Page 79 of Everything a Lady is Not
“And the magistrate. Will he accept your recommendation?”
Her blood ran cold when Sir Hugh frowned. He sighed. “Sir Nathaniel is a rigid man. I wish I could give you assurance, but I just don’t know.”
Lucy’s heart fell further before a voice called out from her left. “I do know. And he already has.”
She and Henry spun as one to face none other than Steadman as he sauntered into the ballroom. Her jaw went slack. The arrival of the king of the fairies could not have left her more surprised. When Steadman reached her, he produced a letter from his coat pocket and waved it overhead for all to see. “I hold in my hand a letter from Sir Nathaniel Conant, magistrate of Bow Street, who is responsible for the investigation of the robbery at Shooter’s Hill.”
He handed it to a startled Lord Garvey to examine.
“Seems authentic,” the old man said. “The magistrate’s seal remains intact.”
Lord Garvey returned the letter to Steadman. Her former ward opened the letter and read the contents in silence while Lucy watched with pent breath, wondering what this meant for her. Was it an accusation? An arrest warrant? Steadman finally began reading a portion of the letter aloud.
“Sir Nathaniel writes, ‘After a thorough interrogation of many witnesses and parties knowledgeable of Lady Margaret Huntington’s presence at Shooter’s Hill on the day in question, the office of Bow Street has determined that she was a prisoner of the gang and otherwise uninvolved in the crime. As such, this office absolves her of any wrongdoing in the unfortunate event, and instead commends her courage for surviving the ordeal and holds her up as the very model of noble fortitude.’”
A wave of deliverance washed over Lucy, threatening to buckle her knees. Henry caught an elbow to steady her. Charlotte and the duchess beamed while the remaining guests erupted into surprised chatter. All except James, who stood as a simmering volcano with arms crossed. Lucy shook her head to free it from fog and gaped anew at Steadman.
“How did you get this letter?”
“An interesting story,” he replied. “I’ll bore you with the details later. However, suffice it to say that young Henry’s efforts to gain my cooperation succeeded. Though seemingly futile, his insistent request lit a fuse that blew apart my blasted pride.” His voice caught and he paused before flashing a smile. “So, imagine my surprise when I surrendered to Bow Street, confessed my crimes, and negotiated your innocence.”
Lucy shook her head in disbelief. The Beau Monde Highwayman had turned himself in after fifteen years. For her. And Henry had instigated the entire event. For her. Tears of gratitude threatened. “I owe you both a debt.”
Henry shook his head and gently cupped her chin. “No, Lucy. It is I who owes you. I am the one who is saved.”
James’s volcano erupted. “You are beyond salvation! You are a fiend who has trampled our family name in the dust for too long. You are…”
“Shut up, James!”
Lucy’s eyes went wide as she stared at Charlotte. The eternally joyful sister glared at James with gritted teeth. “Henry possesses more character than ten of you. You are the one who sullies our parents’ names, and I will bear witness to it no longer. I insist you leave my home at first light and do not bother to return.”
James returned Charlotte’s glare, though with some uncertainty. After a silent stalemate that sucked the air from the room, he spun about and departed the ballroom. Silence held in his wake until Steadman chuckled.
“Odious man. Now, Mr. Beaumont, you were preparing to extol Lucy’s virtues?”
Henry laughed. “I was.” His eyes met hers again, lit with strange fire. “From the moment we met on the road, my life has become a chaotic run of madness and passion. Each passing day revealed your magnificence like a sculpture emerging from a block of marble. Your courage. Your determination. Your wit and intelligence. Your ability to sift the absurd from the rational. I rise each day with only one thought. What will Lucy do today? What will she say to me today? But mostly I have come to believe what you seem to doubt. That you are beautiful in face and form and in here.”
With those last words, Henry touched his chest. Hearing such praise from the man who was once her adversary threatened to unlock her heart and send it soaring. However, a final doubt held flight at bay. “But what of your destiny? What of your belief that you are a doomed man?”
He smiled and stroked her chin. “I was wrong. How can a man who loves you so deeply ever be lost?Youare my destiny. You are my hope. And I would have you as my wife, now and forever, if you would have me.”
He winced slightly, apparently expecting the worst. But she knew her answer before he finished speaking. She had known for weeks. “I love it when you admit you are wrong. Almost as much as I love you. And I will be your wife.”
His wince transformed into a speechless sunbeam. The duchess clapped and radiated a smile at Lucy before turning to address the guests. “I thank you for your participation in our gathering and consider all of you friends who may call on me at any time. As of now, however, the matter of matrimony is settled.”
As chatter over the startling events exploded around them, Henry pulled Lucy from the room and through the sprawl of the house to the rear entrance. He took a lantern from a sconce and led her onto the moonlit back patio. Her senses reeled as she considered the events of the past hour and how her future had bloomed as a result. In the moonlight, Henry smiled at her, seemingly unable to speak. She forged a path into the silence.
“You realize, Henry, that you are likely the only wet nurse in the world with a title because of it.”
He laughed deeply. “And a medal. Do not forget my medal.”
“Oh, yes. How could I forget the medal? I believe it would terrify small children if left lying about.”
He chuckled and touched her cheek. “Then I shall keep it locked away to spare our children the horror.”
Her breath caught with those last words.Our children. She gripped his hands tightly and beamed up at his shadowed face. He grinned back, unabashedly as an addled schoolboy. He leaned his forehead toward her and whispered. “Thank you, my lady.”
The whisper melted into a wonderfully inappropriate kiss, long, slow, and full of promise. He released her hands to encircle her waist, and she stretched upward. Her trembling hands climbed his shoulders to reunite in the unruly locks behind his neck. His musky fragrance invaded her senses, igniting pleasure that stirred her body and soul. In the throes of joy, she wondered how she could truly live without a lifetime of moments like these.
