Chapter 8
“So that’s the whole story. Now you know everything, Mirabelle.
” Lucy sighed in relief of having told her friend all that there was to know about her and Damien, and though she expected a somewhat more surprised look, all she got was fingers drumming against a tea cup. “Did you want to say anything?”
“Oh…erm…yes, well. It is a bit awkward—”
The blood drained from Lucy’s face. She suddenly knew what her friend was about to say. How had she not predicted it earlier? Mirabelle may have encouraged her to explore, but she wasn’t turning her house into a brothel. Of course she was going to ask her to leave.
“I’ll pack my bags. I’ll find somewhere else. I’m so sorry—”
“No, no. It’s not that. It’s just well…I have to rush to say this as guests will be arriving at any moment…but, I well, I already knew that you two…you know…”
“You did?”
Mirabelle nodded.
“How?”
“You weren’t exactly quiet…”
Oh dear God in Heaven.
And the two just looked at each other helplessly, finally they burst into laughter. “I do hope you find your peace, Lucy.”
“You always know just what to say, Mirabelle.” She reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Now what’s this about guests?”
The knock on the door preceded an answer, and Mirabelle just wiggled her brows. Once the guests entered the room, she gave two couples a large hug.
Turning to Lucy, she made introductions. “My cousins are here. This is Seraphina and Sebastian. And this is Lenora and Edward.”
And before anyone could say or do much more, a flurry of activity fell upon them. The door opened to several more people.
Lucy could hardly keep track of the people, but she thought she caught a few names.
Arthur, The Duke of Ashbourne and his wife Bridget (the one with the glasses).
Gregory, the Duke of Wellingford, and his duchess, Mary (who had left the kids at home).
And finally, three single men: Tristan Sinclair and Alexander Devereaux (partners in the whole gold rush), and last and leastly, being dragged in by his collar, Damien.
“Really, must we make a show of this?” He brushed the hands off of him. Then as if seeing everyone for the first time, he asked, “What are you all doing here?”
And a rush of answers followed.
Arthur and Bridget were here about the gold rush, thinking they might offer their support. Since the Ashbournes are well known for running mines, they thought they might speak to some safety issues as well as recruiting help.
Gregory and Mary (besides needing a small break from their children) also thought they might be of assistance during the gold rush. Since the Wellingfords were among the richest in the country, he wanted to offer his support.
Serafina and Sebastian, and Lenora and Edward, well, they were simply there to support Mirabelle in her new endeavor in opening up Greene House as a place for spinsters.
And yes, they knocked on the green house next door only to be redirected here.
But, whew, they all made it. And they all happened to make it at precisely the same time. Imagine that.
Especially in front of everyone, Lucy had every intention of ignoring Damien. Not giving him the cut direct exactly, but just almost.
That plan didn’t pan out.
“Don’t you have something to say, Damien?” Tristan shoved him forward.
“No. I’m good.”
“We made a bet.” Alexander stepped up. “You lost.”
Lucy couldn’t determine who was the most embarrassed in the room. The awkwardness had taken on a new width of thickness. And it surpassed the threshold of thickness that could be cut with a regular knife.
“I’m a bet?” She gritted out under the tightest of smiles.
“No. Uh…no. Not at all.” Tristan clapped his hands together, rubbing them furiously.
“Of course not.” Alexander jumped in with a cough and a not-so-reassuring tone, “You’re not a bet.”
“Idiots,” Damien muttered. “You’re mucking this up worse than I did. And I don’t even know what I did.”
Wait now. “You don’t know what you did?” She couldn’t possibly grind her teeth together any further. They’d be nothing but dust by the end of the conversation.
“Maybe we should leave you two alone?” Mary asked gently, Gregory’s hand on her back with a solemn but confident nod of agreement.
“Yes, perhaps these two just need a moment to discuss,” Bridget added kindly as she fixed the placement of her glasses on her nose.
“No.” Lucy held up her hand. “No one is going anywhere.” She took a step toward Damien. “Maybe the truth needs a few witnesses this time.”
Damien clenched his brows together. “What are you talking about? I don’t even understand what I did. You’re the one ignoring me.”
“Pfft…” Yes, that most unladylike sound puffed out of her. “You don’t know what you did?”
He shrugged. Ugh. He shrugged. What could be worse? An eye roll?
“So that woman you were with in the tea shop…she’s no one to you?”
Redness of an apple grew splotch like on his face. “She’s…not…no one.”
Lucy put her hands on hips. “Who is she to you then?”
“I can’t say.”
“Of course not.”
“I can-t—”
“That makes perfect sense. Wouldn’t you all agree?” Lucy scanned the eyes trained on them. A few nodded along with her.
“It’s not mine to say.”
“Mine. What an interesting word. Dangerous. Misleading. Temporary.” At that, she clapped her hands. “Well, thank you for…whatever it is that you’re doing here Damien. You’re free to go.”
He was free to go. But she was not. This was her home.
All eyes were on her, or avoiding her. And she knew they all pitied her because of course they were all intelligent people who could read the room.
She knew exactly what they were thinking.
Poor spinster giving her heart to a rake. Didn’t she know better?
Yes, well, that was one time.
There wouldn’t be another.