“They were childhood friends?”
Lucy hesitated. “Yes.”
“It must be difficultto maintain a façade of jolliness when one is mourning.”
Lucy jumped at the word “jolly.” “Y–yes.”
Part of her wanted to tell him aboutJoris and Jelly. How they’d raised her and how they’d done so gently and firmly, making sure, as she grew up, to receive the best education there was.
She didn’t want to keep this a secret. She wanted him to know. She opened her mouth to tell him.
“There you are, Your Grace, I’ve been looking for you.” Lady Louisa clamped her hand possessively around his arm. “We’re rehearsing a play for tonight, and we need a fair judge.” She pulled him away.
For once, Lucy was glad Louisa had interrupted.
It was best this way.
“Methinks the strawberries are approaching.” Lord Conway shielded his eyes against the sun.
Felix the footman returned with a woman who scrambled after him. They each carried twobaskets filled to the brim with strawberries.
“Your Graces, ladies and gentlemen, behold, the strawberries.” To Ashmore in sotto voce, Felix said, “She insisted on delivering them herself, Your Grace.”
The woman huffed and puffed in her excitement to find herself in such elevated company. “From my very own garden. It is such an honour. You will see they are the sweetest, most delicious—oh!” The woman dropped the baskets and clapped her hands together. A look of ecstasy lit up her face. “Oh! It is you! Your Grace! Had I but known!”
The duke squirmed.
Lucy edged away and grabbed an empty basket to pull over her head. But it was too late. The woman had already seen her.
“And here is your lovely wife!” She could not have beamed more with delight. “So charming! Had I but known that it was you, the other day, and your wife—in my very own shed! What a tremendous honour! I shall tell my grandchildren about this. My great-grandchildren!”
Dead silence fell over the group.
“The devil. Ashmore? Tell us the woman is talking fustian.” Tilbury, Lady Louisa’s father, glowered at him.
“Wife?” Louisa squeaked as she pointed at Lucy. “She—is your wife?”
The duke closed his eyes. “I see an explanation is in order.”
“By Jove’s beard, Ashmore. That’s the understatement of the century.” A vein twitched in Tilbury’s temple.
“Did she say shed?” Blackmore nearly burst with glee.
“If you will allow.” Ashmore bit out. He pulled the struggling Lucy up beside him. “The woman is correct that Miss Lucy Bell is to be my wife. We have been, ah, secretly engaged to be married this past week. It is, er, a love match.”
The scandalised silence stretched into infinity.
“Well. Bravo.” The dowager finally said. “Felicitations are in order. Now that this is established, can we proceed to eating the strawberries?”
Chapter 22
It was a nightmare.
Following the duke’s announcement, chaos broke out. Tilbury exploded, Louisa fainted, Blackmore broke into raucous laughter, the ladies started talking all at once, Arabella jumped up and down, squealing, and Lucy—Lucy picked up her skirts and ran.
She flew past the gaping footmen, up the stairs to her room and locked herself inside, jumped into her bed and pulled the blanket over her head.
“Lucy. We have to talk.” Ashmore rapped on the door.
