That pathetic girl who had first been starstruck by Harry Estwood was gone, replaced with a more confident Lucy after all these weeks in Yorkshire. She was no longer embarrassed if her lisp appeared, though it did so rarely now. Nor did Lucy keep her opinions to herself. Harry respected her mind. Thought her clever. Many nights were spent over discussion of various projects he was considering, often while he sketched and scribbled on a pad of paper and Lucy discreetly sipped a brandy with a book in her lap.
And the other aspects of marital life were splendid indeed, as her visit to Pendergast had just proven. Lucydesiredher husband. He did the most wicked things to her?—
She nearly stumbled again, caught herself, and laughed.
—all of which she welcomed. Every. Single. One. Harlot blood, indeed. Lucy smiled as she darted around a corner.
But while she blossomed as Mrs. Harry Estwood, Lucy had yet to confess her feelings to Harry, too afraid of his rejection, though given his actions, she thought he cared for her. At least a little bit.
Quickening her steps, she hurried down the cobblestones towards the row of shops one street over. The draper, Mr. Wilcott, had sent word of a selection of damask he’d just received, and Lucy wanted a peek before ordering a new setteeand chairs. Mrs. Bartle had handed her a list of spices before departing for Pendergast, so that meant another stop before heading back to her carriage. Middlesbrough had a far larger selection than Ormesby.
Turning down the next street, Lucy kept up her pace as she passed the Goat’s Head inn. Harry had taken her to dine there only last week because the tavern was known for its bilberry pie, a local delicacy.
Harryalwaysmade sure Lucy had dessert.
It would be a bit of a walk back to the carriage, but the weather was fine, and Lucy didn’t mind. Exercise was required now that she ate dessert and was permitted to finish a meal that didn’t consist of a child’s portions. If anything, Harry often insisted she eat more. When Lucy protested she’d grow stout, he merely shrugged.
London—and her existence there with Father—seemed, at times, like a bad dream.
“My lovely girl. I want to hear your pleasure.”
She dipped her head to hide the silly smile on her lips. Lucyhadbeen quite vocal in her enjoyment of lunching with her husband, so much so she worried every employee at Pendergast had heard them over the sounds of the roaring flames and melding of pig iron.
“Oh, yes. The cheesemonger. I nearly forgot.” Lucy came to a halt and changed direction, heading back towards the Goat’s Head. Her thoughts had been so full of Harry, she hadn’t been paying attention and had walked right past Mr. Paul’s store. Pulling out the list from Mrs. Bartle, Lucy read out the items she’d offered to pick up for the housekeeper in addition to spices, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything else.
“Lucy. There you are.”
A sharp inhale of breath as she barely dared turn around. She must be hearing things because for a moment, it had sounded as if?—
“Lucy.”
A ball of dread formed in her stomach. Lucy’s tongue immediately stuck to her teeth. She blinked in surprise at the expensively dressed woman standing before her. “Thally?”
“Yes, it’s me.” Her stepmother took Lucy’s elbow, looking up and down the street in a furtive manner. “Your housekeeper advised me that you were not at home when I called. I confess, I thought it a ruse. But she said you were here…” Sally gestured to the shops around them. “Taking lunch to your”—her features pinched with dislike—“husband. Fortunate, as I’ve taken rooms at the Goat’s Head. The accommodations are a bit rustic but adequate.”
Lucy stared at her in silence. Why was Sally here?
“I’ve been waiting the better part of the day for you to leave the ironworks. Not pleasant, mind you. While the Goat’s Head’s rooms are acceptable, their food is not.”
She tilted her chin, watching Sally wait for her to stumble about and apologize for the inconvenience, something the old Lucy might have done. Focusing, she pushed her tongue away from her teeth. Took a deep breath.
I am no longer powerless.
“What are you doing here? In Middlesbrough? Yorkshire in general?” The lisp had receded in the face of Lucy’s determination. She jerked her arm free. “Father disowned me—or did I misunderstand him?”
Sally regarded her with surprise—probably that she wasn’t lisping. “A mistake he dearly regrets.” Her tone changed to one that was much more conciliatory. She pulled out a handkerchief dabbing at her eyes. “Please, Lucy.” Sally steered her towards theGoat’s Head with a far gentler touch. “I’ll explain myself over a cup of tea and—I only ask that you hear me out, daughter.”
“I am not your daughter.” Lucy’s tone was clipped.
Sally looked away with a sniff. “I think of you as such.”
Blatantlyuntrue.
“I’m rather busy today, Sally. One cup, and then I must be off.”
“Of course.” Sally bustled inside the Goat’s Head and found an empty table near a window. “If it matters, your father doesn’t know I’m here.” She settled, patting at her skirts. “He’d be most distressed to know I’ve come to you, but there is little choice.”
“Where does he think you are?”
