The Likelihood of Lucy

by Jenny Holiday

  To Trevor’s mind, the matter was far from resolved. Still, he hadn’t spent years in the army, and as an intelligence officer, without learning when to strategically retreat. So he flashed her a smile in return. “Trevor and Lucy, up before dawn. The difference is these days, there’s nothing to do this early. No food to scrounge, no cons to run.”

  “I used to do my reading in the early mornings, before everyone else was up.”

  “Your secret reading,” he said, encouraging the change of subject even as part of his mind turned over the idea of a “difference of opinion” between her and her former employer.

  “Secret reading!” She eyed him sideways. “You make it sound so sordid! It’s only the publication of a memoir by her husband that made Mary sound so scandalous. Before that, everyone was quite impressed by her progressive ideas.”

  “Everyone? I wouldn’t go that far. Most of society is not ready for the ideas she espoused.”

  “And how do you know about the ideas she espoused? You’ve only read the one book.”

  He hesitated. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, but somehow he felt uncomfortable admitting it. “That’s not strictly true anymore.”

  “What? Have you read another?”

  “I’ve actually read several of them. I started with A Vindication of the Rights of Women while I was visiting the mines on the Cornwall trip. My rationale was that it was her most famous work.”

  Lucy began fidgeting with delight. “And? Did you adore it?”

  He hesitated. After forbidding her to hold her society meetings in the hotel, it seemed hypocritical to freely discuss these matters with her.

  “Don’t worry!” she said. “We’re not at the Jade.” She twisted back and forth, making an exaggerated show of looking around. “And there are no investors anywhere!”

  “Much of what she said made sense to me.”

  She graced him with a radiant smile. “I hold that book in very high esteem, but my personal favorite is her letters from Scandinavia.”

  He hadn’t read that one. “Why?”

  “She paints such an intriguing picture of what seems a terribly exotic place. I know that’s silly, given that there are places much more remarkable than Denmark or Sweden. But when one has never been anywhere, the idea of being able to just pick up and travel…well, it would be wonderful.”

  “But—” He cut the thought short, still feeling they shouldn’t be having this discussion, not when he’d so adamantly put his foot down earlier on the topic of Mary Wollstonecraft.

  “Trevor.” She smiled. “This is exactly why I negotiated that qualification. No discussion of Mary or of reform at the hotel or anywhere your investors might be. But I assure you, there is no danger here. What were you going to say?”

  Damned if he could resist her and her infectious enthusiasm. “Well, I was going to point out that thanks to her husband’s memoir, we know she was heartbroken on that trip to Scandinavia, that she’d attempted to drown herself before embarking on it.”

  “I know,” she said, “and I’m trying to decide if perhaps the beautiful crystalline prose in her letters was related to that.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Heartbreak sharpens things, don’t you find? Makes the world more beautiful somehow, even though that should be counterintuitive.”

  “And who has broken your heart?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer but unable to leave the question unasked.

  She tilted her head, still looking out toward the ocean. She didn’t speak for a long time, so long he wondered if she was going to answer the question at all. Then she shrugged. “Who hasn’t?”

  I haven’t, he wanted to shout. But it might not be true. The more accurate sentiment was, I’ve been trying bloody hard not to.

  Six months, he reminded himself. Six months, and she’d be gone.

  “La!” She shuffled around in the sand, gathering her skirts. “This is too maudlin a discussion for such a bleak day. We already had our serious conversation, and it’s a well-known rule that you’re only allowed one serious conversation per day when you’re rusticating.” Scrambling to her feet, she brushed the sand from her dress. “We should be talking about happy things. About parties! Which I have to plan, and this is our last day on the estate, so why am I dawdling here?”

  He could make no argument, so he rose and offered her his arm. When she rested her hand on his sleeve, he barely felt it. His mind was elsewhere, sifting back through snippets of their conversation, troublesome fragments he could feel gaining momentum. Soon they would overtake him, demand action.

  Heartbreak.

  Call him out.

  Cold-blooded murder.

  Chapter Ten

  The Burnham School was about the furthest thing from Miss Grisham’s Lucy could have imagined. While she would be forever grateful to Lady Waring and to Miss Grisham’s for setting her on a new path in life, her school years were nothing she cared to revisit. It wasn’t that she’d been unhappy, precisely. Just so very, very alone, in a way she never had in Seven Dials. The regimentation of her days in an almost militaristic fashion had rankled after so many years running free through the city with Trevor. And though she had been friendly with some of the girls, she’d never found anyone… Well, she’d never found anyone like Trevor.

  In fact, she probably wouldn’t have visited the Burnham School at all if Catharine hadn’t spent half their time together at the estate vehemently insisting that she do so when they all returned to town. Catharine was such a force to be reckoned with that Lucy hadn’t known how to deflect her summons. Even Lucy’s protests that there was too much to do to get ready for the opening were systematically dismantled by the determined former viscountess. And so she found herself, two days before the Jade’s opening, touring the Burnham School.

  Happily, what she discovered in its cheery confines was nothing like the experience she’d had. Girls and boys studied separately but had occasion to socialize with one another. Many classrooms they looked in on were in the throes of spirited debate. The teachers she’d met seemed kind, enthusiastic, and vital in a way the elderly instructors at Miss Grisham’s had not.

  “I’m delighted to hear you say so,” Catharine said over tea in her office, after Lucy compared the school favorably to her own experience. “Our idea was to make the school feel like home. Not that we expect the students to be merry all the time—far from it. But we got to know some of these children before we opened the school, and it became clear that what they needed as much as an education was a place that felt like home.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that you rescued many of them from a gun works in rather dramatic fashion!” said Lucy, who would freely admit she was nosing around. Having heard bits and pieces of Catharine’s fantastical story while they were on the estate, she was dreadfully curious about the details.

  “Well,” said Catharine pulling a sheepish face. “It was rather dramatic. But James is the real campaigner. He’s the reformer. I prefer to focus on more tangible activities.” She waved her arms around as if to indicate their surroundings. “Which is why, while James tries to convince Blackstone and other members of Lords to take up the cause of universal education, I oversee the day-to-day operations here.” She set her teacup down with a clatter and looked at Lucy with an intensity that made her squirm. “Including staffing.”

  “Oh?” said Lucy.

  “Yes, the offer still stands, you know. I can always use a languages teacher. You could even teach some political philosophy, given your interest in the topic. Just keep it in mind, if you ever tire of…the Jade.”

  Lucy didn’t miss the pregnant pause. Thankfully, she was saved from having to reply when Catharine rose, strolled to the window, and continued. “But that’s not why I invited you. I did have an ulterior motive, but poaching you from the Jade wasn’t it!”

  “Oh?” Lucy said again, aware that she sounded like a dolt and a little annoyed at how often this glamorous woman left her fumbling fo
r words.

  “Yes, and I was going to wait for Emily, who’s pledged to join us, but she’s late, so I won’t.” She turned but remained at the window. “We want to join your society.”

  “You mean my Wollstonecraft reading group?”

  “Yes. Now, I know it seems like—”

  “I’d be delighted!” Realizing belatedly that she’d interrupted, Lucy began to apologize, but the door opened, and Emily burst in, a footman trailing her.

  “I’m sorry I’m so late!” she cried, her skin flushed.

  Catharine merely raised a brow at her friend, which had the effect of deepening the younger woman’s blush.

  “I was, ah, unavoidably detained. Eric came home unexpectedly and…”

  “You had an impromptu midday tumble,” Catharine finished, grinning.

  Lucy gasped. She couldn’t help it. Both women turned to her, and she could feel her face coloring to match Emily’s. Imagining the inscrutable Earl of Blackstone…even just hearing him called by his Christian name—none of it matched her image of the dark aristocrat.

  “That is not what happened at all,” Emily said, her tone a trifle too indignant. “Lucy, please forgive my friend. She’s known for her…colorful ways.”

  “You adore my colorful ways,” said Catharine.

  Emily rolled her eyes, but there was affection in them. “I am sorry for being late, my dears. It’s just that some things are so…enjoyable that they can’t be postponed.”

  “Enjoyable?” Lucy and Catharine spoke at the same time, except Lucy’s version of the word was perplexed, Catharine’s incredulous.

  But then the older woman’s face softened and, having remained standing by the window since Emily arrived, she came back to sit by the tea service. “She’s not wrong,” she said, pouring the newcomer a cup of tea. “I merely take issue with the weight of the sentiment. Enjoyment seems such an…anemic word.” She glanced at Lucy. “But you are meant to enjoy it.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, Catharine, stop scandalizing Lucy. She’s unmarried, you know.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m ignorant!” Lucy protested, bristling against the feeling that the other women were talking as if they were members of a secret, exclusive club.

  “Yes, I’m sure Miss Grisham’s did a fine job preparing you for the reality of marital relations.”

  “Catharine!” said Emily again.

  Lucy joined Catharine in ignoring Emily’s protests. “In fact, it did. We were quite well-versed in the mechanics of the—”

  “Mechanics, yes,” said Catharine. “But what about what it feels like?”

  “And I suppose you do a better job here?” Lucy said, aware that she was bordering on rude, but suddenly so defensive and embarrassed that she couldn’t help herself.

  “Oh, we don’t do it at all here.” Catharine waved a hand dismissively. “Well, the hygiene teacher covers the basics, of course, but as regards the rest, I merely take a few of the older girls aside and…enlighten them. Then they spread it around.”

  “Enlighten them about what?” said Lucy, suddenly not caring if she came off as naive. She did understand the mechanics, so what else was there?

  “About the fact that you’re supposed to enjoy it,” said Catharine vehemently. “Nobody ever tells young ladies that.”

  “Catharine!” Emily whispered sharply. Then she turned to Lucy. “As I’m sure you were beginning to gather at the estate, Catharine is not a woman prone to, ah…self-censorship. But that’s not why we’re here, so please let’s drop the subject. Lucy, we want to ask you something!”

  “I already did,” said Catharine, “and she said yes!”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Emily. “And here we were prepared to mount a campaign of persuasion!”

  “Whatever for?” Lucy asked, genuinely perplexed and a little reluctant to drop the previous topic of conversation, for she felt there was a great deal more they weren’t saying. “I’d be thrilled to have you join the society.” Emily and Catharine, unlike most of the other members, would probably do their assigned reading. For once, the society might host a proper discussion and not just a monologue given by Lucy.

  “We thought you might want to limit the group to your…immediate associates,” said Emily.

  “The group is almost entirely composed of governesses, with a few other assorted upper servants and shopgirls thrown in. But we are open to all.”

  “When is the next meeting?” asked Emily. “And where? At the Jade?”

  “No!” she said, probably a trifle too urgently. “I convened the last meeting at the Jade, but it turns out to be…not suitable as a location.”

  “Which means Trevor doesn’t want you lot of radicals in his precious hotel,” said Catharine, rolling her eyes.

  “Those dreadful investors,” Emily said, wrinkling her nose. “Mustn’t do anything that might upset the investors!”

  Catharine turned to Lucy. “Why don’t we have the next meeting at my house?”

  Lucy almost choked on her tea at the image of a crowd of governesses queued up outside the Hanover Square residence of the infamous Viscountess of Vice. But in reality, they wouldn’t come. It was already asking a lot of some of them that they attend and hear what they considered borderline-scandalous ideas aired. “You’re very kind to offer. The difficulty is that I want the society to remain welcoming to its original members.” She didn’t quite know how to put it.

  “And they’re not going to feel comfortable at my house?” Catharine asked with a twinkle in her eye. “Is that what you mean?”

  “That’s exactly what she means,” said Emily.

  Lucy flashed the countess a grateful smile. “We generally meet in Hyde Park near the base of the Serpentine. The next meeting is two weeks from Friday at two o’clock. We’re meant to be discussing An Historical and Moral View of the French Revolution.”

  “Well, Hyde Park two weeks Friday, then. It’s settled,” announced Catharine, just as there was a knock on the door. It opened, and a footman ushered in a man of about thirty. Immaculately attired in a brown coat and buff breeches, his close-cropped, sandy brown hair framed a pleasant face that lit up with a smile when its owner spied Catharine.

  “Mrs. Burnham,” he bowed. “I didn’t realize you had visitors. I shall return at another time.”

  “It’s quite all right! In fact, I invited you for the express purpose of meeting my visitors. Ladies, allow me to make known to you Mr. Lloyd, who, if I may say as much, is something of an intellectual.”

  “You flatter me, Mrs. Burnham.”

  “It’s true. He studied literature and philosophy at Cambridge, and he is kind enough to advise me from time to time on curricular matters. Mr. Lloyd, may I present the Countess of Blackstone and Miss Greenleaf?”

  After pleasantries were exchanged, Catharine exhorted Mr. Lloyd to join them for a cup of tea. Lucy devised from the ensuing discussion that Mr. Lloyd’s family, while not aristocratic, owned an estate in the Lake District, and that Mr. Lloyd spent most of his time in the family’s London town home.

  “Miss Greenleaf is a scholarly sort herself,” Catharine said, and before Lucy could protest, added, “She is a particular devotee of Mary Wollstonecraft.”

  “Ah,” said Mr. Lloyd. “The much-maligned Mrs. Wollstonecraft! It’s a pity, for she had some interesting ideas.”

  “Yes!” Lucy blinked, startled.

  “Miss Greenleaf runs a ladies’ reading society devoted to Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s works,” said Catharine. Lucy didn’t miss the sharp look Emily shot their hostess, but she wasn’t sure what it signified.

  “Does she now?” Mr. Lloyd cocked his head and smiled at Lucy, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  “I was thinking of asking her to prepare a special lesson for some of the upper girls,” Catharine said.

  “An excellent idea!” Mr. Lloyd said, still looking at Lucy and not at Catharine as he spoke.

  Lucy tried not to squirm under Mr. Llo
yd’s regard as the group conducted a conversation about the impact of Mary’s husband’s ill-fated memoir on the reputation of his late wife. If she wasn’t mistaken, her own interest in political philosophy held her in higher regard in Mr. Lloyd’s eyes than she otherwise might have been. It was unusual to be discussing ideas like this with a man present—and a member of the gentry at that. Unusual, but not unpleasant. Though she started off somewhat timidly, by the time they had drunk several cups of tea, she was making assertions as confidently as she would in her ladies’ group.

  When she set out for the hotel she was positively invigorated. Her work at the hotel was immensely satisfying. To participate in commerce, to have one’s decisions respected and to feel they had consequence—well, it was enormously gratifying. But she did miss the world of ideas she’d been immersed in when she’d had more time to read. So it had been pleasant to converse with the ladies and Mr. Lloyd on intellectual matters for a while.

  “Miss Greenleaf!” Several blocks from Catharine’s school, she turned to find Mr. Lloyd hurrying to catch her. “Miss Greenleaf!” he panted, coming to a stop beside her. “May I walk with you for a while?”

  “Of course,” she said, curious about what could have impelled the gentleman to exert himself so much to catch her.

  “I have my own political discussion group, Miss Greenleaf. A salon of sorts. I would be most pleased if you’d care to join. The next meeting is three days hence, and we’ll be discussing Adam Smith’s Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. You needn’t have read it to attend. Come and see if the group suits.”

  A political salon! The idea was undeniably appealing. The hotel’s opening would be behind her by then. And Lucy had always wanted to be a part of an intellectual community of the sorts that Mary had been at various times in her life. The Ladies’ Society in Support of Mrs. Wollstonecraft had been a crude attempt at creating just that, but you couldn’t magically produce a community of intellectuals out of a bunch of governesses more concerned with their charges’ debuts than their own rights. Still, Mr. Lloyd was probably misinformed about her station in life, given that he’d met her taking tea with a countess and a former viscountess.