As Lucy complied, Henry saw the duchess’s stony shell begin to crack. Her hand rose halfway to her heart and stopped. She accepted the locket from Lucy and held it to her chest. After a few seconds, her hands returned to her lap, clutching the necklace.
“Did you steal this?” A chaotic blend of hopeful accusation shaped the question.
Lucy stood tall and replied with far too much offense. “Of course not.”
Henry nearly leaped forward to stop the unfolding social travesty, but the duchess had already proceeded to the next question, her eyes flashing.
“Did you find it?”
“No. Why would you accuse me of such morally derelict behavior without knowing me?”
The duchess appeared ready to call down the judgment of heaven on Lucy, taken aback by the young woman’s unconscionable forwardness with a person of her rank. However, her scrutiny shifted several times between Lucy and the necklace. Her eyes widened with seeming epiphany, and she appeared to tamp down a flare of emotion.
“Then tell me, girl, where did you come by this locket?”
Gone was her former combative tone, replaced by soft inquiry. Henry stepped alongside Lucy to offer a silent prompt. She hesitated only briefly.
“From my father. He told me the locket signified House Huntington and the Duke of Ramsbury, and that I should protect it at all costs.”
The duchess began to respond, but her voice caught. She cleared her throat carefully and tried again. “When? When did you receive this?”
“As highwaymen pursued our carriage, minutes before the vehicle tumbled into the Thames. Minutes before I escaped it and swam to shore.”
The duchess’s steely reserve shattered. Her eyes misted immediately and she reached one tentative hand toward Lucy.
“Margaret?” She uttered the name barely above a whisper. “Is that you?”
Henry watched in fascination as Lucy reached to touch the woman’s fingers. She smiled wanly. “Father called me Lucy, not Margaret.”
The duchess gasped. “Why?”
“Because Lucy was the name of a woman he greatly admired. That is all I know.”
Tears began falling from the older woman’s eyes as she reached with the other hand to pull Lucy nearer still. “Why, Lucy ismyname, child.”
Lucy’s eyes went wide with astonishment, and Henry was certain his expression mirrored hers. The duchess patted the sofa. “Come sit with me. Please.”
As she obeyed, Henry sat where he could observe the mismatched pair—one a regal duchess and the other practically raised by wolves. He shook his head in wonder at Lucy. If she was a wolf in lady’s clothing, she wore it astonishingly well. He tugged at his cravat and shifted his attention to the duchess, who was exploring Lucy’s face as if memorizing it.
“As you know, child, we have never met.”
“Yes, my lady. Father regretted that I never set foot in England until the age of nine. The one occasion when we visited this house, you and the duke were not in residence.”
The duchess nodded. “Though we have never met, my granddaughter did write me one time on the occasion of her eighth birthday. Do you recall?”
“Yes.”
“She asked me a very unusual question. Do you remember what that question was?”
Lucy glanced away with uncertainty. “I do not know.”
Hope began draining from the older woman’s eyes as the clock ticked, ticked, ticked. Then Lucy faced her again.
“I do not know if I should repeat the question in the presence of a man.” She tossed a glance at Henry. The duchess nodded with the slightest of smiles.
“He will remain discreet. Will you not, Mr. Beaumont?”
Henry leaned forward with immense curiosity. “Of course.”
