Her withering glare raised his eyebrows and forced him to lean away.
“Again,” she said, “your ignorance of my circumstances astounds, yet you continue to speak as if an expert on the matter. I expected little of you, Lord Pink, and thus far you have not disappointed my low expectations.”
She faced forward and made clear her intention to withhold further conversation unless he initiated it. After some time, his curiosity overcame his annoyance. “If I am to consider assisting you, then at least share your brilliant plan.”
She made no indication of having heard him. He gritted his jaw. “Please.”
“As you wish.”
She reached to her neck and removed a locket that had until then remained hidden beneath the neckline of her shirt. “I must return this to the original and rightful owner. Perhaps she will offer a small reward for its recovery.”
Henry eyed the locket dangling from her hand, unable to discern the pattern from where he rode. “Did you steal it?”
She glared at him again. “No. It was given to me by my father.”
“Did he steal it?”
Henry feared he might have overstepped his bounds again when her chin trembled with anger. He dipped his forehead. “I retract that. How did your clearly virtuous father come by it?”
She breathed deeply, apparently quelling rage. “The original owner gave it to him as a show of affection.”
He stretched out a hand. “May I?”
She hesitated before handing the locket to him, making no eye contact when doing so. He studied the engraving on the face of the piece and determined it to be a coat of arms for some noble house. He pried the locket open with his thumbnail to reveal a pair of tiny hand-painted portraits of a middle-aged man and woman. The woman oddly resembled Lucy. Henry peered at the man, sensing vague familiarity. He frowned as he closed the locket. Such an item was priceless to those who had commissioned the artwork inside. How a common thief had come into possession of it through “affectionate” means baffled him. He returned it to her.
“Who, then, originally owned this locket?”
Lucy watched Henry as if attempting to gauge his reaction to her response. “The Dowager Duchess of Ramsbury.”
His expression likely did not disappoint. “You don’t say.”
“I do say.”
He nodded with surprise. “I do not know the duchess, despite having met her husband once when I was young. Does she yet live?”
“Yes, although the duke died some years ago. She is the last of her family.”
“How do you know this?”
“I pestered Steadman until he told me.”
Henry nodded. “And you trust the word of a notorious highwayman?”
“Explicitly. He has never lied to me.” She sighed heavily. “Until yesterday.”
“Right. But that raises a most intriguing question. How is my help required? This is none of my business.”
Lucy looked away, her face coloring slightly. “Because, sir, in my current state, the gatekeepers of the duchess’s house would not allow me across the servants’ threshold, let alone grant me an audience with their mistress. However, the second son of a respected earl might provide me immediate access.”
He glanced sidelong at her, his eyes narrowing. “How did you know that I was the second son, and not his third or fourth?”
“I pay attention.”
He fought to suppress his astonishment at a growing epiphany. “I see, but you should know that I pay attention as well.”
…
Lucy held her tongue while Henry appeared to consider the proposal. She caught him repeatedly glancing at her with skeptical curiosity, but he said nothing for the space of two miles as they entered London’s outer boroughs. Finally, he faced her with a quizzical expression that rendered his grim demeanor much more pleasing.
