Lucy unfolded the paper, squinting to read Harry’s writing. Scribbles, indeed. His penmanship left much to be desired. No more than a haphazard scrawl. She had to read through it twice to make out one or two nearly illegible words. Harry had gone to meet with his solicitor and would return late this afternoon from what she could tell.
“Once I’m dressed, can you ask Bartle to have the carriage brought around? The Duchess of Granby has asked that I call upon her.” Lucy would thank Romy and also leave a note with her friend for Rosalind, expressing appreciation for the lemon cake.
“Of course, of course. I’ll inform Mr. Bartle.” Mrs. Bartle bustled about, disappearing to instruct Lizzie once more beforereturning in a burst of lemony scented steam. “I believe your bath is ready, Mrs. Estwood.”
Later that day,Lucy found herself humming as she made her way down the steps of the Duke of Granby’s home after a lovely visit with Romy. She absently patted her stomach, stuffed from an assortment of cakes, scones, and other pastries, all from Pennyfoil’s. How pleasant it was to enjoy a biscuit without having it snatched from your fingers. Or to put honey in tea without judgement.
Thus far, her first day as a married woman had been…lovely. Harry’s household staff was pleasant, friendly, and clearly worshipped her husband. Best of all, no one followed her about. Romy, bless her, had cautiously broached the subject of marital relations, inquiring if Lucy needed any…direction.
She stumbled on the last step, nearly dizzy with anticipation of what tonight would bring.
Lucy wasn’t afraid, not of Harry nor of what would happen in the marital bed and assured her friend that she was aware of the particulars. She took a deep breath, smiling to herself as she approached the carriage. There was a lightness to the day, the worry over Dufton and Father having faded into the background, at least for the present.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and Lucy paused, thinking it might be one of Romy’s footmen.
“There you are, Mrs. Estwood. I’ve come to offer congratulations.”
19
Lucy immediately took a step back as Lord Dufton placed himself between her and Harry’s carriage. She looked up and down the street, dismayed to find her driver, Rory, not sitting atop the carriage where he should have been. Her mood from seconds ago, spoiled.
Where is Rory?
Blindingly handsome in the sunlight, Dufton’s sly smile told her he’d like nothing more than to grab Lucy and flee. But even he wouldn’t dare to snatch her from the front of the Duke of Granby’s home. In the earl’s perfectly gloved hands, he held a beautiful bouquet of peonies. “For you.”
Lucy wasn’t overly fond of peonies. Or Dufton.
She opened her mouth to scream, alerting the duke’s staff or her driver, who had disappeared, but just as quickly clamped her lips shut. Not only did she not yell, or shriek in general, but—Lucy straightened her shoulders—Dufton could do nothing to her. He’d lost Marsden and harming her wouldn’t give it to him.
“My, my, where did my docile lamb disappear to?”
“My lord. How strange to find you outside the Duke of Granby’s,” Lucy said clearly. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted.” Her voice was low. Soft. But not a whisper.
I am tired of requiring rescue.
“We aren’t. Granby is far too stoic to suit me. I planned to call upon you at your new home but caught you leaving to pay a call. I simply had to chase you down and offer my congratulations.” The charming smile never wavered.
Lucy refused to be cowed. Dufton and his threats were now meaningless. The duke’s front door was mere steps away. She was safely wed and out of his reach. Clutching at her skirts, she instructed her hands to stop shaking.
“How kind.”
“Your father came to see me this morning. Poor man. He won’t do well in impoverishment.” Dufton looked positively mournful. “You realize Gerald Waterstone’s privileged existence is coming to an end. He may even end up in debtor’s prison. All because of you,pet. But his fate can be changed, and you have the power to do so.”
Guilt tugged at her until she remembered that Harry now possessed most of Father’s debts and would give him a fair price for Pendergast. Far better than any offer of Dufton’s. “Doubtful.”
“Estwood must have taught you how to use your tongue properly.” There was an edge to the words. “But you don’t have to remain wed, dear Lucy. At least, not to Estwood.” He took a step closer, making her skin crawl. “I have powerful friends. Waterstone insists you were coerced, and I quite agree. After all,” he laughed. “Who on earth would believe you wouldn’t rather wedme?”
“A great many would, my lord. Your reputation is well known. Nor have I forgotten your threat to send me to a sanitarium.”
“Bah.” Dufton shrugged his expensively clad shoulders. “A jest, nothing more.”
“Yes, I’m sure your previous wife found you highly amusing.”
The dazzling smile faltered, eyes losing their cheerful sheen. “We’ll tell everyone this was nothing more than a lover’s quarrel. The dowager thinks that a good explanation to avoid gossip. You overreacted.”
Lucy nodded slowly. “So that you may claim me addled later.”
Dufton’s nostrils flared. “But now…” His voice held some menace. “You’ve come to your senses. You realize marrying Estwood was done out of anger. The annulment can be accomplished with little effort with the proper assistance. Think how pleased your father will be. He won’t have to sell his horse farm.”
