Chapter Twelve
“And you will not invite any more criminals to live with us, will you—will you, Lucy?”
Bernard stifled a snort as he watched the woman he cared far too much for roll her eyes.
“Mama!”
“I’m just saying, once a thing has happened once, the likelihood of it happening again are…
well, definitely increased,” the countess said with a wink as she pulled on her gloves.
Bernard watched as her expression softened.
“Definitely increased. I’d say by about two percent on a rising curve. If I only had my notebook—”
“No, we have put this journey off enough as it is,” said the Earl of Lindow, who was ramming a hat upon his head and looking weary at the mere thought of travel. “And each passing hour will mean it’s hotter—Lucy!”
Bernard was standing beside the daughter of the house and almost felt her start. Why was it that he was so conscious of her movements, her placement in a room? When had that happened?
“Papa?” Lucy batted her eyelashes innocently.
Far too innocently. Bernard had been a spy long enough to know when someone was falsifying a grin, and this woman was definitely too eager for her parents to go and leave them in peace.
His stomach lurched. Not because of any nefarious reason, of course. Not because of any romantic one, either—he was no fool.
What had happened at the Keystones’ ball, that was never to be repeated again. He’d pushed his luck enough with this family, and the last thing he needed was to be thrown out before Hovell decided to surface and bring him back into the spying fold.
Not that he wanted to be back in the spying fold. No, staying right here with the Chances…that was what he wanted.
Bernard swallowed. Not that he could allow it.
“Lucy, I am leaving Percy in charge—”
“Papa!” The word was chorused by both of his grown children, both sounding absolutely and equally outraged at the suggestion.
“I am not going to be her nanny,” Percy said with an air of finality that was truly impressive. “Absolutely not.”
“And I don’t need a nanny!” returned Lucy, crossing her arms as she always did when she was about to stand firm on a topic. “I—”
“You are a young unmarried lady with a—and I sorry to say this, Mr. Dixon—with a ruffian living in the house,” said the earl simply.
“You think I could just gallivant off for the week and leave you without a chaperone? And don’t tell me Beachem will do.
Half the time, you leave Beachem behind.
You Chance girls and your sneaking… My brothers often complain of the same thing. ”
Discomfort burned painfully in Bernard as his gaze flickered between the two siblings. Percy clearly had no wish to prance about the place keeping an eye on his sister, and Lucy evidently did not see the need for such a thing.
Which he knew he should have been encouraged by.
Clearly, Lady Lucy Chance had slept on it, realized that a convict of no family, fame, or fortune was not a suitable match for her, and so had mentally removed him from the category of ‘eligible gentlemen.’ She therefore saw him as no more than a friend, no danger to her at all.
Which he should have been delighted with.
So why did he want to punch a wall?
“Percy is in charge, and we will be back within a week,” the countess said smoothly, tucking her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm.
“Stanphrey Lacey is wonderful this time of year, and yes, Lucy, I shall bring you back that treatise from the library, and yes, Percy, I shall ask your Uncle William if there are any fine ladies who have recently moved to Stanhampton.”
“I’m envious,” Percy said darkly. “I’ve been wanting a swim in the lake forever. The sea here is too briny.”
“The sea? Too salty?” Lucy giggled as red dots appeared in her brother’s cheeks. “You dolt, it’s supposed to be like that!”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t supposed to be like that; I said it was too briny for my taste,” shot back her brother, instantly riled. “Mama, tell her—”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t go,” murmured Lady Lindow into her husband’s ear, only loud enough for Bernard—who was closest—to hear.
He stepped forward. “Please. I am happy to adjudicate—”
“You beast, he pinched me!”
“Are you children now?” their mother asked wearily. “Honestly, Lucy, you will never be ready for matrimony at this rate!”
The hallway fell silent. Bernard was aware of a strange sort of ringing in his ears, but that could not have been from anything actually real, could it?
As he slowly turned, it was to discover Lucy staring at her feet, and Percy—Percy was absent.
Excellent. Already, they fell at the first hurdle.
“Come on.” Lord Lindow gave Bernard a brief smile. “Have fun, Dixon. Or at the very least, have sufficient fun that you are not driven back to a life of crime by the time we come back.”
“Papa!”
“Goodbye, Luce,” he said, kissing his daughter on the cheek. “Try not to scandalize Society by adopting another prisoner, will you?”
Bernard chuckled as she laughed.
“I’ll try, Papa.”
And the door was closed, and that was that.
The Earl and Countess of Lindow had departed for a week’s sojourn at the Chance country estate, a place called Stanphrey Lacey, apparently, which was beautiful and marvelous, the library packed with books and in particular a treatise that Lucy wanted to read… and she hadn’t gone with them.
Bernard had not been brave enough to ask why.
Which was ridiculous. He had fought four Frenchmen with nothing but his wits and their own iron bar just a couple of weeks ago. Once, he had talked his way out of a hanging. Asking a woman why she was choosing not to leave him for a week should have been one of the easiest things in the world.
And yet…
“So,” Lucy said brightly, “ready to write letters?”
Bernard groaned, but mostly for effect. “There cannot be more to write.”
“There are six hundred and fifty-eight members of the House of Commons, and just over four hundred and fifty in the House of Lords,” Lucy said sternly, though delight flickered in her eye.
“And yes, I am related to quite a few of the latter, so I shall be writing to them personally—but we have no funds in the Prison Reform Society for printing, and besides, a handwritten letter always means more.”
It was all he could do but sigh and traipse after her, following her into her father’s study and admiring—though not out loud, naturally—the setup she had concocted.
Lady Lucy Chance was determined to end transportation of convicts to Australia.
And that was all well and good. But as far as Bernard could see, it would be achieved through sacrificing his wrist and hours of his time.
“Here, I have the template written out for you in my best hand,” Lucy said eagerly, her excitement for the task pouring from her like heat. “I’ll be writing at this end of the desk to the members of the House of Lords, and you’ll be at the other end, writing to the Members of Parliament.”
Bernard could not help but grin as he dropped into the chair that Lucy—or more likely, a footman—had moved to the short end of the desk by the door. “Nobility for you, commoners for me? Keeping to type, are we?”
He had not intended it as a slight, more a jest, but Lucy bit her lip as she deposited herself in the other chair, which was most unfairly on the complete opposite side of the desk lengthways.
“Well… Well, yes,” she admitted, as though it were a great insult and she was sorry about it, but it was for the cause. “I thought—well, as I am connected to so many of them—”
“Lucy, I am not offended. I think it is an excellent idea,” Bernard said quietly, hating how he had caused such consternation in a woman so caring, so…so loving. “Now, how many letters will I be writing again?”
This time, there was a spark of mischief in her eyes. “Six hundred and fifty-eight. Give or take a few.”
Bernard groaned and dropped his head on the desk.
“Bernard!”
“Do you think I would have turned to a life of crime if I loved hard work?” he said, sitting up and chuckling at his own jest.
Lucy’s face had frozen.
Ah. Yes, she still did not know what he had been ‘sent to prison’ for. At some point, he would have to tell her…though of course, if Hovell appeared at the front door this moment, he would have to disappear in a flash of—
“Oh, there goes the doorbell,” said Lucy vaguely.
It was Bernard’s turn to freeze.
No. No, surely not. Fate would not be so cruel as to wrench me away from her.
And that was when the realization dawned.
He could not live without her. Lady Lucy Chance was a woman with more passion than sense, and yet more sense than many of the passionate.
She was making a difference in the world and she was doing it in her way, the way she thought best. She was kind, and she was silly, and she didn’t care for Society’s morals when they did not align with hers because she was not blinded by pomp and ceremony and rank, and she…
She was beautiful. Her heart was so beautiful, and one day, perhaps one day soon, Bernard was going to have to get up and leave this place and never see her again.
“Bernard?”
Bernard swallowed. God, it was like a knife to his chest, the knowledge that he could never be with this woman. How had this happened? How had he allowed himself to open his heart to someone to whom he could never truly give it?
“Bernard? The visitor was probably not for me. I’m not expecting anyone. Percy’s friend or household business.” Lucy had reached out and he looked down to see her hand covering his own. “Bernard, are you quite well?”
“Yes. Yes, quite well,” he murmured, knowing he would never be whole again, now that he had unknowingly given her his soul.
And he wouldn’t ask for it back.
“In that case, you have six hundred and fifty-four letters to go,” Lucy said with a squeeze of his hand as she released it. “Come on, the day is young!”