Page 75 of Everything a Lady is Not
Henry brushed past him and burst through the door onto the front steps. He paused only long enough to determine how best to erase what he had done. His hand wandered up to grip the medal around his neck. He eyed it angrily. Empty, indeed. With a growl, he tore it from his neck and let it dangle for the space of several breaths. Then he set a course for the creek where he had kissed Lucy earlier, intent on throwing the blasted thing into the current. What had been a source of amusement for Lucy now symbolized his utterly vile character and his inability to halt his slide into darkness. Until now, he had blamed his steady fall on his association with the ward of a criminal, glibly finding Lucy at fault for his moral conflict. But now, he saw the truth as clear as a crystal reflection. She was not to blame. She was pure, and forthright, and trustworthy, and altogether wonderful. If anything, his association with her had lifted him to a higher plain. Despite that, he had become his grandfather. He had bowed to his brother and, after one pitiful attempt to convince Steadman to clear her name, had broken every promise he’d ever made to her. To his best friend. To the woman he had fallen in love with. He was no less a cutthroat than his legacy demanded.
As he approached the creek, he clenched the medal tightly in his grip. After coming to a halt, he hauled back his arm to heave it into the water. A hand gripping his wrist interrupted his intent.
“Henry! Stop, for God’s sake.” The voice belonged to Sir Hugh. His breath was ragged from apparently running to catch him. Over his shoulder, Lord Garvey was approaching with a sheaf of papers in his hands, hurrying as fast as a man his age could.
Henry pried Sir Hugh’s hand from his wrist. “Leave me alone.”
Sir Hugh held up a palm of restraint, his face a map of alarmed puzzlement. “Why would you throw away something so precious?”
“Precious?” Annoyance boiled over in Henry and he thrust the medal beneath the knight’s nose. “This is just a medal. Just an overwrought concoction of gold and silver as meaningless as the one who wears it.”
Sir Hugh clasped Henry’s clenched fist with a gentle hand and shook his head in disbelief. “You really don’t know what this is, do you?”
Sir Hugh’s bafflement infected Henry. He peered at his Bow Street associate with narrowed eyes as Lord Garvey arrived, breathing hard.
“What are you talking about?” Henry asked.
Sir Hugh carefully removed the medal from Henry’s grip and held it up with both hands while mouthing silently the Portuguese words of inscription. Then his eyes met Henry’s. “When I saw you rush by with this displayed on your chest, I was initially surprised. Then I recalled what you had told me of your responsibilities in France. I called immediately for Lord Garvey to bring his documentation and then chased you here.”
Henry’s bewilderment deepened as he eyed his medal. “You recognize this awful thing?”
Sir Hugh held the medal briefly to his chest before returning it to Henry. “I do. What do you think it is?”
“Just a commendation for saving the life of a worthless Portuguese duke. They also gave me a letter, likely filled with flowery but empty phrases. I don’t read Portuguese, though.”
A smile split Sir Hugh’s face. “Well, sir, Idoread Portuguese. I served Lieutenant-Colonel George Elder during the Peninsular campaign. He received the same award and the same document, as did a few others of the British army. This is not ‘just a commendation.’ This medal that you seem to so despise is in reality the Portuguese Royal Order of the Tower and Sword.”
Henry repeated the words with skepticism. “Portuguese Royal Order…”
“Of the Tower and Sword. Yes. And what you describe as a mere ‘letter’ is not just that. It is a certificate of patent.”
Henry continued to stare in confusion. “What does that mean, man?”
“It means,” said Sir Hugh, “That in appreciation for your service to their family, the King of Portugal appointed you as an official knight of the Portuguese realm.”
The words of explanation tumbled through Henry’s brain. King? Royal order? Knight? He cocked his head dangerously to the right. “What does this mean?”
Lord Garvey stepped forward. “It means, Mr. Beaumont, that you are the holder of a royally bestowed title, and therefore, eligible to vie for Lady Margaret’s hand.”
Henry blinked five times. “But not a British title.”
“That does not matter.” Lord Garvey held up the portion of the late duke’s will explaining the conditions of the dowry. “The suitor must be British and hold a royally bestowed title. There is no stipulation that the title itself must be British.”
The rush of information threatened to overwhelm Henry. He shifted his gaze repeatedly between the two men, hoping for a lifeline. However, they just watched him drown in silence. He gazed again at the medal before catching Sir Hugh’s eyes.
“What should I do?”
Sir Hugh placed a hand gravely on his shoulder. “You are a knight now, Henry. You should begin behaving like one. And you may start by not throwing away precious things.”
He bowed and left with Lord Garvey in tow. Henry stood rooted to the earth, as if a tree awaiting the turn of a season.
…
Rapping on Lucy’s door prodded her again into motion. Had Henry come back? For an instant, her spirits lifted before she remembered his betrayal. She clenched her fists.
“What do you want?”
Whispering behind the door gave her pause. Then Charlotte’s voice sounded. “We wish only to inquire of your well-being.”
