Selina’s brows rose. “Occupied?” she repeated. “So very occupied that my clever, conscientious niece could manage only a single letter in two weeks?”
Lucy looked down at her hands. “I did not realize so much time had passed.”
“That is rarely the case. Time does not slip away unless one is avoiding something or becoming entangled in it. Did you fail? Is that why you were so hesitant to write to me?”
Lucy lifted her gaze again, caught between guilt and relief. “No, Aunt Selina. That is not why. I promise, time just flew by. I did not mean to worry you.”
“Yet you did,” Selina said, leaning back slightly though her eyes never left Lucy’s face. “You departed with purpose. You wrote to say you had arrived safely, that matters were progressing. Then silence. I began to wonder whether you had been overwhelmed or worse, persuaded to remain where you ought not.”
Lucy shook her head at once. “No one persuaded me. Not exactly.”
Selina gave a small, knowing hum. “That is not the reassurance you think it is.”
Lucy closed her eyes for a moment then opened them again, trying to steady herself before stepping onto uncertain ground.
“There is something I must explain,” she said. “Something I did not understand myself until I was already here.”
Selina inclined her head, inviting her to continue.
“The letter,” Lucy began. “The one requesting your services. The one we received that day, and you decided that I take it. It was not written by the Duke of Langridge.”
Selina did not look surprised.
Lucy noticed. Her brows drew together slightly. “It was written by his son,” she went on. “Anthony Clawridge. He was desperate, frightened in his own way. He believed his father needed help, even if His Grace would never admit it. I only learned the truth after I had already arrived.”
“All right, and when you did?” Selina asked.
Lucy exhaled slowly. “I intended to leave. I was prepared to. But Anthony insisted I stay, and he insisted that the Duke let me. We managed to convince him because the situation had already taken shape, and undoing it would have caused more disruption than allowing me to remain.”
Selina’s gaze sharpened. “That was how you found out he never asked for you?”
“Yes,” Lucy said quietly, then she looked up again, noting that Selina was not reacting in the way that she had expected to the news that Rowan had not asked for her.
“I am confused.” Lucy squinted her eyes. “Did you know that it wasn’t His Grace who asked for me?”
Selina’s lips curved faintly. “I suspected that much when I read the letter.”
“When you read the letter?” Lucy’s eyes widened. “Not later? That same day?”
Selina nodded. “I have read countless of letters soliciting my services. One thing dukes have in common is how formal they always sound. How rigid. A duke would never ask earnestly or plead. This one did. Dukes do not confess helplessness so neatly.”
Lucy leaned forward now, frustration breaking through her composure. “Then why send me at all? Why allow me to come here under false pretenses, knowing I might be dismissed the moment the truth came to light?”
Selina regarded her. “Because I also knew you,” she explained. “I knew you would not relent. You were everywhere. Going through my study, looking through letters, trying to find something that should not concern you. If you were turned away, if the Duke refused your services outright, you would take it as proof that this work you have chosen has no place in the world you wish to enter.”
Lucy stiffened. “You thought I would abandon it.”
“I thought you might,” Selina corrected. “You have always been quick to withdraw when you believe you have misjudged your worth.”
Lucy’s jaw tightened. “That was not your decision to make.”
“No,” Selina agreed. “But it was my place to protect you from making it in despair.”
Lucy looked away, her hands curling slightly in her lap. “You risked humiliating me.”
“I risked challenging you,” Selina said. “There is a difference.”
Lucy turned back, her eyes bright. “You sent me here thinking I would either fail entirely or be forced to confront something I was avoiding.”
