Lady Beaufort fixed Hazel with a threatening stare. “You will not repeat a word of what I just said beyond this carriage, Miss Montgomery.”
“I trust Miss Montgomery implicitly, my lady,” Lucien defended Hazel before she could say a word, his voice sharp.
“Yes, and did you not also trust Mr. Swift?” Lady Beaufort demanded, a harsh note of censure in her voice, which was no doubt the product of her fear.
“How do you dare, madam?” Lucien went pale, his jaw going rigid, and Hazel was left to surmise Mr. Swift was the man who had betrayed his trust. “You will not place Miss Montgomery and that treasonous scoundrel in the same thought again, my lady.”
“Enough,” Hazel bit out. “I will not be spoken of as if I am not present in this carriage. Lady Beaufort, as I assured you earlier today, I hold your family in highest esteem. I would never dream of besmirching their name or carrying unbecoming tales about them. Furthermore, it is most ungenerous of you to fling Arden’s past mistakes at him, when he has already paid for them mightily. And Lucien, cease growling at your aunt. I can fend for myself well enough.”
Silence descended upon the carriage, and she became aware of two pairs of eyes staring at her in shock. Belatedly, she realized she had referred to Lucien by his Christian name, rather than his title.
“Oh, hell,” she muttered to herself, before she could hold her tongue.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Montgomery!” said Lady Beaufort, her tone scandalized.
Hazel was not certain which of her gaffes had just offended Lucien’s aunt the most: chastising her for holding Lucien’s past errors in judgment against him, referring to him as Lucien, or saying an epithet and being overheard. Ordinarily, she cursed aloud solely when she was certain she was alone. She could only blame her lack of caution upon the events of the evening.
After all, it was not every day she discovered a bomb hidden beneath her bed.
“Forgive me,” she said at last, rather lamely. “I meant no insult.”
“There is no insult,” Lucien assured her. “Tonight has been deeply troubling for all of us.”
“One does not refer to a duke by his given name, Miss Montgomery,” Lady Beaufort rebuked. “And neither does a lady issue oaths.”
“Nor,” Hazel could not help but add dryly, “does a lady have a box of dynamite laid beneath her bed, I would wager.”
Lucien mumbled something beneath his breath which sounded rather like an epithet himself. But the carriage had gone mercifully still.
“We have reached our destination,” he announced. “I sent word ahead to Strathmore and Lettie. They are expecting us, despite the lateness of the hour.”
At long last, Hazel was going to meet Lucien’s sister and brother-in-law. Curiosity mingled with nervousness. She had already proven herself hopelessly inept at wrangling English manners and customs. To make matters worse, she was arriving at their home, an unwanted guest, after being chased by a bomb from her previous lodgings.
Lucien leapt down from the carriage first and was now offering gentle assistance to his aunt, who clearly experienced some degree of difficulty maneuvering the carriage step as she alighted. He offered her his hand next, and she took it, grateful for the warmth of him burning through the layers of their gloves. For a whimsical moment, she wished she could throw herself into his arms and embrace him, but she recognized the foolishness of such a gesture.
His green gaze searched hers. “You are well?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, careful to keep her voice low. “Lady Beaufort is another matter, however. This has upset her, quite understandably, and you must be patient with her.”
“The arthritis has affected my joints, not my ears, you insolent girl,” the lady in question snapped from just ahead of them on the promenade.
Hazel and Lucien exchanged another look, before he rushed to offer his aunt his arm. Hazel followed in their wake, deciding Lady Beaufort’s quip was a good sign her spirit was returning, dispelling the fear. Hazel took in the impressive exterior of the townhome as they approached—which was in a neighborhood that looked similar to Lucien’s home, and was every bit as equally formidable. An implacable butler greeted them at the door, as though late-night visits in the wake of Fenian bombs was a common occurrence.
They were escorted into a sumptuous entry hall, then into a salon, where a handsome dark-haired man and an equally lovely raven-tressed woman awaited. The butler announced them, standing upon ceremony, despite the alarming circumstances surrounding their arrival.
Hazel noted the resemblance between the Duchess of Strathmore and Lucien. She also saw instantly the love burning brightly between the duke and duchess. It was there in the protective manner in which he stood at her side, the loving glance he exchanged with her, before turning his stare to settle upon Lucien. The tense set of his expression and the rigidity of his jaw suggested he had not yet forgotten Lucien’s mistaken pursuit of him.
The duchess rushed forward, even before full introductions were made, and embraced Lady Beaufort and Lucien, then stopped in front of Hazel. Feeling foolish, Hazel’s cheeks went hot, for reasons she could not define. She dipped into a curtsy, grateful she had chosen to wear a gown for her excursion to Madame Tussaud’s, a gay frivolity, which seemed as if it had happened a lifetime ago by this wretched hour of the evening.
It was not as if Lucien’s sister could look upon her and know she had been intimate with Lucien, but somehow, Hazel felt as if her vivid green gaze, so like her brother’s, saw far more than Hazel wanted it to.
“You must be Miss Montgomery,” the duchess said with a welcoming smile. “I am so pleased to finally make your acquaintance, though I must admit, I do wish it was under far more cheerful circumstances. Both Arden and Aunt Hortense have sent notes to me hailing your many virtues.”
The color on Hazel’s cheeks deepened. This was news to her. Indeed, she was certain Lady Beaufort would be more inclined to bemoan her deplorable American manners, her scandalous penchant for wearing divided skirts, and working alongside men. As for Lucien? Initially, his notes would have been much the same, she had no doubt. But now, she could not be so certain. Either way, she did not dare risk a glance at Lucien or Lady Beaufort, for fear her ears would turn red as well.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” she told the duchess. “I cannot think of any virtues they may have extolled concerning me, but I thank you for saying so, just the same.”
“Nonsense! Arden in particular has written a veritable novel’s worth.” The Duchess of Strathmore sent a pointed look in Lucien’s direction.
