Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Thunder split the sky with a violence that tore Lucy from sleep.
She jolted upright, breath sharp in her chest, heart racing as rain lashed against the windows with unrelenting force.
Another crack followed, closer this time, rattling the panes and sending a shiver down her spine.
She pressed a hand to her sternum, willing her pulse to slow, though her body refused obedience.
Sleep, it seemed, had abandoned her long before the storm arrived.
Lucy swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose, pacing the chamber as lightning flared, briefly illuminating the familiar shapes of furniture now cast in restless shadow. Her bare feet met the cool floor, grounding her no better than reason had done all night.
“This is absurd,” she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. “Utterly absurd.” She stopped short, turning sharply to the mirror near the window as if her own reflection had offended her. “Lucy, you must stop thinking about this. You must stop thinking about this.”
The words sounded firm. Sensible. But entirely unconvincing.
She resumed her pacing, agitation tightening her movements.
Of all things to plague her thoughts, it had to be that moment, that look, that question asked in a voice far too perceptive for comfort.
Rowan’s words had lodged themselves in her mind with infuriating precision, returning again and again, no matter how often she dismissed them.
It was punishment.
The very notion was laughable. She had not asked for absolution, nor did she require it. She had chosen her path with clear eyes and resolve. Matchmaking was not penance, it was purpose. It was control. It was order, carefully restored where chaos once reigned.
Yet her thoughts betrayed her.
She found herself recalling how he stood with Judith, how easily his attention had settled upon another woman, how naturally the world seemed to arrange itself around him.
The observation irritated her beyond measure.
She was not that sort of woman, not prone to sleepless nights over glances and conversations that meant nothing.
She had long ago learned to master her feelings, to direct them elsewhere, to better, safer pursuits.
Then why, she wondered bitterly, did this keep her awake?
Lucy stepped forward, closer to the mirror, and sighed. “How can you possibly do this job well if you are this attached to your client?”
Lucy turned to the window, rain streaking down the glass. Some people might have accused her of seeking redemption, of constructing good deeds to mask old guilt. She had dismissed such thinking all her life. Even now, she told herself Rowan was wrong. Entirely wrong.
The trouble lay in the fact that he had been the one to say it.
She crossed her arms tightly, frustration mounting as thunder rolled again overhead. The question he had asked lingered, unfinished, heavy with implication. It gnawed at her composure, demanding consideration she had no intention of granting.
Still, the night stretched on, relentless as the storm outside.
Lucy sighed sharply, pressing her forehead to the cool glass. Sleep would not come—not while his voice echoed in her mind and not while a single, infuriating doubt refused to be silenced.
Lucy was still standing by the window when she heard a dull sound echoed faintly through the storm, something heavier than rain, followed by a small, unmistakable scrape.
She stiffened at once, turning from the glass, her pulse quickening.
The corridor beyond her door lay dark and quiet, the sort of quiet that invited unease rather than rest.
Another sound followed, softer this time, and she reached for the robe she had left draped over the chair.
It slipped easily over the simple nightgown of soft white linen she wore, loose and unadorned, its sleeves falling just past her wrists and the hem brushing her ankles.
She tied the robe at her waist without care; the fabric creased from restless movement rather than sleep.
Her hair hung unbound down her back, dark and slightly tousled, as though she had abandoned all concern for propriety in favor of comfort and rest.
She walked over to the door and opened it, stepping into the hallway, the candlelight from her chamber stretching uncertainly along the walls. “Hello?” she called, keeping her voice steady as she moved forward.
At the far end of the passage, half-hidden in shadow, she saw a small figure crouched near the wall.
Lucy’s breath caught. She hurried toward him, skirts gathered in her hands, and as she drew closer, the candlelight revealed a familiar head of hair, bowed low, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“Daniel,” she said gently, sinking down before him at once. “Oh, my dear, you scared me. Why are you here in the dark?”
He lifted his face then, eyes red and shining with tears, clearly startled to see her but relieved all the same.
“I... I had a bad dream,” he said in a rush, his voice trembling.
“A really bad one. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t.
” He scrubbed at his cheek with his sleeve.
“I just wanted to see Papa. Just for a minute. He always knows what to say when I get scared.”
Lucy’s chest tightened. She opened her arms without hesitation, and Daniel leaned into her, clinging. She wrapped him close, one hand smoothing his hair, the other steady at his back.
“It’s all right,” she murmured, trying to keep her voice low and soothing. “You’re safe. Nightmares feel very real when they come, especially when the thunder joins them, but they cannot harm you. They are only thoughts that have lost their way.”
He sniffed, pressing his face into her shoulder. “It didn’t feel like that.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But feelings pass, even the frightening ones. They always do. You were very brave to leave your bed and look for comfort instead of hiding from the fear.”
Daniel relaxed a little at that, his breathing evening as the storm continued to rage outside.
“Your father would tell you the same,” Lucy went on, resting her cheek lightly against his hair. “That courage does not mean never being afraid. It means knowing where to go when you are.”
The words surprised even her, yet they felt right as she said them.
She held him there for a moment longer, until the tension eased from his small frame. When his breathing had steadied, Lucy drew back just enough to look at him properly.
“Would you like me to take you to your father?” she asked gently. “I can walk with you to his room if that would help.”
Daniel nodded at once, clutching her hand. “Yes, please.”
She rose with him, fingers tightening around his smaller ones as they stepped into the corridor together.
As they walked, Lucy started to realize what she was about to do.
It would mean waking Rowan. The thought alone brought a flush of discomfort to her cheeks.
Seeking him out in the middle of the night was improper, awkward, and far too intimate for her liking.
Lucy pressed her lips together, schooling herself into calm. She had no choice. Daniel needed his father. That was reason enough, excuse enough, justification enough. All she intended to do was deliver him safely, see him settled, and leave at once.
She told herself this firmly as they walked.
For days now, she had avoided Rowan carefully, turning corners before he could see her, inventing small errands to keep their paths from crossing.
She had not known how to resume a conversation left unfinished, not when his question still echoed so persistently in her thoughts.
His challenge to her certainty, to the life she believed she had chosen, unsettled her in many ways.
But what truly bothered her was the fact that she was taking it so seriously. There had been other people who had questioned her decision, and she never batted an eye. Even her mother constantly questioned her, and Lucy still ignored her. Why then was she taking Rowan’s question to heart?
Tonight, however, was not the night to discuss that. There would be no conversation. No explanations.
She would place Daniel in his father’s care and retreat, swiftly and quietly, back to the safety of distance she had so carefully maintained.
That, she decided, was all this would be.
Once she got to his chambers, she hesitated at the door before knocking once... softly. She only waited seconds before taking the handle. Rowan’s door yielded easily beneath her hand, unlocked.
Lucy hesitated only a moment before easing it open and stepping inside, Daniel close at her side. The room was dim, lit faintly by the restless flashes of lightning beyond the curtains. Rowan lay upon the bed with his back to them, one arm flung carelessly across the mattress, deep in sleep.
“Your Grace,” she said softly.
No response.
She tried again, her voice a little firmer this time. “Your Grace.”
Still nothing.
Her heart beat faster as she stepped closer. Carefully, she reached out and tapped his arm, causing him to stir at once.
Rowan turned, blinking into wakefulness, and then sat up abruptly, shock plain upon his face. “Lucy?” His gaze swept the room, alert in an instant. “Is something wrong? Lucy, has something happened?”
She lifted a hand, quick to reassure him. “No, nothing is wrong, I promise. I found Daniel in the corridor. He had a nightmare. The storm frightened him, and he wished to see you.”
Rowan’s attention snapped to his son at once. “Is that true?” he asked gently.
Daniel nodded, still holding Lucy’s hand. “Yes, Papa.”
Relief crossed Rowan’s features, followed by a tenderness that softened his expression entirely. “Come here,” he said, holding out his arm.
As Daniel moved toward him, Lucy found herself abruptly, mortifyingly aware of Rowan in a way she had not been prepared for.