Chapter FIFTY-TWO
By the time Lucy arrived at the royal palace a sennight later, she’d been schooled in absolutely every single bit of decorum—and for lack of a better term, girlishness—than she had in her prior twenty-three years of life. What Cass knew about being a lady could fill volumes. It was quite extraordinary. For example, who knew there was a proper way to laugh at a gentleman’s jest? A proper way to ensure your gait was not too hurried? A proper way to raise your skirts when walking through mud? And a proper way to address certain members of the queen’s household? Oh, Lucy had probably heard these rules before, naturally, but she hadn’t been paying a whit of attention five years ago. It had bored her to distraction, actually. But now, with her future with Derek in jeopardy, Lucy studied these asinine bits of decorum as if she were the most zealous and ambitious young lady on the verge of making a debut.
The rules had all been repeated ad nauseam, drilled into her head, and practiced over endless rounds of rehearsals attended by Cass as the devoted and strict instructor, Jane as the audience and general jeerer, and Garrett upon occasion when the subject matter called for a male to be present, such as dancing.
But most surprising of all was that Lucy actually enjoyed some of it. She kept Derek in her thoughts. Doing these things with Derek, spending time with him. It all seemed like a small price to pay for a future with him. And by the end of it she’d had the thought more than once that if she hadn’t spent so long vehemently protesting the general concept of participating in ladylike pursuits, she might very well have enjoyed them all along.
But still, as Lucy approached the great doors to the queen’s chambers, her insides quaked. No matter how many hours Cass had spent teaching her, did she truly have it in her to be a proper lady? The smell of lemon polish reminded her of the last time she’d been here. She gulped. At least her mother wasn’t with her this time to see her shame. Oh, she’d written to her mother, and casually mentioned that she would be going to see the queen, but she’d steadfastly refrained from adding the bit about a possible engagement to a duke. No sense getting Mama’s hopes up too high if nothing were to come of it. Of course, the rumor mill might well make it to her mother’s ear before she had a chance to explain. But that was a risk Lucy was willing to take. Aunt Mary, at least, had promised to keep quiet until after everything was settled one way or another. Lucy could always count on Aunt Mary to take her side over her mother’s.
Two handsome footmen sporting royal livery pulled open the great doors to the chamber. Lucy sucked air through her nostrils and then slowly began her march toward the throne. Her footsteps echoed against the marble floors. The closer she came, the more she recognized the details from the scene of five years ago. The princesses were lined up in chairs on either side of their mother, the servants stood at rapt attention along the walls, the ladies-in-waiting and the rest of the court milled about, laughing and— Oh wait, they weren’t laughing. They were silent. All silent. Watching her approach.
Lucy concentrated on putting one foot in front of the next. Balance, Cass had said, was the key to mastering the formal dress of the court. The hoops that had nearly upended Lucy five years ago were tamely mastered this time. At least she could claim that small victory.
She glanced around. Aunt Mary had escorted her and Cass was there, just as she’d said she would be. She’d begged her mother to allow her to come today. Lucy suspected Lady Moreland had allowed it so that the queen might see how much better a duchess Cass would make, but Lucy appreciated her friend’s presence nonetheless.
Cass and Aunt Mary both gave Lucy encouraging smiles just before she came to a halt several paces in front of the queen’s throne.
“Lady Lucy Upton, Your Majesty,” some regally dressed servant announced.
The queen looked down her nose at Lucy. She seemed to study her from top to toe. No doubt the princesses were doing the same. She couldn’t look at them.
“Lady Lucy,” the queen intoned.
Lucy held her breath. If she remembered correctly this was one of the most difficult parts. A throne room bow wearing hoop skirts was something from which one might well never recover. But she and Cass had practiced until Lucy felt as if her ribs might crack. She was prepared. Gulp. She hoped.
She lowered herself into the sweeping bow, hoping against hope that she did not tip over and fall flat upon her face. “Your Majesty.”
“You may stand,” the queen offered shortly thereafter.
Lucy slowly and carefully righted herself. One exceedingly awful part finished. How many more remained?
The queen folded her hands in her lap and glared at Lucy. “Lady Moreland tells me she questions whether you are a suitable wife for Claringdon.”
Lucy kept her gaze trained on the floor. She wanted to slap Lady Moreland, or at least deliver a crushing set-down to the matron. How had lovable, wonderful Cass come from such a hideous woman? Lucy shook her head. Must concentrate. Demure. Demure. Demure. “I understand, Your Majesty.”
“And do you agree?” the queen asked, her voice pitched high.
“I do not, Your Majesty.” If demure called for lying, Lucy just couldn’t do it. She could nearly hear Cass wince.
“I see.” The queen held out her hand, and a footman rushed forward with a sheet of parchment. Another footman hurried forth and presented the queen with a pair of golden spectacles. She perched them upon her nose and unfolded the parchment. “It says here that you’ve been known to do tricks on horseback.”
Lucy gulped. Oh, no. The queen had a list? This could not end well. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You learned to hunt and fish as a child?”
Eyes still riveted to the floor, Lucy nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You make poultices for horses?”
Lucy swallowed. “And hounds. And sometimes people, Your Majesty.”
“You once challenged a boy to duel?” The royal voice went up in pitch again at that one.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Hrmph.”
Sweat trickled down Lucy’s brow. Oh, this was not going well. Not going well at all.
“You.” The queen stopped, and Lucy dared a glance. The queen removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes before placing the frames back upon her regal nose. “You asked your father if you could attend Eton?” The queen’s eyebrow arched and she looked around at the princesses. “That cannot be right.”
“It is, Your Majesty,” Lucy replied. That was it. If she heard a thud it would be Cass fainting.
The princesses giggled at Lucy’s confession. Lucy winced. She remembered that tittering sound from five years ago. It had been etched in her brain.
The queen narrowed her eyes and stared at her. Lucy contemplated her monarch. This woman had fifteen children and a mad husband. She’d seen her share of oddities no doubt. But she was looking at Lucy as if she were a creature from another world.
“Turn around, Lady Lucy,” the queen demanded.
Lucy gritted her teeth and did as she was asked.
“I’m told you have a sharp tongue,” the queen said next.
Demure. Demure. “Also true, Your Majesty.”
The queen pulled the spectacles from her nose. The footman rushed back to retrieve them. “And are you curbing it today for my sake?”
“Absolutely!” Perhaps that had been a bit too vehement.
More giggling from the princesses. Lucy wanted to sink through the floor.
“I see,” the queen intoned. “Lady Moreland also informs me that when you made your bow, you caused quite a scene.”
Lucy let her shoulders relax for the first time since she’d entered the chambers. Oh, thank heavens. The queen didn’t remember it herself.
“I … may have, Your Majesty.”
“Did you or didn’t you, Lady Lucy?”
She could hear Cass’s voice in her head. Say you didn’t. Say you didn’t.
Lucy took a deep breath. “Yes. I made an awful scene, Your Majesty. One that I am extremely regretful of at present.”
The queen’s eyebrow shot up again. “And did you regret it at the time?”
Lucy squared her shoulders and pushed up her chin. This was it, the final strike against her. “No, Your Majesty. I only regret it now because I hope it will not affect your decision as to my worthiness to marry the Duke of Claringdon.”
A gasp went round the room. All eyes were on the queen’s face. What would the royal lady possibly say to that?
From the corner of her eye, Lucy spied Cass standing next to Aunt Mary rapidly fanning herself. Aunt Mary seemed to have a permanent wince burned onto her features, and Lady Moreland had her arms crossed over her chest and a satisfied smirk on her face. She knew she’d won.
Lucy picked up her skirts. Cass had been adamant. She must back out of the room as soon as the queen dismissed her. One never turned one’s back to a monarch, and Lucy’s retreat was about to be the most humiliating in history.
“I have one more question for you, Lady Lucy,” the queen said.
Lucy gulped. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Why do you wish to marry the Duke of Claringdon?”
Lucy took a deep breath. “The truth is, Your Majesty, I regret that he is a duke. I want to marry him because he is the best man I’ve ever known. More loyal and loving and kind than anyone knows. I love him, Your Majesty, and I would do anything for him. Including coming here today and wearing this ridiculous gown with the equivalent of a bird in my hair and stays that may end my life, and simper and scrape and act proper for the chance to spend the rest of my life with him.”
That had done it. She’d rendered the poor princesses speechless. Their royal mouths had all dropped open simultaneously.
Lucy glanced about the chamber. Cass’s mother was practically rubbing her hands together with glee. And Cass had gone so pale, Lucy was certain she would faint—which might be just the distraction Lucy needed to back out of the room without as many people watching. Faint, Cass. Faint.
The queen narrowed her eyes on Lucy and drummed her fingers along the arms of her ornate chair. “I remember you, Lady Lucy. You told me you didn’t enjoy being forced into uncomfortable clothing for the sake of propriety and you kicked off your shoes after declaring that they pinched your feet hideously.”
Lucy closed her eyes. Oh, yes, that had been her, all right. She bowed her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Then you pulled the feathers out of your hair and asked your mother if the ‘blasted thing’ was over yet.”
Lucy pressed two fingertips to the throbbing pain in her skull. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The queen leaned forward just a bit. “You are your parents’ only child, are you not?”
That was a surprising question. “Yes, Your Majesty. My brother Ralph died at the age of nine.”
The queen glanced around at the princesses. “Can you imagine, girls, not having any sisters?”
The princesses’ sympathetic murmurs filled the state room. With such a robust family, no indeed, they could not imagine any such thing.
The queen looked down her nose at Lucy once again. “I shall leave it to you to inform Claringdon that you’re to be his bride.”
Lucy’s heart stopped. If anyone was going to faint now, it just might be her. “Did I hear you correctly, Your Majesty? I thought you said—”
The queen nodded. “You’re of good family. I see no reason to object. Seems to me you’re both a bit unconventional and will be the perfect match for each other. Not to mention there is hardly enough true love in this world.”
The princesses collectively sighed.
The squeal Lucy heard next must have been her own but she didn’t stop to examine its origin. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you very much.” She began to back away. Oh, it was taking far too long. About halfway across the room, she turned, picked up her skirts, and ran full tilt.
Lady Moreland’s vehement protests echoed through the chamber. Lucy’s eyes briefly met Cass’s. Cass’s mouth was as wide as an O.
“Lucy, you’re running,” Cass called, an undercurrent of disapproval and warning in her voice.
“I know,” she called back.
“Why?” Cass’s voice was filled with nerves. Then, “Where are you going?”
Without breaking her stride, Lucy yanked off her feathered headdress and tossed it in the air. “I’m going to be bold!”