Page 72 of Fortune Favors the Viscount
Only at the last door did Lucy halt. “That’s a bad room,” she told Nick, her voice faltering.
“Is it?” He nodded and raised his lantern. “I won’t have that. We must reclaim it.” He opened the door and walked inside.
Lucy ran to Emilia, who took the lantern and put her arm around the girl.
“I see what you mean, Lucinda,” called Nick from inside the study. “This room is an abomination.”
“A disgrace,” whispered Emilia as Lucy looked to her in fearful question.
“It needs,” went on Nick, “a large bucket of soapy water, applied with a mop.” Light filtered out to them; he was throwing open the shutters on the tall windows. “And a broom.” More light. “And a solid week’s worth of dusting.” Now Emilia could see into the room, the midnight blue carpet on the floor, the dark walnut paneling. Lucy crowded closer, her face pressed into Emilia’s side.
“And most importantly,” called Nick dramatically, “fresh air!”
She felt the whoosh of air, which felt like a pent-up breath being released. Behind them, Charlotte and James were coming up the stairs, wondering at how dark it was.
Emilia waited until Charlotte and James had gone into the room. “Shall we go in?” she whispered. Lucy’s face was stark white in the lantern light, but after a moment she gave a tiny nod. Emilia held her close as they started forward.
This had been Lord Sydenham’s study, where he sat smoking for hours, then drinking until he passed out on the chaise. It was where he summoned servants to shout at them and sack them. It was where he dragged his daughter when he was in his worst moods, slapping her until she cried and snarling that he’d never wanted a daughter and couldn’t wait to be rid of her. It was where he’d been found dead one frosty morning last fall, crumpled on the hearthrug. As she passed through the tall doorway, Emilia saw the scar in the wood, left by a knife Lord Sydenham had once thrown at the butler.
She herself had been summoned here on a few occasions; the viscount had been furious about expenses for clothing and books, snarling that a girl child had no need to learn. She’d thought he might have wanted to throw something at her, too, but by then all his books and objets d’art had vanished, and he’d settled for shouting, calling her names and then roaring at her to get out of his sight.
In her memory the study was grim and gray, reeking of pipe smoke and the oppressive stench of the chamber pot Sydenham had kept under his desk. Today the stale smoky smell lingered, but the rest of it was far less ominous than she had feared it would be, with the windows open and a fresh, warm breeze wafting in.
Nick paced the room, hands on hips. “I take it this was Sydenham’s private domain.”
Emilia nodded, but Lucy spoke. “Yes,” she said in a quavering voice. “It’s my father’s study.” She paused. “It’s a terrible room.”
Nick nodded firmly. “There will be no terrible rooms as long as I own Beaufort Hall.”
“No, none,” said Charlotte gently, to Lucy. “Miss Greene, were there ever balls held here?”
“I—I don’t know,” she said in surprise.
“I ask because the room opposite this one looks rather like a ballroom, don’t you think?” the girl went on. “Of course it’s not fit now, but perhaps...”
Nick raised his brows. “Already planning fêtes and house parties?”
She smiled sheepishly and took Lucy’s hand. “Why not? This house will be beautiful when it’s properly fixed up, and I think a party would be just the thing to make it cheerier.”
He looked around—at the room, at his sister, at Lucy bravely holding her hand, at Emilia standing with her hands unconsciously clasped in hope. “Yes,” he said, gazing into her eyes so intently she felt it from across the room. “Yes, it might.”
“What’s this?” James lifted something from the mantel. Emilia barely had time to identify it before Lucy let out a low moan and bolted from the room. Emilia thrust her lantern at a startled Charlotte and flew after her.
She caught Lucy at the bottom of the stairs. “Come,” she said, pulling the girl into a tight hug. “No one will hurt you,” she whispered fiercely as Lucy’s whole body shook. Emilia sank down onto the stair, Lucy sliding into her lap and clinging with all her might.
They sat there for several minutes, Emilia rocking gently back and forth, her heart throbbing. She’d worried about this.
Someone sat down beside her. It was James. “I’m sorry, Lucy,” he said quietly.
She peeked at him through her hair. “I know,” she whispered.
James lifted the offensive item. It was a short riding crop, the handle weighted with lead, the leather end split and frayed. Sydenham had carried it, liable to lash anyone or anything with it as he passed. Lucy shrank from the sight of it, but James took out his knife and with one hard crack, sliced the crop in two.
“No one will harm you here,” said Nick from behind them. “I give you my word.”
Lucy looked at Charlotte, who huddled beside her brother. “Promise?”
Charlotte nodded solemnly. “Nick keeps his promises, Lucy. Shall I tell you how he kept his promise to me, that I would always be safe?”
