Chapter Seventeen

C hapter S eventeen

T he second sitting for the portrait of Lucy's father was far more comfortable than the first.

Not that the first sitting had been uncomfortable, per se. On the contrary, Hal had been quite skilled at setting Lucy at ease and was remarkably amiable, given the fury with which she had greeted Hunter. To Lucy's surprise, they hadn't started immediately with a description of her father's physical appearance. Instead, Hal asked Lucy about teaching at Miss Masters's and how she enjoyed doing so.

Apparently, Hal had attended that school herself, and their conversation had immediately deviated to the current teachers on staff, the grounds, the corridors and classrooms, the furnishings of the bed chambers, the number of students she currently taught who had graduated from the neighboring Rothchild Academy…

It had felt like chatting with an old friend and reminiscing about a forgotten past, and it made Lucy ache for her life at the school.

Only when they had both sat quietly in their memories of that place had Hal sighed and suggested they start with the drawing, and Lucy found herself talking more about her father than she had in a long time. She found herself talking about more than just his appearance, but his nature. How he had changed when her mother had died, though he had never given her much attention or care before that. How she had come to realize that she would never please him and tried to make peace with it. How she truly did not know what her life would be from one year to the next with him directing affairs.

It had been draining, but healing, in a way. Lucy had been very grateful for the break and the hearty lunch that had been provided, even if Hal and Hunter had arrived well after Lucy and John had begun to eat.

John had no concerns about Hal and Hunter being alone, nor about their being late, which made Lucy wonder what sort of lives the couple lived in their home and just how they were connected to Hunter's world, but she sensed these were not the sort of questions she ought to ask. Were Hal and Hunter related somehow? Was that even possible?

Before they had sat down to luncheon, John had taken Lucy on a tour of their house, which was remarkably comfortable and surprisingly simple in its furnishings. No fuss or frills, and almost every room was filled with books or drawing supplies, which she found particularly amusing. No wonder Hunter had said there was no room for Lucy to stay here. Each of the rooms that were likely designated as bedchambers were being used for other things, and it would be a massive inconvenience for any guest to arrive unannounced here.

Such an active embracing of their life without having to make any consideration for anyone else. What an unusual, independent, yet endearing couple!

Back in the studio with Hal now, Lucy found herself falling back into the easy cadence of describing her father. Hal had told her from the beginning that it was fine if she repeated things from the first sitting, as it would only serve as reinforcement.

Whatever that meant where drawing a portrait was concerned.

Lucy had never been a particularly skilled artist, despite the training she had received in her adolescence. Something about proper shading had never made sense to her fingers, and dimension was simply beyond her ability to convey. But as she was always told, she had other talents and gifts that could make up for the utter lack of artistic ability, and not all gentlemen wanted a wife gifted in the arts. Her tutors had been the ones most sincere in that belief, no doubt terrified of her father and his opinion of their failure to make Lucy into an accomplished lady.

Her mother, on the other hand, had usually made that statement, but with an edge of sarcasm and a wink. She had never been concerned with Lucy's level of accomplishment.

Or lack thereof.

"Lucy?"

Shaking herself and forcing the image of her mother out of her mind, Lucy looked back at Hal. "Yes?"

Hal smiled rather kindly behind her spectacles, perched low on her nose. "You were far away for a moment there. Everything all right?"

Lucy nodded quickly, flashing a smile. "I was thinking about my lack of artistic ability, actually. I am positively dreadful, and my tutors and governess despaired of my marital prospects but tried to encourage me that not all gentlemen cared about such things."

Hal laughed once, her eyes crinkling. "That's true, I suppose. It's never gotten me anywhere with men."

"Says the married woman," Lucy pointed out, her smile going crooked.

Hal opened her mouth, clearly about to argue a point, then closed it, her mouth curving in apparent bemusement. "I suppose my art did have some part in my marriage to John. Not in the conventional sense, but…" She sighed, shaking her head. "Suffice it to say, I would not have married him had I not been particularly gifted the way that I happen to be. But John is no great appreciator of art. Apart from mine." She winked and looked back at her drawing.

Lucy wanted to ask so many questions, but it was quite clear that the topic was closed. "My mother did not care that I was unable to draw or paint. I am not certain anything was flawed in me, through her eyes. Granted, I did not share all my thoughts with her, or she would know how I felt about the way my father treated her, but she ought to have seen me clearly enough."

"I think mothers have selective vision, in that regard," Hal murmured, her eyes fixed on her drawing. "They see everything but choose what to keep in their mind about us. And I have no doubt she would not be surprised by your thoughts about your father."

"How can you possibly suspect that?" Lucy asked without heat. "We've known each other a scant few hours, and you certainly never met my mother."

Hal glanced up, one brow quirking higher than the other. "Your expression is not as blank as you might think, Lucy. It was written across your face."

Lucy put a hand to her cheek in response, knowing her complexion was growing pink from the accusation. "Truly?"

Nodding, Hal sat back, adjusting her spectacles closer to her face. "Truly. But I like that. Now, tell me about your father's hair."

Closing her eyes, Lucy thought back to the last time she had seen her father. "It's dark but gets more grey in it by the year. It's especially greying by his ears. He has almost no hair on the top of his head and his brow, but there are a few longer strands he brushes across the top to try and hide the baldness. It doesn't work, since it's only a handful of strands, but he tries. He wears his sideburns long, and they get thick and more greying the longer they are."

"Straight or curly?"

"Straight. But thick where he isn't bald, if that makes sense. His brow is very high, even before he was balding there. Thick eyebrows, barely any grey in them, and they touch when he frowns." Lucy felt as though she was squinting as she thought, but her eyes were closed, so there was nothing to see. "He has never grown a beard or the sort, but you can tell it would also be thick and dark if he did."

Hal nodded as her hand flew across the page with the charcoal. "Keep going. Tell me anything about his face and features."

Lucy twisted her lips, hoping her descriptions would give Hal something good to work with, something specific that would set her father apart from other men. But in her mind, he was just… her father. His face was just his face, and there was nothing extraordinary or noteworthy in it. What was more useful: the slight cleft to his chin or the mole by his right eyebrow?

"Whatever you are considering," Hal mused without looking up, "tell me both. Nothing is too small a detail, anything can be useful."

Lucy laughed in surprise. "How in the world did you know?"

Hal shook her head very slightly, sighing. "I have been at this for a very long time, and I do this frequently for all sorts of people and reasons. You learn what certain silences mean and how to get people talking about the right things."

"Hmm," Lucy said softly. "I envy your certainty about your skills and your occupation. Your life, perhaps. I know appearances aren't always what they seem, believe me, but you seem fairly independent, even within your marriage. That tells me you married out of love, which I envy greatly. To be yourself—to know yourself well enough to be yourself—and to attain all that you hope for as well. How often are we ladies told to be a certain way and to behave just so in order to find a good match? And no one ever speaks of love, and rarely of affection. I don't know how you've managed it, Hal, but I am truly envious, God help me."

The sounds of Hal's drawing slowed, then stopped. She looked at Lucy closely, then pushed her spectacles on top of her head and set the drawing aside. "Lucy… No life is perfect, as you know. My husband and I married for convenience, and we managed to find real love for each other after the fact. Yes, that does make me quite fortunate, but my husband would have had no interest in who I was had we not been forced into a life together. We could not stand each other, which was probably due to our misguided impressions of one another and a belief that we knew best. As it happens, we're both terribly stubborn, which does not bode well for future children."

Lucy giggled at the idea, and Hal laughed as well. "You seem so happy together. So comfortable."

"We are," Hal assured her, "but it did not start out as so. All we knew was that we could trust each other, and our love flowered through that trust. If you seek love in your life, find it. That sounds simple from the already married woman who did not need a marriage at all to be secure in her life, but I cannot put it any other way. From what I can tell, your father uses you as a tool for his own means. Well, don't let him. You are of age, and you are now gainfully employed at a well-respected institution. No one worth having will look down on you for that, even in Society. You are on a path to claiming your life for yourself, and I think you are determined enough to see it through."

"Am I?" Lucy whispered before she could stop herself. "I feel so uncertain about everything."

Hal grunted once. "That is because we are not taught to think for ourselves, let alone to act for ourselves. We have to discover the beauty and madness of such things all on our own, and usually when it is far too late to do us any good."

Lucy found herself snorting in bemused agreement. "Very true. Even so, I don't know that I could ever be like you, or like Miss Bradford."

"Miss Bradford," Hal told her firmly as she sat back and took up the drawing again, "is a rare creature that cannot possibly be imitated, but she would certainly be a skilled enough mentor for any young woman. You might confide in her, should you desire a match for yourself with affection at its center, particularly if you do not wish to anger your father with your choice. I have no doubt she would be a great help in that regard. Trust me, people have gone to her for lesser concerns and come away successful."

Lucy did her best not to blanch at the idea, even while her mind seemed to leap with excitement at it. She could never confide in her employer and headmistress in such a way, even if she would be useful in it. The matter was simply far too personal to share with a woman she respected so greatly, particularly when their relationship was so new. In a few years, perhaps, if Lucy was still employed at the school and had formed a closer bond…

Perhaps then, they could talk of potential husbands.

The image of Hunter and his crooked smile came to mind, warming her heart, and sending that warmth into the pit of her stomach with an unsettling splash of sorts.

She inhaled sharply, then cleared her throat to cover the sound. "My… my father has a slight cleft to his chin and a mole by his right eyebrow. It is not particularly large, smaller than the thickness of the brow itself, but it is there all the same. His nose has a faint crease that runs across it, as though it comes from one nostril to the other, if that makes sense…"

She continued to describe whatever she could think of, from the age spots visible beneath the strands atop his head to the faint lines that were now permanently etched between his brows and at the corners of his mouth. It felt strange, isolating particular details of her father's face and head like some bizarre dissection of what created his image. She half expected the picture of him in her mind to yell at her for not behaving like a lady or to tell her to wear a more secure hairstyle if she was going to ride.

Lucy felt herself sit taller and speak more softly the more she described him. Felt the familiar tension in her chest and the strain in her neck. The odd awareness of the hairs on her head, as though they knew they had to be perfect. The ache in her low back as her posture became unnatural, even for a woman of her station. The pressure of her feet against the floor.

Was her breathing too loud? Too obvious? Did her features appear composed and sedate? Was her smile too bold or too easy? Were her hands folded in a graceful way? Was she blinking too much or too little due to staring?

It took her several moments to realize she wasn't speaking anymore. Her eyes flicked over to Hal, who was also silent and staring back at her, expression soft, eyes knowing. Her hands were still, nothing moving against the paper to work on the drawing.

It was a strange, vulnerable feeling to have Hal's eyes on her in such a way. As though she could see every thought Lucy had written out above her head. Could understand every impulse that Lucy had just gone through. Sensed the sort of treatment Lucy received from her father.

Lucy had to look away, finding her throat tightening and trying to swallow. She might have been mistreated by her father, and he might have been particularly stern, but she had not been truly injured by him. He had never come close to striking her or the like. She had heard several horrid stories from the girls she taught who had come to her from the Rothchild Academy, which had been set up for poor girls to attend for free and thereby receive an education that would allow them to better their situation. Some of those poor things hadn't even known a kind moment from their father in the short time of their lives, and some had received tremendous beatings that had prompted them to run away.

No, Lucy's father wasn't like that. He simply destroyed Lucy's confidence by finding flaw in everything, reduced her opportunities in life by his own actions, and somehow expected her to still manage a successful marriage that would benefit him for the rest of his life. He expected her to be the catch of any social Season, though he had given her nothing to tempt the sort of men he wanted for her husband. Her dowry was nonexistent, and she was now at an age to be looked at with speculation as a marriage prospect, all of which he somehow made her fault.

When he was bothered to notice her, of course.

She loved when he did not.

But still, she ought to have been describing her father's appearance, not dwelling on his manner. It was not as though Hal could put his manner into the drawing.

Could she?

"Everything all right?" Hal inquired in the softest voice Lucy had heard from her yet.

Lucy managed the swallow she had been struggling with and nodded once. "Yes. It's only… well, it isn't particularly relevant to our present task."

"That doesn't mean you can't tell me. I won't share, but I won't press. If it would help you to express more, do so. If you would prefer me to focus on my work, I will do so." She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat, drawing Lucy's gaze back. "Trick is always telling me I see too much and say too much, but he's one to talk."

The wry tone Hal had taken on made Lucy giggle, and she nodded in agreement. "He certainly is. He shouldn't say anything of the sort to you."

Hal's mouth tightened as though she would laugh, but she only shook her head, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Exactly like Hunter's did.

Lucy tilted her head to one side, wondering if she dared ask…

"I don't want to go to my father's house," she found herself admitting instead. "I hate life with him. But he refused to let me remain at the school for the holidays. I ought to have some authority over my life, as I have clearly reached my majority, but he has not made any provisions for me, so there is nothing to claim. I would be perfectly content to continue roaming London with Hunter until the holidays have passed and then return to the school for next term."

Hal's eyes widened very slightly, and it took the space of a few heartbeats before Lucy realized why.

She had said Hunter instead of Trick. Based on that reaction, Hunter might be his actual given name and not just some additional code. Was it really so shocking a thing? Did it signify? Or was it just something that was rarely used and Hal had not heard it in some time?

"I know that's not possible," Lucy added quickly, trying to flash a smile to offset the shock. "But it would be preferable."

"I can understand that," Hal eventually said, her eyes darting to her drawing. "You do realize that the life that Hunter—Trick—leads is not particularly sedate, don't you? He's been taking care of you since your foiled abduction, but usually, there is far more risk, and even depravity, involved in what he deals with."

Lucy felt herself grow defensive at the suggestion. "Yes, of course I know that. I saw the men who know him, and he said they were going on patrol, whatever that means. I had a perfectly good idea of the sort of men they were and how they behave. Hunter is not like them."

"I know that better than you do," Hal shot back without venom, but plenty of authority, her eyes flashing, "but they are the sort of people who fill his life and his days out of necessity. And worse. Wandering with Hunter is not a reality, Lucy. It is simple protection on his part. For you. From his reality. Because his reality is not fit for you, for me, and sometimes, not even for him. But he deals with it out of duty."

Duty? Lucy hadn't heard that word out of anybody's mouth yet. She'd wondered what exactly Hunter did with his life, but nobody had ever indicated that it was somehow a duty. She thought he might be some sort of investigator for the lower classes or a vigilante, if she were to be dramatic about it, but duty?

What sort of duty was involved in the things he was doing?

She wanted to argue with Hal further on that fact, as well as the fact that she knew Hunter led a dangerous life, but what good would it do? It was clear that Hal was filled with concern and regard for Hunter, and probably worried about him a great deal. With the likeness between the two, Lucy suspected they might be siblings, or cousins, perhaps. Family, almost certainly.

And she would not argue with Hunter's family about her desire to be with him no matter what danger he lived with.

They wouldn't understand. How could they? She didn't understand herself.

"I only wish it were possible," Lucy murmured, losing the defensiveness as soon as the words were out of her mouth. "I've never met anyone like him, and being with him… Reality or not, it is liberating, Hal. Maddening, too, considering… Well, he is just maddening."

Hal snorted rather indelicately, making Lucy grin. "That's one way to put it. The polite way, if you will."

There was no irritation in her voice, which meant either Lucy was forgiven or there was nothing to forgive. Hal was an opinionated woman, and especially loquacious in those opinions, but she did not seem to be irrational, either in her moods or emotions. Her fury at Hunter when they had arrived had been all concern and panic over the risk of his coming here, that much was clear at this point.

Which meant they were on the same side in this.

Lucy's grin spread even further. She was feeling rather affectionate towards this potential relative of Hunter's. "I am nothing if not polite."

"I can tell." Hal returned her grin and heaved a sigh. "I wish it were possible for you too. I think you'd be good for Hunter. But the future is so uncertain… Still, when you find your father and are returned to him, let me know. We can be friends. I'm still enough in those circles to be respectable and admitted, even if I've become reclusive. And you can be yourself here." She gestured towards Lucy with two fingers. "Sit back, for heaven's sake. Slouch, if you like. You're making my back ache with that too-perfect posture."

Lucy laughed in surprise and pointedly leaned back until she was all but lounging in her comfortable chair. "Yes, ma'am. If you insist."

"I do." Hal sniffed, rather like Tilda did when she was being authoritarian. "Now, shall we continue describing the unfortunate figure that is your father? I think we're making some good progress on his likeness."