“And some of the girls I was at school with were titled and they were complete bitc—er, cows as well.”
“It seems you’ve been very unfortunate in the titled people you’ve met so far, but not all titled people are the same. And people without titles can be equally unpleasant.”
Lucy eyed her in silence, her chin jutted stubbornly, unmoved by Alice’s argument.
Alice stomach knotted at what she was about to do. But she couldn’t in all conscience force this young girl into a marriage with the kind of man she found abhorrent. Even though her father had given Alice specific instructions:I want a proper lord... I won’t stand for nothing lower than a baronet.
But surely what Bamber truly wanted was for his daughter to be happily settled and secure. A title was no guarantee of happiness. She took a deep breath and took the plunge. “What if I accept that you don’t wish to marry a lord?”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “You will?”
Alice nodded. “It will make it easier.”
“Why?” Lucy flared. “Because I’m not beautiful?”
My, but she was quick to take offense. Alice said in a calm voice, “No, because the number of unmarried titledgentleman is limited, but if we include all eligible gentlemen, you would have a much wider choice.”
“Oh.”
“Presuming, of course, that you want to find a husband.” There was a short silence. “Do you, Lucy?”
Lucy shrugged. “I suppose so. What else is there for me to do? I’m not clever enough to be a governess, and anyway, I hated school.” Beneath the would-be indifference, Alice thought she could detect a faint note of hopelessness.
What else was there indeed? The options for unmarried women, especially those with no income, were few, and not very pleasant.
“But I don’t want to marry someone high and mighty. I don’t want a husband who’ll look down on me.”
“Understood.” And Alice did understand, having experienced it herself.
“What about you?” Lucy said. “Are you happy about having me here and taking me about?”
Alice was about to assure her politely that she was only too delighted, but stopped herself. Lucy had already shown herself to be cynical and suspicious. She would see through any false assurances.
“I wasn’t at first,” she admitted. “To be honest, I was angry and resentful. And your behavior didn’t help. You were hoping I’d want to be rid of you, weren’t you?” She’d probably done the same at all those schools she’d been expelled from.
Lucy’s expression was a grudging admittance.
“But now that we’ve brought our differences into the open, I feel more positive.” Alice was starting to feel some sympathy for this awkward, uncommunicative girl. “If you’re willing, we could regard this as an opportunity.”
Lucy eyed her cautiously. “What sort of opportunity?”
“I’ve never had a young lady to sponsor into society. I had no children of my own, and I’m lamentably lacking in relations. And now, here you are, and while it wasn’t whateither of us planned, or particularly wanted, we can choose how we want to go forward—endure it or enjoy it.”
There was a short silence, then Lucy said, “You mean it could be fun?”
“Exactly.” Alice smiled. The girl was quick. “And I promise you that I will never try to push you into an unwanted marriage—lord or no lord.” A chill thread of doubt wound through her as she spoke. She ignored it. Bamber wanted his daughter to be happy; he must. She would lose the bonus that he had promised, but that didn’t worry her. All she cared about was getting the letters back.
“So, what do you say?”
“It depends.” Lucy tilted her head. “What was all that godmother stuff about? You’re not planning to launch me with rats and lizards and pumpkins and glass slippers, are you?”
Her dry, slightly caustic delivery surprised a laugh out of Alice. So the girl had a sense of humor. “I’ve always thought glass slippers would be horridly uncomfortable—so cold, and with no give in them at all.”
Lucy raised a sardonic eyebrow. “But you’re fine with rats and lizards?”
Alice chuckled again. “Becoming your godmother was your father’s idea.” She explained the difficulty she would have had trying to introduce Lucy as a relative, however distant. “Besides, I’m a terrible liar. People who know me well can always tell.”
“Really? That’s awkward.”
