Page 44 of Everything a Lady is Not
Isabella’s forehead creased with the verbal shot, but quickly smoothed. Lucy braced for a countermove.
“This gentleman, I assume, is a relative of yours?”
“No, he is not.”
As expected, Miss Braye and Miss Wharton expressed dramatic disbelief by covering their surprised mouths with gloved hands and exchanging shocked glances. Isabella blinked slowly as a wry smile crept across her face. “That sounds positively scandalous! Some would call the man unscrupulous for housing a young girl not his relative. They might even call you the same by association.”
“Lady Isabella,” the duchess interrupted, “I think we have had quite enough of this type of questioning.”
Lucy waved a hand. “All is well, Your Grace. I do not mind answering these questions. The information will come to light eventually, so why not now?”
The duchess nodded, perhaps observing the spark in Lucy’s eyes. “Very well, then.”
Lucy pinned Isabella with a hard stare. “I quite agree that some would find the situation unscrupulous. Especially those lacking scruples.”
Isabella’s smile faded, and Lucy pressed ahead before the shrew could attack again.
“In fact, the man took charge of me as my guardian and protector after my father’s passing. He took that duty very seriously and executed it with the utmost propriety and vigor. Unlike those who might judge him, his scruples regarding propriety were above reproach.”
“What of your education, then?” Isabella’s question hinted impatience. “In such a remote place? While your lack of finishing school is a matter of simple observation, I assume you had a governess? Or perhaps private tutors?”
Lucy straightened with pride. “No. The gentleman taught me everything he knew, and I taught myself the rest by reading and questioning everyone I met.”
“Is that so? What sort of knowledge did he and a pile of books impart to you?”
“Literature. History. Philosophy. Theology. Astronomy, chemistry, and horticulture.” She paused, deciding not to add her coarser knowledge, such as how to spot a cheat, jimmy a door, or swing a foil. “Let me see…also bookkeeping, architecture, classical debate, elements of common law…”
“Those are positively manly pursuits,” said Isabella. “Although befitting of your general presentation, they are unsuited to your newfound status. Did you not learn anything of feminine pursuits?”
Lucy dipped her head humbly. “You must forgive me, then. I did not know feminine pursuits included general ignorance and rumormongering. I thank you for so ably mentoring me in that regard.”
Isabella recoiled from the barely concealed ridicule. She quickly recovered, however, and sighed. “I fear that undoing your education is too difficult a task. One cannot restore silk once the moth has corrupted it.”
“Yes, of course,” Warwick injected. After swallowing his wine, he added, “A pig in silk is still a pig, no matter what one calls it.”
Lucy held a palm to the duchess to prevent her agitation from growing and pretended Warwick’s remark did not sting, even though she cringed inside. She hoped her act might prove convincing but doubted as much.
“Thank you, Lord Warwick. You are nearly as kind as Lady Isabella.”
“Perhaps we should converse on a different subject for a while,” said Henry. “The fare is delicious, don’t you think?”
Conversation drifted from there, but twice more during the main course, Isabella probed maliciously into Lucy’s mysterious past. True to her plan, Lucy avoided revealing the more damaging details of her exile and even managed to land a few soft insults while simultaneously feigning appreciation for the interest. However, each of the episodes drove her spirits lower. Several times she looked to Henry for help and support, but he offered none. In fact, he seemed amused by the banter, either unaware of her pain or simply uncaring of it.
With the arrival of dessert, she began to believe she might survive the evening with both her reputation and emotions intact. However, Isabella proved relentless.
“Tell me, Lady Margaret,” she said as a lioness might inquire of its prey. “Her Grace says you will entertain the interest of suitors soon. What sort of man do you desire?”
All other conversation ceased and every face turned to regard Lucy, some filled with hopes of decorum and others with desire for scandal. Regardless, everyone waited with interest for her next words, none seemingly more than Henry.
“I do not know,” she said.
“Come, now.” Isabella seemed to abandon all concern for the duchess’s feelings. “I understand your coarseness and lack of refinement are befitting of a farmer or blacksmith’s wife, but surely you aspire for more given your recent good fortune of returning to House Huntington. To what do you aspire?”
“Really, I have not given the matter much thought.”
Warwick laughed. “Of course, you have. All women do, as such activity is inherent to their frivolous natures. If I did not know better, I might believe you prefer the attention of rakes and rogues over those of gentlemen.”
The demeaning tone piqued her anger. “Sir, I do not. I prefer an intelligent man to a self-important oaf. A man who is kind and considerate, and appreciative of my qualities and nature. If he is also pleasing to the eye, then I consider that serendipitous.”
