“Why would father seal letters with anything other than the Hartwick seal? The letter he received, which was stamped with this same symbol, was angry and threatening. It made no sense; the author was upset that father was going pull out of some deal, but what the deal entailed was not made explicit. It contained threats of retribution.” Hart ran his thumb over the gold seal. “The words on the page felt personal. I suppose a business venture gone bad could raise the same emotions. Dangerous emotions.”
Trudy frowned. “I am sorry I can’t remember. I will think on it, though.”
A servant entered with the tea cart, and Trudy set aside her embroidery hoop on the table next to her. Once the tea was poured, she took a sip and eyed him carefully over the rim. “Lucy told me that you looked shaggy and unkempt. She feared you were still not well. But I can see she was overreacting.”
He pushed his hair back from his face and sat up straighter under her perusal. “She was not. I had Niles shave me and trim my hair just this afternoon. I hadn’t been worrying overmuch about my appearance while at Belstoke. But when Lucy barged into my breakfast room this morning, I was reminded that appearances matter.”
“And how do you feel? What is the status of the eye?”
“I can only see blurry shadows and changes in light. At low light or at night, it is fully useless.” His sharp frustration with losing his sight in the eye had dulled over time as he learned to maneuver using the cane to feel out possible obstacles in the blind spot he now had on the right side.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hoped it would heal. But it is not the worst impediment.”
Hart snorted.
“You still have one working eye, do you not?” Trudy challenged.
He shrugged. She sounded like Lucy, chiding him for feeling sorry for himself. Which he’d done plenty of the past year. “Yes, and I can see your look of worry clearly with it. Aunt Trudy, I’m fine. I promise.”
She nodded and set her cup down. “Moving on to pressing matters. I’m in need of your help with a family matter.”
“Is there something the matter with Fred?” Hart asked. Trudy’s son lived with his very large family in Dorset. Although a jovial man and an excellent father, Fred was a bit dimwitted. He was next in line to inherit, and Hart highly doubted that his cousin could handle the running of the dukedom. That had been reason enough for him to hang on when things had felt particularly dim. After all, Hart had a duty to uphold as the Duke of Hartwick. At least until he sired a proper heir.
Trudy waved her hand dismissively. “No, he and his brood are all doing fine. Who I mean is Lucy.”
“Aunt Trudy, Lucy is not in our family.”
“What a thing to say! That girl has been my companion for four years. She is more precious to me than anyone else besides my Fred. I want to see her safely settled before I die. That could be any day now.”
Hart stifled a smile. All the Barclays were prone to the dramatic. “Aunt Trudy, I thought you said your health was just fine.”
“At my age, my health is as mercurial as the weather. You can never tell when I will up and keel over. Lucy must be married. Because of the portion left to her, she is at risk from predators like Fitzwilliam, as you well know. And as head of this family, it is your responsibility to match her with an appropriate husband.”
“I took care of Fitzwilliam today. He won’t be bothering her again.”
“Good. I knew you would. Now, I need you to find her someone decent, not too old, athletic, not a gambler, and someone with some spirit, no dullards.”
“I have only been in town one week after a yearlong absence and you want me to pull a young, decent, non-gambler, non-dullard gentleman out from my back pocket for Lucy to marry?” What did Trudy think he was, a magician? Even when he’d been active in society, the only gentlemen he’d been friends with had been reprobates. Certainly not anyone he would allow to get near Lucy.
“Don’t be silly. I have a list.” She reached into her embroidery bag and drew out a piece of folded parchment. “I need you to vet the men on this list. And let me know who we are left with to introduce to her.”
Hart reluctantly took the list from her. It contained at least a dozen names. A quick glance through made him snort in disbelief. Most were unacceptable. “I can tell you right now most of these men don’t meet all the criteria. Has Lucy seen this list? Surely, she has opinions about who her future spouse should be.”
“Oh, she has opinions all right. But her most ardent opinion is that she does not want to marry. We will have to figure out who to put into her path.” She pointed an elegant finger at the list. “But she cannot know we are doing it. It must appear that she has made the choice.”
Hart ran a hand down over his face. This was not a good idea. Trudy did not know about the private things that had been said between he and Lucy. How badly he had smashed to bits Lucy’s heartfelt declarations. He should have rebuffed her feelings more gently. Nevertheless, she hadn’t needed his desperation and despair in her life any more than he needed her kind pity. So, he had sent her away.
He looked down again at the list of prospective husbands for Lucy. She deserved to have someone to take care of her, someone who would be able to return her affection. “All right. I look through the list, cross off the ones who I know are trouble, and investigate the ones I don’t know enough about.”
“And help me introduce the gentlemen we think are good candidates to Lucy in an inconspicuous way?”
“Aunt, I have no plans to jump back into society. No one wants to see this face across the dining table. And with this blind spot I cannot twirl around the dance floor without risk of bumping into people. I would hardly make a coveted guest these days.”
Before the explosion, he had always been on every guest list in town. His over inflated reputation as a rake had not outweighed the allure of his title or his good looks. Every woman in London had wanted their chance to capture a duke as a husband. But Hart had never minded the hunt. He always enjoyed the company of women. Of course, now, who would he find that would be willing to marry a scarred and damaged husband, even if he was a duke.
“Nonsense. The scars are not so bad. You simply look like a war hero.”
“Except that I am no war hero.”
