could it have been otherwise? The other children, the ones who mocked Lucy so mercilessly, were, in some sense right: Lucy was different. Lucy didn’t belong. She held herself differently. Her beauty shone through, despite her miserable circumstances.

  Lucy was better than them.

  And now she was going.

  His lungs were collapsing. He tried to tell himself it was all that running, but he knew. This was what it felt like to say good-bye to Lucy Green. Like his whole body was being crushed.

  He watched her straighten her spine as the lady bent to talk to her. She didn’t flinch when the woman’s gloved hand slipped into her own smaller, grubby one.

  He wanted to shout after her, to apologize, to explain. To say good-bye.

  Maybe if she looked back and saw him, he could somehow make her see everything that was in his heart.

  She climbed into the carriage, already looking the part. If not for her torn, dirty clothing and her tangled hair, she could be the fine lady’s daughter. Which only strengthened his resolve that he had done the right thing.

  If she would only look back, perhaps it would alleviate this sick, churning feeling in his gut, the pressure on his lungs.

  She did not look back.

  …

  “Him?” Lucy echoed, unable to grasp what Trevor was talking about—and trying to gain his attention, for he was staring off into space as if his mind were somewhere else entirely. It was all very confusing. A minute ago, she’d been allowing him shocking intimacies. And now that they were done, she couldn’t seem to do anything but look at his lips, full and red, lips that had so recently been on her, and try to subdue the odd buzzing in her belly, while he appeared completely unmoved, almost as if he’d forgotten she was standing right in front of him.

  His eyes snapped back to her face. “It’s not about him, you said. Who were you talking about? From whom were you running?”

  She had been fleeing the prospect of the viscount touching her, yet with Trevor, the same thing had felt so…wonderful. How could two men be so different?

  “Who was it?” he pressed, his tone growing angry.

  She shook her head. He’d been like this that day in Seven Dials, too, when he’d caught her fleeing her mother’s room. And now, like then, she didn’t want to burden him. It wasn’t his job to protect her. She could do that herself now. “I’d prefer not to say.”

  Trevor’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. “Is this about your reform activities? Your former employer? Has he harmed you in any way?”

  “No, no, it was…” She didn’t have a lie ready, and Trevor, always intuitive, seemed to have developed the ability to see into people’s minds in the years they’d been apart.

  He took a step back, fists clenched at his sides. A vein throbbed in his temple. “Tell me.”

  She tried to brush past him, because tears were threatening again. How could everything have gone so wrong so quickly? How had she let this happen?

  As his hand came down on her forearm, halting her progress, she answered her own question. Because this is what happens when you let a man get too close. You lose control of your own life.

  She pulled her arm away. Her impulse had been to retreat inside, to get away from him. But of course it was his hotel. One had to have a claim on a place to retreat to it. She was stuck then, not sure what to do or where to go. A hateful, too-familiar feeling.

  He must have sensed her uncertainty, for he sighed, and it seemed to drain some of the fight from him. Reaching past her to turn the key she’d left inserted in the lock, he held the door open, gesturing for her to precede him. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  Not if she could help it, they wouldn’t.

  Chapter Six

  An hour later, after he’d disappeared into his apartment to refresh himself and she’d had time to calm her nerves, Trevor knocked on Lucy’s door and asked her to come down to the kitchen with him. She very much feared that the “later” he’d invoked earlier had arrived. One again, it seemed, he had appointed himself her protector, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Clearly, the first time around, he’d saved her, but that time, there hadn’t been a specific person he needed to battle. She resolved not to tell him about Galsmith. It would only set him off bent on revenge. No good could come of it.

  So she was pleasantly surprised when he ran his fingers through his hair, then pressed his hands firmly on the work table in the center of the kitchen and said, “I’ve got to hire staff. Soon. Today.”

  Turning away for just a moment, she took a fortifying breath and tried to shake off the vestigial feeling of those hands sliding down her body. Then she pasted a smile on her face and turned back.

  “About that…”

  He eyed her suspiciously.

  She had given some thought to whether he was going to be upset by her meddling and decided that yes, yes he was. But that she was going to do it anyway. “I decided to, ah, see if I could get things started for you. I’ve interviewed candidates for butler and head housekeeper.”

  “You’ve what?”

  Now it was her turn to make a gesture of surrender. “I’ve merely pre-screened a few dozen candidates. I have two housekeepers and three butlers for you to see. You can see them all in one day—tomorrow if you like. And if none of them suits, you can start over.

  “It’s so difficult with prestigious posts like these, you know,” she went on, still unsure about how he would react. “When you advertise, people come out of the woodwork, disgruntled head footmen and the like. Just because someone has worked in a great house doesn’t mean those skills will necessarily transfer to a hotel. The logistics here will be enormously more complex, and one needs a keen mind and a flexible spirit more than one needs to know that the oyster fork nestles in the soup spoon. I certainly didn’t know that. I had to look it up—I did some research to prepare for the interviews.” She was babbling because she was nervous. She bit down on the inside of her cheeks to make herself stop.

  “I think you’re right. Thank you.”

  “If you consider it for a moment, I think you’ll see—wait. You think I’m right?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You want to argue the point?”

  She shook her head mutely, not willing to jeopardize his easy agreement with further speech.

  “I would like to see your candidates tomorrow if it can be arranged. It would be a pleasant surprise to have some of the senior staff in place so quickly. It was good of you to do this. Thank you.”

  “Well, the success
ful candidates will have to give notice, of course,” she said dismissively, a little unsettled by the way his praise caused a fluttering in her stomach. “So anyone you retain tomorrow isn’t likely to able to start for a week or more.” She moved to the counter. “Sit. You must be hungry. I made a meat pie. Well, I tried to. I made it a little project to learn how to work the stove. You can’t open a hotel with non-functioning stoves. So I had a governess friend ask the cook in her house for instructions.”

  Really, the pie, all misshapen and sort of sunken in on itself, was rather embarrassing. She’d be better off to give him one of her attempts at the lemon biscuits, but she wanted that recipe to be perfect before he tried it. She opened a drawer and slid out a knife to cut him a slice of pie. His short inhale then, as if surprised, startled her mid-cut. She stopped. “It’s a little, ah, aesthetically compromised. But it tastes fine.”

  But he wasn’t looking at the pie. He was looking around the room. “You’ve unpacked the kitchen.”

  “Yes, well, I had the time, and it was going to need doing eventually.”

  Again she braced for outrage, or at least an annoyed speech about how she’d overstepped. It was just that she’d wanted to make herself useful, to leave the home he’d entrusted her with in better condition than she found it.

  Instead he simply said, once again, “Thank you.” His green eyes pinned hers, and for several moments they stood in silence, she fighting uselessly against a revival of the physical sensations that had overtaken her when they kissed outside. Though it was only his eyes, she could have sworn his devilish hands were back on her, sending shivers down her spine and causing warmth to pool between her legs.

  Then he broke the spell. “Now let me have some of that aesthetically compromised pie. I’m starving.” As she set the plate in front of him, he said, “Then you can take me on a tour and show me what else you’ve done.”

  She hadn’t even emitted a syllable of her planned protest when he, between bites, pointed his fork at her. “I know you. Don’t try to tell me there isn’t more.”

  …

  Damned if Lucy hadn’t made what appeared to be months’ worth of progress on the hotel in the space of ten days. The tour ended in the sample room. “My God,” he exclaimed when he stepped over the threshold. It was beautiful, the bed a stately, tidy centerpiece covered in pillows arranged just so. The drapes, which had been hemmed and hung properly, stood open to admit a cascade of sunlight. All that light, and there wasn’t a speck of dust illuminated. Everything was gleaming, yet the room managed to be friendly and welcoming. Towels were folded on the bureau, and a vase sat on the bedside table, filled with a riot of pink and white blooms. Not flowers he recognized—he wasn’t very good at that sort of thing—but they managed to be luxurious yet not stuffy. Just like the room. Just like he always hoped the whole hotel would be. “It’s exactly as I imagined it,” he said.

  “Truly?” Her voice, with its hint of incredulity, drew him back from his thoughts and reminded him that there was a woman behind all this. Probably no one ever complimented her. As a rich and successful man of business, the world fell over itself to commend him. Not the crème of the ton, the highest sticklers, perhaps, who turned up their noses at anything to do with commerce, but he wore their disdain as a badge of honor. The rest of them sent acclaim in the form of investments, fawning, and the like. By contrast, Lucy Greenleaf, who had devoted years of her life to raising and educating the daughters of polite society, had probably never received a single word of thanks or appreciation. He knew she hadn’t as a child. The schemes they concocted back then, however clever, were far more likely to attract condemnation than to earn praise.

  “Yes. I’ve always had a sort of abstract image in my mind’s eye of what I want this place to look like. But I haven’t been able to put it into words—hence the ridiculous number of things in here before. I thought trying every combination might help.”

  “I tried to make it how I thought you would like it,” she said, almost shyly.

  “This is it. This is exactly right.”

  She ducked her head, but not before he saw her pinken. Lucy Greenleaf had turned into a blusher! He thought he’d caught a hint of a blush that first night when he saw she still had the jade. Blushing was a trait that didn’t accord with his image of her. The girl he knew in Seven Dials was certainly not embarrassed by anything. She’d been unshakable. Unshockable.

  Suddenly, as ill-advised as it was, he wanted very much to shock the grown-up Lucy. “There’s only one thing wrong with this room,” he said. Her brow furrowed, and she looked around, trying to work out what his complaint could be. Watching her the whole time, he walked over to the bed and yanked the counterpane down, mussed the sheets, and threw one of the perfectly placed pillows on the floor.

  The blush deepened, but she didn’t break from his gaze.

  “This is how you would greet guests?” she exclaimed, incredulous. “You want the bedchambers of your paying guests to feature mussed beds?”

  “No. My guests will have your perfectly assembled, tidy beds, all wrapped up like exquisite presents. It is merely my own bed I prefer mussed. Or the beds of those whose rooms I visit.”

  She closed her eyes then, just for a moment, but it inspired an odd spike of masculine pride to know he’d affected her. He was a boy again, playing pranks on her. He shifted a little, his breeches having grown uncomfortably tight. All right, maybe not exactly like when he was a boy. What was the matter with him today?

  “There’s more,” she said, her voice wonderfully raspy as she stepped out into the corridor. “One more big thing I want to show you.” He sighed, unsure whether it signaled relief or disappointment. But she was right. This—whatever this was—was not wise. His job was to protect Lucy—always had been—not to taunt her. So he followed her, forcing his mind out of the gutter and back to the matter at hand. The hotel. His life’s work, which was not something he should have to remind himself to pay attention to. So he forced himself to attend to their surroundings—their gleaming surroundings. Even the corridor had not escaped her eagle eye. The wood-paneled walls had been waxed to a shine, and the dust that had settled after the laying of the floors had magically disappeared.

  His eyes caught on an object that lay on the floor, tucked almost out of sight where the edge of a Persian rug met the wall. He stooped to get a better look. “Spectacles?” he said, standing with them in his hand. Small reading glasses attached to a delicate silver chain, they quite clearly belonged to a female. Lucy didn’t wear glasses. He handed them to her and raised his eyebrows, trying not to show the annoyance he felt over the idea of someone he didn’t know walking the halls of the Jade in his absence.

  Her own brows furrowed as she accepted the glasses. Then a wave of recognition passed over her features. “Oh! Those are Miss Williams’s. She must have dropped them.”

  “And who is Miss Williams?”

  “An acquaintance—a fellow governess. A member of a reading group I’m part of. She wanted a tour and I—”

  “A tour?” he echoed, his voice rising. “Would this group you speak of have anything to do with your attachment to Mary Wollstonecraft?” He watched her realize her mistake as dismay washed over her otherwise smooth features.

  And she had. A dire mistake. He would have thought she’d know better.

  She nodded, abashed. “The Ladies’ Society in Support of Mrs. Wollstonecraft,” she whispered. “I am its president.”

  “You had a group of reformers here discussing a woman society condemns.” He didn’t even bother trying to temper his clipped tone.

  “They’re not really reformers. They’re mostly governesses, and there’s one or two—”

  “You had these reformers here in my home,” he interrupted. The home that depended on the investments of several of the ton’s most powerful men. Men who would be scandalized to learn that an unmarried woman was staying here to begin with, forget that she was championing the cause of the infamous Mary Woll
stonecraft.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed, looking stricken as she pressed her palms to her cheeks.

  “You can’t do that, Lucy,” he said, quivering from the Herculean effort required not to turn around and punch the newly gleaming walls. “I have too much at stake here.” He should explain. If he was going to be this angry, she deserved to know why. “The building and opening of this place required an enormous amount of money—more than I could free up from my various ventures. So I have a group of investors—the Earl of Blackstone, but also others. They’re a conservative lot. Tories, some of them. Highly placed. They don’t want their names associated with trade, so they’re jittery about the venture to begin with. If they ever found out that the Jade was hosting a society like yours, they’d pull their support.”

  Looking miserable, she said again, “I’m sorry.”

  That second “sorry” deflated him as quickly as the initial burst of anger had ignited. He was angry, yes, but he hadn’t meant to make her cower before him. Good God. She’d made a mistake, but he couldn’t exactly hold his own behavior today up as a model. First, he’d kissed her; now he was castigating her?

  A knocking then, coming from downstairs. He welcomed it. Because he didn’t know what to do next. How to explain. How to apologize—for everything that had happened since he got back.

  The knocking echoed up the empty stairwell. “Someone’s at the door,” she whispered, stating the obvious in a way that somehow made him feel wretched.

  He didn’t trust his voice. So, without a word, he turned and made for the stairs.

  …

  Lucy blinked rapidly, biting back tears as the Countess of Blackstone greeted Trevor warmly. The shame of the harsh scolding Trevor had issued stung all the more because he’d been right. She’d had no right to invite anyone to the hotel, much less a group whose business some would deem improper.