“I wish we could go.” Lucy sounded wistful. Against her will, she had become something of a success. The morning after the Devensham ball, she’d been presented with a stack of invitations on a silver salver at breakfast.
There had been callers, including Lady Prudence and several of Lucy’s other former friends hoping to renew the acquaintance. At Bess’s urging, Lucy had gritted her teeth and been polite, but Bess knew the effort had cost her.
The girl had earned a day off, so they’d told the butler, Mr. Goring, that they were not at home to visitors that day and made plans to be actually not at home. Which was why they were about to leave for the surgery.
“I can’t think your brother would approve of his youngest sister at a bareknuckle boxing match,” Bess said, amused.
“Yes,” Lucy replied, collecting her reticule and the delightfully shocking Francis Latham novel from the credenza. “Mustn’t upset my brother.”
Bess bit her lip. “I thought you and he were getting on better.”
Since that night in the drawing room, Bess made sure to sit with the other chaperones and matrons while Ashbourn made the rounds of the various balls and soirees and musicales with Lucy on his arm. She kept her head down and made herself as unobtrusive as possible.
“He’s not the worst, I suppose,” Lucy said grudgingly. “But all he wants is for me to make a good match with some pasty, overbearing son of a viscount who thinks a lady ought to swoon if he so much as snorts a pinch of snuff in her direction. No, thank you.”
Well, that was awfully specific. Bess took a seat on the carved mahogany bench under the massive portrait of some ducal ancestor and patted the spot beside her.
Lucy flopped down with a sigh; her shoulders rounded under the demure ruffles adorning her pale pink spencer jacket.
Not wanting to badger the girl, Bess merely took one of her small hands and pressed it lightly. She tried to emanate an air of acceptance and patience, and must have succeeded tolerably well because at length Lucy burst out, “I don’t see why everything must revolve around this idea of matrimony!”
“Oh, my dear.” Bess struggled for a moment between what she felt she ought to say—that marriage was a young lady’s simplest and most socially acceptable route to security—and what she truly felt.
“Listen, Lucy. Marriage can be a lovely thing—you’ve seen it yourself, with Gemma and Hal. Your parents, too, were very much in love.”
“Yes, but that didn’t necessarily make them good parents,” Lucy muttered, then bit her lip guiltily.
Heart aching as she was reminded, inescapably, of Ashbourn being sent from home to school at all of eight years of age, Bess put her arm round Lucy’s shoulders. “I’m sure that feels disloyal to say, but that doesn’t mean it’s untrue. The reality is that marriage is not a magical cure-all for one’s ills. It doesn’t turn you into a better person, or ensure that your life will be a happy, productive, worthy one. If life is a forest, marriage is but one path through the woods, and it’s not one that every person can or should take.”
“It doesn’t feel as though there are any other paths open to me. It’s more like everyone I know is shoving me toward the marriage path and blocking the way to even being able to explore anything else. I’ve never seen anything of the world, you know—I went straight from the schoolroom to the country, and now I’m being trotted out onto the Marriage Mart like a prize pony. But there is more to life than doing what everyone expects all the time! At least, I want there to be more.”
Bess regarded her young friend seriously. A spirit like Lucy’s was not meant to be caged; she would batter herself bloody to escape even the most well-intentioned snare.
There was a delicate line to walk here, Bess felt. Much as she might wish, in her heart of hearts, to agree with Lucy that marriage wasn’t the only way to live in the world, Bess was very conscious that Lucy had been given into her care for this Season in London.
Lucy’s mother and sister were not here; the only person to whom she could turn for advice was Bess.
And this wasn’t a moment for wishes. Surely, in this moment, Bess had an obligation to encourage Lucy to be pragmatic.
Choosing her words with care, Bess said, “I understand very well, believe me. I have also wished for more, at times, than what was allotted to me by life and society and circumstance. But Lucy, you are the daughter of a duke. The sister of a duke. Like it or not, there are certain expectations of a lady in your position.”
Some of the fire died out Lucy’s eyes, leaving them dull and flat. Bess hated to see it.
Perhaps Bess could encourage Lucy to go along with her brother’s plans while giving her a taste of that something “more to life” she was missing.
“I tell you what, Lucy. If you go to the balls your brother arranges with a good grace, then I will speak to him about abandoning your daily lessons in favor of explorations around London. We will go to every museum, exhibition, and scientific presentation that takes your fancy. If you want the chance to see what else is out there besides marriage, you should have it.”
“Really?” Lucy tipped her head up, her blue eyes shining. “Oh Bess, that would be wonderful!”
“I’m happy to do it. Now, I believe Mr. Truitt is waiting for us.”
“Yes, let us be off at once,” Lucy cried, high spirits revived. She leapt up from the bench and hurried for the front door, only pausing to envelop Bess in an exuberant embrace.
“What is that for?” Bess asked, swamped with affection.
“For being such a good friend.” Lucy’s voice was slightly muffled, the clutch of her slim arms tight. Bess held her close until Lucy pulled back, sniffling a bit.
“Speaking of being a good friend,” Lucy said with a determined grin. “I was thinking you might make some of your ginger biscuits for Charlie. You know, to aid in his recovery.”
