Page 26 of Her Summer Duke

Lucy did not say what she was thinking, but Margaret could have said it for her. She had been admonished by her maid before, and knew Lucy’s story. Lucy was almost certainly thinking that her life would be much simpler if she had Lady Phoebe and Lady Margaret’s predicaments rather than her own. Lucy had to take care of her elderly father now. He had disappeared from her life when she was younger, which had forced her to be on the cold and unforgiving streets of London, but when her father had found out that she’d had a change of luck and had a nice position at Bradbury Crescent, oh then, and only then, had he come to her and begged that since he was her father, how could she ever throw him out in the cold.

Lucy was a good-hearted woman, Margaret knew, and she had not thrown her father out, no matter how tempted she had been. But her life was difficult as a result.

“My Ladies, things are not as bad as you would make them. Lady Phoebe, I am sure that, once you are married, this matter of his, er, uh, hands, will not be such a large matter at all.”

Lucy sighed.

“You do not understand; I do not love Lord Montpelier. He’s, well, he’s…” She stamped her foot, “He’s too French!”

Lucy stifled laughter.

“I understand, but is not his father British?”

“So he says.”

Lucy nodded.

“I know for a fact that he is. Lord Montpelier is not French.”

“But we could say that he is, because not only is his mother French, but his surname is also French. One cannot argue with this, Lucy.”

Lucy nodded. Nor would she argue further with the young girl.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and in a warm bed and send a message to your home. You can discuss this in the morning.” She glanced again at the valise atop the bed. “But Lady Margaret, perhaps you could enlighten me as to why your valise is being packed?”

Margaret squirmed under her maid’s stare. She wondered if she should tell Lucy the truth of what was transpiring.

If she did, would Lucy run to Lady Mantrell and tell her? She walked over to the bag and lifted it off the bed.

“I had thought of going with Lady Phoebe, to console her further, if need be.”

Lucy’s eyebrows rose. She knew, from long association, when Lady Margaret was delivering a blatant fabrication, and Margaret knew that she did – but it had been worth the try. Lucy reached for the bag and took it from Margaret’s hands.

“You could have called me to pack it for you.”

“I did not wish to awaken you.”

“Really? Am I not wide awake now? Lady Phoebe will stay here for the night and you may console each other in the morning.”

“But…”

“But what, Lady Margaret?”

Margaret pointed to the note in Lucy’s other hand.

“My letter from Lord Saltonbury.”

“Oh that. Here.” She handed it to Margaret, but held onto the corner of it a moment before releasing it – long enough to ask, “Are you going to share the details with me?”

Margaret pulled it from Lucy’s fingertips.

“There are some things best kept secret until the time is right.”

Lucy pursed her lips. “If my memory does not fail me, my Lady, your judgment is often less than ideal. Perhaps you will reconsider telling me, after you read it.”

Margaret smiled sweetly.

“That all depends on what the letter says.”