She conveyed most of the story in graphic detail, while conveniently omitting parts that might lead to more probing questions about her subsequent childhood. She finished with her discovery by Steadman but twisted the tale slightly.
“A gentleman came upon me as the thieves emerged from the trees. He convinced them to leave and then saw to my safety.”
“How terrifying!” said Lord Canterfield. “I commend your courage, and at such a young age. It is no wonder the duchess speaks so highly of you.”
“Indeed,” added Warwick. He seemed to have completely forgotten his mistreatment of her before he learned of the immense dowry. “Why, I have seen grown men crumble under lesser threats. Well done.”
James gazed at her with eyes softer than before. “Yes, Lady Margaret. Very well done.”
With that, he offered her his arm. “Shall we attend to the other guests?”
She accepted the arm reluctantly, escaping the huddle of suitors for the first time in half an hour. Her eyes immediately found Henry locked in conversation with Isabella. Their unheard discourse seemed passionate and intense. A surge of jealousy nearly brought her to a halt. Isabella spied her and James and waved to them.
“Oh, there you are at last, my lady. Please beguile us with your skills on the pianoforte.”
Charlotte, who had slipped into the background all evening, immediately sprang to Lucy’s defense. “That will not be necessary. We should dance instead, and I will play the pianoforte.”
Lucy nearly sagged to the floor with relief.
“Thank you, Lady Sinclair. Despite my lack of ballroom experience, dancing would please me greatly as I have no skill whatsoever on the pianoforte.”
While she marveled at the turn of events that would have her preferring one public humiliation over another, she returned her attention to Henry. His face seemed clouded, distant.
“You have my sympathy,” said Isabella. “I am sorry your mentor failed to teach you pianoforte. Still, I truly believe you might learn to play passably despite your indelicate fingers.”
Lucy blinked but dipped her head in a show of gratitude. “Thank you again for your unending encouragement. However, I must admit I have found my indelicate fingers quite useful from time to time.”
“Oh? For what purpose?”
She pressed a pointer finger into each ear. “For example, plugging my ears against annoying sounds.”
“Lady Margaret,” said Isabella. “Surely you are not serious. Of what annoying sounds do you speak?”
Lucy smiled broadly. “See? It is working! I cannot hear a word you are saying.”
Henry raised his hand to hide a smirk. He motioned to her to remove her fingers from her ears. She did so.
“I apologize, Mr. Beaumont,” she said. “Did I embarrass you with my display?”
“No. I merely feared your fingers would become stuck and make dancing impossible. You do wish to dance, yes?”
She gulped. “As an alternative to a flogging, I suppose I do. Let us see if I might so damage the quadrille as to cause France to again declare war on Britain.”
Everyone chuckled over her comment. To her surprise, however, the mirth seemed amusement with her wit rather than ridicule for her shortcomings. Confidence surged within her, and she strode onto the dance floor with resolve.
…
Henry watched glumly from the hinterlands of the ballroom as Lucy and James joined a quadrille of four couples. When the music began, she danced earnestly and executed the steps with only a few minor slips, still clutching the unseen foil with her right hand. Her few mistakes, however, were not what concerned him. Rather, what bothered Henry was the way his brother smiled at her, and worse, how she appeared to return his attention. Her infectious laughter periodically punctuated the music as she gave herself to the flow of the dance. Regret dogged him for his actions in London over the previous days. One way or another, he was delivering her to a devil. Presently, Isabella came to stand beside him. She leaned in to his shoulder.
“You appear as a child lost in a dark wood.”
“I am observing my pupil for the purpose of later critique.”
Isabella shook her head and gazed up at him with batting eyelashes. “Oh, Henry. Do not torture yourself over her. Her attempts to gain your affections are ill spent.”
He furrowed his brow. “She is not vying for my affections.”
Isabella slapped his shoulder lightly. “Oh, she is, addle brain. Do you not see the way she watches you? The way she forms herself to your every word and action?”
