“Accomplishments put on display highly prized character traits, such as diligence and emotional control, while drawing the eye to the lady’s fashion and form as she entertains.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “How interesting. But I puzzle still. Demonstrating for whom? Putting on display for whom? Drawing the eye of whom?”
Charlotte cocked an eyebrow. “For anyone of the male persuasion whose admiration you wish to capture, dear.”
“I see, then. An accomplishment is a clever device for capturing a husband.”
She distinctly heard Henry stifle a chuckle. Force of will restrained her from glaring at him.
“No, no,” said Charlotte. “Accomplishments are a reflection of the female persona.”
“Used for the purpose of capturing a husband,” Lucy said.
“No. Accomplishments reveal the glory that is a woman.”
“For the purpose of capturing a husband.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Accomplishments allow a woman to demonstrate her potential to Society…”
“For the purpose of capturing a husband.”
Henry swallowed a snicker, disguising it as a clearing of his throat. Charlotte cut indignant eyes at her younger brother.
“Henry Winston Beaumont. Have you something to say?”
“Nothing at all, dear sister. Dust from the road, you know.”
Charlotte returned her attention to Lucy. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed. “You are correct. Accomplishmentsaredesigned to catch a husband, only to lie fallow once the vows have been exchanged. But you must never admit this in public or risk earning the disdain of your female peers.”
Henry cleared his throat again, but this time for a purpose. He stood as the women looked to him. “My dear Charlotte, your enthusiasm for her education is just as I had hoped and promised. However, as you might imagine, we are both weary from the journey. If you are so inclined, perhaps we might take some refreshment now and commence the training tomorrow.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Tomorrow then.”
Grateful both for Charlotte’s kind interest and Henry’s merciful intervention, Lucy stood from her chair. “Tomorrow then, and God help us all.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sleep eluded Henry that night. After an eternity of tossing and turning in bed, he rose to wander the halls of the south wing and soon found his feet pointed toward the library. Even after remaining mostly absent from Ardmoore for several years, the way remained familiar despite the feeble light of a small candle. Once inside the library, he located the wall panel that doubled as a door to his secret room. He tapped it open and ducked much lower than he had as a child to enter.
The candlelight pushed shadows into the corners of the small dank space. His old books lined the floorboard on three sides of the little bench. The memory of his first meeting with Lucy came to him in a flash of vivid recollection. He recalled her straightforward confidence and ease as she’d made introduction and then proceeded to nuzzle her way into his isolation. Little had he known then how that assurance would mature, creating a remarkable woman who broke the mold of fettered society and compelled his fascination. A wan smile stole to his lips.
“You turned out magnificently, Crusoe.”
He ducked from the room and closed the panel. Rather than returning to his chambers, he padded down the west hallway counting doors. He stopped before the fourth door behind which Lucy slept, not sure why he had come. As he turned to leave, his ears pricked at the soft sound emanating from the room. Despite a warning from his better judgment, he placed an ear against the door. He listened intently.
Singing.
A sad melody with inaudible words filtered through the heavy oak. The beauty of her voice called to him like a siren’s song to an unsuspecting sailor. He considered entering her chamber to offer comfort for the doubts that plagued her. To hold her close. To perhaps gently taste her lips as a show of solidarity. A stab of indiscretion pricked his gut, though, and he backed away. Still, he found comfort in her presence despite how it corrupted his chances for salvation. Though he regretted his partial confession to Lucy earlier, speaking it aloud had given him some welcome relief from the burden of his dire destiny. After a brief pause, he returned through the house to his chambers. Sleep captured him moments after his head hit the pillow.
…
Early the next afternoon, Henry met Lucy and his enthusiastic sister in the conservatory. The stone walls wore an array of tapestries that served to mute the sound of a tiny collection of instruments consisting solely of a harp and pianoforte. He faced Lucy, hoping she would cooperate.
“Which shall it be, my lady? Harp or pianoforte.”
She giggled. “You called me ‘my lady.’ That amuses me.”
“Harp,” he breathed, “or pianoforte.”
