hardly dared breathe.
Bertha crossed her arms over her prodigious bosom and pouted. “I searched the entire garden not an hour ago, Mama. Perhaps she is gone for good, and we shall all be the happier for it. You always say she is a millstone about your neck, as mad as her father before her and as likely to bring ruin upon us. With any luck, she has sunk to the bottom of the Thames.”
Lucy bristled at the slur against her father’s memory, but prudence held her tongue.
“Hush, you foolish girl.” The duchess was eyeing the little folly she’d ordered built in the center of the garden. To make room for the picturesque eyesore, she’d had Lucy’s mother’s roses removed. “If you had any sense, you would know that Lucy’s presence in our home accounts for many of our social invitations. She is a Charming by birth, a fact that these high sticklers in London make a great deal of, even if her father was a madman. If we lose her, you may no longer have the opportunity to snare a marquess.”
“A marquess?” Bertha snorted. “You have overused your sal volatile again, Mama. After three seasons, neither Esmie nor I have received an offer from so much as a mister. ”
Lucy would have laughed at Bertha’s shrewd answer, but the duchess’s attack upon her father lit a flame of anger. The duchess shot her daughter a withering look. “Do you think I am made of pound notes? If it were not for the duke’s heir allowing us to use this house in his absence, we should find ourselves returned to Nottingham, where you would be obliged to simper at Squire Barnston. You take my meaning very well, I am sure.”
Lucy’s fingers trembled where she grasped the branch of the hedge. With a deep breath, she stepped from behind the shrubbery. “Yes, madam. We all take your meaning quite well. We always do.”
“Lucy!” her stepmother shrieked and grasped Bertha’s arm for balance.
“Lucy!” her stepsister echoed, her face pale. At least Bertha had the grace to appear shamefaced at the sentiments they’d been expressing. Her stepmother, however, recovered quickly, drawing herself up to her full height.
“You have gone too far this time, Lucy Charming.” She dropped her grasp on Bertha and seized Lucy’s arm instead. “As if your father had not blackened the family name sufficiently, you will bring scandal down upon us all. We can only hope that you were not seen fleeing my home with a servant.” Her fingers dug into the flesh of Lucy’s upper arm. “If you are compromised, if you ruin my daughters’ prospects, I will beat you black and blue. I swear it.”
Lucy winced at her stepmother’s grip and stumbled along the path behind her as the duchess towed her toward the house. “I have not been compromised,” she protested, although her heartbeat skipped with guilt at the lie. If her escapades of the last day and night were known, society would indeed consider her virtue beyond repair. They entered the kitchen, and Cook looked up in surprise, her pale, rheumy eyes widening when she saw Lucy in the duchess’s grasp.
“Lady Lucy,” she said, smiling. “‘Tis good that yer back.”
“Yes, it is very well that she has returned,” the duchess barked, “but it is no concern of yours. I am afraid that Lucy will not be able to help you today, Cook. I have need of her elsewhere.”
Lucy sputtered a protest, but her stepmother continued up the stairs, dragging Lucy in her wake. It was only when they had climbed to the attic, the duchess having ordered Bertha to return to the sitting room, that Lucy realized her stepmother’s intentions.
“No.” She strained against her stepmother’s grip, but the duchess’s hand had the strength of a vulture’s claws.
“Yes, indeed. And you will remain here until you are prepared to give a full account of your whereabouts since yesterday.”
The duchess threw open a door and thrust her into a dark, narrow room. “Here you shall stay until you divulge the secrets you
Bertha crossed her arms over her prodigious bosom and pouted. “I searched the entire garden not an hour ago, Mama. Perhaps she is gone for good, and we shall all be the happier for it. You always say she is a millstone about your neck, as mad as her father before her and as likely to bring ruin upon us. With any luck, she has sunk to the bottom of the Thames.”
Lucy bristled at the slur against her father’s memory, but prudence held her tongue.
“Hush, you foolish girl.” The duchess was eyeing the little folly she’d ordered built in the center of the garden. To make room for the picturesque eyesore, she’d had Lucy’s mother’s roses removed. “If you had any sense, you would know that Lucy’s presence in our home accounts for many of our social invitations. She is a Charming by birth, a fact that these high sticklers in London make a great deal of, even if her father was a madman. If we lose her, you may no longer have the opportunity to snare a marquess.”
“A marquess?” Bertha snorted. “You have overused your sal volatile again, Mama. After three seasons, neither Esmie nor I have received an offer from so much as a mister. ”
Lucy would have laughed at Bertha’s shrewd answer, but the duchess’s attack upon her father lit a flame of anger. The duchess shot her daughter a withering look. “Do you think I am made of pound notes? If it were not for the duke’s heir allowing us to use this house in his absence, we should find ourselves returned to Nottingham, where you would be obliged to simper at Squire Barnston. You take my meaning very well, I am sure.”
Lucy’s fingers trembled where she grasped the branch of the hedge. With a deep breath, she stepped from behind the shrubbery. “Yes, madam. We all take your meaning quite well. We always do.”
“Lucy!” her stepmother shrieked and grasped Bertha’s arm for balance.
“Lucy!” her stepsister echoed, her face pale. At least Bertha had the grace to appear shamefaced at the sentiments they’d been expressing. Her stepmother, however, recovered quickly, drawing herself up to her full height.
“You have gone too far this time, Lucy Charming.” She dropped her grasp on Bertha and seized Lucy’s arm instead. “As if your father had not blackened the family name sufficiently, you will bring scandal down upon us all. We can only hope that you were not seen fleeing my home with a servant.” Her fingers dug into the flesh of Lucy’s upper arm. “If you are compromised, if you ruin my daughters’ prospects, I will beat you black and blue. I swear it.”
Lucy winced at her stepmother’s grip and stumbled along the path behind her as the duchess towed her toward the house. “I have not been compromised,” she protested, although her heartbeat skipped with guilt at the lie. If her escapades of the last day and night were known, society would indeed consider her virtue beyond repair. They entered the kitchen, and Cook looked up in surprise, her pale, rheumy eyes widening when she saw Lucy in the duchess’s grasp.
“Lady Lucy,” she said, smiling. “‘Tis good that yer back.”
“Yes, it is very well that she has returned,” the duchess barked, “but it is no concern of yours. I am afraid that Lucy will not be able to help you today, Cook. I have need of her elsewhere.”
Lucy sputtered a protest, but her stepmother continued up the stairs, dragging Lucy in her wake. It was only when they had climbed to the attic, the duchess having ordered Bertha to return to the sitting room, that Lucy realized her stepmother’s intentions.
“No.” She strained against her stepmother’s grip, but the duchess’s hand had the strength of a vulture’s claws.
“Yes, indeed. And you will remain here until you are prepared to give a full account of your whereabouts since yesterday.”
The duchess threw open a door and thrust her into a dark, narrow room. “Here you shall stay until you divulge the secrets you
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