Bess still held out hope; as one half of a blissfully happy couple, herself, she couldn’t seem to believe it might not work out as perfectly for Lucy and Thorne.
“We won’t have to find out,” Lucy said, attempting a smile.“I’m not pregnant.And without that inducement, I doubt Thornecliff will ever speak to me again.I’m not the sort of woman to inspire a man to forgive all sins and brave all dangers—that’s more in my sister’s line than mine.”
“Lucy,” Bess admonished gently, but Lucy shook her head.
She’d believed for a while that she could inspire that kind of feeling in a man.But it had only been a fantasy all along.“It’s fine,” Lucy insisted.“I’m fine.Or I shall be.”
Love, for all that Lucy had chased it and dreamed of it and gone to extraordinary lengths to find it—love wasn’t enough.
Love hadn’t cured Gabriel.It hadn’t saved him.And now that he’d gotten better, he didn’t want it.
Lucy had to figure out a way to move on with her life.
Her family all had their own opinions on that, of course.Henrietta and Gemma both believed Lucy was better off without Thorne, and did not hesitate to tell her so before they left Ashbourn House, a fortnight after August’s birth.
Gemma, the champion grudge-holder of the family, hated Thornecliff with all the deep, fiery passion of her nature.Forgiveness was not her strong suit, and she was even less inclined to forgive slights against those she loved.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” she’d sniffed while packing her bags to return home to Hal and her own children.“He doesn’t deserve you.”
But what did deserving have to do with it?They had both made mistakes.They had both been dishonest and afraid.
Henrietta had taken Lucy in her arms, soft and generous and overflowing with sympathy.“Oh, my darling girl, you have had an adventure, to be sure!Why don’t you come back to Little Kissington with Gemma and me?It would do you good to be surrounded by familiar people and things again!”
But Lucy had waved them farewell and stayed.Officially, she was not yet ready to leave August, and she thought Bess might still be glad of her help and company.
Unofficially?Lucy couldn’t bear to leave London.Becausehewas in London.
God, she was pathetic.
Out of all of them, Nathaniel was the only one who told Lucy what she truly did not wish to hear.
Joining Bess and Lucy in the parlor for his afternoon ration of staring besottedly at August while their whirlwind of a daughter napped, Nathaniel said, “What are we talking about?”
Without missing a beat, Bess smoothly said, “We’re discussing Lucy’s future plans.”
Nathaniel looked up at Lucy from the blanket they’d spread of the floor to let baby August practice lying on his back and waving his fat little arms and legs.
“You can stay here as long as you like, of course,” Nathaniel said to Lucy.“There will always be a place for you in my home.But, Lucy, you’re not someone who can be happy floating through life with no sense of purpose.I know, because I’m the same way.”
“I have a purpose,” she protested, jumping to her feet and marching over to the side table to pour herself a cup of tea she didn’t want.“I’m a writer.”
“A writer who finished her novel,” he pointed out mildly.
She had, finally.Somehow her broken heart had blown the lid off her writer’s block, and she’d poured every ounce of her frustration, unhappiness, and pain intoThe Midnight Rider’s final chapter, knowing Gabriel would never see it because The Gentle Rogue had retired.
“Your engagement is off—fine,” Nathaniel continued, pitilessly ignoring Lucy’s restless pacing with her teacup.“But now it’s time to find your next purpose.And as much as we love having you with us, as much as August and Kitty and Bess and I will miss you, I don’t think your purpose is to be a companion and aunt to my children.”
And he was right, of course.Still, it wasn’t until the day her final chapter ofThe Midnight Ridercame out inThe London Observator, running concurrently with a piece detailing the Duke of Thornecliff’s latest descent into hedonistic excess, that Lucy finally started making plans.
She threw down the paper, with its satirical drawing of Thorne, complete with devil horns, surrounded by swooning ladies whose gowns clung to propriety by the tips of their breasts, and went upstairs to pack.
She’d always wanted to see Constantinople.Maybe that would be far enough away to outrun the pain of having given her heart to a man who proudly proclaimed he had none.
* * *
“Did you see the papers this morning?”
Thorne groaned, shading his eyes against the sudden blast of sunlight from the curtains being flung open by an overenthusiastic hand.
