Page 46 of Everything a Lady is Not
He paused to run a hand through his hair, to breathe, and to allow the hot flame of his anger to subside.
“You should show more charity to Lady Margaret. Her efforts this night far exceeded yours.”
At that, he strode to the duchess. The old woman peered up at him with moist eyes. He bowed deeply. “I must apologize, Your Grace. My skills were clearly unequal to the task, and I will no longer be party to your granddaughter’s humiliation. You may retain all intended payment as I have not earned it. I bid you good evening.”
He exited the dining room and made for the entrance hall. As he collected his hat, Hawes rushed to open the door for him and nodded with seeming gratitude. Henry stepped through the opening into the night, feeling abruptly adrift. He would never again engage in a rousing contest of wills with Lucy. Never again admire her astonishing eyes. Never again feel the remarkable touch of her hand on his elbow. He lingered in the darkness with his head hanging low before turning in the direction of his lodging on Bow Street.
Chapter Fourteen
Lucy refused to leave her chambers for three days, accepting trays delivered to her door but returning them mostly untouched. Several times, the duchess tried to reason with her, to no avail. During the isolation, her thoughts kept returning to Henry’s bemused expression that evening as Isabella and the others tore her limb from limb. His blithe lack of interest wounded her more deeply than any attack Lady Isabella had mounted. By the end of the third day, though, she rolled out of bed in disgust.
“Enough, Lucy. Show some pride. No man is worth this much misery.”
She dressed alone and wandered downstairs to find the surprised duchess in her favorite place.
“Lucy! You have risen from the dead.”
“So it seems. I grew bored of the poor company and sought better.”
“In that case, you must settle for mine.”
Lucy joined her in a nearby chair. After minutes of silence, the duchess threw up her hands. “My dear, I worry over you so.”
The plaintive statement tore at her heart. Her dinner party humiliation had likely blackened the Huntington name for all time. She noted with concern the woman’s drawn face, seemingly aged a decade in a few days. Guilt besieged Lucy over her part in the duchess’s misery. Her chin fell to her chest.
“Say what you will, Your Grace. I deserve it.”
The duchess paused with something akin to fear in her eyes. “Do you regret coming here? Do you regret your return to family?”
Lucy slowly shook her head. “No. How could I? Had I not come, I would not have experienced the pleasure of knowing you or the joy of your kindness toward me.”
“And yet you hide as a winter vole, tucked away from the world. This seems the very image of unhappy regret.”
She heaved a sigh. “You speak truth. Iamunhappy. These rules… They overwhelm me. I seem to choose incorrectly whether silent or conversational. I am inadequate in movement, ineloquent in spoken word, and insufficient in face and form. How can I satisfy rules that I barely comprehend?”
The duchess leaned nearer, her eyes misting. “My granddaughter, my dear. Nothing of you is inadequate, ineloquent, or insufficient. My breast swells with pride at your progress, your quick wit, and your tireless effort. As for face and form? I consider you second to none.”
A tremor wracked Lucy. She wished to leap from her chair, rush to the duchess, and lock her in a grateful embrace. Decorum kept her planted where she sat. “I am grateful for your kind words.”
The duchess frowned in consideration. “Will you leave now? Perhaps return to your old life?”
Lucy’s hands fidgeted in her lap and she chewed her lip while attempting to bring forth a lie that might comfort the old woman. She failed.
“I do not know. For that, I am deeply regretful.”
…
Henry’s annoyance grew with each passing day. Freed from his moral morass and the impossible mission of reforming Lucy, the weight of the world should have lifted from his shoulders. Instead, deep remorse and unquenchable longing seeped into his soul, lowering his spirits hour by hour. Even an overnight patrol along the Bristol highway failed to moderate the mounting darkness. Initially, he blamed a sense of failing an assignment, a rarity for him. However, he slowly realized that the source of his dismay was something different, something wholly unexpected. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw only Lucy’s wounded expression before she fled the dining hall, all pluck and spirit drained in the face of relentless ridicule. And now all he wanted was to see her again and perhaps set things right, despite the danger of slipping further downslope toward the abyss. Instead of seizing the opportunity to refocus on his mission of redemption, he allowed himself to be drawn toward an all-consuming flame. It was with astonishment, then, that he rode toward Grosvenor Street three days after the disastrous dinner party, questioning himself aloud and drawing suspicious stares from passersby.
“What are you doing, Henry Beaumont? Leave well enough alone, muttonhead.”
He did not heed his self-advice and soon arrived at the house of the Duchess of Ramsbury. He rapped the door sharply. When it opened, Hawes regarded him with some surprise and mild approval.
“If you will allow me to pass, Hawes, I must speak to Her Grace about the completion of our agreement.”
“Come inside, sir. I will summon the mistress.”
Henry waited in the parlor, nervously pacing the floor. The duchess soon found him. “Mr. Beaumont! Your presence is most unexpected.”
