Chapter 2
Miss Lucy Butterworth had never been so angry in her life. She had been bitterly disappointed, ashamed, horrified and desperately sad, but angry? No. This was a new feeling for her.
And she was furious with Robert Beresford, the Earl of Whitsnow. He was supposed to be a gentleman, a man of honour and decency, He had been rude, condescending and downright dismissive of her. He had spoken to her as though she was some horse droppings he had accidentally stepped in. And he had done it in front of six young boys whom she was trying to raise to be gentlemen. Of course, no one would ever treat them as such, given that they were either orphans or unwanted bye blows of aristocrats, but she tried so hard to instill good manners in them. Rounding them all up and ushering them back to the pony and trap, her cheeks had burned with the humiliation of Lord Whitsnow’s set down.
Now, one day later and her embarrassment had not alleviated. She was still as upset as she could be. His haughty gaze from those beautiful brown eyes, the slight sneer of his wet lip which he had licked just before speaking, and the rasp of his day-beard as he rubbed his glove across his face all annoyed her more than anything else because for some ridiculous reason, she kept thinking about those things.
She was irritated with herself and her traitorous body. She had not even felt these reactions to Edward—Edward whose sweet promises still haunted her nights. She hated that his face had faded from her mind and she now could not conjure an image of him.
Last night in her frustration she had tried to remember his face and all she could see was Lord Whitsnow. But he was laughing. She never saw the Earl laugh. She only ever saw him at church and he always looked somber.
Well, he would listen to her now. The boys were singing an old folk song in the back of the trap as Lucy turned the pony into the long private road leading up to Aelton Manor, the principal seat of the Earl of Whitsnow.
The man would at least grant her an audience if she was on his property.
Eleanor sat wide-eyed looking at the surrounding countryside. She had never been out of the village as far as this. She was only five and, because of her deafness, she tended to become easily distressed in strange situations. So, Lucy was careful to keep things as routine as possible for her. The boys looked out for her—all having a nurturing and protective spirit when it came to the only girl in their group.
They rounded a bend in the road and Eleanor patted Lucy’s arm and pointed, looking up. “Yes, it is big,” said Lucy. The little girl was learning to read lips and over the years they had fashioned their own rudimentary language using signs, but it was basic, and Lucy wished she knew better how to help. She was saving her money, waiting for an opportunity to go to Town and purchase books on deafness and communication, if such volumes existed. She knew of a school in Edinburgh for deaf aristocratic boys and wondered if any of the masters had written books. Sadly, Lucy had not been to Town in many years.
She’d not had her come-out season. Not that she really regretted it. She was a little sad, perhaps but Lucy’s life’s work was looking after orphans. Her Great Aunt Agnes had helped her for years until the elderly woman had taken a fever in the late autumn of 1816 and died. Lucy missed her terribly. Aunt Agnes left Lucy enough money to live on but not enough to continue to feed the orphans in her care. That was why she was on her way to see Lord Whitsnow and she would dashed well make him listen this time if she had to tie him to a chair and recite her petition to him.