Page 90 of Duchess Material

“No, it’s fine,” Lucy said, tears welling. “I know where I stand with everyone now. It’s fine. I’m like a sideshow attraction.”

She turned and walked out. Winston hopped up and chased her up the stairs.

“Lucy, I swear, I was just trying to explain something in hopes the press might back off—”

“Why, to protect your reputation? Am I that embarrassing? Really?”

“I never would say that. Lucy, there is nothing about you to class as ‘embarrassing.’ You are absolutely spectacular. I love you. I don’t think I could ever call you that—”

Lucy stepped inside her old room. In an angry voice, she said, “I want to leave. But I can’t. Because if I go out there, they’ll devour me. I can’t do this. I can’t live my life feeling like I don’t belong anywhere. I can’t live thinking I’m not good enough. You’re right… I’m not like you. I will never be like you. I will never fit into your world no matter how much you love me—or claim to.”

“I do love you. More than words—”

“But this is all a distraction. I’m not duchess material, Winston. Just admit it. I’m not the one you end up with. I wasn’t the one that George ended up with. I am always half a measure away from being good enough—”

“That’s not true, Lucy. I don’t know what I would do without you. You don’t understand it—”

“To think that I trusted you… that I loved you and believed maybe, just maybe, we’d end up together.”

“You took my words out of context, Lucy—”

“There is no context in which ‘wrong side of town’ and ‘social chameleon’ aren’t a neg. Winston, you think I’m a climber! An undeserving street urchin living in your house!”

“Lucy, I do not. I was trying—”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

Lucy slammed the door.

“Luce, darling, I am sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

It was radio silence. Winston retreated to the room they should have shared. He climbed into bed with her dogs. Their judgemental eyes all looked at him like a weak replacement for the lady of the house. Winston tossed and turned, listening to the sound of Lucy crying in the room below. He was gutted. In retrospect, he never should have engaged with George. It had fucked everything up. Why did he always fuck everything up with Lucy? His timing was always off.

Winston woke the next morning. Lucy’s work bag was gone. He checked her wardrobe. Thankfully, her clothes and overnight bag were still there. At least she hadn’t run away for good. There was still hope. Winston wasn’t sure what to do. He phoned his mother like any good mama’s boy would do when in a bind. Rita could solve nearly any crisis.

“Mum, where are you?”

“I’m in Windsor with Vanna. We have mares foaling out, you know? What do you need? How is dear Lucy?” Rita asked.

“Can I just come talk to you?” Winston wondered.

“Well, sure. Are you alright?”

“Not really.”

Winston packed up for the barn where his mother and Vanna kept their pet projects. While they each had their own strings, their families had been intermingling racing stock for years. It was foaling season. His mother lived at the barn, as did The Queen. Winston found them in a barn aisle laughing, sitting in camping chairs watching a baby run around a big, plush foaling stall. The little thing was torturing its mother.

“He’s got springs for legs,” Winston noted.

“He’s a joy,” Vanna said. “Fresh as a daisy, too. We’ve had an interesting day.”

Rita patted Winston on the cheek sympathetically. “You look like hell.”

“I’m aware.”

“Coffee?” The Queen offered up a thermos.

Rita shook her head. “It has whisky in it.”

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