A brash lad shouted over the noise, “Is he dead?”
Lucy’s fear for herself was instantly forgotten. Tears filled her eyes. “He cannot die.”
The auburn-haired expectant mother, renewed her weeping. “He c-cannot. Oh, what will Aunt Leslie s-sayyy?” As she wailed that question to the heavens, she clung to a man nearly as terrifying as the other dark stranger—almost.
“Have a thought for the ladies, Quillon!” a distinguished gentleman snapped, cuffing the lad.
“It was a fair question, Crichton,” the boy muttered, “given Campbell’s still as a stone.”
Lord Crichton. The viscount.
“We’ve established he’s not dead,” the viscount said, worry bleeding through despite his irritation.
“Campbell can’t be killed.” Another lad, one bearing a striking resemblance to Mr. Smith, made that declaration. “I know. I’ve tried.”
He waggled his brows.
“Was he set upon by masked highwaymen?” a small girl with an adorable lisp asked.
“A…?” Startled by the ruthless sparkle from the eyes of a lass so small, Lucy blinked wildly. “What?No.”
It was too much. Lucy made another desperate attempt to dissolve into the background, and for the first blessed time, they let her.
All attention swung toward the house as servants spilled out.
“The surgeon has been alerted and is preparing his room!” a blond gentleman barked.
There was nothing left for her to do.
Lucy watched helplessly as Campbell Smith was lifted with careful coordination by family and servants.
Every hand gentle. Every movement precise.
They were everything she had imagined from his stories—warm, fierce, loyal.
And just like that, he was carried inside, and she was left outside.
As she always was.
A sad smile tugged at her lips.
Every time Campbell visited and the handful of times his entire family had, she’d longed to be part of the big, joyous lot. Not serve them. I longed to be part of them—just not like this.
“What was that you said, lass?” the harried older gentleman demanded. “Campbell’s lass, are you?”
Campbell had a lass?
Of all the rotten luck.
Then it hit her; the assumption that’d been made. “I—”
“That is Lucy!” Miss Andromena Smith announced brightly.
A murmur rolled amongst the gathered family.
“Yes, shame on Campbell for not mentioning Lucy,” Miss Fleur McQuoid added. “She’s Campbell’s sweetheart.”
The enormous family fell silent.
