Page 13 of The Beloved Escapade

“I shall take Bessy with me.”

“That is … good to hear. But it will be considered irregular regardless of what arrangements you make.”

“Then it will be considered irregular. I am not living my life to satisfy rumor, Papa.”

He nodded slowly. “Your mother will not accept it quietly.”

“No.”

Her father was quiet a long time.

Then he said, very softly, “You are so like him.”

She could not speak. It pleased her immensely to hear that, even if it was not true. Even if she was one-and-twenty and had never done anything, not really.

“You are so like him it hurts my heart to look at you sometimes. He would have done exactly this. He would have cocked his head at me across this desk and told me he was going and that there was nothing I could do to prevent him. And then he would have gone. And I would have watched him ride away and known that I might never see him again.”

Her father gazed into the dancing flames of the fireplace, his expression distant as though he were rifling through old memories.

“I saw him ride away a great many times, Lucy. I always knew I might not see him back. And then one day I did not. And now you are sitting there with your chin up in exactly the way he used to do, and you are telling me you are going too, and I want to say something wise to stop you, but I have not the words. I do not think there are words. I do not think there were ever words for either of you.”

Lucy stood. She did not wish to be cruel, but her life was waiting to start.

She went round the desk without thinking and put her arms around his neck, and he embraced her, clearing his throat.

She held him.

She did not say anything. There was nothing to say.

After a while, he drew back and bussed her cheek and said, in something like his ordinary voice, “When do you propose to go?”

“As soon as it can be arranged.”

“Within the fortnight?”

“Sooner. Within the week.”

“Your mother will not have prepared herself in a week.”

“My mother will never prepare herself, Papa. Not in a week or a year or a lifetime. Better to be quick about it.”

He looked at her with something in his face that was very tired and very sad but not at all disapproving.

“Yes. Perhaps you are right.”

She stepped back, her legs feeling strange under her. “May I take the will?”

“You may take a copy. The original stays here. I shall have Whitby bring you the papers you will need. Deeds. Bank arrangements. Letters of authority. It will take a day or two to prepare everything.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

He nodded. He was looking down at the desk again. The court ruling was there. The two wills were there. The papers that had brought her here.

“Lucy?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you find at Grey House whatever it is you are going looking for. I hope it is not disappointment. And, my dear, when you have had time to absorb all of this, I hope that you will come home.”