“Leave me alone.”
“I told you from the beginning that something like this would happen.” He rapped again. “Blast it all, I wish it hadn’t happened in this public and dramatic way, but it happened. There is nothing to be done about it. We have to go through it. Open the door.” He sounded grimly determined.
“Please, please, please go away.” Lucy pulled the pillow over her face.
There was a muffled curse, then footsteps.
Another knock, this time more timid.
“Lucy. It’s me.” Arabella. “I just wanted you to know—it’s reallyfantastic! You and Ash! It’s the most wonderful thing! I understand now why you felt you had to keep it a secret. How I’d love having you as a sister, an actual sister! I’m so happy! But doopen the door and talk to Ash? And look, little Bart is here, too.”
Lucy heard the little dog yipping and scratching at the door.
“She misses you, poor thing.”
Lucy could resist Ashmore and Arabella, but she couldn’t resist Bart. She opened the door a gap for the puppy, when a boot wedged itself in and Ashmore pushed the door open.
He picked up the puppy, pressed it into Arabella’s hands, then shut the door behind him and leaned against it with crossed arms. “Time to talk.”
Lucy backed up until her legs hit the box in front of the bed. “Listen, I’ve thought about it. The best thing is for me to disappear and you tell them you changed your mind and it was all a colossal mistake. Yes, there will be a scandal for a while—very well—so there will be a rather enormous scandal—but it’s nothing you won’t survive. In a year it’ll be old news. You’re big and important enough, and the Ashmore name is untouchable. Your word is law, and if you insist it was all a misunderstanding and that nothing scandalous ever happened, everyone will just forget about it in a jiffy. I’ll just disappear, and they’ll forget about me. I promise.”
“Is the thought of being married to me so repugnant to you?” His smile was bleak.
Lucy shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
He threw up his hands. “You’re right. For the life of me, I don’t understand. I certainlydon’t understand why you’d throw yourself at a gardener but refuse the proposal of a duke. Do you care to explain?”
“Look. Look who I am.” Lucy picked up the small box, opened the lid and showed him the scrubby contents.
Henry took the box. “A few stones, a button, a theatre programme of a travelling troupe and a handkerchief.” He fingered the handkerchief and frowned. “How is this relevant to the topic at hand?”
“This is evidence of my background. The only evidence of my birth. I’m a foundling. They found me in an open grave when I was two. No one knows how I got to be there, or who my parents were. I’m probably illegitimate. I’ll never know. They raised me in a travelling troupe. On the streets. I spent my entire childhood travelling. Acting. Singing. My fathers wanted more for me and sent me to Miss Hilversham’s Seminary to receive a proper education.”
“Fathers?” He narrowed his eyes.
“Joris and Jelly Jollyphus. You may have heard of them. They were—we were—a very popular travelling troupe. They died in a fire,” Lucy choked. “I only learned of that yesterday. After the incident with the wishing well—you were so furious about it, remember? Miss Hilversham sent me away, to a position as a governess. After two years I left because the son of the house assaulted me.”
“By God. Did he hurt you?” He set his jaw.
“No. I hurt him.” She showed him her fist. “Afterwards, I ran away to London. To a world I’m familiar with. Drury Lane. I sold oranges and flowers there. One day, they needed someone to jump in for a minor side role. They took me. I’ve been acting ever since.”
He shook his head as if not comprehending.
“I’ve been on a public stage with Harriet Westington, Henry.TheHarriet Westington. Not only am I base-born, growing up on the streets of England, I’m a second-rate actress.” Her voice thickened. “I’m everything you ought not to be marrying.”
“Why the blazes didn’t you tell me before? Why all the lying?”
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were when we first met? Why the secrecy?” she shot back.
He raked his hand through his hair. “This is an entirely different matter.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s exactly the same. Tell me, Your Grace. Why you didn’t reveal the secret of who you were when we first met.” How long ago that seemed.
He closed his eyes. “I enjoyed the freedom of being gardener Henry.”
“Exactly. I enjoyed the freedom of just being Lucy. Arabella’s friend. Not Lucibelle Bellini of the disreputable world of acting.”
“Lucibelle Bellini. Good God.”
