There had been talk at the end of her final Season about a match with a son of one of her father’s dearest friends, but the young man hadn’t liked the notion of marrying “a failed debutante.”
“Your mother and I agree that you must choose as your heart desires.”
As Lucy understood it, that’s exactly what Aunt Cassandra had done, running off to marry a Scottish laird when her family had a long-standing plan for a union with the heir of the neighboring estate. But Lucy knew pointing that out wouldn’t amuse her father.
“This isn’t an act of rebellion, Papa, but it is a bit of freedom I crave.”
He remained silent so long, Lucy’s heart began to sink. Would he truly demand the coachman turn their carriage about?
But he never did. As the brougham drew closer to King’s Cross Station, he patted her gloved hand once, and she knew that was his answer. Whatever his worries, whatever his doubts, he would only see her off, not thwart her plans.
Once the carriage had stopped along a line of others disembarking passengers, he finally turned toward her, his expression still grim, though his gaze had softened.
“Travel safely, darling girl, and come back to us soon. Be sensible, no matter what mad scheme your aunt concocts.”
“I promise. On all counts, and I’ll be back with you within a week. A fortnight at the most, or else I’ll miss Miranda’s wedding.”
He nodded then, and rather than allowing her to climb out on her own, he exited the carriage and came around to escort her. After they’d settled her trunk onto a porter’s cart, Lucy stopped him from taking her further into the station.
“I hope you and Mama enjoy your time in Wales.” Lucy lifted onto her tiptoes to buss his whiskered cheek. “All will be well, Papa.”
“Remember,” he called to her as she strode away, “pivot, elbow if necessary, and aim for the soft spots.”
Lucy chuckled, glanced back, and waved, though the crowd soon thickened and she lost sight of her father.
A moment later, she stepped onto the platform and gasped at the beauty of the station. Swathed in early morning light, the glass suspended between the steel beam arches of the roof glowed with an ethereal glow that made her feel a bit like she’d entered some grand cathedral.
As the platform filled with passengers waiting to board the Special Scotch Express, Lucy sensed the same anticipation she’d felt all morning among those in the crowd. For her, though, it was more than anxiousness for an excitingjourney. She’d been seized by another feeling she found too fanciful to confess to her father.
She sensed that, somehow, this holiday would change her. That whoever she was now, she wouldn’t be quite the same when she returned.
James clenched his fist within the tight confines of his glove and winced. He hadn’t struck another man in years and had rather forgotten how hard a human face could be. Even three days later, bruises lingered and the cut on his knuckle was slow to heal.
“Not long now, m’lord,” the driver shouted down.
James gritted his teeth. Despite his eagerness to get to the station in time for the express, the notion of boarding a train made his pulse race and panic shoot like adrenaline through his veins. The same feeling he’d had onthatday so many years ago.
He rarely returned to memories of the train crash that had taken his parents’ lives.
The cabbie seemed to know how to navigate the sea of carriages heading toward King’s Cross Station. Yet, they moved with the speed of pouring molasses.
Waseveryonetraveling today?
As much as he loathed the notion of train travel, the express to Scotland departed once each day, and James wanted this matter settled with all due haste. Even now, the thought of Archibald Beck orhis men revisiting his home and menacing his staff made his stomach roil.
He commanded himself to take deep breaths and felt his heartbeat begin to settle. He let his head fall back against the wall of the carriage, and it knocked harder than he’d intended against the wood.
Maybe he deserved it.
After James had invested heavily in an industrial scheme to develop cargo ships that ran on electricity, the enterprise fell apart. Injured contractors. Faulty materials. An inventor who disappeared with much of the initial investment.
Three months in, James sought a loan to keep his shipping business afloat and only later came to realize that Beck was the worst sort of predatory lender. Once the loan monies evaporated, Beck came after him for what he’d borrowed, plus an exorbitant amount of interest.
Perhaps Beck had assumed that because of the blue blood in his veins, James could liquidate assets readily, but he’d never lived that way. Never known true inherited wealth. Even his father had eked out a living on the pittance the old earl had spared him.
James had built wealth through his own ingenuity and instincts. He’d formed his own shipping company, earned the respect of others in commerce, and with one ill-fated investment scheme, his efforts had all gone to hell.
Bloody, bloody fool.How had he been such agullible mark for a fraudulent enterprise? Or a man like Beck? His entire adult life, he’d relied on the principle of accepting help from no one. When his uncle turned his back after his parents’ deaths, James decided he could only rely on himself. Whatever he earned, whatever success he achieved, he wished to do so on his own merit, through his own hard work. Most of all, he’d steered clear of nobility, despite his father’s bloodline, after the expectation of inheriting a title had gotten his parents killed. Aristocrats liked to dabble in business, yet they judged those who made their living via commerce.
