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“Sell within a fortnight? Is it possible?” She was not ready. Her future as a lady had seemed quite distant only a few weeks ago.

“Of course you will not handle the sale yourself,” said Cassandra. “We will recommend a solicitor to make sure the inn’s assets are properly valued. With the right help, you’ll be ready to begin your London Season in days.”

Her friends had worked out a solution to her situation. But a dead father was not a situation. The Tooth and Nail was not a situation. And Adam was not a situation. She did not know how she could begin to explain Adam to her friends, but there were things that could not be sold with tables and chairs, plate and silver, and stables and outbuildings. Even if one could sell everything one owned, one could not really sell one’s past.

Margaret rose and came around the table to take Lucy by the hands, pull her from her chair, and fold her in another embrace. “Dear child, your future has arrived in a way none of us expected. Nevertheless, it has arrived, and your father himself, would want you to seek the best position for yourself in the world.”

Lucy let herself be held. There was no denying that her father had wanted her to be a lady. When she was twelve, he had given her a painting of just the sort of lady she was meant to be. It hung in her room above the small hearth. Then he had sent her to Mrs. Thwayte’s school, and when she had finished there, he had insisted that she spend Sundays with these very friends to grow accustomed to talk and manners quite different from those of the inn. Now, unexpectedly, the moment had arrived for her to step into the life for which he had prepared her. She simply had never imagined that she would step into that life without him.

Cordelia stood and once more offered Lucy the brown paper package. “Do open it, dear.”

Lucy stepped back from Margaret’s hold and tugged loose the string, unfolding the brown paper. A small blue book with gold lettering appeared—The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London. She looked up into three bright smiles of encouragement. A hiccup of laughter escaped her. A month ago, two weeks ago, she would have devoured the little book eagerly, ready to learn its lessons. Now she understood that its lessons would be lessons in detaching herself from home. She wanted to toss the little book out the window and let the rain wash it away.

“You’ll be brilliant, dear. We can’t wait to help you enjoy a wonderful Season and a triumphant one,” said Cassandra.

Lucy clasped the book hard lest she act on her first impulse. Her friends wanted the best for her even if they did not know what they asked in return—to detach herself from all that was known and loved. To adopt the ways she’d been learning in South Audley Street and to leave the ways of home behind.

A startling crash from the taproom interrupted her thoughts, followed by a man’s anguished voice crying, “No, no, no, no, no.”

The ladies started and looked confused. “What is that dreadful noise?” asked Cassandra.

The pained cry sounded again, louder still, full of terrible distress.

“Adam,” Lucy cried. “I must go to him.” She thrust the little book into Cordelia’s hands and dashed for the door.

The woman of property may, for the most part, immediately dismiss from her court certain gentlemen who seek her out—the gazetted fortune hunter, the younger son, the widower with a needy family, the wastrel who has mortgaged his vast estate, and the handsome half-pay officer of the broad shoulders, gold epaulets, and frayed cuffs. These gentlemen have only one reason for marrying—the repair of their own damaged fortunes. Each of them has a grievance against the unfavorable circumstances that have cast him down. Self-interest both drives them and blinds them. Such a man will bend over the heiress’s hand, thinking only of a new roof for the crumbling ancestral manor, a mother for the ungovernable children, or the grateful smiles of his tailor when his bill is paid. The woman of property must reject instantly any man who cannot see in her mind and spirit those qualities which will, when united with his own character, create a lifelong partnership.

—The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London

Chapter 2

From the landing Lucy could see Adam standing in the middle of the room, his gnarled hands raised in fists. The bench sitters had scattered, clearing a space around the old man. There was only one man near him, the red-coated Captain Clare, the inn’s most recent guest. His sharp warning glance checked her.

Adam stood like a tree on the heath in a gale, his body trembling. The painful memory that lived deep in his blasted, shaken frame roared like a caged beast. Lucy had been expecting an outburst since her father’s death. Now it had come.

“Geoffrey ran away,” Adam shouted, shaking his head. “Adam saw. Adam saw. Adam saw.” He began to pound his head with his fists, crying, “No, no, no, no, no.”

Lucy dashed down the stairs, but the captain stepped between her and Adam. She slammed hard against his red-jacketed chest, and he caught her by the shoulders. “He’s not himself,” he said in a low clipped voice. “He’s been swinging those fists at anyone who comes near.”

“Let me go. I can calm him.” Lucy twisted in his hold and met his stern gaze with a steady one of her own. “I’m the only one who can.”

The captain’s grip tightened. His unyielding gaze measured hers. “Wait til he quiets.”

“If he hears my voice, he will.”

But Adam could not hear her. He repeated his pained cry. Behind her Lucy heard a gasp, from Cordelia she thought. She had not seen Adam so agitated in a long while.

His shouts rang loud in her ears until his voice grew raw and raspy, and his hands hung at his sides. The episode was over in a few minutes, but to Lucy it had seemed hours. The captain nodded and released her, and she crossed to Adam’s side.

“It’s Lucy, Adam. I’m here.” She stood close enough that he could sense her presence. “I’m here.”

After a long moment the old man spoke again. “Adam stay. Adam stay by Lucy,” he said.

“Yes, Adam.” She took one of the big fists and held it until the fingers relaxed, and she could take his hand. “You and I, Adam. We stay.” She gave the old man’s hand a tug, and he let her lead him back to his bench.

“Miss Holbrook.” The captain’s voice was low and calm. “Your guests.”

Lucy looked up to see her friends on the landing wearing looks of shock and alarm. She had not realized how strange Adam would appear to them. A few yards separated Adam’s bench from the little landing, scarcely enough room for five couples to move through the figures of a country dance, but it might as well be a gulf.