Page 32 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

L ucy immediately took a step back as Lord Dufton placed himself between her and Harry’s carriage. She looked up and down the street, dismayed to find her driver, Rory, not sitting atop the carriage where he should have been. Her mood from seconds ago, spoiled.

Where is Rory?

Blindingly handsome in the sunlight, Dufton’s sly smile told her he’d like nothing more than to grab Lucy and flee. But even he wouldn’t dare to snatch her from the front of the Duke of Granby’s home. In the earl’s perfectly gloved hands, he held a beautiful bouquet of peonies. “For you.”

Lucy wasn’t overly fond of peonies. Or Dufton.

She opened her mouth to scream, alerting the duke’s staff or her driver, who had disappeared, but just as quickly clamped her lips shut.

Not only did she not yell, or shriek in general, but— Lucy straightened her shoulders —Dufton could do nothing to her.

He’d lost Marsden and harming her wouldn’t give it to him.

“My, my, where did my docile lamb disappear to?”

“My lord. How strange to find you outside the Duke of Granby’s,” Lucy said clearly. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted.” Her voice was low. Soft. But not a whisper.

I am tired of requiring rescue.

“We aren’t. Granby is far too stoic to suit me. I planned to call upon you at your new home but caught you leaving to pay a call. I simply had to chase you down and offer my congratulations.” The charming smile never wavered.

Lucy refused to be cowed. Dufton and his threats were now meaningless. The duke’s front door was mere steps away. She was safely wed and out of his reach. Clutching at her skirts, she instructed her hands to stop shaking.

“How kind.”

“Your father came to see me this morning. Poor man. He won’t do well in impoverishment.

” Dufton looked positively mournful. “You realize Gerald Waterstone’s privileged existence is coming to an end.

He may even end up in debtor’s prison. All because of you, pet .

But his fate can be changed, and you have the power to do so. ”

Guilt tugged at her until she remembered that Harry now possessed most of Father’s debts and would give him a fair price for Pendergast. Far better than any offer of Dufton’s. “Doubtful.”

“Estwood must have taught you how to use your tongue properly.” There was an edge to the words.

“But you don’t have to remain wed, dear Lucy.

At least, not to Estwood.” He took a step closer, making her skin crawl.

“I have powerful friends. Waterstone insists you were coerced, and I quite agree. After all,” he laughed.

“Who on earth would believe you wouldn’t rather wed me ? ”

“A great many would, my lord. Your reputation is well known. Nor have I forgotten your threat to send me to a sanitarium.”

“Bah.” Dufton shrugged his expensively clad shoulders. “A jest, nothing more.”

“Yes, I’m sure your previous wife found you highly amusing.”

The dazzling smile faltered, eyes losing their cheerful sheen. “We’ll tell everyone this was nothing more than a lover’s quarrel. The dowager thinks that a good explanation to avoid gossip. You overreacted.”

Lucy nodded slowly. “So that you may claim me addled later.”

Dufton’s nostrils flared. “But now…” His voice held some menace.

“You’ve come to your senses. You realize marrying Estwood was done out of anger.

The annulment can be accomplished with little effort with the proper assistance.

Think how pleased your father will be. He won’t have to sell his horse farm. ”

“No, thank you, my lord. I’m quite happy with my choice of husband.” Dufton must think her spineless in addition to being an imbecile.

“You’ve broken my heart, dear Lucy.”

“Doubtful.” Dufton didn’t possess a heart.

She looked down the street, gratified to see Harry’s driver coming from around the corner, crushing a cheroot beneath his boot. He took one look at Dufton and quickened his pace.

“Oh, dear.” Dufton glanced at the driver advancing on them. “Let us not cause a scene. Send him away. My carriage is just there.” He pointed across the street. “We’ll go together and give your father the happy news.”

“I know about Marsden, my lord,” Lucy stated bluntly. Forcefully. “The land is worth far more than my father’s debts. He’d been informed of your deceit.”

Dufton’s smile disappeared completely.

“Cease your posturing, my lord. You don’t give a fig for me, and I expect that if I had been stupid enough to wed you, I would have disappeared shortly after producing an heir. As you can see, my driver is approaching. I bid you good day.” Lucy turned, proud she sounded so…confident. Like Romy.

“You would put your father out on the street?” Dufton’s words stopped her. “He’ll become a pariah. A laughingstock. Waterstone will lose his place in society. I’ll make sure of it, Lucy. If you don’t come with me right now, I will destroy him and his wife.”

Lucy turned back to Dufton. Father and Sally were responsible for their own predicament and had tried to barter her to this horrible man, but still she felt the press of guilt.

“Marsden is and will remain out of your reach,” she whispered.

“We’ll see about that.” Dufton threw the lovely bouquet of peonies to the ground. Eyes on Lucy, he twisted his heel, destroying the fragile petals. “Enjoy your marriage,” he hissed. “No matter how brief.” Spinning on his heel, he stalked across the street to his carriage.

Lucy let out her breath.

“Mrs. Estwood.” Rory, Harry’s driver, a burly man built like a bull and, based on his accent, also from Harry’s part of England, looked down at her with concern.

“Is ought amiss? I merely ducked down the alley to enjoy a cheroot. Should I have the duke’s staff summoned? ” He watched Dufton’s carriage retreat.

“No, Rory. I’m quite well.” She stepped around the brutalized peonies. “But I think I should return home.”

Lucy had vanquished Dufton and not in a lisping, stuttering, pathetic way.

“Just an old acquaintance.” She nodded at Dufton’s carriage as it rolled away. “He wanted to congratulate me on my marriage, but recalled too late I don’t care for peonies.”

A short ride later, Lucy found herself once more at her new home.

She frowned at the sight of the empty steps, deciding matching pots on either side filled with flowers would be a nice touch.

Or some color around the hedges, perhaps.

Harry had said she might decorate as she saw fit. She’d speak to Mrs. Bartle.

Bartle opened the door wide and nodded at Rory before ushering Lucy inside.

“Mrs. Estwood. Welcome home. How was your visit to the duchess?”

“Splendid.” Her fingers trembled only a little at reliving the altercation with Dufton outside the duke’s home.

She had not collapsed at his feet into a simpering heap but had instead ignored his threats.

True, safety in the form of the duke’s staff had only been a short distance away, but she had felt a great deal of satisfaction in dismissing the earl.

She was so bloody tired of being powerless.

Oh, his face when I mentioned Marsden.

“Where is the library, Bartle?” Harry must have one. Books were strewn all over his chambers. Tea and a good book would be required to put Dufton from her mind.

She clasped her hands to stop their trembling. Bravery might require another scone.

“Estwood likes his books.” Bartle waved her forward until he reached a room at the end of the hall. “Not much of a reader myself, but Mrs. Bartle is.” He gestured for her to go inside.

“Oh. Goodness.” Lucy had expected a cozy back parlor, perhaps with a smattering of books, not…this.

“I’ll have tea brought.” He disappeared, leaving her to gawk at Harry’s library.

The sheer number of bookcases, all filled to overflowing, was daunting, to say the least, and the room’s only adornment.

The library, much like the rest of Harry’s home, was plain and sparsely furnished.

Two chairs, obviously expensive and well made, sat before yet another overly large fireplace.

One small table. No paintings, not that there was a great deal of wall space given the sheer number of bookshelves.

Three large crates sat near the door, full of books that had yet to be organized and shelved.

At the first bookcase, she selected a leather-bound tome and read the title.

Traité des propriétés projectives des figures.

Lucy didn’t read French, but she knew enough to ascertain the book had something to do with numbers, in fact, the entire shelf was filled with similarly titled books by someone named Fourier.

“ De re metallica, by Georgius Agricola,” she said aloud, moving to another shelf.

This section seemed devoted to metallurgy.

Lucy walked to the next bookcase and found essays on the Greeks, Romans, Principles of Geology, and lastly something called Lord Thurston’s Revenge.

A novel. Seemed a bit out of place, given Harry’s taste in reading.

Leafing through Lord Thurston’s Revenge , Lucy was delighted to find it was about a lord who becomes a pirate. Perfect. Tucking the book beneath one arm, she wandered over to one of the chairs and settled, enjoying the warmth of the fire.

Bartle arrived with her tea and a plate of biscuits as she dove into Lord Thurston, pushing aside all thoughts of Dufton, who would have made an excellent villain for any novel. A tiny wave of guilt struck her as she spared a single thought for her father and Sally.

But only one.