Chapter 3 #2
In that certainty, she found a spark of strength.
A warmth that reminded her why she had chosen this path, why she had accepted this challenge despite the danger and confusion of the night.
But with that warmth came something else, a fragile, startling worry in her chest, the strange, pressing need not to disappoint him.
Not this little boy, so earnest and determined, who had trusted her with something far greater than she had ever been entrusted with before.
“You… you mean I will be living here?” Lucy’s eyes widened.
She stepped into the wide, dimly lit hallway of Langridge Manor, her hands clutching the straps of her bag as the housekeeper guided Anthony away to his room. She lingered for a moment, taking in the grand proportions of the hall, the polished wood, the glint of brass sconces casting soft shadows.
“Yes. You will be living here, Miss Crampton. For the time being, at least.”
Lucy blinked, unsure whether to be incredulous or flustered. “I wasn’t expecting that. I had planned to stay at an inn during my time here. You don’t have to—”
“You are not staying at an inn,” he interrupted. “Due to the circumstances we find ourselves right now, you are my guest, by necessity and by my son’s insistence. That is final. You stay here until you are done with the task that brought you here.”
Lucy’s gaze lingered on him despite the fluttering in her chest. They stood only a few feet apart in the vast hallway, the silence and echoes stretching between them heavier than the polished floors and grand staircases around them.
“So…” she began carefully, tilting her head as if weighing each word, “the reason you relented was because of your son?”
Rowan’s brow arched. “Why are you asking me that?”
Lucy shrugged. “You do not strike me as the sort of man who would yield, Your Grace. You are… proud as one should be. Yet, here you are, allowing your son to influence a decision you had stated clearly you did not wish to make.”
Rowan cleared his throat, his gaze flicking away briefly, then back to her.
“Sometimes,” he said slowly, “one does what is required for the betterment of those around them. This is one of those instances. My son is the next Duke of Langridge. He must begin to trust his own decisions, to exercise his voice. I would be negligent not to allow him this guidance.”
He stepped closer, the space between them still commanding, still tense. “If he believes you are necessary, then I will hear his point. I will accept your assistance in this matter and only in this matter. Consider yourself here for two weeks. Two weeks to accomplish what has been requested.”
Lucy blinked, feeling a fusion of relief, apprehension, and the faint, unexpected thrill of curiosity. Two weeks. Enough to make an impression, enough to test her skill, enough, she realized, to measure the weight of a Duke’s expectations.
“I understand,” she said. “Two weeks, then. I will do my best, Your Grace.”
“I’m not done.” He shook his head, approaching her slowly.
Lucy’s pulse quickened, her breath catching slightly.
“I will accept your help, which has been established. You are to remain here, and you will attempt to find me a suitable match for the good of the household, for my sons, and for the sake of propriety. Now that I think about it, if I go through with this, the gossips about me amongst the ton would cease.”
His eyes darkened, sharp as steel. “Two weeks, Miss Crampton. Two weeks to succeed. If you do not, then…” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle between them. “… then you will be my bride instead.”
Lucy blinked, startled, and then, despite herself, let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“I see you still doubt my skill, Your Grace. Well, I assure you, I am entirely serious about my work. There will be no need for threats. You have nothing to worry about. I will do everything in my power to find a suitable match. Two weeks will be more than enough time.”
Rowan did not flinch, did not offer a hint of amusement. He simply continued to study her. Lucy felt herself shift under the intensity, the heat of his scrutiny prickling her skin.
Then, almost unconsciously, his eyes drifted lower, tracing the line of her lips before snapping back to meet her eyes. “If you do not find a match for me in two weeks, Lucy Crampton, you will be my bride instead. The search ends then,” he repeated.
Lucy swallowed, heart thudding in her chest. The audacity of the statement, coupled with the gravity in his eyes, made it impossible to dismiss as mere teasing.
Rowan’s gaze remained fixed, unwavering, and in that charged silence, Lucy felt the gravity of the challenge before her.
She realized, in a rush of thrill, that she would not back down.
She couldn’t. A lot depended on her successfully matching the Duke of Langridge.
Lucy squared her shoulders, forcing a calmness she did not entirely feel. “Very well, Your Grace,” she said, steadying her voice. “I suppose that is one way to ensure diligence.”
Rowan’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly, the closest he came to a smile, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “Good luck, Miss Crampton.”
Lucy exhaled slowly. “I do not need luck. I have skill.”
“Very well. The housekeeper will see you to your chambers.”
Rowan inclined his head, taking a measured step back, yet the tension did not dissipate. His presence lingered in the space between them, commanding and magnetic. Lucy straightened, gripping the straps of her bag, making sure she was not the first person to break off their locked eyes.
Don’t back down. We can do this. Let’s prove to Aunt Selina... to Mama that this is what I was born to do.