Page 91 of Give Him a Chance

Chapter Seventeen

June 11, 1841

Dear Judge Bonner,

I am writing to you on behalf of a Mrs. Mordecai Quipps, née Eglantine Johnson, a woman of Brighton who was been accused of a theft, which, although she may be the perpetrator, does not deserve transportation to Australia. I am begging you to

Lucy blinked. A large splotch suddenly appeared on the page before her.

“Bother,” she muttered, scrunching it up and throwing it into the wastepaper bin that she had brought closer to her father’s desk where she was working.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the pain. Don’t think about the sadness. Just write.

Pulling a fresh piece of paper toward her, Lucy dipped her pen in the ink and started again.

Dear Judge Bonner,

I am writing to you on behalf of a Mrs. Mordecai Quipps, née Eglantine Johnson, a woman of Brighton who was been accused of a theft, which, although she may be the perpetrator

This time the splotch appeared before she had reached the next line.

Lucy blinked. Another one appeared.

“Stupid,” she muttered, dashing away the next tear that was about to fall and scrunching up this piece of paper as well.

She was being stupid. Crying, after a man who could not even tell her the truth when their very relationship depended on it?

“I am a viscount. I’m a viscount, Lucy. I’m Viscount Moray.”

Lucy scoffed as she pulled another piece of paper toward her.Viscount. Honestly!Did he really think that was going to work? Did the blighter actually think she would be won over by such a statement?

Beyond the fact that it couldn’t possibly be true, as she was sure she would have heard of him long before now if so, her own father was an earl! If the bounder was looking to impress, she would have expected Bernard to make himself a marquess, at the very least.

But she was being foolish. She had promised herself, and her mother, and her father, and bizarrely, Percy, who had taken the whole thing very hard, that she was not going to spend another thought on the rogue, and here she was, crying over him when she had important letters to write.

A distraction, that was all he’d been. A distraction from what she should have been doing.

Right. Poor Mrs. Quipps.

Dear Judge Bonner,

I am writing to you on behalf of a Mrs. Mordecai Quipps, née Eglantine Johnson, a woman of Brighton who was been accused of a theft, which, although she may be the perpetrator, does not deserve transportation to Australia.

“Well, Dixon, it’ll be transportation for you if I have my way.”

Lucy’s hands stiffened as the memory intruded on her mind.

It had been transportation she had thought she’d been saving Bernard from. A fate almost worse than death, and arguably just as likely to kill one in the long run. It was a barbaric practice, one she would not even wish on her greatest enemy.

Which was ironic, considering she now hated Bernard Dixon, or whatever his name was, with all her heart.

Lucy swallowed, the pain no longer ignorable. This was ridiculous. One could not fall in love with a confidence artist! He was impossible, impossible to know and therefore impossible to love.

One did not fall in love with an actor on a stage, or a known liar. Trust had to be there for love to grow…didn’t it?

Another splotch fell onto the letter that she had once again not managed to finish.

“Oh, damn it all to hell,” Lucy muttered as she scrunched up the letter and threw it into the now-overflowing wastepaper basket.