This was almost certainly the smartest thing she had done in a long time. A little soul-searching would do her a world of good. She knew her parents would be angry. But she didn't care anymore. For so long she had lived in fear of being judged and being punished. So much so that every time someone made a suggestion she was leaping to try it out. Even now, even this, was a little impulsive.

But it was different this time. The suggestion to discover what she truly wanted from life would be the last time she rushed to do what someone else told her to. After this, she would make sure she had a life plan, and check any suggestions against her own goals and interests.

The Earl had been correct. She did not care about status or connections, so her parents' main concerns were no longer of consequence to her. She had spent years of her life courting whichever men her parents presented her with, never offering any critique, taking for granted that she ought to be courted by men of power and prestige.

But she did not need them to be. She did not need a man to have so many connections, or a title equal or superior to her own. She had grown up in a boarding school, without going to parties or balls most of her life. And now she was attending them, they were almost a chore. She did not need or want to do this every day for the rest of her life.

As for wealth, she wanted a bit of money, enough to make her comfortable. She had no intention of taking up work like a peasant, but she did not need the sort of luxury which Princess Elisaveta enjoyed either. She had seen the lives of servants and the lives of royalty, and she would be quite content to live anywhere in the very middle of that.

She did not need an enormous house, and she already owned many dresses, shoes, and jewels, so she would not need a new wardrobe every few months either. After all, she had only owned four changes of clothes at boarding school: day wear, evening wear, a nightie, and a Sunday dress. She could go the rest of her life without a hundred dresses.

Of course it would be nice for her husband to have some connections, some status, and some wealth. But she did not need any of it. Those were things her parents wanted for her, not things she wanted for herself.

She wanted children. Very many children. To hear the patter of tiny feet for years and years. To sing to them and cradle them. The boarding school had a nursery attached to it, and she had spent very many hours watching the nannies and sisters tending for the little babies, wanting so badly to hold one of her very own.

It would be nice to adopt some as well, to improve the lives of those less fortunate. Although boarding school had been a little simple compared to the lives of her friends, she had never gone without good food or something nice to wear, or something to play with. She had been blessed with a good life and, depending on how blessed her husband was, she would like to share her life with those who would otherwise do without.

Yes, that made sense to her. She did not really care about anything at all, as long as her home would always be filled with happy, healthy children.

Lucy wrote down her requirements as she thought of them. This would help her to narrow things down, especially when faced with a suitor she was not certain of, or a life-altering decision she was unconvinced about. At the end, she realised that her only requirements were to lead a peaceful life away from most other people, to have many children, and to use whatever she could to help those less fortunate than herself. Her perfect husband would help guide her towards those goals. No, the perfect husband would share those goals, so that they could support one another in pursuing them.

Looking at the list, she noticed the problem immediately. She wanted a man who was gentle with her, yet strong to the world. Who was caring and loving and who sacrificed his own well-being for the less fortunate. Who was disinterested in social mores. Who was perhaps a little more adventurous than the average man. She wanted Lord Jones.

Great.

She had come full circle again.

She once again read through her list of life goals, and then her list of requirements in a husband, hoping to find something she could compromise some more on, or another requirement she could add that would disqualify Lord Jones. But she found nothing. Everything she wanted, he possessed. And everything he did not possess, she was willing to compromise on.

He was her perfect man. He had been all along. That little voice in the back of her head was right.

But Lord Jones was out of the question. So... would another man ever meet these requirements? Probably not. None of the other men she had met were anywhere close to her perfect husband. At least... at least the ones she had given a chance were nothing close. She could not speak for the dozens of men who she had bullied into leaving.

Lucy scrunched up her lists and threw them into the corner of the room, where she would no longer have to look at them. They just reminded her of the futility of her pursuit. No matter what she did, what she tried, where she went, it always seemed to come back to Lord Jones. The impossible, fascinating, marvellous Baron Andrew Jones.

She had thought she would solve her problem by working out what her heart truly desired, but this was just making it worse. She could lie to herself. She could run from it. She could try and court other men. She could try and change her requirements. But at the end of the day, she would always desire Lord Jones, and only Lord Jones.

Nobody else could replace him in her heart.

She heard a knock at the door, which made her realize she had been crying, her tears leaving two dirty streams of mixed makeup running down her cheeks. She took a handkerchief and wiped the smears away, taking most of her remaining makeup with it.

She looked awful. But at least it wasn't too obvious she had been crying. “Come in,” she said, trying to make her voice sound steady and bold, rather than shaky and whimpering.

The door gently creaked open. Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. The door creaked shut again. She looked over her shoulder to see her guest. It was her mother. “My dear, your father and I are worried about you,” Lady Fitzgerald began.

Lucy nodded. “I understand,” she replied.

“I do not think that you do,” Lady Fitzgerald said. “We have been trying very hard for the past two years to get you to take your marriage seriously, to court good men and to find one who would make an ideal husband for you. We even considered arranging the whole affair ourselves but... the last thing we want is for your worst fear to come true, and for you to end up in an unhappy marriage. But we are at our wits' end.”

Lucy nodded and listened earnestly. “But... if there are no appropriate men for me, then what ought I to do?”

“Tell me, Lucy, what do you want in a man?” her mother asked.

Lucy shook her head. “I suppose what I want in a man is too much to ask of any man,” she replied.

“And what do you think of marriage?” her mother continued.

Lucy hesitated.

“You can tell me. I am your mother,” Lady Fitzgerald said.

“I do not think highly of marriage. It seems as though everyone I would like to marry does not desire me, and everyone who desires me I would not like to marry,” she confessed.

Her mother nodded in understanding, then sighed wearily. “I am not sure you will ever encounter a man who suits you. Nor am I sure that marriage is the right choice for you.” Lucy could hear a pained tone in Lady Fitzgerald's voice as she spoke. “But there are other paths for women who do not wish to marry. Respectable paths. We were wondering if you would like to consider joining a convent,” her mother said quietly.

Lucy was a little taken aback. “Are you sure that is not a bit of an extreme answer?” she asked. “There are many women who are spinsters who live very happily.”

“But not safely,” her mother replied. “I think we did you more harm than good by sending you to boarding school. We may have left you unable to care for yourself properly. But you are unwilling to marry, so you will never have a husband to support you, or children to look after you in old age. At a convent there would be some solidarity. You would be able to lead a Godly life, to make a good impression on the world, and to live with the support of your sisters.”

At first Lucy was deeply insulted by the suggestion. But as she mulled it over, it began to make sense to her. She had grown up in an environment surrounded by a supportive group of other girls. And she was in a situation where, from her own perspective, it seemed as though she would never marry. She could offer her mother no counter argument.

“I suppose... I shall consider it,” she finally said. “Perhaps that is what I am destined to do,” she added with a smile.

Lady Fitzgerald pursed her lips. “You are not angry that I would suggest that?”

Lucy nodded. “I am somewhat angry. But I also agree with you. Whatever I do, I am always ending up back where I started. Perhaps the sort of life I led at boarding school would be better suited to me.”

Her mother seemed at once exhausted and relieved. “It would not have been my first choice for my dear daughter,” she confessed, “but at least it is a good choice.”

Lucy embraced her mother closely. “I am glad that you would consider every option for me, even if it is not one you would prefer,” she confessed. “And I am happy that you and father are so patient and kind towards me.”

Lady Fitzgerald nodded and hugged her daughter back. After a few moments embracing, Lucy pulled back. She spied a single tear resting on her mother's cheek. It hurt her deep down to see that her mother was on the verge of weeping. But she also knew that if she agreed to this, she would spare her mother any future pain.

“I would like to go in the garden, to clear my mind,” she said.

“It is getting dark already,” her mother replied.

Lucy nodded. “I shall be back in before the sun is down,” she said.

Wrapped in a shawl, a coat, and a bonnet, the wind whipping her hair sharply, Lucy walked down the garden, looking at the roses which were finally dying off. The season was coming to an end. It was over two years now since Duke Perry had rejected her. Over two and a half. Time was flying by. And yet in two and a half years, nothing had changed. Nothing had improved. Her mother wasn't wrong. She needed to do something with her life, after all.

Could she join a convent? It felt like a serious commitment, but... so was marriage. And at least becoming a nun was a commitment which would protect her, as opposed to threaten her. Not only that, but it would help her to fight her more primitive, less than ideal urges, to become a better person. No longer would she have to worry about what man she desired, or what man confused her for a libertine, or what man she kissed. She could forget about men entirely.

She was used to that sort of life, too. It was not as though it would be a radical change for her. The early wake ups, the busy pace, the prayers, the community aspect, and the lack of men. Even now, living with her parents again, three years since leaving boarding school, she still often rose with the sun. Her days were often busy and active. She still prayed regularly, as she had been taught. And she still craved returning to a loving community of girls and women.

Come to think of it... men just complicated everything anyway. Perhaps she had never adjusted to men? No... that was not it. There were plenty of men in her life that did not cause her trouble. Her father was a man and he was no problem. The Earl was a man and his advice had been fairly good, even if it had just led her in a circle again. The men who were a problem were men like Duke Perry, like Prince Ferdinand, like Lord Jones. The men who could not control their own desires, who chased more than one woman, who did not respect boundaries or feelings.

She did not need a life without men. She just needed a life without that sort of man. So was a convent really the answer to her problems? Could she truly spend the rest of her life without experiencing the warm embrace and the soft lips of a man who loved her? Without bearing children of her own, and watching them grow?

Sure, she had grown up in a community of girls and women, with strict regulations, no permanent male presences, and a focus on faith and education. But she had spent the entire time daydreaming about princes and princesses, about her ideal wedding, about being a wife and a mother. She was no more cut out to be a nun than the men in her life were to be husbands.

She wondered whether perhaps Antoinette could help her decide. But she was pretty sure Antoinette would be against it. Antoinette's advice was often good, but also often biased by her own rose-tinted perspective. Especially considering that her brother was about to get married. In less than a week, in fact. No, Antoinette would be too certain to tell her to wait and see who to marry. Or even to tell her to marry a specific man.

She needed someone less extroverted. Someone more sensible and cautious. Someone who could be the counterpart to her own impulsivity and passion. She needed to talk to Mary.