Here it was, the moment Lucy had dreaded since the first day she’d met Ciaran. She squeezed her eyes closed, but there was no escaping it, no hiding from it. All of London knew who she was, and who her father was. Ciaran would find out about it soon enough, and anyway, concealing the truth was just another form of lying. “I didn’t want to tell you because my father is…was…the Earl of Bellamy.”
Lucy waited for the exclamation, the laughter, the shocked gasp, but it never came.
“Barmy Bellamy? The Mad Earl?” Her brows drew together. “You’ve never heard of him?”
“Not until I arrived in Brighton. I did hear a few of the rumors while I was there. I’ve known all along you’re his daughter, Lucy.” He hesitated, then asked evenly, “Was he mad?”
There was no judgment in the question, no mockery in his voice. He was simply asking. It struck Lucy then no one, not even her cousin or her aunt had ever asked her that. They’d just assumed the rumors were true.
Now he’d asked the question, Lucy wasn’t sure how to answer it. Her father had been broken, certainly, and in a way that couldn’t be repaired. But madness? Weren’t they all mad, in one way or another? Weren’t they all broken in some way that couldn’t be fixed?
“He was different. People aren’t always kind to those who are different, are they? Even before my mother died he wasn’t much like other people. Afterward, he became…” She stopped, her breath catching. It was harder to get the words out than she’d thought it would be. “My mother was killed by a highwayman. Her death was sudden and tragic, and my father never recovered. He shut himself up inside our estate in Devon and he never came back out again.”
A thick, tense silence fell over the carriage. Lucy knew she’d shocked him. Who’d ever heard of an earl who refused to set foot outside his house? She waited for Ciaran to gather himself, dreading what he’d say, but when he spoke his words surprised her.
“What about you, Lucy? What did it mean for you that your father never left the house again?”
Lucy swallowed. They were going to have this out, it seemed, and she’d just as soon have it all out at once. “It meant he rarely permitted me to leave it, either. Not at first,” she added quickly, when she heard Ciaran’s sharp intake of breath. “But over the years he grew more restrictive. I loved my father, and I never thought of him as mad, but I may be the only person in England who didn’t.”
“You’re the only one who matters.”
Lucy couldn’t see him well enough to read his expression, but she’d never heard him speak quite so gently before. Tears rushed to her eyes, but she held them back and forced a laugh. “Yes, well, tell that to the old ladies in Brighton. I thought Lady Essex was going to come after me with a pistol and a burlap sack when she discovered I’m the Earl of Bellamy’s daughter.”
Lucy sensed more than saw Ciaran smile, felt the tension ease from his body even with the thick shadows dimming the inside of the carriage. Her chest loosened, and the same warmth she’d felt for him when they’d sat together on the beach rushed over her. Impulsively, she reached for him again, until she was holding both his hands. “I can’t believe you’re in London for the season. When I caught sight of you coming into the ballroom, I thought…well, I’ve simply never been so happy to see anyone in my life.”
“I came to make sure you’re safe and to see to it Vale knows you’re here. He’ll help you this season if you find you need it, but there’s something I need to tell you first.”
Something in his voice made apprehension dart down Lucy’s spine. “What is it?”
He hesitated, then asked, “Lord Godfrey. How well do you know him?”
Lucy blinked. What in the world did Lord Godfrey have to do with anything? “Well enough to know I don’t wish to know him any better. My uncle seems to have struck up a friendship with him, though I must say I can’t understand why his lordship would bother. They haven’t a thing in common. Indeed, I would have been pleased never to lay eyes on him again, but the man’s like an unlucky penny, turning up when one least wants or expects him.”
“Unluckier than you think. Your uncle and Lord Godfrey aren’t friends, Lucy. Godfrey’s here to make certain he collects a debt. Your uncle owes him money.”
Lucy laughed. “That’s impossible. Uncle Jarvis doesn’t have any money.”
“Itispossible, Lucy. Lord Godfrey holds your uncle’s vowels.”
“But how can he have…” Lucy trailed off.
Of course. All those nights in Brighton when her uncle had gone out and hadn’t returned until the early morning hours. He’d never deigned to explain his activities to his household, but Lucy knew more often than not he was deep into his cups by the time he arrived home.
If he’d been gaming while he was in that befuddled a state…
“You mean to say he’s been wagering. He’s been at cards and dice with Lord Godfrey, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, and your uncle isn’t a skilled gamer. Godfrey’s been hanging about Brighton for weeks now, taking the waters by day and your uncle’s money by night.”
Lucy’s head was spinning. “You saw this yourself?”
His smile was grim. “All those mornings I met you on the beach and you teased me about my bleary eyes, I was coming from a private game over at the Castle Inn. Your uncle and Godfrey were there nearly every night, and your uncle was rarely sober.”
Lucy shook her head. She couldn’t say much in her uncle’s favor. He was a weak, selfish man, but a propensity for drink and gaming? It was even worse than she’d realized. “How much? His debt to Lord Godfrey, Ciaran. How much do you think he owes him?”
Ciaran blew out a breath. “I can’t say for sure. I didn’t pay much attention to their dealings. I didn’t know Jarvis was your uncle at the time, or I would have. I only know it went on for weeks, and your uncle played deep. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was hundreds of pounds. Maybe more.”
“Hundreds of pounds! But my uncle doesn’t have it! He hasn’t any money at all!”
