“I’m not ready to face the company. I want to take a brief walk in the rose garden and think a bit.”
“Very well.” Arabella took a few steps, then stopped and turned. “You know, you could trust me with whatever is on your mind.”
“Sometimes things are not so easy, Arabella.”
“What’s going on between you and Ash?”
Lucy swallowed and looked away. “With the episode on the roof, I’ve only proven his point that I’m irresponsible and up to no good. We argued. I apologised. That’s all.” She would not tell her about the kiss at the ball.
A look of guilt crossed Arabella’s face. “It’s also my fault. I could have told you about David. I didn’t think.”
“Yes. But that doesn’t change the fact that he won’t write me the letter for the Seminary.”
“That is bull-headed of him. But there is more?”
Lucy shrugged. “Ultimately, it comes down to the fact that we just can’t overcome our differences.” That was an understatement, but the truth.
Arabella regarded her with a frown. “What about the man at the fair? Who gave you the box? I saw you talking to him. Was he the reason you wanted to go to the fair? I was hoping you’d tell me why.”
“He’s an old friend. That’s all.”
“I’m certain there’s more to the story.”
Lucy stared at the box in her hands. She wasn’t ready to tell Arabella yet. Not when her mind was a whirl of sadness and confusion.
“Very well. I’ll not push myself on you—or anyone, for the matter.” Arabella set her jaw firmly. “Not anymore. I’m done with pursuing people for their friendship and affection. People who flatter me, flirt with me, are friendly and nice, but who will only ever see the duke’s sister and not give a tuppence for who I really am.”
Lucy smacked her head. “I’m such an idiot. Can you forgive me? Something has happened. Finbar? Gabriel? I will slaughter both of them with my bare hands.”
“You always fight my battles, Lucy.” Arabella shook her head that her blonde locks flew. “I know you talked to Ash. He said he’ll not pressure me into marriage with Finbar. It’s to be my decision alone. I’m grateful for your intervention, but I don’t want you fighting for me any more. I can stand up for myself. You’re like Ash. Always protecting me. But neither of you really know what I want.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “But Arabella. You always said you wanted to marry for love. That’s what you wanted for all of us. And, that they are dukes.” Lucy grimaced. “Wasn’t that what the whole wishing well fiasco was about?”
Arabella smiled bleakly.
“Won’t you tell me what’s the matter?” Now it was Lucy prodding for more information.
“When you are ready to honestly talk about what’s in your heart, then so am I.” Arabella marched ahead.
Lucy quenched the urge to go after her. With a sigh, she watched her run down the hill towards the hall.
Ashmore Hall baskedin the golden glow of the setting sun. Lucy felt the familiar feeling of intimidation crawl over her. What had she been thinking? Marrying the Duke of Ashmore. Generations of Ashmores must turn in their graves at the very thought.
She sat down on the meadow and pried opened the lid of the tin box.
Inside was a frayed handkerchief, a few stones she’d liked to play with as a child, and a red button. She stirred in its contents with one finger. She barely remembered playing with those stones. They were unusually colouredriver stones that must’ve delighted her as a child. The button she didn’t remember. Had it been of her coat? And the handkerchief… it had a monogram on it, the initial S, which Joris and Jelly had firmly believed to be from her parents.
Her heart cramped up. So many hopes and dreams—for naught.
“It’s a royal insignia. See?”
“One day your parents will find you. Then you’ll live with them in your very own castle.”
She’d believed them.
She’d believed them when they dropped her off at Miss Hilversham’s, with a letter in her hand, signed by a non-existing Aunt Jemima.“Because you need to get the education of a lady. You’re a lady, a princess, you know.”
She’d believed every word. One day her parents would come and find her, and she’d live happily ever after with them. In her very own castle.
