Chapter 16
Every breath Lucy drew scraped like jagged glass.
The McQuoids and Smiths had all finally gone, and she found herself alone with Mr. Smith, as she’d always thought of him in her mind, even now, and the whole truth would at last be brought fully to light.
And yet… A knot formed in her throat—there was but a single observer’s calculating stare she’d felt the whole while. Only one gentleman’s inevitable reaction she dreaded when her perfidy was revealed.
Lucy didn’t fear retribution. Nay, she ached over the loss of something—someone—she’d never even had in the first place…
Grief swarmed her. Guid, help her… She’d gone and fallen in love with the life-hardened captain.
“Miss LeBeau, I hit my head.”
Blinking back tears, she cast a watery glance at the gentleman. “Mr. Smith?”
Och. Here she’d gone being selfish again. Lucy hopped to her feet. “Aye! My pardons, sir.” His family’s audience had taken a toll on the gentleman.
She’d also been granted a reprieve. Not that she deserved one. Lucy mentally added “self-serving” to her growing list of sins. “It has been an eventful day for you.”
“I’ll fetch the doctor, Mr. Smith.”
“Please sit, Lucy.”
That “please” only slightly masked a quiet command.
Listless, Lucy complied. She should care far more than she did about the reckoning about to come. Braced for the reckoning she had coming, she averted her eyes and returned to the cobalt club velvet upholstered armchair.
“That wasn’t an order,” he said gently. “I apologize if I made it seem that way.”
He’d apologize? “You needn’t apologize.” A painful laugh formed in her throat. “Most certainly not to me.”
A strong hand covered Lucy’s smaller one.
Her gaze slipped to where Campbell Smith held her.
A wave of wistfulness touched Lucy.
She’d always marveled at his hands, at how different they were than her own. She’d dreamt of him sliding his fingers into hers. His were strong and specked with traces of ink, but in every way, they belonged to a gentleman who hadn’t been touched by life’s greatest hardships.
But here in this McQuoid household, she’d discovered something even more compelling—Arran’s hands.
Aye, the gentleman was as noble as King George himself, but instead of living a life of leisure, he sailed the seas and worked.
Dangerous work at that. So much so, he carried both the visible and invisible scars.
“Do you know what occurs to me, Lucy?”
Lost in her thoughts, Lucy looked up. “What is that, Mr. Smith?”
“The slight emphasis you placed when you said ‘I’ needn’t apologize, and most certainly not to you.”
“Did I say that?” She tried to think why that might matter.
Mr. Smith brushed the pad of his thumb along her wrist. “You did.”
Where were the fluttering butterflies at his caress? The wild hammering of her pulse? Nay, his touch moved her not at all. Only one man’s did. A man braw as any Scottish warrior.
“Given you saved me, Lucy, I’m clearly the one who needs to be in your debt.”
She protested. “Nay—”
The sandy blond gentleman wasn’t having it. “Which suggests you are not feeling very good about yourself.”
Good about herself. Proud. The list really went on and on.
She stared sightlessly at the light back and forth glide of Mr. Smith’s finger along her flesh.
She had no right to Arran. No future awaited her with him. That didn’t make it feel any less wrong allowing Mr. Smith even that innocuous touch.
Lucy snatched her hand back and tucked it in her lap.
“Lucy…” Mr. Smith’s gentle voice called her attention back to his.
Cheeks warming, “F-Forgive me,” she repeated. “I—”
“Were woolgathering,” he said, his lips quirking in their usual effortless smile.
What perversity of her soul that she’d come to appreciate the hard-won grins of wary Arran McQuoid.
Life-hardened Arran McQuoid, who she’d be forced to reveal her deception to any moment. And that would be the end of…something that’d never even had a start.
“Given my condition, I’m the one of our pair who should be woolgathering, Lucy.”
“F-Forgive m—”
“That is now three apologies too many. No more.” Even Mr. Smith’s order came gentle. “What I’d intended to say is this: I hit my head, but that does not mean I’m unaware some misunderstanding occurred regarding our…uh…connection.”
The wide, honest smile he wore confused Lucy enough to distract her from her misery. “It appears so, Mr. Smith.”
“Appears so? Or is so?”
“I believe it can be both?” Her voice crept up into a question. “And…it is both.” Lucy slumped in the cobalt-blue velvet upholstered folds of the armchair.
“Oh, Mr. Smith,” she whispered. “I’m in it, I am.”
He smiled like a fat cat who’d gotten into the cream. “This I must hear.”
Lucy scratched nervously at the back of her neck. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Alas, you’ve gotten me even more intrigued.” Propped against the pillows, Mr. Smith stretched his arm along the back of the gold upholstered, silk-buttoned headboard.
“Aye, well that was not my intention, Mr. Smith.” Lucy eyed the exit—hard.
“Lucy?”
“They believe I’m your…” She struggled to form the word. “Your…”
The playful gentleman lifted an impertinent eyebrow. “My…?”
Lucy’s eyes slid closed. “Your…betrothed.”
When she opened them, she found Mr. Smith frozen. The sharp slash of his features revealed nothing more than a handsome face.
Say something!
Nay!
Lucy changed her mind.
Do not say anything!
“Which is it, Lucy?”
Lucy stared quizzically at him. “Mr. Smith?”
“Do you wish me to say something or nothing?”
“Oh, guid heavens,” she muttered.
Mr. Smith froze a moment. Then his laugh came. It flowed as freely as his grin.
The sound of his mirth, familiar from over the years, a mellow, pleasant chuckle, never failed to make her smile.
And yet neither did it leave the beat of her heart wild and unsteady.
Not the way Arran’s rough-edged rumbling of reluctant amusement did; each laugh from him came like a special treasure tendered to a chosen few.
Mr. Smith’s expression grew serious. “Well, that’s as somber a look as I’ve ever seen from you, Lucy.”
“The situation I’ve gotten myself into merits it, Mr. Smith.” It was all coming to a head.
“Mr. Smith,” he said reflectively.
Lucy stared quizzically at the handsome mon.
“Well, it is just as I see it, given we’re betrothed, it’s only fitting you refer to me by my given name, Lucy.”
Lucy opened her mouth and closed it several times before managing to speak. “Are you making a joke about this, Mr. Smith?”
“I am.” He flashed a lopsided smirk. “Or I was attempting to, anyway.”
Lucy made to stand.
Mr. Smith rested a comforting hand atop Lucy’s. “Lucy, something tells me that you need to talk to someone more than I need to rest.”
His was an invitation. Not an order.
And so, Lucy did just that. She sat to tell him absolutely everything. She started with the lass-like fancy she’d developed for him and brought her telling all the way to the night he’d got hit by her sign, and the special bond she’d formed so very quickly with the captain.
When she finished, Lucy couldn’t look Arran’s cousin in the eye. The thick hum of silence hung in the air, unnerving Lucy.
What must he think about the deception she’d let go on with his family? “Mr. Smith, I u-understand you must be… livid.” What else could he be? His lack of response became unbearable and she brought herself to face him. “I…” Lucy came up short.
A strange, mottled flush suffused the gentleman’s cheeks.
Worry brought Lucy’s legs sliding back to the floor. “Mr.—”
He burst out laughing. “M-My God,” he gasped out between heaving bursts of hilarity.
“Th-this is t-too much.” He laughed so hard tears leaked from his eyes and rolled along his cheeks.
He’d gone stark raving mad. That blow to his head had done him in after all.
Desperate, Lucy glanced about. Surely one of the dozens of doctors housed in this palace heard what was going on with their patient. “You’re going to do yourself further injury.”
“From laughing?” He scrubbed the tears of hilarity from his face. “It w-will be worth it.”
Lucy watched on until Mr. Smith’s amusement faded to a husky chuckle. He gave his tousled blond hair a shake. “Oh, Lucy. Only my family would invent a secret betrothed for me. The fact you are unable to refer to me by my given name was all the proof they needed.”
She’d known the gentleman for years, and there’d never been anything but polite formality between them.
Two days knowing a stranger, and it had become not only natural to use Arran’s given name, but right, as right as being in his arms and laughing with him.
Just like her parents.
Sadness filled her.
While at the same time, nothing like them. Their story circled to a happily-ever-after. Or, at least, for a window in time, before her mum’s quick illness and swift decline.
“In fact,” the optimistic gentleman pressed on, “I’d even place a wager, and I am not the wagering sort, that there were at least one to a handful of McQuoids aware we aren’t a couple, but said nothing on account of being…” He lifted a single broad shoulder. “Well, McQuoids.”
“I don’t understand.” Not even a wee bit.
“Lucy,” Mr. Smith—Campbell—murmured. “There is one surety in all of this. Once my family got it into their collective minds you and I were sweethearts, you did not stand a chance, my dear.”
Contritely, he patted the top of her hand.
How easily he’d found Lucy blameless. “You are remarkably magnanimous, Campbell.”
Like she was a bairn who’d just made her first word, he pointed a finger Lucy’s way. “Ah, there you are!”
And somehow, she found a smile.
If he could forgive her, maybe Arran could as well…
She let the bubble on that absurdly hopeful thought pop.
Arran and his cousin were cut of very different cloth. Arran carried an honorable sense of responsibility for his family’s well-being. That protectiveness, coupled with the betrayals against him in the past, made it impossible for her and Arran to overcome.
Lucy sighed.
“You love him, Lucy.”
Mr. Smith’s wasn’t a question. Nor did his statement contain any of his previous levity.
Still, Lucy needed to say it out loud. “I do.” She nodded forlornly. “I l-love him.” There was a catch in her voice. “And it is hopeless.”
What if I’d corrected the family’s mistake at the onset? They would have thanked her, insisted she and her family take refreshments, and sent her on her way, and then her path would have never truly crossed Arran’s. Just as it hadn’t the times the McQuoids visited The Spotted Elk.
“I wouldn’t say that, Lucy.” Campbell’s lengthy pause didn’t reassure.
Lucy gave him an incredulous look.
“I wouldn’t say completely hopeless,” he permitted.
A wave of restiveness sent her flying to her feet. “He didn’t trust me, but now he does, and when he finds out…when I tell him…” Lucy sagged back onto the chair. “When I tell him,” she whispered, “he won’t…” Sadness sent the rest of her words trailing.
“Lucy?” Campbell gently encouraged her to complete her thought. “What is it?”
“He does not feel anything for me one way or the other, Campbell.” Grief settled in her breast. “He’s been kind…” She stared off to where Arran stood while Lucy conversed with Mr. Smith.
“…You deserved so much more than simple kindness…”
She’d felt his eyes on her the whole while, piercing her soul. “No one has ever made me feel seen the way Arran has.”
His raw intensity and fervency.
“Truly seen,” she said softly.
“…You deserve to have the bloody world laid at your feet and the damned stars and moon sprinkled in for extra measure…”
A sad smile touched her lips. “Aside from my da, who was…well, my da, absolutely no one made me believe I deserved magic.”
“And my cousin did that?” he asked quietly.
Lucy attempted to swallow past a constricted throat. She gave an uneven nod. “Aye.” A tear slipped free.
Then it registered that her admission cast a negative light on Arran. “But he has not given me any reason to believe he cares about me, Campbell.”
He slid her a dubious glance.
“I’m not saying that for you, Campbell.” Something between a laugh and sob pulled free of her. “Since your family welcomed me into your home, I’ve learned things about myself I’m not proud of. Trust me, I’d be all too happy if he did care.”
Campbell reached for an object on his nightstand.
Accepting his embroidered kerchief with a word of thanks, Lucy wiped at her damp cheeks.
“Arran believes you and I are betrothed, Lucy,” he said. “He’s too honorable to admit he does care.”
“And he’s been hurt, Campbell, by people he trusted.” Lucy directed her gaze at the rumpled kerchief. “Even if he did have feelings for me, he would never forgive my not being forthright from the start.”
“What was that?”
Confused, Lucy looked up.
“You know about the fallings-outs he’s suffered,” he pressed.
His dark brown eyes were razor sharp on her.
Lucy firmed her loose lips. Having shared that felt like a betrayal, an accidental one, but still another one.
Mr. Smith’s gaze was the most serious she’d seen it. Since he’d awakened…and ever.
Campbell nodded slowly. “I see.”
Too much, he did.
Some of the seriousness eased from his features. “Lucy, I have work to do here.”
Lucy promptly stood. “My apologies.” She hesitated. “Though impertinent of me, I feel compelled to say, given your condition, you’d be wise to rest.”
He gave her a gentle smile. “I’m able to do the work I need to from here.”
Finally, something she could do to help him. “Your notebook.” Lucy jumped to her feet. “I’ll fetch your journal and a pen and—”
“Not that kind of work, Lucy.”
Her eyebrows came together.
He clarified. “The role of matchmaker.”
Matchmaker. “You…”
“Me.”
“Matchmaker,” she echoed. “Between—?”
His pointed gaze stopped her.
Now she understood. “Oh, no, Mr. Smith—”
He gave her another meaningful stare.
“Campbell, no.”
“I’m a McQuoid and Smith. We come from a long line of romantics who believe in love that conquers all.”
“You cannot—”
“Lucy, my cousin hasn’t let anyone in, until now.” His gaze softened. “Until you. There is hope for you, and just as importantly, there is finally hope for Arran.”
Askance, Lucy eyed him.
The good-hearted gentleman nodded slowly. “Yes, Lucy. You.”
Her? Except…
Lucy replayed each moment spent with Arran in her mind. The private talks. The parts they’d shared of themselves. The way he held her, in passion and in comfort.
The faint echoes of that fragile emotion stirred her heart.
Maybe, just maybe, Campbell Smith was right.