Page 37 of Everything a Lady is Not
“We last saw each other when Henry was fifteen and just entering manhood. However, as fate would have it, we reacquainted in Town during my first Season and shared many dances over that time. Until yesterday, I remained unaware of his return to London after the war. You might imagine my surprise when I learned he had joined the Robin Redbreasts.”
“Bow Street Horse Patrol,” Henry corrected. “The other is a nickname given us by criminals. It should not cross a lady’s lips.”
Lucy shot a hot glare at him. Not once in a week had he given her the same advice. The slight reinforced her suspicion that he would never consider her free from the taint of thieves. However, he did not appear to notice her upset. He seemed too focused on Isabella.
“And I rather think,” he added, “you are far more disappointed than surprised by my joining of the patrol.”
She dipped her chin and batted long eyelashes. “Oh, Henry, silly man. You could never disappoint me.”
He smiled in a warm, relaxed manner that Lucy had not yet seen from him. She found it immensely appealing, but also galling that the smile’s target was this haughty woman.
“Isabella, I will strive never to damage your good opinion of me.”
The duchess interrupted the interplay rather forcefully. “Where are my manners, Lady Isabella? Perhaps you have not met my granddaughter, Lady Margaret Huntington.”
Isabella acknowledged Lucy’s presence for the first time by shifting blue eyes slowly toward her. The woman coolly appraised her for the space of two breaths before offering comment to the duchess rather than addressing Lucy.
“So, then, I see the rumors are true. It seems your wayward granddaughter has returned to London after all. If I might ask, where has she been hiding?”
The duchess returned Isabella’s gaze without flinching. “Elsewhere. However, she is here now.”
Isabella regally shifted her attention to Lucy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Let me say, Lady Margaret, that I commend you.”
Lucy cocked her head. Despite the nagging in her gut that the comment was a trap, she took the bait. “Commend me? For what?”
“For your courage. I do not know a single young lady of thetonwho would venture into public without a little powder or rouge, and certainly not wearing a dress that faded from style a decade ago.”
With those words, Lucy finally recognized Lady Isabella for what she was. The young woman was every cheat, sharp, and manipulator who had paraded through her Dartmoor home the past decade. She was one who crafted phrases of duplicitous meaning, casting doubt and confusion to sway every situation to her benefit. Fortunately, Lucy had learned how to respond to such a person—play along and never let the other know you are aware of their game.
“Thank you, Lady Isabella,” she said with as much naiveté as she could. “You are very kind.”
Henry intervened, seemingly confused as he spoke to Lady Isabella. “You must understand, Isabella. Miss Loc…Lady Margaret lived remotely from Society for some years. My presence here is as something of a tutor to prepare her for presentation.”
Isabella smiled conspiratorially at him. “Then that rumor proves true as well. Lady Carrington insinuated as much, but her credibility remains in question. I mean not to gossip, but she seems to imbibe to the point of insensibility. I should disclose no more or risk impropriety, but she appears to have been accurate in this case at least. And do let me say, Henry, that I am certain you are up to the task. No matter how daunting.”
He smiled oddly. “I would not be so certain of that.”
Lady Isabella turned to Lucy. “Then perhaps I should place my confidence in you, Lady Margaret. And you should not concern yourself over your unfashionably dark hair or small nose. I am certain many suitors would overlook such disadvantages.”
“The late Duke of Ramsbury certainly overlooked my dark hair and small nose when he courted me,” injected the duchess with a tone bordering on threat. Lucy’s hand found that of her grandmother, sending a message of restraint.
“Your Grace, I meant not to offend.” Isabella’s quick reply proved sticky with earnestness. “I merely suggest that one can never account for the fickle tastes of Society. You know how quickly fashions change, as if blown by the wind.”
“Yes. In fact, I do.”
During the exchange, Henry’s face had shifted from amusement to discomfort. “Lady Margaret,” he said. “Did you select a suitable design for your new dress?”
Lucy nodded, happy for the diversion. “Yes. A new dress for Saturday is underway, with two more to follow.”
“I am certain you will look lovely for the dinner party, dear,” the duchess offered.
Lady Isabella sat straighter. “Which dinner party, might I ask? The Witherings? The Stuarts? Please do not say you will attend the function at the Wellesfords. I should not speak of this, but it is widely known that Wellesford has involved himself in a disastrous banking venture. You would be well advised to avoid their company, but that is not for me to say. I do not wish to spread rumors.”
The duchess peered at Isabella with an expression bordering on sour. “No, Lady Isabella, none of those. I am hosting a private affair with a few of my longtime friends in attendance. Nothing more.”
Isabella smiled shrewdly. “I see. Might I assume this affair is a trial for your granddaughter’s eventual entrance into wider Society?”
The duchess glared at her. Henry broke the awkward silence. “Perhaps. However, it is a simple informal gathering.”
