Chapter Nine
“But—”
“I’m sorry, m’lady,” said Mr. Forthright with what was evidently a doleful heart. “But there’s nowt I can do.”
Lucy sighed as she dropped into an armchair in the hotel lobby and looked up at the man who was twisting his hands. “I know, Mr. Forthright. You have done your best.”
Though it was exasperating.
Of all the people in Brighton she had hoped could help her, she had presumed—incorrectly, as it turned out—that Mr. Forthright would be the one person to assist. And certainly it wasn’t his choice; there was no choice. The man couldn’t risk his job just to do her a favor.
But still. It was galling.
“An’ I knows I owe you everything, m’lady, after you wrote that letter to the judge and got me freed even when I didn’t do nothing,” Mr. Forthright said wretchedly, twisting his fingers in knots before her.
He lowered his voice. “But if I rents to a lady, my boss will ask why and it’ll all come out, and none of them know—”
“I know, I quite understand,” Lucy said quietly, lifting a hand to stop the man’s apologetic flow. “The last thing I would want is for you to lose your job.”
Even if she wanted to scream.
After all, Mr. Forthright had never been charged with anything, just thrown into Brighton prison because he looked vaguely like someone who had been spotted perhaps skulking around a house at night. Which was not quite a crime, anyway.
Lucy had written to Judge Bonner at once and secured the man’s release, and by some miracle, his place of work had never heard about the debacle. People had lost their positions for less, she knew, and the man had six children.
But still. Just when she needed to rent a room for her Prison Reform Society event, the Regency Hotel would not rent to a lady…and the assistant hotel manager himself could not assist her.
Lucy sighed as a family of four entered the hotel, chattering away happily, the scent of salt in their hair. “I suppose I shall have to think again.”
“There’s plenty of church halls in Brighton, m’lady,” Mr. Forthright said eagerly, clearly desperate to help her one way or another. “You might find somethin’ else.”
“No.” Lucy shook her head with a rueful smile. “Not that it is not a fantastic idea, Mr. Forthright, but I have already been to speak with all the vicars, parsons, reverends, and ministers I can find in Brighton. None will have us.”
Or perhaps, more accurately, none would have her.
It was exasperating to find that although none of the men to whom she had spoken today had had any issue with the Prison Reform Society as an organization, the fact that it would be she, a woman, organizing the event…
Apparently, that was in some way against God.
As though, Lucy thought bitterly, there aren’t numerous women in the Bible who got on and sorted things out!
“I truly am sorry,” said Mr. Forthright pitifully.
Lucy looked up to see his genuine expression of remorse, the contrite way he hung his head, and sighed as she rose to her feet. “Nonsense, Mr. Forthright. You have been very helpful. Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”
It could not have been more clear that relief swept through the man with the breath he exhaled at her imminent departure—which Lucy was working hard not to take personally. It was not easy, though, as she stomped out of the hotel to meet with the waiting man.
“No good?” Bernard said, evidently seeing the stormy look on her face.
Lucy was tempted to utter a rude word, but as she knew so few, that was sadly a lost cause. “No good.”
Percy should have been accompanying the two of them, their mother had insisted, but the man had sloped off to do something or other with a few friends.
“Just keep your head down so no one can recognize you,” her brother had said blandly at the very first stop of the day.
“It’s not always that easy,” Lucy had told him. “I’ll be meeting with a number of gentlemen—I can’t walk in alone, or even with a man who isn’t my relation.”
“Sure, you can. Just tell everyone he’s me—I don’t exactly have a face men of business recognize.” He’d chuckled. “Or just tell everyone he’s your pet.”
Lucy had rolled her eyes, but her brother had left before she could retort. He’d been referring to something their mother had said right before they’d left, how she’d felt better about Lucy doing this work on behalf of the Prison Reform Society with Bernard along with her and Percy.
“After all, he is a sort of pet,” the Countess of Lindow had said blandly, even as Lucy widened her eyes in silent censure as Bernard tried not to laugh. “You may as well use him as a sort of guard dog. We know he can keep ruffians at bay.”
Yes, her parents had been delighted to hear about Bernard’s adventures in the alleyway, Lucy reminisced darkly.
Once they had been assured he was to make a full recovery, of course.
Perhaps it was because it confirmed that the man was not going to return to his criminal ways, or perhaps because it demonstrated his ability to defend himself and presumably others.
Either way, they had become very lax about the whole thing. Lucy dreaded to think what her more scandal-conscious Uncle William would have said about her gadding about town with a criminal for company. And thanks to Percy, she was unchaperoned with a criminal for company.
As it was, they had spent a few hours traipsing across Brighton and she was hot, and irritable, and was absolutely no farther than she’d been when she’d started.
“Did the man give a reason for his refusal?”
Bernard’s curious question, without judgment nor censure, made Lucy smile with weariness as the sun blazed down upon them, his bandage finally gone and replaced with her father’s lent hat. “I think he is concerned that people will ask questions.”
“‘Questions’?”
All too late, Lucy remembered that Bernard did not know about Mr. Forthright’s unfortunate and quite unprovoked brush with the law.
It was why, out of consideration for the man, she’d asked Bernard to wait outside for this meeting, unlike the others, during which she had introduced him as her brother.
It was either that or get lectured at by old men of faith and business about going anywhere improperly escorted. Mr. Forthright was hardly so pompous.
Of course, even her supposed brother’s silent presence in the background of these meetings hadn’t changed any of their minds. It was Lucy asking, after all, and the Prison Reform Society was largely a woman’s organization.
“Yes, the Prison Reform Society is not the most popular of charities, and many respectable places do not wish to be associated with it,” she said as nonchalantly as she could manage.
Which was true enough. Francois’s Restaurant had refused to even consider it, and the old Assembly Rooms had refused after very little consideration at all.
“But what it comes down to is that I am a woman.” Lucy sighed as they linked arms—the movement was so natural now, she did not even think about it—and started to walk along the street.
With the brim of her hat tilted just so, no one would recognize her.
Gossips of Society were not often walking along the streets of this neighborhood regardless.
Bernard glanced at her in confusion. “And being a woman in this case is a problem because…?”
It’s a mark of the man, Lucy thought warmly, that he cannot spot the problem.
It was so much easier being a man. She had thought this for some time, and he was proving it now. There was absolutely no reason why a man could not do anything, within reason.
A hot breath escaped Lucy’s lips. “Apparently, ladies do not organize.”
Bernard’s snort was heartening, even if it did attract a few stares from passersby. “But that’s ridiculous—our monarch is a woman!”
“Exactly!” Her spirits soared at the outpouring—fine, not exactly outpouring—but the clear support. “I have just as much a mind as any man, and just as much passion to make a difference in this world, for my people, for my country, and—why are you looking at me like that?”
Bernard hastily looked away, but Lucy was certain she had not dreamed it. He had been looking at her like…like…
Well, she hardly knew. As though she were the rising sun and he were the stars. As though he were the ocean and he wanted to approach her shores. As though she had said something absolutely wonderful and he…he wanted to do something about it.
Which was stupid, Lucy told herself firmly as they walked in silence for a minute. That kiss had been—it had been a mistake, plain and simple, and it was not to be repeated.
Even if it had been nightly in her dreams.
“I suppose we have the rest of the day to ourselves,” she mused aloud. “I’d love to go swimming.”
“No.”
Lucy glanced at the man and wondered, not for the first time, why on earth the man had such a vendetta against the sea. It wasn’t as though the ocean even knew it was being hated. “Why?”
Bernard’s jaw tightened. “Absolutely not.”
It appeared she was to receive no additional information, which naturally only inflamed her curiosity all the more. As it was, she squeezed his arm. “I might not be the Queen of England, but I could order you to come swimming with me, you know.”
That, at least, gained a smile. “Oh, you could, could you?”
“Well, your life does belong to me, in a roundabout sort of way,” she said brightly. “And I suppose I could—”
Lucy’s stomach lurched, but it was not because of the licentious thoughts that she was momentarily permitting herself to think. No, her entire body lurched, and that was because Bernard had suddenly come to a stop, her momentum propelling her forward and twisting her almost into his very arms.
“What is it?” Lucy’s gaze raked over him hurriedly, worry curling around her. “Is it your head? Does it pain you?”
The surgeon had been most cautious, which had encouraged her to think he would take care of the man carefully, but with a head wound, well, anything could happen.