Julia Quinn - On The Way To The Wedding

I love you, he mouthed. And his eyes said the same.

Lucy pulled open the door, and Hyacinth rushed in. “Good heavens, the two of you are slow,” she said. “We need to be getting back. Now.”

She strode to the door to the corridor, then stopped, looking first at Lucy, then at her brother. Her gaze settled on Lucy, and she lifted one brow in question.

Lucy held herself tall. “You did not misjudge me,” she said quietly.

Hyacinth’s eyes widened, and then her lips curved. “Good.”

And it was, Lucy realized. It was very good, indeed.

In which Our Heroine makes a terrible discovery.

She could do this.

She could.

She needed only to knock.

And yet there she stood, outside her uncle’s study door, her fingers curled into a fist, as if ready to knock on the door.

But not quite.

How long had she stood like this? Five minutes? Ten? Either way, it was enough to brand her a ridiculous ninny. A coward.

How did this happen? Why did it happen? At school she had been known as capable and pragmatic. She was the girl who knew how to get things done. She was not shy. She was not fearful.

But when it came to Uncle Robert…

She sighed. She had always been like this with her uncle. He was so stern, so taciturn.

So unlike her own laughing father had been.

She’d felt like a butterfly when she left for school, but whenever she returned, it was as if she had been stuffed right back in her tight little cocoon. She became drab, quiet.

Lonely.

But not this time. She took a breath, squared her shoulders. This time she would say what she needed to say. She would make herself heard.

She lifted her hand. She knocked.

She waited.

“Enter.”

“Uncle Robert,” she said, letting herself into his study. It felt dark, even with the late afternoon sunlight slanting in through the window.

“Lucinda,” he said, glancing briefly up before returning to his papers. “What is it?”

“I need to speak with you.”

He made a notation, scowled at his handiwork, then blotted his ink. “Speak.”

Lucy cleared her throat. This would be a great deal easier if he would just look up at her. She hated speaking to the top of his head, hated it.

“Uncle Robert,” she said again.

He grunted a response but kept on writing.

“Uncle Robert.”

She saw his movements slow, and then, finally, he looked up. “What is it, Lucinda?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

“We need to have a conversation about Lord Haselby.” There. She had said it.

“Is there a problem?” he asked slowly.

“No,” she heard herself say, even though that wasn’t at all the truth. But it was what she always said if someone asked if there was a problem. It was one of those things that just came out, like Excuse me, or I beg your pardon.

It was what she’d been trained to say.

Is there a problem?

No, of course not. No, don’t mind my wishes. No, please don’t worry yourself on my account.

“Lucinda?” Her uncle’s voice was sharp, almost jarring.

“No,” she said again, louder this time, as if the volume would give her courage. “I mean yes, there is a problem. And I need to speak with you about it.”

Her uncle gave her a bored look.

“Uncle Robert,” she began, feeling as if she were tiptoeing through a field of hedgehogs, “did you know…” She bit her lip, glancing everywhere but at his face. “That is to say, were you aware…”

“Out with it,” he snapped.

“Lord Haselby,” Lucy said quickly, desperate just to get it over with. “He doesn’t like women.”

For a moment Uncle Robert did nothing but stare. And then he…

Laughed.

He laughed.

“Uncle Robert?” Lucy’s heart began to beat far too quickly. “Did you know this?”

“Of course I knew it,” he snapped. “Why do you think his father is so eager to have you? He knows you won’t talk.”

Why wouldn’t she talk?

“You should be thanking me,” Uncle Robert said harshly, cutting into her thoughts. “Half the men of the ton are brutes. I’m giving you to the only one who won’t bother you.”

“But-”

“Do you have any idea how many women would love to take your place?”

“That is not the point, Uncle Robert.”

His eyes turned to ice. “I beg your pardon.”

Lucy stood perfectly still, suddenly realizing that this was it. This was her moment. She had never countermanded him before, and she probably never would again.

She swallowed. And then she said it. “I do not wish to marry Lord Haselby.”

Silence. But his eyes…

His eyes were thunderous.

Lucy met his stare with cool detachment. She could feel a strange new strength growing inside of her. She would not back down. Not now, not when the rest of her life was at stake.

Her uncle’s lips pursed and twisted, even as the rest of his face seemed to be made of stone. Finally, just when Lucy was certain that the silence would break her, he asked, his voice clipped, “May I ask why?”

“I-I want children,” Lucy said, latching on to the first excuse she could think of.

“Oh, you’ll have them,” he said.

He smiled then, and her blood turned to ice.

“Uncle Robert?” she whispered.

“He may not like women, but he will be able to do the job often enough to sire a brat off you. And if he can’t…” He shrugged.

“What?” Lucy felt panic rising in her chest. “What do you mean?”

“Davenport will take care of it.”

“His father?” Lucy gasped.

“Either way, it is a direct male heir, and that is all that is important.”

Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I can’t. I can’t.” She thought of Lord Davenport, with his horrible breath and jiggly jowls. And his cruel, cruel eyes. He would not be kind. She didn’t know how she knew, but he wouldn’t be kind.

Her uncle leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowing menacingly. “We all have our positions in life, Lucinda, and yours is to be a nobleman’s wife. Your duty is to provide an heir. And you will do it, in whatever fashion Davenport deems necessary.”

Lucy swallowed. She had always done as she was told. She had always accepted that the world worked in certain ways. Dreams could be adjusted; the social order could not.

Take what you are given, and make the best of things.

It was what she had always said. It was what she had always done.

But not this time.

She looked up, directly into her uncle’s eyes. “I won’t do it,” she said, and her voice did not waver. “I won’t marry him.”

“What…did…you…say?” Each word came out like its own little sentence, pointy and cold.

Lucy swallowed. “I said-”

“I know what you said!” he roared, slamming his hands on his desk as he rose to his feet. “How dare you question me? I have raised you, fed you, given you every bloody thing you need. I have looked after and protected this family for ten years, when none of it-none of it-will come to me.”

“Uncle Robert,” she tried to say. But she could barely hear her own voice. Every word he had said was true. He did not own this house. He did not own the Abbey or any of the other Fennsworth holdings. He had nothing other than what Richard might choose to give him once he fully assumed his position as earl.

“I am your guardian,” her uncle said, his voice so low it shook. “Do you understand? You will marry Haselby, and we will never speak of this again.”

Lucy stared at her uncle in horror. He had been her guardian for ten years, and in all that time, she had never seen him lose his temper. His displeasure was always served cold.

“It’s that Bridgerton idiot, isn’t it?” he bit off, angrily swiping at some books on his desk. They tumbled to the floor with a loud thud.

Lucy jumped back.

“Tell me!”

She said nothing, watching her uncle warily as he advanced upon her.

“Tell me!” he roared.

“Yes,” she said quickly, taking another step back. “How did you-How did you know?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? His mother and his sister both beg the favor of your company on the same day?” He swore under his breath. “They were obviously plotting to steal you away.”

“But you let me go to the ball.”

“Because his sister is a duchess, you little fool! Even Davenport agreed that you had to attend.”

“But-”

“Christ above,” Uncle Robert swore, shocking Lucy into silence. “I cannot believe your stupidity. Has he even promised marriage? Are you really prepared to toss over the heir to an earldom for the possibility of a viscount’s fourth son?”

“Yes,” Lucy whispered.

Her uncle must have seen the determination on her face, because he paled. “What have you done?” he demanded. “Have you let him touch you?”

Lucy thought of their kiss, and she blushed.

“You stupid cow,” he hissed. “Well, lucky for you Haselby won’t know how to tell a virgin from a whore.”

“Uncle Robert!” Lucy shook with horror. She had not grown so bold that she could brazenly allow him to think her impure. “I would never-I didn’t-How could you think it of me?”

“Because you are acting like a bloody idiot,” he snapped. “As of this minute, you will not leave this house until you leave for your wedding. If I have to post guards at your bedchamber door, I will.”

“No!” Lucy cried out. “How could you do this to me? What does it matter? We don’t need their money. We don’t need their connections. Why can’t I marry for love?”

At first her uncle did not react. He stood as if frozen, the only movement a vein pounding in his temple. And then, just when Lucy thought she might begin to breathe again, he cursed violently and lunged toward her, pinning her against the wall.