“Yes. But there is one more thing that isn’t on the list that is actually the primary reason I am here.”
Both men looked at her.
She cleared her throat awkwardly. “It probably isn’t a good idea that Mr Brown takes notes on this matter.”
Mr Brown dropped the quill. “Would you like me to leave, Your Grace?”
“Stay. If it’s a business matter, there is no reason Mr Brown shouldn’t be present.”
Lucy stirred uneasily in the chair. “Yes. It is a business matter. Of sorts. The thing is this.” She wiped her clammy hands on her skirt. “I need you to write me a letter of recommendation, so Miss Hilversham takes me back. We’ve discussed this, if you recall. You said you’d write me that letter.” An unwelcome blush stole into her cheek as she remembered that bantering conversation on the road, eternities ago. It had ended with her kissing him.
He steepled his hands and gave her a brooding stare. “I recall the conversation; however, I do not recall committing to writing that letter.”
Lucy jumped up. “But you assured me you’d do so!”
“I did no such thing.”
Lucy opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. He was right. He’d never assured anything. He only said she might be agreeably surprised if the duke did write the letter. Which, of course, he’d never had any intention of doing. He’d misled her.
Lucy glowered at him. “That is positively beastly of you.”
He remained unfazed. “I am no longer a patron of that institution. I believe that school to be a lost cause. I do not support lost causes.”
Did he consider her a lost cause as well? The thought stung. “But you could be persuaded to change your mind about it if you attempted to be somewhat more open-minded?”
“Brown?”
Brown sat up straight. “Your Grace?”
“Do I ever allow myself to be persuaded to change my mind about anything?”
Brown didn’t have to think. “No, Your Grace. Never.”
Lucy clenched her hands, so her fingernails entered her palms. Who was that man who sat across from her, with that stony, implacable face? She did not know this stranger at all.
“There is another matter that I need to discuss with you.” She placed her hands belligerently on her hips.
The duke repressed a sigh. “Yes, Miss Bell. We’re waiting.”
“It concerns your sister.”
Ashmore frowned. “Arabella.”
“Yes.”
“And what does Arabella have to do with any of this? Pray enlighten me.”
Lucy took a big breath. “You shouldn’t marry her to Finbar. It’s a colossal mistake.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And why, Miss Bell, would that be a colossal mistake?”
Lucy rushed on. “Because they won’t suit. Because, even though he looks like Adonis, his character is too superficial. Because he isn’t good enough for her. Because Arabella deserves better!” Lucy took another big breath and delivered her last punch. “Lastly, because she loves someone else.”
They hadn’t seen that coming. She let that piece of information sink in as she’d clearlytaken the wind out of both men’s sails.
“But she will marry Finbar just to please you. And be terriblyunhappy for the rest of her life. You are her big brother, Henry, you shouldcare about what she feels, and you shouldalways see that your sister’s happiness goes before the estate’s or duty’s or whatever it is you call it. You shouldn’t bully her into marrying someone she doesn’t love. And I know you care, even though you pretend you don’t, or you want the rest of us to think you don’t, for whatever mysterious reason that eludes me entirely, but no doubt is entirely clear to you. You are being pig-headed or a dunce, which I don’t think you are, so it must be the pig-headedness. So there.” She waved with one hand around after she finished the hopelessly mangled speech.
Mr Brown uttered a croak. He looked at Lucy in abject, fascinated horror. Not only had she called the duke by his first name, but she’d called him a dunce, and pig-headed. Twice. Then he looked at the duke, with open mouth and wide eyes.
