Chapter Four

L ucy sighed. Why was she here? She had every intention of hanging on to her anger. She’d planned to let him rot in his bad decisions. She really had. But then this morning, as she took her morning constitutional, she had somehow ended up in front of his house. She handed her gloves and parasol over to Mr. Townson. “Where is he?”

“This way, Miss Middleton.” Townson turned and led her up the grand staircase to the first floor.

The house was the same as it always had been. Simple, elegant furnishings throughout. Tasteful landscapes dotted walls papered in muted tones of beige and gold. Perhaps because the house had lacked the presence of a duchess for so long was the reason the décor felt so staid and dull. When Lucy had her own home, she would fill it with color, fresh flowers, and interesting pieces of art collected from her travels.

Townson stopped in front of Hart’s study. “One moment, please.” He knocked and then slid inside, leaving her in the corridor.

Since when did she need to be announced? It wasn’t as if she were a stranger. Lucy crossed her arms with a huff. This was a bad idea, but someone had to look out for him. He’d looked terrible last week. Unkempt, his hair a wild, long mess only partially concealing the spiderweb of thin white scars that snaked from his temple across his cheek and disappeared into the stubble covering the lower half of his face. But the scars weren’t the most distressing part about his appearance.

It was the bleakness in his eyes that had been hard to see. Hart had always carried himself with a certain self-possessed swagger. His gaze always cool and confident. Many thought him arrogant or intimidating, and it was his due as a duke. But Lucy knew if one looked closely, they could see the ever-present twinkle of humor in his eye or catch the slight quirk of his lips when he was amused. His cynicism led to a dry sense of humor and to his fait accompli outlook on life.

She tapped a foot on the floor. What was taking so long? As though her impatience could be felt through the door, it opened, and Townson held it wide for her to enter. Lucy entered the room cautiously. Hart stood behind his desk tugging down his cuffs. When he glanced up, wariness radiated from the deep, misty grey of his eyes. He had cut his hair, and although still too long for current fashion, the dark swoop of hair across his forehead suited him.

“Good morning, Lucy. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

Lucy wandered slowly through the room toward the large mahogany desk that dominated the space. She ran her fingertips over the back of an upholstered chair, which sat along with its pair in front of a large fireplace. The perfect spot for brandy and smokes. As she looked around the room, she again noted that nothing had changed since this room had belonged to Hart’s father. “Everything in this house is the same as it always has been. Won’t you ever redecorate to suit your tastes?”

“This was never meant to be mine, so I guess I never put much thought into how I would like it to be.” He watched her as she moved closer. “I guess I will leave it up to my future duchess to do with it as she pleases.”

Lucy continued to wander through the room not ready to have to answer the inevitable question of why she was here. She stared up at a hideous stuffed boar’s head mounted on the wall. “Are you planning to marry then?”

He shrugged. “Well, I must. It will just be a matter of finding someone to tolerate me.”

“You are fairly intolerable,” she teased.

Finally, she came to a stop in front of the desk. Hart stood stiff and still as though he didn’t know how to act. She tilted her head; how strange. Who was this new man? And what had he done with the old Hart?

Curiosity had her asking, “Care to go for a stroll with me?”

“I don’t think so. I have a lot of things to do.” He waved a hand at the papers strewn over the desk.

“I won’t take no for an answer. You are far too pale and thin. Have you eaten this morning?”

Hart’s glance slid to the left. She followed his gaze to a tray laden with slices of ham along with toast and jam that sat on the side table. “I became engrossed in the ledgers, and I forgot to eat.”

“I see.” She pursed her lips. “First a walk in the sunshine and then food. Let’s go work up an appetite.”

His mouth opened then closed, and she wasn’t sure she had convinced him. But then he came around the desk and snatched up a walking stick that leaned against the end. Townson was standing guard right outside the door as they left the room. His bushy eyebrows raised high when Hart said, “Get my things. Apparently, we are going for a walk outside.”

Once outside in the bright sunshine, Lucy’s mood improved tenfold. She was just helping a friend in need. This was not more than that. He clearly needed someone to look out for his health. She would assure herself he was recovering, then she could leave him alone with a clear conscience. For a moment, she tipped her face to the sky so she could feel the sun on her cheeks.

Then she pushed open her pale blue parasol. “Shall we hoof it to Green Park?” Looking down at his walking stick, she frowned. “Or do you need to stay closer to home? Have you hurt a leg? I don’t remember your leg being one of your injuries.”

“No, the legs work just fine. It’s the eye. The stick is to help navigate my blind spot.”

Lucy nodded and came to stand on his left, the opposite side of his bad eye. “I knew you would figure out a way to cope. You’re not one to give up.”

He harrumphed from next to her.

They set off down the street. Whatever trouble he had with the right eye, it didn’t impede his stride, and Lucy was glad she didn’t have to slow her normal pace. Next to her, Hart was still stiff, his frown set in place.

“You needn’t look so grim. People will think you don’t enjoy my company.”

He glanced her way. “Sorry. I haven’t been out in public at all since the accident. My manners are rusty.”

“And who’s fault is that?” She arched an eyebrow.

They walked for several blocks without speaking. She watched Hart’s shoulders relax incrementally. By the time they turned into the park, his demeanor had relaxed enough that he began to resemble himself again. The silence between them was not uncomfortable. Lucy enjoyed walking next to him, letting the warmth of the day soak into her bones. It had rained every day the last week, but today the sun shone down and made everything in the park look lush and green. Small white and yellow butterflies fluttered around a flowering rhododendron.

Lucy laid a hand on Hart’s arm. “Look.” She pointed to the bush.

He stopped and stared at the butterflies. “I wouldn’t have noticed them.”

“Today is a beautiful day. You have been cooped up too long. Take in all this green.” She gestured widely with one hand. Then she squinted up at him. “You really do look terrible. But at least you cut your hair.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Don’t hold back the truth.”

“I won’t. You have been wallowing, ignoring your friends, and I’m still cross with you.” She reminded him, and herself as well.

He reached out a hand to touch the delicate petals of a flower and a dozen tiny butterflies scattered up into the air. Lucy laughed in delight at the beautiful frenzy of yellow and white wings. Hart turned his head to stare at her.

Feeling self-conscious, she pushed back a stray wisp of hair that fluttered with the breeze. “What?” she asked as Hart just stood there.

“Why did you write? You kept sending letters even after I sent you away.”

She shrugged. “I guess I thought you could use some diversion from your sulking.”

“I did. They helped.”

“You read them?” He had never replied. She assumed her letters had moldered in a pile on his desk.

“I read every one.” His searching gaze trapped hers.

All her old feelings fluttered wildly in her stomach like the butterflies rising from the bush. But she ruthlessly pushed them down. She refused to let those tender feelings surface. His rejection had hurt too much. She began walking down the path.

Hart followed her. His walking stick tapped against the pea gravel as he strode to catch up. “I visited Trudy like you told me to. She has opinions about you getting married.”

“I know that she would like to see me settled.”

“But you don’t wish to be married?” He glanced over at her.

“You see what sort of fools I must deal with in polite society. Fitzwilliam isn’t the only fortune hunter trying to get under my skirts.” What she didn’t want to tell Hart was that, in truth, she got very little attention.

As the daughter of a navy captain, she was far too low on the social ladder for most titled men to consider her for a wife unless they really needed the large dowry Hart’s father had gifted her when she became his ward. Hart would of course be well aware of this. The thought of his pity was unbearable.

“Actually, I have a beau. But I haven’t said anything because he doesn’t yet have enough money for us to marry.”

Hart’s head whipped around to look at her. “Who is he?”

Who is he… who is he? Lucy scrambled for a name to give. “Gregory Murdoch. He is a solicitor. He works for the firm of Jackson & Worth.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“My very good friend, Violet, is the daughter of the Earl of Blackpool, and Mr. Murdoch handles their accounts. I met him at a luncheon where we cultivated a friendship. But you must promise not to tell Trudy. I don’t want her meddling.”

Hart snorted. “A solicitor? I believe Trudy has higher hopes for you.”

“I am the daughter of a navy captain and a vicar’s daughter. Marriage to a solicitor makes perfect sense. It makes far more sense than marriage to a peer.”

She needed to change the subject before she dug herself any further into this lie. Although it hardly mattered, Hart would never meet her fake beau. They certainly did not run into the same circles, not that Hart ran in any circles these days. She glanced sideways at his profile. His brow was wrinkled as he frowned down at the ground.

“You must know Trudy has plans for you as well. She is most certainly scheming to have you matched now that you are back.”

“She can scheme all she wants. It won’t do her any good. I’m not fit to be a husband to anyone right now. That is not why I am in town.”

Lucy let out a long breath and switched her parasol to the left side as they made a turn, and the sun changed positions. “Yes, that’s right, your investigation. How is that going?”

“Frustratingly slow. At Belstoke, I found a letter in my father’s desk that contained several explicit threats. Apparently, he was going pull from a business deal. But the specifics of the deal were not spelled out in this letter. The threats of retribution were clear, though. This week, I have been going through ledgers and correspondence from the year the letter was dated to see if I can find what business ventures my father was invested in. I haven’t found anything as of yet. But I am barely halfway through, and unfortunately, my left eye tires quickly without the help of its pair.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could think it through. “I could help if you tell me what you’re looking for specifically.”

“You don’t have to offer.”

“I know.” She stopped so she could face him.

His posture was again stiff. His expression closed off.

“Why won’t you accept help?”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Yes, that’s just it. I pity the rich, handsome duke.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, forget I offered.” She strode away down the path.

Why did she continue to try and help him? She should leave him to his own devices. He was a grown man who wished to be left alone. Why couldn’t she get that through her thick skull?

His gruff voice called out. “Lucy, stop. Yes, I can use your help.”

She turned.

His hand flexed around the gold top of his walking stick. “I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that spread. “All right then, first food. Then we will get to investigating.”