Chapter 5 #2
“I want to learn this craft,” Lucy continued. “I want to make something of myself that is not measured by anyone. Aunt Selina finally gave me a chance. I cannot turn back now.”
“What about the Duke?” Dorothy asked gently. “If he means what he says? Would it be such a terrible idea to marry him? We would be close. We would see each other more often. Your mama would be happy.”
Lucy shook her head vigorously. “Marriage isn’t in the books for me anymore, Dorothy. I don’t want that life. Certainly, not with someone like Rowan Clawridge.”
Dorothy pressed a hand to her chest, exasperated, yet concerned. “Lucy, you must promise me something. You are not to do anything reckless. Nothing rash, do you hear me?”
Lucy laughed softly, shaking her head. “Dorothy, I promise. I’ve learned that rash decisions do more harm than good. This time, I am being deliberate. Thoughtful. Strategic.”
Dorothy studied her for a long moment, her brow furrowed as if weighing Lucy’s words against every previous escapade.
Finally, she nodded. “Very well. But remember, you are not alone in this. If you need help, anything, no matter how small, you write to me, you send a message, you find me. You must not try to handle this entirely on your own.”
Lucy’s lips curved in a small, determined smile. “I understand. I won’t. But I need to see this through, Dorothy. I have to succeed, so I will do this the right way.”
Dorothy’s expression softened, and she pulled Lucy into a tight embrace. “I worry for you, Lucy. You throw yourself into these situations with such abandon, but you must remember to care for yourself as well.”
Lucy returned the hug with equal force, feeling the warmth and trust in her cousin’s gesture.
It was exactly what she needed. Dorothy’s worry only fueled her resolve.
She pulled back slightly, resting her hands on Dorothy’s shoulders.
“I will make this work. I will find him a wife. I will do it properly.”
Dorothy sighed, her lips twitching as if a small smile threatened to emerge. “Then I shall hold you to it.”
Lucy straightened, letting the embrace end. Dorothy’s faith in her became an armor, one that made her even more hell-bent on succeeding in the impossible task before her.
“Good morning, Miss Crampton. This is Daniel Clawridge, my youngest brother. He wanted to meet you.”
Lucy had taken refuge in the library that morning with the determination of someone seeking answers from leather-bound volumes rather than people.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching dust motes in the air as she scanned the shelves, one finger trailing along the spines while her mind worked furiously.
She had reached for a volume when she sensed a presence behind her.
“Daniel, you say?” she managed to respond.
Anthony stood there, upright and solemn in the way only boys who believed themselves men could manage. Beside him hovered a smaller figure, half-hidden behind his brother’s arm, dark curls slightly rumpled as though he had debated whether or not to come and nearly fled at the last moment.
Lucy blinked once, then smiled.
Anthony nodded. “Yes, Miss Crampton. I hope we are not disturbing you.”
“Not at all,” Lucy replied, though she glanced briefly at the book still in her hand, wondering how long she had been so deeply absorbed as to miss footsteps entirely. “I was only acquainting myself with the shelves.”
Daniel peeked out then, eyes large and observant, fixed somewhere between Lucy’s face and the hem of her gown. He did not speak, only offered a small, hesitant nod.
Lucy lowered herself a little, so they were closer to eye level. “I am very pleased to meet you, Daniel. My name is Lucy Crampton. You both can call me Lucy.”
Daniel studied her for a long moment, then glanced up at Anthony, as if seeking approval, before nodding again. His fingers twisted in the fabric of his sleeve.
“He does not talk much,” Anthony explained, lowering his voice, “but he listens. He likes animals. Horses, especially, and dogs. He says dogs understand more than people.”
Lucy’s smile softened. “I think he may be right.”
Daniel’s gaze flickered back to her at that.
Lucy straightened then, the awkwardness settling into something gentler. Morning had clearly begun without ceremony at Langridge. No grand announcements, no rigid formality, only silent corridors. She suspected this was how the house revealed itself—slowly and only to those willing to look.
“Well,” she said lightly, folding her hands together, “I am glad you both found me. I was just beginning my day.”
Anthony relaxed a little at her ease. “Shall we sit?” he asked, lowering himself to sit on the carpet near the tall window.
Lucy followed them down, smoothing her skirts as she sat cross-legged on the rug, the morning light spilling across the floor in pale squares. “You say Daniel is a good listener?” she asked. “I am fond of good listeners.”
Anthony’s gaze flicked to the book she had been holding moments earlier. “What were you looking for?” he asked. “You looked rather determined.”
“I was,” Lucy admitted, lifting the slim volume from beside her.
“Though I am not certain this library wished to cooperate with me.” She turned the book so they could see the worn leather binding.
“I was hoping to find Aesop’s Fables or perhaps Evenings at Home.
Something with stories that teach without sounding as though they are teaching. ”
Anthony’s brows rose. “Father prefers histories. That’s mostly what I read.”
“I have noticed,” Lucy said, her mouth twitching. “But histories are heavy things for the morning. Fables are kinder. They leave room for thought.” She glanced at Daniel. “And for animals.”
At that, Daniel’s eyes lit unmistakably.
Lucy leaned a little closer. “If you really like animals, Daniel, then you would approve of Aesop,” she told him. “Foxes, lions, clever mice. All sorts of creatures getting into trouble and, occasionally, out of it.”
Daniel considered this, then gave a small, careful nod.
Anthony absorbed that in silence. After a moment, he said. “Mother read something similar to me once, I think. I’m not quite sure.”
Lucy did not interrupt. She let the quiet stretch and felt Daniel shift closer until his shoulder brushed hers.
“I do not remember much,” Anthony went on, his voice steady but subdued.
“Only that she did not laugh loudly. She spoke softly. She kept her distance from Father most of the time.” He frowned, as if trying to recall something just out of reach.
“We had meals together. A few. She would ask about my lessons.”
Daniel’s fingers twisted in the fabric of his coat.
“She died when Daniel was born,” Anthony said simply. “That is what everyone says.”
Lucy nodded slowly, careful not to press too hard. She shifted on the rug, so she was level with him, her skirts pooled neatly around her knees.
“What else do you remember of her, Anthony?” she asked. “Not what everyone says. Just what you remember.”
Anthony hesitated. His gaze drifted toward the tall windows.
“I didn’t get to... see her a lot,” he said at last. “She always kept to herself.” He frowned slightly. “She did not spend much time with us. At least, not with Father present. I’m not sure if they liked each other that much. But I recall she smelled nice,” he added softly. “Like flowers.”
Lucy’s chest tightened. She smiled at him. “That sounds like a very important thing to remember.”
Anthony nodded. “After she died, nothing changed at first. The house stayed the same. The servants stayed. Father stayed.” He paused, then added, more quietly. “But it felt… emptier. As if something had gone missing, and no one spoke about it.”
Lucy considered that. “What about your father?” she asked carefully. “Did he ever speak of her to you?”
Anthony shook his head. “Not really. He does not speak of things that are finished.”
“That must be difficult,” Lucy said, her tone thoughtful rather than pitying. “To love someone and then be expected to forget them because time has moved on.”
Anthony smiled softly. “Father says remembering does not change what happened.”
Anthony’s smile lingered only a moment longer before he straightened. He rose from the floor gently and brushed the imaginary dust from his trousers.
“I must return to my studies,” he said, already stepping back.
“Father will not be pleased if I skip.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the door then back to Lucy.
“I hope you will keep Daniel company. He truly wants to spend some time with you. He thinks you’re very pretty—like his favorite flower. ”
Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but Anthony had already offered a polite nod, the sort one learned early in a house where courtesy mattered, and turned away. His footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving a sudden silence behind him.
Lucy remained seated for a moment, her thoughts lingering on what had been left unsaid. Slowly, Lucy turned her attention to Daniel. He sat where Anthony had left him, hands clasped in front of him, dark eyes fixed on the window as though the garden beyond might rescue him from conversation.
“What is your favorite flower, Daniel?” she asked curiously.
He startled slightly, and for a moment, Lucy thought he might not answer at all.
“The primrose,” he said at last, barely above a whisper.
Lucy smiled at once, the sort of smile that asked nothing further of him. “The primrose,” she repeated. “That is a very fine choice.”
“They grow low,” he added, as if offering an explanation. “Near the ground. You have to look for them.”
She tilted her head slightly. “How old are you, Daniel?”
“Eight,” he replied after a moment.
“Eight,” Lucy repeated with a small nod. “I think you are quite clever for your age.”
His lips twitched, the faintest hint of pride breaking through his reserve, and Lucy counted that as a victory. She glanced toward the windows as an idea formed in her head. “Would you like to play a game outside?” she asked lightly. “The morning is too fine to waste indoors.”
Daniel hesitated only briefly before nodding. He slipped his hand into hers, tentative at first then firmer, and Lucy rose with him. Together, they made their way from the library toward the garden.
“Have you ever played Hunt the Thimble?” she asked.
Daniel’s head tilted, curiosity overtaking his shyness. He shook his head. “No.”
“It’s very simple,” Lucy continued, smiling.
“One of us hides a small object, like a thimble or a pebble, then the other person has to find it. But here’s the trick.
.. you won’t be told exactly where it is.
I’ll say ‘warmer’ when you’re getting close and ‘colder’ when you’re moving away from it. Do you understand?”
Daniel’s eyes brightened. “So I have to listen carefully to you?”
“Exactly,” Lucy said. “The more you move, the more you might get a little… messy,” she added with a mischievous wink. “But that’s all part of the fun.”
Daniel giggled. “I like messy fun!”
They began near the rose beds, Lucy hiding the object beneath a low hedge while Daniel turned his back with great seriousness, counting aloud as she instructed.
When he turned again, he searched earnestly, crouching to peer beneath benches and darting toward flowerbeds whenever Lucy laughed and said, “Warmer… warmer still.”
Before long, Daniel was running across the lawn, shoes damp with morning dew, trousers streaked with green where he knelt too quickly.
Lucy fared no better. Her skirts brushed against soil and crushed petals as she followed him, laughing freely when he guessed wrong and clapping his hands triumphantly when he found the hidden object at last.
They played again. And again.
At some point, Lucy lost track of who was hiding and who was searching.
The rules blurred, replaced by the simple joy of movement and laughter.
Dirt smudged Daniel’s sleeves. Lucy’s hem grew heavy with grass stains, she did not once think to mind.
The garden seemed to close around them, sunlight filtering through leaves as though time itself had slowed to watch.
It was only when Lucy paused to catch her breath, hands braced on her knees, that she realized how long they must have been there.
She lifted her eyes, and she caught a figure by the window facing the garden.
At first, she couldn’t make out who it was, but a second later, her eyes fixated on the figure, and she realized it was Rowan standing there.
Watching them. His frown was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet it spoke volumes of his disapproval.
It did not surprise her, strangely. There was no world in which Rowan Clawridge would approve of his son rolling around in the mud. But she thought that he was too far away from her to chastise her for it, so she figured she got away this time.
Lucy’s chest fluttered. His eyes, sharp and commanding even from afar, held hers. For a heartbeat, the world shrank to just the two of them, the boy in the garden oblivious, the game forgotten, and the distance between their gazes tense.
A small voice cut through the charged atmosphere. “Am I still cold? Or maybe… am I warm?” Daniel’s question brought Lucy back to the moment.
She turned her head toward him, and without breaking eye contact with Rowan, she called out gently, “You’re still cold!”
The sound of her voice seemed to dissolve the taut moment. Yet, even as Daniel laughed and resumed his game, Lucy couldn’t help but steal one last glance toward Rowan before letting her eyes fall back to the boy.