Danvers joined in, jovially slapping Quincy on the back. But the two of them weren’t laughing at him; they were just being their typical asshole selves. And far from being insulted, Hart laughed, too. Except laughing hurt like a damn bitch, and his laugh turned into a wheeze. Danvers poured him a drink, and against his better judgement, he threw it back.
Chapter Nine
The rumors are true! The reclusive Duke of Hartwick is back in town. And despite tales of his monstrous scars, back to his roguish ways it appears. He was seen stumbling, sloshed from Brooks, with his cronies well past the witching hour. And earlier that evening, outside of the Thornbury ball, seen luring a beautiful dark-haired debutant into his carriage. A woman reportedly engaged to someone else. It appears ruin seeks to ruin.
Lucy set down the paper with a huff. She glanced across the table at Trudy, who simply raised one eyebrow.
Lucy sighed. “Yes, it was me. I saw his coach in front when I left the ball, and he aided me by taking me home in his carriage.”
“Aided you in your escape, you mean.”
Lucy lowered her eyes and took a bracing sip of tea.
“Young lady, you may not leave a social event alone without telling me. I was worried sick.” Trudy said.
“I left a note to be delivered to you.”
“Coward. You well know I wouldn’t have let you leave. There were several gentlemen there last night that I had not yet had the chance to introduce you to. Lucy, you are not even trying to find a husband.” Trudy sighed. “I want to see you settled already.”
Lucy had no response to the comment, which she had oft heard Trudy exclaim. “I haven’t met any gentlemen that have remotely sparked any interest in me.” She pouted just a bit. The only man she wanted did not want her. “Besides, it’s my money. Why can’t I just live as a wealthy spinster?”
“The money set aside for you by Hart’s father is a dowry. Expressly earmarked for you to have a chance at an advantageous marriage. It cannot be used for any other purpose.” Trudy reached out to pat Lucy’s hand. “My dear, I will not always be here to watch out for you. The ways in which a gently bred woman must make her way in this life are limited and, frankly, in the hands of men. Now, your father was a good man who wanted to set you up for the best kind of future, which is why he asked the duke to be your guardian. You simply need to pick someone to share your life with. They are not all like Fitzwilliam. My own dear husband was kind and generous.”
Lucy wasn’t sure that it was really that simple. How could she tell the true worth of a man if all the courtship was so superficial, so contrived? She rested her chin in her hand. Dare she confess to Trudy that the only man she wanted to marry was Hart? Perhaps Trudy would just tell her how far-fetched her dream was, or perhaps she was the perfect person to help her come up with a plan to woo him.
“Trudy, the truth is that there is only one man I want to marry.”
“I thought as much.” Trudy plucked a ripe strawberry from the tray and popped it into her mouth.
“Do you know who I am referring to?”
“Oh darling, of course I do. And he needs someone to take care of him as well.” Trudy ate another berry. “Hmmm, maybe Hart is the solution to our problem.”
“Our problem?”
“Lucy, this article does not expressly name you, but nevertheless, everyone will know it is you. Reported to be engaged to another… rumors like this can ruin your reputation.”
“But I was never engaged to Fitzwilliam! And Hart has always watched out for me. Everyone knows his father was my guardian.”
“It does not matter what’s true. Only what people think is true. No man is going to court you if they think the Duke of Hartwick is your lover.” Trudy’s voice rose uncharacteristically high-pitched.
Lucy winced.
“There’s only one thing to do.” Trudy mumbled as she rose from her chair.
“What?”
But Trudy simply waved her hand dismissively. “Leave it to me, my dear.” She left the breakfast room at a determined clip, leaving behind her signature scent of lily of the valley in her wake.
*
Lucy walked ather own determined clip toward Hart’s townhouse. Her maid Helen at her heels. The wretched feeling in her gut would not abate after her conversation with Trudy. How dare that ridiculous scandal rag print so many lies. It seemed obvious that the true target of their poisoned pen was Hart himself and that her reputation was an unfortunate casualty. Why would they pick on a damaged man who was still recovering from a horrific accident? Creating lies about drunken behavior when she knew he had been on his way home last night.
Drops of rain splashed her cheeks. She glanced up at the gray sky and then pushed open her umbrella as the rain started in earnest. The foul weather matched her foul mood. By the time she arrived at the front door of Hart’s house, her temper was at full steam. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the article and share her righteous anger with him. Perhaps he could do something. Even buy the paper and fire the man who wrote the scandal section. Yes, that would be immensely satisfying. She knocked on the dark green door.
Mr. Townson answered the door himself. “Good morning, Miss Middleton.”
“Good morning, Townson. I must speak with his grace.” She shut her umbrella and stepped past the butler into the foyer.
