Lucy lowered her eyes. “I asked you if it was true that you swam naked in the sea when you were young.”
Henry suppressed a surprised chuckle. The duchess’s voice hitched. “And what did I reply?”
“You said, ‘a lady never tells.’”
The duchess lifted her hands to gather the young woman to her and claim her with certainty. “My Margaret.”
Lucy returned the embrace with apparent unease. “Duchess.”
“Call me Grandmother.”
“Only if you call me Lucy, as Father did in your honor.”
The duchess maintained the embrace. “Of course, Lucy. Of course.”
Chapter Six
Lucy’s eyes wandered, absorbing every detail of the house as the duchess led her up the central staircase to the second floor. The forty-two-candle chandelier suspended above the entrance hall. The lengthy hallway at the top of the stairs running north to south, lined with paintings of the former dukes and duchesses of Ramsbury. The doors to well-appointed bedchambers dotting the walls along the way. Everything appeared as she remembered from her lone visit, years earlier, when her father had led her through the vacant house. However, now it seemed sadder, more worn, more disheveled, and neglected. She recalled, as if yesterday, her father’s misting eyes as he’d pondered the small rose garden on the patio, awash in memories. Regret filled Lucy that he’d never seen the house again.
“Here, my dear,” said the duchess. “These are your chambers.”
Lucy peeked tentatively into the room and stifled a gasp. A French bed encased by voluminous drapery dominated the room, flanked by an ornate bureau and reclining sofa. Pastel pink curtains framed a window, allowing ethereal light to permeate the space. Despite the dust suffusing the room, she stood briefly speechless.
“For me?”
“Yes. For you.”
She stepped inside with wide eyes. For the first time in years, she recalled what it was to live in such a place. Soft beds. Attentive servants. An endless supply of fine food and drink. The flood of memory nearly overwhelmed her.
“Thank you, Duchess.”
“Grandmother,” she reminded.
A young woman appeared at the doorway and curtsied. The duchess waved a hand toward her. “This is Miss Barrett, my lady’s maid. She will help you settle until I find a suitable attendant for you.”
Lucy attempted another curtsy in greeting to the young woman. The duchess’s hand shot out to grasp her arm. “You must never curtsy to a member of the staff.”
Lucy dipped her head. “My apologies. I am not accustomed to the rules of engagement.”
“Did your father not teach you?”
“No. Italy was different.”
Her eye caught Henry’s scrutiny. He remained in the hallway, watching the scene unfold with barely restrained amusement. She shot him a glare that rendered his handsome face stone. He bowed to the duchess. “If Her Grace agrees, I will wait in the parlor while you two…acquaint.”
The duchess nodded and he left. Despite Henry’s adversarial demeanor toward her, his abrupt absence left Lucy oddly adrift. Nerves captured her as she found herself alone with the austere woman. The duchess searched her face again. “What happened afterward, my dear? To where did you disappear for a decade?”
That was the question Lucy had dreaded most. She sighed. “Perhaps you should sit before I tell you.”
Alarm washed over the duchess’s face, and she perched on the sofa with trembling hands. “I am listening.”
Lucy clenched her fists. “A highwayman found me. He intended to keep me isolated a short while to prevent my disclosing the truth of his misdeed. When Father died, a short while stretched into a decade.”
In a manner very unbecoming of nobility, the duchess let her jaw go slack with surprise. “A highwayman? A common criminal?”
“A criminal, yes, but common, no. He was a castaway from a noble house, driven by vengeance to rob the rich and share his bounty with the poor. A Robin Hood of sorts.”
“And did this man…did this man ever…”
