Chapter 36: Ace of Hearts
Ross manage to snag a seat next to Charlotte at the Lucas's table, which would have been a boon to his cause to find out more about Lucy if Robert Quincy was not sitting next to her as well. With him within earshot there was no way Charlotte could speak of her without him hearing. It did help that Phillip was sitting on his other side, however, if anything it provided a much needed buffer.
"So, Ms. Morgan, where are you visiting us from?" Robert asked.
"Clayton Island, just off the coast of Ireland," Charlotte replied. "Have you heard of it?"
Robert tilted his head. "The name oddly sounds familiar, but I cannot say that I have gone myself."
"A shame," she shrugged. "It's lovely this time of year."
"Is it, now?" Robert raised his eyebrow at Ross. "Forgive me, where did you say you were before coming to Lanfore, Ross?"
"I didn't," Ross replied through gritted teeth. Or had he? He could not even remember now.
"Ross is a creature of mystery." Phillip chortled.
Charlotte jumped in. "How do you and Ross know each other, Mr. Quincy?"
Ross shifted in his seat, worried that Robert was going to overwhelm her, but Charlotte turned to him as well and winked, signaling that she could handle it. Ross should have known better than to worry after the woman's resolve, especially after everything she had gone through when they were together.
"Ross and I have a... Mutual responsibility that brought us together," Robert replied, clearly choosing his words as carefully as Charlotte was asking her questions.
"What responsibility is that?" When Robert grunted, she sighed dramatically and then looked to Phillip. "I suppose you and Ross have a mutual responsibility as well, Mr. Doyle?"
Phillip nodded and winked. "I wish I had a more fantastic story to tell, ma'am."
Ross wondered about Charlotte's agenda. Surely by now she must have known what was going on. Perhaps she was trying to read Robert Quincy because of something Lucy told her.
Lucy. Where was she?
Before Robert could reply a young lady to his other side called his attention, allowing Ross a few moments to speak to Charlotte without being disturbed.
"Are you going to tell me anything?" He asked.
Charlotte shook her head. "Too many ears. She has come this far, Ross, I do not want her efforts to mean nothing."
"Charlotte, I am desperate," he said, meaning it. "I cannot bear being away from her any longer. If you know anything—"
"Not. Now." She gritted out.
Ordinarily, that tone would have been enough to stop him. Ross was not the sort to push his agenda on anyone unless he had to, and now he had to. He needed to see Lucy again, to know that she was safe, and to hold her and never let her go again. Robert's plan to betroth her to another man was not going to stop Ross from falling to his knees and giving her a proper proposal.
"Simply nod or shake your head to my questions, then," he whispered, pretending to smile as if he was having a jovial conversation with her. "Can you do that?"
Charlotte sighed and nodded. "Be vague."
"Act like I'm telling you a funny story."
"None of your stories are funny."
"Or an intriguing one?"
"I can do that."
Ross looked around them and made sure Robert's attentions were still diverted before continuing on. "Is she—"
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "I will be telling a bitter lie if I said no."
Ross felt his heart lift at the thought of Lucy being so close to him. "Where is she? How long has she been here? When can I see her?"
"My goodness, Ross, I had no idea the navy had such riveting stories to tell!" Charlotte said in an elevated voice, hinting at him to back down. "If I had known, I'd have surely questioned you sooner."
Ross cleared his throat and settled down. "Sorry."
"I knew this was a bad idea." Charlotte took a sip of wine.
Elizabeth Lucas's voice cut through the quickly-growing tension, attracting everyone's undivided attention.
"I just wanted to say that Sebastian and I are so very happy to have all of you here tonight," she said, her chipper voice only rivaled by the overly generous smile she was, no doubt, forcing out. "I was telling my husband not too long ago, that Ridgewood Park is always so full of love and joy, but it can only be christened by the company of our family and friends."
"Here, here!" Sebastian raised a glass. "To the company of our family and friends."
Everyone collectively toasted to that, but Ross was almost certain that more than half of them were less than enthusiastic. To most, this dinner party dangerously resembled a lion's den.
"I am most thankful, of course, for the presence of my wonderful parents," Elizabeth turned to the Magistrate and his wife, both of whom looked like their only child had forced them here under the pain of death—which wasn't entirely out of the question. "Them being here means the world to me. I cannot imagine how my life could be any better knowing that I am the protect of such an... Honorable marriage." She raised her glass again, but the joy had significantly faded from her eyes. "To the Donaldsons."
Once again, everyone raised their glasses, but the joyous ambiance was clearly gone.
"She may as well have thrown this expensive Madeira in their faces." Charlotte chuckled.
Ross leaned in. "Her father has been having an affair with the maid that ruined Lucy's life, she's been the source of all the accusations against her."
Charlotte turned to him, eyes wide. "And Elizabeth knows?"
Ross nodded. "And she gave Sebastian a list of names that the Magistrate had written down a year ago."
"Names?"
"Of people and families that he named as his enemies, for one reason or the other."
"And Lucy's family?"
Ross nodded. "First name on the list."
Robert cut in, though he had not heard a word the two had discussed. "Someone needs to tell Sebastian to rein his wife in."
Charlotte frowned. " 'Rein her in'? Heavens, sir, she is not a horse."
Robert snorted and did not reply to her.
"Elizabeth is not a fool, Robert," Phillip added. "This dinner party was her idea after all."
"What if she has a... separate agenda?" Robert pressed, clearly bandying his words due to Charlotte's presence, but he was unaware that she already knew everything.
"She is not the one with the record of ulterior motives." Phillip muttered
Robert glared at him, instead addressing Ross. "If I had known that this would pose a risk, I would have opted to remain within the confines of my castle."
"Do you refer to your late brother's castle?" Charlotte asked.
"He left me the estate when he passed." Robert replied sharply.
"Well, did he leave you the estate, or was it simply a patriarchal assumption on your part? That the estate travels down to the next male relative upon death of the prior one?"
Ross chuckled into his wine while Robert's face turned beet red. He knew that Charlotte was merely trying to steer the conversation away from anything suspicious that the Magistrate could catch from his perch at the other end of the table, but it was no less entertaining.
The first course was served and everyone tucked in, providing a much needed distraction from Elizabeth's display.
"All that said, it would bode well for Mrs. Lucas to be reminded that the whole idea of this dinner party is to quash any suspicions that she took the list in the first place," Charlotte continued.
"Hush," Ross growled. "Do you honestly think us speaking under hushed tones across the table from the Magistrate is going to help that cause?"
Charlotte shrugged. "Give him strong enough Madeira and we can talk about whatever we want."
Ross chuckled at that, but then he saw a telling glint in Robert's eyes and he felt his heart drop to his chest. He wanted to find a way to signal to the man that it was just a joke and not at all a contender for any sort of plan, but even he knew that when the wheels started turning in Robert's mind, little to nothing would stop them.
"How is the work of the magistrate treating you these days, Mr. Donaldson?" Ross Mary Boatwright asked. He took a moment to glance at the elderly woman from the corner of his eyes, and saw that whatever light she may have had in her when he last saw here was long diminished. Following the loss of her beloved husband and only son, she looked like a woman with little to live for. But still, there was firmness in her poise and a fire in her eyes that would take a long time to go away. This was a woman who would find a purpose where there was none, that was why she was the backbone of the Boatwright family.
Magistrate Donaldson shrugged. "It is not an easy question to answer, Mrs. Boatwright. Justice, though an easy concept, is a tricky customer. You should know, Mrs. Boatwright, with your son's murderer still in question."
A hush fell over the table, and Mary Boatwright's face went pale. Her sister, Cecily Carrington, reached over to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Apologies," the magistrate muttered, though he clearly did not mean it. That statement was a calculated one; he wanted to started a heated discussion, one that would allow for the truth of who stole the list to slip out.
"Forgive me, magistrate, but you accused Lucy Quincy of murdering James Boatwright, did you not?" Jacob Ashe, a well-known and highly regarded barrister from London, noted. From what Ross knew, Mr. Ashe had been a good friend of Magistrate John Quincy since boyhood, and since his father had been a respected name in Lanfore, the Lucases felt it proper to invite him to the party since he was in town for the holidays.
"What of it?" The magistrate gritted out. His wife shifted uncomfortably next to him.
"You could see the spears shooting out of little Lizzy's eyes," Charlotte whispered to Ross, and it was true. If there was anyone who was paying the most attention to this new exchange, it was Elizabeth Lucas.
Jacob Ashe shrugged. "I suppose your wording confused me, when you said that Mrs. Boatwright's son's murderer... And apologies for your loss, ma'am... But you said that the murderer was, what? 'Still in question'?"
"I know what I said, sir." The magistrate growled.
"You openly accused Lucy Quincy for murdering James Boatwright," Mr. Ashe reminded him. "So the murderer is not in the question, unless you yourself are not convinced that you accused the right person?"
A hush fell over the table, with several people shifting uncomfortably in their seats and other coughing into their napkins or hiding behind their wine glasses.
"I am starting to consider the possibility that Mr. Ashe's invitation was not a coincidence," Phillip whispered.
"I am inclined to agree," Ross turned to him. "You don't think that Elizabeth..."
"Has it in her to be that cunning?" Phillip nodded to the magistrate. "I wouldn't be surprised."
"This is hardly suitable conversation for a dinner table," the magistrate replied sharply.
"Of course," Mr. Ashe smiled. "I do apologize."
Elizabeth looked disappointed, but masked it with ease, instead turning to Sebastian with an expression that begged him to jump in and rectify the situation.
Sebastian complied. "I suppose we will have all the answers we require for this saga if and when a Quincy decides to make an appearance."
A series of forced laughter followed that statement and, as though tensions had never risen at all, everyone returned to their food. Courses came and went, lively chatter overtook any ill feelings, but Ross had a strange sensation that it was not all said and done.
I should confess. He thought. I have to. This has gone on too long. Lucy will not fall for this; she will not be our scapegoat. I have to confess.
"Don't," Charlotte whispered.
Ross jumped and looked to her. "What?"
"I know what you're thinking, Ross, I know you better than you know yourself," she looked at him with pleading eyes. "Don't."
"Charlotte..."
"I understand, and I agree." She assured him. "You should confess, for Lucy's sake and for your own conscience, sure, but mainly because if you do then everyone will know why you did it and they will see James as the monster he was. But now is not the time or the place."
"There is never a right time to do this, Charlotte." Ross reminded her.
"Perhaps," she leaned in even closer. "But consider this: if you confess now, you will never see Lucy again."
Ross felt his hand ball into a fist at the thought, but nodded stiffly and turned back to his meal. He muted the chatter around him and thought of Lucy, and their first night together away in that lonely cabin, taking shelter from the rain and wishing the world away. It had only been the two of them, and they were so happy, so free from any and all constraints of life. He had intended then to make her his wife, to spirit her away to a new horizon, a new beginning. Was it so farfetched? So out of reach? Ross hated it, but he held his tongue, if only to hold onto that smallest bit of faith in him that it would be.
Hope, after all, was all he had now.
XXX
Lucy returned to Dawn-Bridge only to see her mother standing in the middle of the grand foyer with her back turned to her. She appeared to be standing still but, as Lucy approached slowly, she saw the woman was swaying gently, as though being rocked by a slight breeze.
Lucy stood there for a moment and watched, curious. Her mother seemed oddly at peace, and it was odd to see her standing on her feet after so many, many months and years of struggling with old age and illness. There was something that motivated her to stand.
"Your father and I danced our first here in this foyer," Abigail said, causing Lucy to wince.
"How—"
"You're my child, Lucy," Abigail continued without turning around. "I birthed you, and I can sense your presence." She stopped swaying, but still didn't turn. "I remember, we were just married and I was keen to prove myself as the wife of the great and gallant John Quincy." She chuckled and started swaying again. "Oh, how nervous I was, how eager to please. I remember I wore a lavender frock that my mother ordered from Paris. On the arm of my larger-than-life husband, I had never felt so invincible, but how I shattered when we entered this foyer." She turned finally, her eyes distant, as though still stuck in that memory from so long ago. "I was petrified."
Lucy stepped forward, but Abigail turned back around and continued to sway, so she stayed put.
"Your father saw me shaking as we were introduced, and asked me what was wrong. He thought I was with child, but we all know that was not the truth," Abigail sighed. "No, it was just nerves. A feeling of inadequacy that I was not used to, and a sense that I, in fact, would never be good enough to measure up to the title of 'John Quincy's wife'. But, of course, I would never say that to your father, no. He would have only judged me... Or so I thought."
"He comforted you?"
"No," Abigail laughed. "I gave him no answer, not with words at least. But he must have seen it all in my eyes. He was perceptive like that, a trait that Lydia has well inherited. He took me by the arm and led me right here to the center of this very foyer, and twirled me around like a princess dancing in the arms of her prince. How people stared, how they spoke behind open fans, how the gaped in open envy..." She threw her arms out and tilted her head back, almost falling over in doing so. "I felt so... Loved. So whole."
Lucy rushed forward to steady her mother. "You never told me this."
Abigail sighed and looked to her daughter, taking her hand. "Why would I? I spent my life hating your father, hating the pressure his name put on me, despising him for taking and wrecking my every happiness and joy. It was only when he died that I realized that there had been more good times than bad, and this was one of them." She looked up to the intricately painted ceiling and smiled. "If I were to die right here, right now, it would be to the happy memory of dancing in your father's arms."
Lucy was not entirely sure to which father her mother was referring to, but in the spirit of the moment, she squeezed her mother's hand and smiled.
"We all dance to the tune of his memory."
Abigail laughed. "No, my dear, we all dance on his strings. But it's a fine tune nonetheless."
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