“Oh…” Lord Whitcombe slowly lowered his hand. “Is something the matter? Lucy? Is she well? Nothing has happened to her?” The man sounded genuinely worried, which did not surprised Marcus as he did not doubt the man’s love for his daughter.
No, it was her stepmother who was the tyrant. A shame that she was not involved in any of this, so I will be curious to see how she reacts.
“She is fine,” Marcus said.
Also, no one, save for Amelia, knew of Lucy’s recent illness. That alone should have been proof of how little they truly cared.
“I do wish you had sent ahead, Your Grace.” Lady Whitcombe did not bother standing, nor did she bother hiding her disdain. “As you can see, we are rather busy, and surely whatever this is could have waited.”
No doubt she is still angry with me for how I treated her the last time that we spoke. Good, let her be angry, so long as she is just.
“I apologize for it, Lady Whitcombe,” Marcus said. “And while I thought to wait, as I said, this could not wait.” His eyes fell on Lord Wembley. “Lord Wembley, I had hoped to find you here.”
“Your Grace,” he said with a cold tone and a dismissive scoff. “It is good to see you.”
“And Lady Amelia,” Marcus finished as his eyes fell on the youngest daughter. “It is nice to see you again.”
She could not bring herself to look at him, and Marcus also noted how she shuffled slightly away from her betrothed.
“Let me guess…” Marcus approached the three as Lord Whitcombe took his seat again by his wife’s side. “Wedding preparations? When is the big day?”
“Wish that we knew,” Lord Whitcombe sighed. “I tell you, Your Grace, I had no idea the work that went into organizing a wedding! I cannot help but feel that we took your wedding to Lucy for granted.” He laughed and shook his head. “Wish that they were all so easy.”
“We plan on doing this right,” Lady Whitcombe said with an air of arrogance. “Amelia deserves the world, and I intend that she has it.”
“As I intend to give it to her.” Lord Wembley took Amelia’s hand. “Where you might have been willing to rush into things, Your Grace, and cut corners, I am not. My love for Amelia demands it.”
“You will be sent an invitation, of course,” Lord Whitcombe assured Marcus. “Once a date is set. Do not fear!”
Marcus eyed Lord Wembley, searching the man for some indication that he knew what was coming. Had Amelia told him? Likely, she had not done. No doubt, as young and naive as she was, she hoped that Lucy and Marcus might just let it all go.
Her youth is all that is saving her, and Lucy’s insistence that she is not to blame. Were it up to me, she would be punished equally, but Lucy… she does not want to ruin Amelia’s life. Such is the kind soul that she is.
Also, Marcus knew now too that Lord Wembley had sent that letter. It did not surprise him. In fact, when Lucy told Marcus the reason for all of this, he was annoyed that he had not put it all together himself. Lord Wembley had tricked Amelia into thinking his actions were for their sake, to keep Lucy out of their affairs. Really, it was done out of spite and malice and hate.
It was time that Marcus returned the favor.
“Sadly, Lord Whitcombe, I sense that an invitation will not be forthcoming,” Marcus said, still watching Lord Wembley.
“What?” Lord Whitcombe asked. “What does that mean? Lucy is still my daughter, Your Grace, and while we might have had our differences in the past, she must know how much I wish that we will remain a family. I love her, please, she must know this to be true.”
“Oh, she does,” he said. “As she loves you. As she loves Amelia, and even Lady Whitcombe, although why she does…” He exhaled sharply. “That is a mystery and speaks to Lucy’s kind heart.”
“What did you say?” Lady Whitcombe sat up. “How dare –"
“The problem, as it stands, is that I doubt there will be a wedding to send invitations for. Truly, it would not be worth the waste of parchment they were written on. Isn’t that right, Lord Wembley?”
Lord Wembley looked coldly at Marcus. “Ah, I see what this is.”
“As do I,” Lady Whitcombe added.
“What? What is going on?” Lord Whitcombe demanded with confusion.
“Have you not heard?” Lord Wembley chuckled coldly. “Your daughter has already tried once to talk dear Amelia out of marrying me. She seems to think that I am a bad sort, and she was rather insistent that this marriage not go ahead.” He squeezed Amelia’s hand as he spoke, and she did not look at himonce. “The simple fact is that I love your daughter, she loves me, and Her Grace is overcome with jealousy.”
“Is that what you think?” Marcus said simply.
“It is what I know,” Lord Wembley seethed. “Amelia has told me much of their youth, how Lucy was always treated as the prize, the good daughter, she who Amelia could never hope to match. And now that Amelia has something that Her Grace never will, she cannot stand it.”
