“To visit Aunt Cassandra.” Lucy held out the letter. “She’s invited me.”
Her mother lifted a finger to her lips. “We don’t want to wake Lady Braithwaite.” Then she clasped Lucy’s hands in hers. “Of course you should go and visit, my dear. Let’s discuss it later and see if we can find a time in the spring to go together.”
“No, Mama. I want to go on my own, and I want to leave now. As soon as possible.”
A frown broke across her mother’s face, pinching her forehead and tightening the edges of her mouth. “Lucy, what has gotten into you?”
Of course, this wasn’t like her at all. For too long, she’d been willing to let everything happen for others and content with never claiming experiences for herself. But the spiritedness her aunt spoke of in her letter was there too, and it was long past time she reclaimed it.
“I’m going, Mama,” Lucy told her mother with a quiet determination she’d never felt before. “I want an adventure of my own.”
Chapter Three
Three days later
“This is unexpected, Papa.”
Lucy’s father said nothing to that declaration and merely settled more firmly against the squabs of his elegant carriage.
After breaking her fast and dressing, she’d bounded down the stairs, practically vibrating with eagerness to start her journey to Scotland. She’d expected to find a hansom cab to take her to the train station. Instead, she’d stepped out the front door to find her father’s fashionable brougham at the curb. He’d appeared behind her a moment later, helped her into the polished black carriage, settled himself beside her, and had yet to say a single word. She had a terrible inkling about why he’d decided to escort her to the station, but there was a lightness and flutter of anticipation inside her today that nothing could dull.
She’d obtained her ticket the day after her parents’ dinner party and exchanged telegrams with her aunt, who planned to pick her up at WaverleyStation in Edinburgh this evening. The express would get her there in a little over eight hours. She’d packed what she’d need for a fortnight stay as efficiently as possible. Only herself, one small trunk, and an overstuffed valise were to be transported to King’s Cross Station.
“What merited a personal escort by the Earl of Hallston?” she prodded.
He side-eyed her with one salt-and-pepper brow arched high. “Are you implying that I don’t normally attend to my daughter’s safety and well-being?”
“Not at all.” Lucy was used to their teasing banter, but she couldn’t tell if he was in the mood for it today. “But you’re usually at your club or busy with meetings at this hour of the morning.”
“I canceled my meetings.” When he glanced over at her, his eyes were narrowed and assessing. “If you must know, I’m still debating whether to permit you to go.”
Lucy gripped the fabric of her skirt and willed herself not to retort. Her father did not respond well to rash replies. He was a man of diplomacy, a reasonable man. In fact, they’d already debated this topic and he had relented, however reticently.
Besides, they’d already pulled onto a main thoroughfare and into the crush of morning traffic. With any luck, they’d arrive at the station within half an hour.
“Bannister should be accompanying you on this excursion,” he groused.
“Mama needs her more than I.” The loyal lady’s maid always accompanied her mother on journeys, and Lucy was more than capable of dressing herself. “Besides, I’ll have Aunt Cassandra and her staff.”
The harrumph her father let out was loud and brimming with all the doubts he’d earlier expressed about how much of a bad influence he expected her aunt to be. But Lucy had never considered herself missish or impressionable.
“Don’t you trust me, Papa?”
He side-eyed her again, turning his face only the slightest bit, but still allowing her to feel the full force of his irritation.
“I trust you implicitly, dear girl. You’re clever and competent and never get ruffled when trouble arises. I’d trust you to run the earldom, truth be told.”
“But?” If the cause of his grumpiness involved more critique of her aunt, Lucy didn’t wish to hear it, but she would put his mind at ease if she could.
“A young lady traveling alone—”
“But you’ve taught me and Charlie how to defend ourselves.” Her younger brother had received more formal instruction than she had, of course, but their father had taught both of them the basics of how to handle a gun, a sword, and the kinds of punches he employed at the gentleman’s boxing saloon he attended when they were in residence in London.
“You recall how to break a hold if some devil accosts you?”
“I do, Papa.”
“You needn’t do this as some sort of rebellion, Lulu.” He rarely used her childhood nickname, and his voice softened the minute it was out. “We were never going to marry you off to Atterberry.”
