Page 1 of The Duke’s Wager

PROLOGUE

At a mere eight years old, Lucy Beaumont did not know much about life, but she knew one thing was certain: her dislike for graveyards. The dreary weather suits the somber mood of the cemetery, Lucy thought as she followed her father to the place where the crowd had started to gather.

She could still vividly remember the last time she had in such a place. It had been a little over a year ago, to say goodbye to mama.

Tears formed in Lucy’s eyes at the thought of her mother, but she quickly wiped them away for fear of her father noticing. Papa did not like it when she cried. Especially when she cried about her. He was not aware of the fact that Lucy had heard his cruel words after her death. She had snuck down to the kitchen for a glass of water but her papa was there with one of the servants so Lucy remained hidden.

He had called her mother selfish and stupid and had also demanded that Lucy never cry about her. He had vowed never to waste a single tear on her and had said that his household should do the same.

It was a lot for a seven-year-old to take in, but her mama had taught Lucy from a very young age to always listen to her papa. So Lucy walked back upstairs and dried her tears. If papa did not want her to cry, she would refrain from crying. That night, Lucy had whispered to whoever was listening, her mother perhaps, that she was sorry for not crying but she was afraid that her father would get angry if she did not comply.

The people at this funeral, Lucy thought now, had clearly made no such promises. People stood with handkerchiefs pressed against their noses, and here and there someone sniffed. Lucy was relieved when papa let go of her hand. She knew that he would not notice her wandering off – he’d only look for her once it was time to leave. As such, Lucy quietly moved to the back of the crowd where she had a good view of the whole group.

She did not know who William Lockhart was but judging by the number of people at his funeral he must have been quite popular. There were nowhere near this many people at her mother’s funeral. It had only been her, her father and a few of their servants. Not even her mother’s parents were there. Lucy was too afraid to ask why they had decided to not attend, but she heard the servants whispering about it afterward. According to them, her father had strictly forbidden them to stay away – both from the funeral and Lucy herself. He had vowed to protect his daughter against anything and everything because he wanted her to grow up to be a proper lady.

Lucy was angry about his choice, even though she was far too young to understand the raging emotions in her heart. That day, she was not only angry at him for preventing her grandparents from seeing her but jealous about the number of people at this stranger’s funeral.

Who was this William Lockhart that deserved so many goodbyes while mama had no one? Stubborn tears formed in Lucy’s eyes again at the thought and she quickly wiped them away.

A soft sound behind her made her jump. Though Lucy’s first instinct was to run away, her curiosity won over, and she ambled in the direction of the sound.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft and nervous. Her question was followed by more sniffles, and by something that sounded a little like a sob. “Who’s there?”

She took another step forward and peeked around the bushes. And then finally, she saw him. A little boy, who was likely her own age, was sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree. Sobs racked his thin body, and he had his fists pressed to his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asked.

Perhaps it was the concern in her voice or the fact that she was roughly the same age as him, but something made the boy remove his hands from his face and look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, and fresh tears pooled in their green depths.

“No… Please go away now!”

Lucy shook her head and took a step towards the boy, who still glared at her with teary eyes. “Who are you?” she said, taking another stubborn step forward and sitting down next to him. “I’m Lucy Beaumont, and you?”

He lifted his chin and put on a brave face. Lucy recognized the expression, as it was one she was used to wearing herself.

“I am Edward Lockhart,” the boy replied. “Pleased to meet you.”

He held a trembling hand out to her, and she shook it, pity building in her heart at once. “Lockhart… That means…”

Edward glanced in the direction of the mourners, and he nodded sadly.

“It’s my father’s funeral, yes.”

Anyone else might have thought him strong and tough for his delivery of the statement, but Lucy recognized his hidden feelings all too well. He was heartbroken.

“I am sorry, Edward. For… for your loss.”

They were the words she could say, words she herself had received after her mother had died, but she did not think they would help. After all, they had not helped her either.

The boy nodded quietly, and the tears that had been pooling in his eyes started to overflow. “I apologize,” he said. He was still trying to be brave, though the tremble in his voice gave him away. “You must think me very weak.”

“No!” Lucy answered quickly, and her hand found his. “Don’t be silly! Crying doesn’t make you weak. My mama… she used to say only the strongest of people allow themselves to cry. It’s good for you, she always said.”

“I just… miss them so much.” His words were a broken whisper, and Lucy held his hand a little tighter.

“I know. I miss my mama too… but she’s up in heaven, watching over me. I’m sure your parents are doing the same.”

Another smile formed on his face, this time a genuine one, and he squeezed her hand lightly. “It helps a little, but I still wish they were here… that I could see them.”