The Twelfth Enchantment: A Novel by David Liss Page B

herself for dreaming a child’s dreams of love and happiness.
    “I have not the luxury of deciding who is worthy,” Lucy answered, not troubling herself to hide her irritation.
    “You have more options than you know,” said Byron airily.

    When they returned to Uncle Lowell’s house, Lucy did not know what to do. She could not invite him in, for her uncle and Mrs. Quince to see. Nor could she simply send Byron away without risking rudeness. Her decision was made for her, however, as Mrs. Quince awaited her outside the house.
    “Look at this,” she said, setting her hands upon her hips. “Water rises to its own level, as they say. In this instance, it is the level of a gutter.”
    Lucy could think of nothing to say, but Byron bowed low to Mrs. Quince. “Mrs. Quince, if memory serves, and memory always serves well when it is beauty to be recalled.”
    She snorted. “I am not fooled by your nonsense, and I have no use for titled profligates. Come, girl. Your uncle wants you within, and asked that this gentleman accompany you.”
    Byron followed her inside, and there they found not only Uncle Lowell, but Mr. Olson as well. He did not appear surprised to see Byron, so Lucy surmised some neighbor had told him of Byron’s visit.
    Olson rushed to his feet with a rapidity that could only signal belligerence.“
Lord
Byron,” he said, as though the title were but an affectation. “I demand you declare your intentions toward this lady. What do you mean by walking with Miss Derrick?”
    Byron bowed once more. “What I mean is to talk to her, and as the weather is fine, we chose to talk out of doors. However, I must point out that it pains me to answer your questions, as we have not been introduced.”
    Mr. Olson did not much like this response. “I am Walter Olson, and I know you are aware of my intention to marry this lady.”
    “But I am not aware of any reason that your intentions are my concern,” Byron replied.
    “Then let us speak of
your
intentions toward Miss Derrick,” Mr. Olson said.
    Lucy observed that Byron but poorly hid his discomfort. He must now either propose marriage on the spot or declare he did not want her. Of course, men cannot be held accountable to all the women they do not marry, but neither should they be made to tell each one to her face that she has not been chosen.
    “I have never before today spoken at length with Miss Derrick. It is absurd to ask such a question of me.”
    Of course he was right, but Lucy would have hoped for a less timid response. He was not a schoolboy, he was a peer, a member of the House of Lords, a
poet
. He was, by his own accounting, and by Lucy’s, an impressive man, and yet he chose not to be impressive now. She understood his reasons, but she wished he might have said something else.
    “And,” added Byron, “my intentions are my own concern, and Miss Derrick’s. Certainly not yours.”
    It took all of Lucy’s will to suppress a smile. This was what she had hoped for. A hint—no more than a hint—of what was to come. It was enough for now, surely.
    “It seems to me that you have no more to offer my niece than a lot of romantical fluffery,” said Uncle Lowell, pronouncing his edict from his chair with all the gravity of an ancient lawgiver. “I beg you will excuseus. There are some private matters at hand, and we do not choose to speak of them in the company of strangers.”
    Lucy blushed with mortification. Byron said he would leave for London in a day or two, and she did not know if she would see him again. “Allow me to see him out,” said Lucy.
    “Ungston will tend to that,” said Uncle Lowell. “You may sit, Lucy.”
    Though she shook with rage, Lucy was prepared to do as she was told. Byron, however, approached her and took both her hands.
    “As we cannot say our good-byes in private, we must do so in public.” As if interpreting her expression, he added, “I shall call upon you before I depart the county.” He then bowed to the rest of