Page 57 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
Lucy’s smile was fond, even wistful. “No, you would not. I have debated this matter for a very long time, whether to tell you the truth or carry it to my grave. But in the end, I see how selfish this would be. You came here through the storm. Yes, I know that much at least. Though to have you away from that house…oh do not get me wrong, for Lady Barrington is a delight in so many ways. But there is danger within those walls…”
“Danger…” James stared at her sadly, for the knock to her head had clearly addled her wits. “There is no danger, Lucy. I am safe…”
“Safe!” She knocked away the hand that held her own, feisty even now. “My mind is as sound as it ever was! Oh, dear boy, my head hurts but I know well enough what is going on. Phoebe Barlowe has her sights set upon you.”
James could not help but laugh, for by now he was exhausted, overwrought and a host of other things. “Such is undoubtedly true,” he said, leaning back heavily in the chair, and pressing one hand over his eyes, for he was close to tears despite his laughter. “Though how you know this, when you are laying here, dying, is entirely beyond me.”
“I hardly see how my dying is something to laugh over,” the old woman muttered, though when James looked at her, he saw the twitch to her lips before she also laughed. “I sense there is a story that you are not telling me.”
“You are on your deathbed, and you wish to hear the gossip of the ton?” James asked, sitting up a little to take a good look at her, noticing the pale flush of color coming back into her cheeks.
“I might not be so near to death as you imagine,” Lucy muttered, plucking at the coverlet. “Help me sit up, for I cannot stand laying here like this for another minute.”
“Are you sure it is wise?” James asked, rising to stand uncertainly over her. “I wish a doctor were here…I imagine it would be best for you to stay quiet…”
“Hardly! If I am dying anyway then what does it matter whether I am lying down or sitting up? The end result would be very much the same.” Lucy struggled to rise, and James found himself bending to ease her forward for him to place another pillow behind her back.
“You cannot even die obediently I suppose,” he muttered, the pressure within his heart easing a little, for there was that old look in her eyes that he knew well.
“Perhaps I will not die at all. Tell me what has happened with that Phoebe Barlowe,” she snapped at him waspishly and glanced at the table near his hand. “You could give me some water too while you are up and about.”
James had only just sat down but rose and poured a glass of water for her all the same. “I wonder sometimes whether you are the true mistress of the household and I the servant,” he said, guiding the glass to her lips.
“I wonder that myself,” she said and lay back again, pale and wan. As much as she’d rallied, she’d spent that energy and had nothing left to give. He smoothed the coverlet over her again and resumed his seat.
“Besides, if I tell you what happened, you will go ahead and die and where would that leave me? No, ’tis best I keep my own adventures to myself, if only to ensure your long life,” James said, crossing his arms and staring her down, the very picture of one not about to be moved.
“Are you always so harsh with those who are dying around you?”
“Do you intend to be all night about this? I daresay I could get some sleep if you are, for I am rather exhausted, having come through the storm to get here,” James retorted, though a smile tugged at his lips.
“Do not tease me,” Lucy said, and struggled to sit up again. “You must tell me. What has Phoebe done?”
James frowned. “I am unsure why she bothers you so. Though I can understand your worry. Miss Barlowe is not what she seems, is she? Her arrangement tonight could well have ruined her…and myself, as well, if things had gone according to her plan. It is most odd though. I have as yet to ascertain why—”
“Why?” Lucy exploded, and threw the coverlet back entirely. “Help me dress. We must put an end to this.”
“I thought you were dying?” he countered, throwing the blanket back over her before she got a chill.
“I do not have time for such nonsense. Besides, it is but a small injury upon my head. I am fine. Heaven only knows why I did not wake up sooner.” She shoved the blanket back and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“What about your heart? Your dead parents?”
She waved that off. “My parents died in a carriage accident when I was seven.”
“You are lying then about everything?” he asked, stepping back in a rather stunned disbelief as Lucy stood wobbly for a moment next to the bed.
Her face was still pale, with a certain greyness to her countenance. “In truth, my heart troubles me, but I have not time for dying. You do not understand Phoebe, or you would not be standing there like this. She has set her sights upon you and made her move, but I am guessing you frustrated her somehow. She will hurt that girl next, mark my words.”
“What girl? Do you mean Helena?” he asked sharply, draping his own robe around Lucy, for her nightdress was not warm enough for her to wander about the house. He reached for her arm as she marched past him, chin high, heading straight for the door and the house beyond. “Stay, tell me what you mean!”
“I mean that she is a cat who is not to be trusted!” she cried out, whirling on him, eyes blazing.
“How would you know that?” James shouted back, furious and frantic. “She only tried to arrange a tryst. There is hardly a crime or even a threat in that? On the whole I felt rather sorry for her…Yet you tell me Helena is in danger?”
“Oh, I do not know! She may be. Or not. I only know that Phoebe must be desperate indeed if she made such a move.” Lucy gripped his arm so tight that her fingers dig painfully into his flesh. “Tell me what happened, and do not mince your words.”
James winced and eased his arm from her grasp, only partially reassured, dismissing his panic. He had gotten caught up in the ravings of a sick woman. “Only if you return to bed, where it is warm,” he said, trying to coax her back where she belonged.
