He helpedher climb down from the cart about a mile before Ashmore Hall.
“I think you better keep Bartimaeus. She’ll be happier romping around with you in the park.” She placed the panting bundle into Henry's arms.
“Will I see you again?” She wrapped her arms around herself and fought the sadness welling up.
“I work in the gardens. And you?”
“I walk in the gardens.”
“So maybe then, our paths will cross.”
“Maybe they will cross. And when they do, you will not know me anymore.”
Henry looked off into the distance. “Probably not. I will be too busy with my roses. Nor will you know me.”
“Probably not. I will be too busy with the dandies.”
“Off with you, then.” He swung his reins, and the horses trotted off before she could say more.
She would have had so much more to say.
Then again, maybe it was best he left before she had the chance to blurt out she'd fallen head over heels in love with him.
Chapter 4
Dukes were ghastly creatures.
Lucy stared across the sweeping lawn at the stately hall that proclaimed century-old dukely grandeur. This ostentatious looking hall was built to impress, impose, and intimidate. Just like their owner.
She felt her stomach knot up into a stone-tight ball. She wanted nothing more than to pick up her skirts and run the other direction, screaming. Back to Henry, and ask him to—well what? He'd already as good as said they had no future together. They were from different worlds. Lucy blinked the tears away and swallowed the hard lump in her throat.
There was no time to be sad. She had something of tremendous importance to accomplish here.
Lucy chewed on her lip as she thought over her plan. It was painful, contradictory, and it went against every fibre in her nature. But it was the only way.
She needed to impress Arabella's brother, the awful Duke of Ashmore. She needed to get him to be the patron of Miss Hilversham's school again.
Lucy would make such a good impression on him that he'd forget everything that happened in the past, and when she finally asked him to write a flourishing letter of recommendation regarding her very excellent character, he’d retract his hastily spoken words in Miss Hilversham's office, in addition to reinstating his patronship of the institution, even doubling the amount. Then Miss Hilversham would take her back with open arms and she’d be able to return to the Seminary. Her old home.
And everything would be well again.
Lucy slumped.
That was as likely to happen as a unicorn with fairy wings emerging from the forest on her right, but, if her name was Lucy Bell, she’d make it happen.
She plopped down into the grass and pulled out a blade.
Lucy hadn't always hated the Duke of Ashmore. In fact, she never admitted it to herself, but she'd been secretly jealous of Arabella, that she had such an important big brother who looked out for her. Who scrawled lengthy, weekly letters and sent packages stuffed with black currant jelly, millefruit biscuits, cardamom comfits, leather-bound books and silken hair ribbons, which Arabella had distributed amongst her friends. Lucy couldn't imagine him picking the black currant jellies; surely that must have been the housekeeper. And the hair ribbons? Would a man as important as the duke go into a haberdashery to choose ribbons for his sister? Lucy doubted it, but a part of her was charmed at the possibility of the idea.
If Lucy were honest with herself, she'd heroised Arabella’s brother a tiny bit. Very well, quite a bit. She didn’t dare to admit it, but she’d secretly hoped that some of that bountiful brotherly warmth spilled over on her. Just a tiny drop. Surely he'd look benignly upon Arabella's bosom friend? Well, that hadn't happened. Because of him, she’d lost the only home she’d ever known. She’d never forgive him for that.
And now she had to charm him. Get him to open his purse for the school again. With her scatterbrained social graces, infernal chattermouth, and their mutual dislike of each other, that was not likely to happen. Lucy dug her fingernails into the earth.
She had to convince him, somehow. The alternative was to grim to even think about. Where could she go, if not back to Miss Hilversham?
Lucy got up and wandered across the sweeping parkland towards the massive mansion. Her steps faltered and she gazed up at Arabella's imposing home. She stepped into its shadow and shivered.
When she reached the pebbled drive leading up to a massive staircase in front of the colossal entryway, she was rudely confronted with reality. She could hardly knock on the main door, dressed as she was. She looked doubtfully down her rough linen dress and shawl. Would the toplofty butler even admit her? No. She'd have to find another way inside. Lucy looked for the servant's entrance, which was located in the wing around the corner. Finding the door locked, she pulled the bell, and waited.
