Seduction, after all, carried potential consequences that would change Lucy’s life forever.
“So he didn’t touch you,” Bess clarified, blowing out a breath.
“Well,” Lucy said, drawing the word out. “I didn’t say that. But I’m still a virgin, if that’s what you wanted to know.”
“Lucy, for pity’s sake,” Bess moaned, taking a gulp of her ale. “All right, then what happened? How did you try to go back to London?”
“Oh, well, I was a bit overwrought I suppose, what with the excitement of sneaking out and riding atop the mail coach, which was horrendously uncomfortable, by the by, and then nearly being tossed to my death when the damned fool driver took us over a log. And feeling so badly about leaving the way I did, and so on and so forth, I started to cry. I told the Gentle Rogue that I thought I’d made a terrible mistake, and maybe I ought to grow up and go back to London and stick it out and make everyone proud, even if it made me miserable.”
Bess’s empty chest ached. She reached for Lucy’s hand and gripped it. “What did he say?”
Her dark blue eyes took on a faraway glow, as though she was looking at something very beautiful in the distance. “He was quiet for a long time. And then…Bess, he stopped that big, black stallion right in the middle of the road. I asked what he was doing, and he said, ‘In the end, the only person whose opinion of you matters is you. Everyone else can go to the devil. Where do you want to go?’”
“He gave you the choice,” Bess breathed.
Lucy nodded. “And I chose to come home. And to make myself proud. Wherever that takes me.”
“All I ever wanted for you was the ability to choose your future.” Bess squeezed her friend’s hand. “Thank you for telling me this. I know you haven’t wanted to talk very much about that night.”
Lucy smiled down at her lemonade, a private smile that made her suddenly look older. A girl on the cusp of womanhood. “Some memories are too precious for casual handling. They’re meant to be kept secret and safe, only brought out for special occasions.”
“And tonight is a special occasion?”
“Yes.” Lucy looked up, spearing Bess with the directness of her sapphire blue gaze. “Because you are family. And you’re sad. And it’s not getting better.”
Taken aback, Bess hid her surprise in her mug of ale. “I’m perfectly well.”
“You’re not. And I don’t know how to help you, other than to remind you of what you once told me. There is more than one path through the woods.” Lucy leaned forward, not letting Bess escape the intensity of her regard. “You don’t have to live by anyone’s rules but your own. Make your own path, Bess.”
“I have made my choice, Lucy.” Bess tugged her hand free and stood up too quickly, making her chair screech awkwardly against the scarred wooden floor. “Now I must live with it.”
“Is it a choice that makes you happy?” Lucy pursued, reaching for Bess pleadingly.
Bess avoided her hands, gathering their dirty dishes with brisk, efficient movements. She didn’t know how to explain to someone who’d grown up the way Lucy had, petted and cosseted and given everything she wanted before she even had to ask for it.
Lucy had grown beyond that expectation, that entitlement, but it still informed the way she thought about the world. How could it not?
Balancing the plates expertly upon her forearms, Bess turned to take them down to the kitchen. She paused long enough to say, “Not everyone gets to put their own happiness first.”
“Why is it good when I do it,” Lucy asked shrewdly. “But it’s not alright for you? What’s the difference between us? You deserve happiness as much as anyone, Bess. More, even!”
The difference is, I’m not a lady. I’m not a duchess. I’m just plain Bess.
I’m nobody.
Her jaw clamped on the words. They didn’t feel true, even in her own head—more of a reflex than a belief.
Lucy and her family had certainly never treated her that way, as though they saw her as less. It wasn’t even how she thought of herself. Bess knew her own worth.
And then there was Nathaniel, who had seen right down to the core of her. And loved her.
Bess shook her head and turned away, her heart thumping. It was too late for these doubts and misgivings. Regret was a luxury Bess had no time for.
She heard Lucy’s huffed breath behind her, but she didn’t stop—until Lucy called out, “Another letter came from London this afternoon. You should ask Mama about it.”
Another letter.
Bess delivered the dirty dishes to the kitchen in a daze. She applied herself to the stack of trenchers and plates that had accumulated, washing and drying and stacking without being aware of what she was doing. Flora worked around her, chatting comfortably about the many orders for fish pies and the way the new barman tended to get mixed up when too many people came in at once, and Bess took in exactly none of it.
