Page 65 of Give Him a Chance

“Are you children now?” their mother asked wearily. “Honestly, Lucy, you will never be ready for matrimony at this rate!”

The hallway fell silent. Bernard was aware of a strange sort of ringing in his ears, but that could not have been from anything actually real, could it?

As he slowly turned, it was to discover Lucy staring at her feet, and Percy—Percy was absent.

Excellent. Already, they fell at the first hurdle.

“Come on.” Lord Lindow gave Bernard a brief smile. “Have fun, Dixon. Or at the very least, have sufficient fun that you are not driven back to a life of crime by the time we come back.”

“Papa!”

“Goodbye, Luce,” he said, kissing his daughter on the cheek. “Try not to scandalize Society by adopting another prisoner, will you?”

Bernard chuckled as she laughed.

“I’ll try, Papa.”

And the door was closed, and that was that. The Earl and Countess of Lindow had departed for a week’s sojourn at the Chance country estate, a place called Stanphrey Lacey, apparently, which was beautiful and marvelous, the library packed with books and in particular a treatise that Lucy wanted to read…and she hadn’t gone with them.

Bernard had not been brave enough to ask why.

Which was ridiculous. He had fought four Frenchmen with nothing but his wits and their own iron bar just a couple of weeks ago. Once, he had talked his way out of a hanging. Asking a woman why she was choosing not to leave him for a week should have been one of the easiest things in the world.

And yet…

“So,” Lucy said brightly, “ready to write letters?”

Bernard groaned, but mostly for effect. “There cannot be more to write.”

“There are six hundred and fifty-eight members of the House of Commons, and just over four hundred and fifty in the House of Lords,” Lucy said sternly, though delight flickered in her eye. “And yes, I am related to quite a few of the latter, so I shall be writing to them personally—but we have no funds in the Prison Reform Society for printing, and besides, a handwritten letter always means more.”

It was all he could do but sigh and traipse after her, following her into her father’s study and admiring—though not out loud, naturally—the setup she had concocted.

Lady Lucy Chance was determined to end transportation of convicts to Australia.

And that was all well and good. But as far as Bernard could see, it would be achieved through sacrificing his wrist and hours of his time.

“Here, I have the template written out for you in my best hand,” Lucy said eagerly, her excitement for the task pouring from her like heat. “I’ll be writing at this end of the desk to the members of the House of Lords, and you’ll be at the other end, writing to the Members of Parliament.”

Bernard could not help but grin as he dropped into the chair that Lucy—or more likely, a footman—had moved to the short end of the desk by the door. “Nobility for you, commoners for me? Keeping to type, are we?”

He had not intended it as a slight, more a jest, but Lucy bit her lip as she deposited herself in the other chair, which was most unfairly on the complete opposite side of the desk lengthways.

“Well… Well, yes,” she admitted, as though it were a great insult and she was sorry about it, but it was for the cause. “I thought—well, as I am connected to so many of them—”

“Lucy, I am not offended. I think it is an excellent idea,” Bernard said quietly, hating how he had caused such consternation in a woman so caring, so…so loving. “Now, how many letters will I be writing again?”

This time, there was a spark of mischief in her eyes. “Six hundred and fifty-eight. Give or take a few.”

Bernard groaned and dropped his head on the desk.

“Bernard!”

“Do you think I would have turned to a life of crime if I loved hard work?” he said, sitting up and chuckling at his own jest.

Lucy’s face had frozen.

Ah. Yes, she still did not know what he had been ‘sent to prison’ for. At some point, he would have to tell her…though of course, if Hovell appeared at the front door this moment, he would have to disappear in a flash of—