She smiled and hugged the book to her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Beaumont.”
“And that is another thing,” he said abruptly before he could silence his tongue. “Enough of this ‘Mr. Beaumont’ business. You should call me Henry.”
Her eyes grew wide before narrowing as a lovely grin shaped her lips. “Why, sir! Is that not an overly forward request to make of a pupil? Should not such impropriety violate at least four or five of the many rules on which you have drilled me?”
He stumbled mentally, not expecting that response. “See here. As your mentor in the mysterious ways of Society, I am a bastion of wisdom in which you must place your unwavering trust. My requests must be obeyed without question.”
She curtsied deeply—and perfectly. “Yes, oh, wise and erudite scholar. I trust you implicitly, despite your continuous stream of illogic and unreason regarding the rules of this befuddling game. To mistrust you would end the game, and for now, I find it sufficiently amusing to continue.”
He glared down his nose at her. “Take care with your ridicule, oh, unworthy student, or I shall be required to rap your knuckles and enforce a diet of split pea soup for the duration of your stay.”
“Wonderful! When do we begin? I rather adore split pea soup, especially as it matches the spot on your cravat.”
He lowered his eyes quickly to scan his cravat before realizing she had duped him. He shook a finger and shot her the stern glare of a mirthless schoolmaster. “I warn you, young lady. You must show proper respect, or I will…I will…”
“Will what?” she said with a giggle. He impulsively stepped toward her and gripped an elbow in each hand. Her laughter died immediately, and she stared at him with uncertain eyes while breathing rapidly. He held his position for the space of several yammering heartbeats, his lips frozen in mid-utterance. Lucy was a well of enticement, a storehouse of wishes and dreams, a source of life and revitalization. And he was tilting ever nearer to a decisive and perhaps fatal plunge. The subtle pressure of Lucy leaning slightly into his grip allowed him to regain a modicum of reason. He dropped his hands, stepped away, and averted his eyes to avoid her remarkable gaze.
“Pardon me, my lady. I overstepped my bounds. Please forgive my impudence.”
He cut his eyes toward Lucy to find her still watching him. She opened her mouth twice to speak but no words emerged. Then she dropped her eyes to the book in her hands.
“I thank you for the book…Henry.” Her lips turned up in a tenuous smile.
“You are welcome, Lady Margaret.”
“I prefer Lucy. When you call me by that name, I feel like my true self, and not a pretender.”
He nodded slowly while sorting through his bewildered emotions. His frown relaxed. “Then I will do so more often, Lucy. For the sake of the mission, of course.” He hesitated while debating his next words. “You must exude confidence if you are to attract the regard of a suitor.”
Her smile appeared to falter before resuming under duress. “As you wish. Now if you will excuse me, I would like to return to my chambers to peruse this book.”
She dipped her chin and exited through the open door. He watched the empty doorframe for a time before turning toward the books. He brushed the newly empty place on the shelf previously occupied by the biology text while wrestling with a puzzling sense of loss. When no conclusion appeared, he sighed.
“’Tis a stupid rule,” he whispered aloud, not knowing quite what he meant by it. As he left the library, he carefully shut the doors as if to trap something wild inside.
…
An hour later, Henry watched Lucy enter the ballroom. Her hands were clenched at her waist with white-knuckled force. She once again seemed more a prisoner facing execution than a wealthy debutante.
“Come, Lucy,” Charlotte said. “It is only a dance lesson. Surely you have danced before.”
“Yes, but not likely anything suitable for the ballroom.”
“Oh? Show me, then.”
“Really, Charlotte, I do not think…”
“No,” Charlotte said with enthusiasm, “demonstrate. I should love to see your dancing.”
Lucy cut her eyes toward Henry as if pleading for escape. He briefly considered grabbing her hand and fleeing to the fields. Shaking away the impulse, he instead smiled. “Perhaps you should indulge my sister. Her persistence is legendary in two counties. I am certain she could lay siege to France if necessary.”
Lucy sighed. “Right, then. Just remember, you asked for this.”
With that warning, she grabbed her skirt with both hands, hiked it above her shoe tops, and began to jig madly while singing rapidly.
“Ta mo stoca is mo bhroga ag an rogarie dubh. Ta mo stoca is mo bhroga ag an rogarie dubh.”
Henry stared both aghast and highly interested as her memorable ankles flashed with each step.
