Yes, his largesse. Which grows smaller every day.
“You’ve made my temples ache.” Sally’s heels clicked on the floor as she sailed from the drawing room, still chuckling softly. “A governess. Just imagine.”
Lucy inhaled through her nose. Clutched at her skirts. Refrained from chucking a small, hideous statue of a frog at Sally’s departing back. Once the sound of her steps faded, Lucy sat down once more.
I’m not good at rebellion.
Defiance was not part of her nature—and if it had once been, it had long ago been snuffed out. When Mama had declared one spring day that there was no pleasing Gerald Waterstone and she no longer wished to try, Father had scoffed.
If you don’t care to please me, then leave.
Mama had taken him at his word and run off with her lover. Father had spewed the most…vilethings about her mother. He’d drunk far too much brandy. Ceased being the man who’d once taken Lucy to the park and shown her how to fly a kite. Or tickled her before bedtime. Her obedience was the only thing that made him smile.
You love me, Lucy. You’ll never disappoint me.
She’d tried not to, terrified to lose the only parent she had.
When Father had hired Miss Capwitch to teach Lucy how to be a proper young lady and rid her of the terrible, horrible lisp, she had been overjoyed. Miss Capwitch would fix her. Father would be proud.
The governess had taught Lucy how to focus on the shape of her mouth. Her tongue. Her teeth. To exercise composure. Breathe slowly. Eventually, the lisp had become so faint, one could barely hear it…unless Father entered the room. At the least sign of annoyance or disapproval from him, Lucy’s tongue would stick to the back of her teeth no matter Miss Capwitch’s instruction. He demanded she stay silent. If she must speak, let it be in a whisper.
Miss Capwitch was sacked.
Lucy embraced silence.
And she’d been silent ever since. Still. Invisible. Father was pleased. He would go on for hours, speaking of his business schemes while she scoured books and newspapers for information that might help him. She’d learned much. Made quiet suggestions. Became useful. Accepted this was her purpose, and she had been content.
She stared at the gardens rapidly falling into disarray outside the window.
Her first true act of defiance had been ignoring Father’s demand to keep her distance from Harrison Estwood at Granby’s house party. But Father had promptly stamped out her rebellion as easily as he ground out a cheroot.
Her life had become smaller after that. Father’s dictates more stringent. He’d begun to court Sally, and Lucy had become less a daughter and more a tragic burden, her existence suffocating. And when her birthday had come and gone with not so much as a word—and certainly no bloody cake—she’d visited Mr. Hopps.
Lucy’s fingers twisted in her lap. Anger bloomed in her chest. A shocking, ugly burst of it. She loved her father, but she could no longer allow him to dictate her life.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. One of the maids entered, a girl Lucy had spied only in the kitchen scrubbing pans. She asked if Miss Waterstone would care for tea.
No, she didn’t want any bloody tea and waved the girl away.
Toying with a book, Lucy studied the page before her, weighing the words to use when she confronted Father about Dufton. She must remind Father that she could not be forced, as she was no longer a child. Inform him of Dufton’s ill intent.
Twenty minutes later, the same maid returned, asking once more if Miss Waterstone wanted tea.
“No.” Lucy stood. “I do not want tea.” What she needed was air and to be alone with her thoughts, not hounded incessantly. Why was the girl hovering? And why wasn’t she in the kitchens?
Marching past the maid, Lucy exited the house and felt better the instant she stepped into the gardens, though the beds were a disaster and weeds sprouted everywhere. She doubted Mr. Milner was ever returning. Taking a deep breath of the rose-scented air, Lucy studied each hedge that needed trimming, noting the roses had grown wild and taken over one corner of the garden.
Stopping to admire a struggling spray of lilies, Lucy turned, catching sight of the same maid who had been so determined to bring her tea darting behind a maple tree. When Lucy moved farther down the short path to a stone bench, the girl followed at a discreet distance.
Oh, good grief.
Lucy spun on her heel. She had been planning to discuss Dufton with Father this evening but now would serve as good a time as any. The insanity of having her every step dogged by the maid had her seething.
How dare Sally have me followed about.
Determination surged through her veins. She had been hungry for years. Silent, so as not to embarrass Father. Her dowry, her only means of independence, stolen. Not to mention Estwood?—
You can’t possibly imagine I would welcome your attentions.
