Page 45 of Everything a Lady is Not
Isabella shared a laugh with Miss Wharton and Miss Braye before explaining her mirth. “Oh, my dear! Men of that nature seek sensible mates, not one as unorthodox as you are.”
Lucy’s lips went grimly tight as the irritating woman’s response stabbed her soul. However, Isabella had not finished.
“No, dear. You might find more luck with a man who is none too bright and rather plain. You should seek a suitor lacking in wealth so your riches might elicit a stronger sense of loyalty.”
Henry’s indicting words to the duchess from days earlier stirred in her mind, words that had not been far from her thoughts since she’d overheard them.
“No such men would desire your granddaughter in her current state.”
Her chin quivered as she stared at a triumphant Isabella. All pretext of witty banter evaporated, leaving only her vulnerability on display for all to see. “So, Lady Isabella, you believe as Henry does that no reasonable man of good character would want me as a wife?”
Henry’s eyes grew wide with the implication of her words and the understanding that she had overheard his assessment to the duchess.
“Look at you.” Isabella’s tone softened. “You are as an infant in your understanding of propriety and seem utterly lacking in even a shred of the delicacy required by such a man. Only your ties to a dukedom give you a seat at this table. Otherwise, we would not even look your way.”
The patience of the duchess shattered. “That is quite enough, Lady Isabella. I will not stand another second of you denigrating my granddaughter.”
Isabella dipped her head. “My apologies, Your Grace. Perhaps I was too forward in my assessments. I wished only to offer guidance that might help your granddaughter’s cause.”
The duchess seemed ready to commence battle, but Lucy once again calmed her with a staying hand. Tears had already begun to roll down Lucy’s cheeks as she faced Isabella.
“Your assessment is correct.” Her voice grew husky. “But you need not relentlessly remind me of the fact. I am well aware of my shocking inadequacies and my deep unworthiness of the position handed me. That I am little more than a pretender is more obvious to me than to anyone else.”
She shifted her eyes toward Henry. He regarded her with a deep frown.
“I realize, Mr. Beaumont, my company is not something desirable. I know that any attentions toward me are bought with silver.”
His frown grew deeper still.Let him frown, she thought,and let him judge. I am past caring what he thinks.She paused to dab the tears with her dinner cloth.
“I thank you, Lady Isabella, for your candor and frankness. Your words are truer than what I have received from others, even from those whom I believed cared for me. Now, if you will excuse me, I am feeling unwell and wish to retire for the evening.”
She immediately rose from her chair in the deafening silence and leaned toward the duchess. “I am deeply sorry,” she whispered, “but I cannot maintain this charade. I cannot become what you wish me to be. I thank you for your kindness and good faith, however ill-spent.”
With the truth confessed, she departed the silent dining room and made her way upstairs. To both her relief and dismay, Henry did not follow.
…
Henry’s frown grew deeper still as he watched Lucy depart the dining room. Gone was his amusement with the spectacle of her adept and repeated deflections of Isabella’s attempts to discredit. The last attack had gone too far, though, and his light mood had evaporated as he watched his capable pupil sink beneath the onslaught of Isabella’s judgment—and of his. She had clearly overheard his private conversation with the duchess; that much was certain. That she now classified Isabella and him as equal antagonists created a remarkable knot in his gut.
“Can you believe that?” Miss Braye said, breaking the pall of silence that had descended on the dining room. “To abandon her guests! What utter disregard!”
Henry glanced at the duchess, who seemed broken in her silence. He focused a glare at Isabella across the table, waiting for her concurrence with Miss Braye. She avoided his eyes but said nothing. Miss Wharton, however, showed less restraint.
“We should have expected as much. The girl is out of her depth in gentle company. What she said about birthing a colt still mortifies me.”
“We apologize for having upset her,” Miss Braye said to the duchess after a giggle. “We meant no harm. However, her sensibilities seem more akin to one who is lowborn.”
The duchess remained silent, apparently quite shaken by the occurrence and perhaps realizing that Lucy’s future was slipping away.
“Why are you apologizing, Miss Braye?” said Warwick. “Why are we avoiding the obvious? Lady Margaret was a disaster this evening. That she represents this house must appall the duchess.”
At Warwick’s pronouncement and the continued chortling of Miss Braye and Miss Wharton, the carefully maintained emotional dam inside Henry broke for the first time in years. He leaped up so vigorously that his chair crashed against the wall and clattered to the floor. All faces swiveled toward him with an array of wide eyes and open mouths.
“Hold your tongue, sir! I will not listen to you besmirch Lady Margaret’s honor any longer.”
Warwick apparently had never experienced such reprimand, especially from those beneath his station. His face at first grew angry, but Henry’s unflinching glare and clenched jaw slowly melted the rage into bland befuddlement. As Henry shifted that glare to each of the women opposite him, they glanced away in turn. His next words surprised even him.
“For your entire pampered lives, since you came wailing into this world until now, you have been tutored, trained, and educated in the finest points of socially appropriate behavior. No lesson or expense has been spared to clarify to you every rule and nuance of Society. Lady Margaret’s education has lasted only a fortnight. Two weeks! And yet she bravely faced you all tonight and endured a fusillade far beyond what any of you would have suffered without failing.”
