Page 93 of The Duke’s Wager

Her father would quite possibly die on the spot if he should ever see her wearing them. Lucy grinned at this. All the more reason to put them on.

She was going to fight back. She was finally going to fight for her life. She would no longer be pushed around by Henry Beaumont, Edward Lockhart, or any other man.

She was no damsel in distress. She was a warrior.

The next time someone opened this door, she would show the same courage Maria had demonstrated. She would run out of this room, and she would not look back.

* * *

It had taken quite some time to scrub Julian’s blood off his skin – and once he had finished it was far too late to head to the Beaumont estate. His grandmother had expressly forbidden it, claiming that a gentleman would wait until sunrise.

Well, Edward thought as he glanced out of the carriage. The sun had risen, and here he was, eager to fight for Lucy. Desperate to fight for her.

He climbed out of the carriage hesitantly. It was eerily quiet. He had expected to hear the workings of servants, perhaps the sound of someone singing joyfully – it was how mornings at the Lockhart estate always started.

Something about the Beaumont estate, however, sent an eerie chill down his spine.

The door was ajar, and he pushed it open further, hesitantly entering. A disheveled footman stood at the door, and the man jumped to attention when he saw Edward.

“My lord. This is… quite a surprise. Are you here to see Lord Birchrook?”

Why did the man sound frightened at the thought of him seeing Henry Birchrook? It was rather odd.

In truth, Edward only wanted to see Lucy, but he knew, for the sake of propriety, that he had to speak to her father first, so he nodded.

“Yes. I am here to see Lord Birchrook.”

“Well!” A loud voice drifted towards him from the stairs. It took Edward but a few seconds to recognize the man’s intoxicated state. “You see me, Lockhart.”

Gone was all formality, all pretense of respect. Henry stumbled towards him, and with him wafted the scent of sour wine. It took all Edward’s self-control to not visibly react to the smell.

“Well! Here he is! Good old Edward Lockhart! The foot soldier, here to collect his spoils of war!”

The man was visibly completely out of his mind.

“Lord Birchrook.” He approached the older man hesitantly, hoping to remain respectful. “Are you alright?”

“Am… I… alright?” Henry Beaumont spat out the words angrily and shook his head. “I should kick you out of this house. Take you to my back garden and shoot you in the head like the dog you are.”

Edward’s eyes widened at this. It was an unusual thing to say – certainly Henry Beaumont had more wit than this.

The older man took another step forward, his eyes burning hatefully.

“No one would blame me if they learned the truth. If they heard what you did to my daughter.”

Fear gripped at Edward’s heart with icy fingers. He knew. This could not bode well for anyone – least of all for Lucy – and he stepped forward desperately.

“My lord. I love your daughter. I know that my actions have not been blameless in any manner, but my feelings for her are real. I will take responsibility for my actions and marry her at your earliest convenience.”

“Love.”

All Edward’s hope that his speech was enough to calm the man’s wrath disappeared when he spat the word out as though it tasted sour.

“Love does not exist. Not for men like you and me. You know that as well as I do.”

“Please, let me see her. Let me speak to her… I want to make this right, my lord.”

Henry seemed unaffected by Edward’s pleading. He turned away from him, his shoulders stiff.