“You’re meant for something better,” Joris had told her.
Lucy dashed the tears away angrily with the back of her hand.
It was time to let go of those dreams.
Phips had been so right. She’d forgotten where she came from. Forgotten who she was. For she was not only an orphan, but a foundling with unknown roots, likely illegitimate, of working-class origins, raised on the dusty roads by a pair of travelling clowns.
Cruel voices had called them “dwarves”.
“But that’s nonsense, Lucibelle. We’re just people of short stature,” Joris used to say. “Always take pride in who you are.”
Would Henry have accepted them? Or would his tolerance have reached his limit, here? Could he be that tolerant? He’s a duke. A straight-laced high-stickler. He had a tremendous responsibility, a heritage to maintain. He liked to break out of his role, now and then, but he’d never subvert societal roles entirely by marrying so flagrantly beneath his station. Rash, irresponsible behaviour can lead to death. He disapproved of actresses, because one nearly ruined his father. He wasn’t tolerant at all. Not when it came to actresses.
Lucy shivered.
Reality was, he had no idea how disreputable she was. She was a disastrous match for the duke. An alliance with her would, in all likeliness, ruin even him. She couldn’t keep on deceiving him so grossly.
And Arabella? A deep sadness swept through Lucy. Arabella had always assumed Lucy was standing up for the lower classes out of the goodness of her heart. The reality was that Lucywas one of them. She’d ruin Arabella, too, if she married Ashmore.
Chapter 21
Ashmore had ordered a picnic in the park the next day, because the weather was agreeable, to round off the week’s events.
Dining alfresco was all the vogue, especially with silver platters, crystal chalices, silken napkins and Turkish carpets rolled out on the meadow. After having played lawn bowling, the game of graces, and shuttlecock, the ladies reclined on pillows under the cool shadows of the trees. The footmen, sweating under their wigs, carried heavy baskets stuffed with food. They served champagne in crystal glasses, dainty caviarcanapes, eclairs, macaroons and dollops of syllabub in silver goblets.
What was missing, however, were the strawberries.
“A picnic without strawberries,” complained Lady Bleckingham, as she fanned herself, for she was sweating profusely,“is like tea without milk.”
“Or hunting without the deer.” Lord Blackmore had recovered from the debacle at the ball and dug enthusiastically into the syllabub. He glanced at the older Stilton girl, who flushed scarlet. Lady Rawleigh had a smug face as looked favourably on the pair. There would be a wedding soon.
“Or punch without the rum,” Finbar hovered over Lady Louisa, who pretended to ignore him. Come and think of it, he was hovering quite a lot over Lady Louisa. Lucy observed them with interest.
And Mr Gabriel? He was oblivious to Arabella’s yearning looks and conversed with Mr Fridolin about music.
Ashmore snapped his fingers, and three footmen jumped to attention. “Procure strawberries.”
One of them—Felix—ran across the lawn.
Lucy shook her head in amazement. She sat on a carpet away from the group and had no appetite at all for any of the food.
“What is the matter, Miss Bell?” The duke sat next to her; one long leg stretched out. “I couldn’t help but notice that underneath all your cheerfulness is a sense of melancholy.” He looked at her searchingly.
It took Lucy a moment to recover from the surprise. Take it from the duke he’d see behind her mask of happiness.
She swallowed the tears that threatened to well up and smiled. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
“Indeed?”
“Oh, yes. I was sad at some news that I received.”
“Would you care to share it with me?”
“Well. I learned that some of my very dearest friends passed away.” Blast those tears that threatened to spill out of her eyes. She wiped the corner of her left eye.
“My condolences. I’m so very sorry.” He handed her his handkerchief.
She blew her nose, looked at the soiled handkerchief and laughed with a wobble, as she remembered the incident in the library. She kept the handkerchief. “It is more that this is so unexpected. A part of my childhood, of home, disappearing forever.” She hadn’t meant to say that, but there it was.
