Lucy felt her breath speeding up and tears rising in her eyes. She could not bear to watch the scene a minute longer. It was infuriating. It was repulsive. It was wrong.

It was a betrayal.

She had thought that Lord Jones was no longer interested in Clara, and that was blatantly not the case. And she had thought that Clara meant it when she said that Edmund was all she wanted and needed in a man, and that was clearly a lie too. They desired one another with a fierce and burning passion.

And Lucy was not about to stand there and watch them.

Rejoining the party, she wondered what would happen when Lord Jones and Clara Neal finished handling one another and returned to the ball. Would Lord Jones just walk back up to her and ask her for another dance? Would he continue to hypocritically tell her off for kissing Prince Ferdinand? Would Clara tell her yet again about how satisfied she was with her fiancé, and how normal it was to desire other men?

If they did she would have to just stand there and nod and smile politely, all the while knowing what complete and utter hypocrites they were. She would have to not only put up with their lies, but also feed them and play along.

No, she needed to go home. It would be sheer torture to have to hold in all her emotions as they blatantly lied to her. She had been taken for a fool by both of them. She was not a woman as she had thought. She was just a foolish little girl playing in an adult world. And the adults knew how to run rings around her, how to hurt her. And they had. So she did what every little girl did when she was hurt by older children.

She began to seek her mother. Lady Fitzgerald was happily talking to several other nobles, laughing possibly a little too loudly, no doubt trying to persuade them of Lucy's suitability for marriage.

“Mother,” she said as she approached the group, “I would like to go home now.”

Her mother rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Now? The ball has barely just begun?”

“I do not feel very well,” Lucy replied.

“Then why didn't you tell me before we left? No, we are here now. And you must dance and socialize.” Lady Fitzgerald gave her daughter a warning glare. Lucy knew there was only one thing to it. She gently took her mother's arm and leaned in to whisper.

“I feel quite tired and faint,” she said softly, “I may have had too much to drink.”

Her mother's eyes grew wide in shock. “Are you certain?” she asked.

Lucy nodded. “I am sorry.” She understood her mother's reaction. There was nothing worse than a young woman who had been drinking to excess, and it was not as though Lucy could continue to turn down drinks for the rest of the night. If she had already had too much, she needed to get home before she could do anything improper.

But this was what she was counting on. Lucy knew what she was doing. The concern her daughter had drunk too much was enough to send Lady Fitzgerald into a frenzy of apologies, farewells, and curtsies before they set off to ask for their coach.

It was so hurried that the other nobles became concerned that Lucy was seriously ill, and began asking after her. And, of course, to prevent her daughter from admitting the truth, Lady Fitzgerald redoubled her efforts at apologizing and making her way to the door.

It took a little longer than Lucy would have liked, but nevertheless they were going to leave early. Which was perfect. That way she would not have to face Lord Jones. She followed her mother to the front door, trying to look as small as possible, avoiding so much as glancing down that little hallway, for fear they were still there.

She heard the door to the Great Hall creaking open as they waited for their coats.

Looking back over her shoulder, she spied Lord Jones rejoining the party. He stood in the doorway, the bright lights shining harsh against him, casting a shadow back into the hall. He was looking up and down the room from the door, clearly seeking her. Well, he would not find her. She would be long gone by the time he realised she was not in there.

As a servant brought her coat and bonnet, she spied Lord Jones walking into the room and the great door swinging shut behind him. A few moments later, Lucy and her mother were in their coach, on the way home. And Lord Jones was none the wiser.

Lucy stared out of the window, watching the rain which was just beginning to fall.

“Are you well?” her mother asked.

She shook her head slowly, but did not look away from the window. “I am feeling very nauseous, and very tired,” she replied. Which was not a lie at all. She was feeling nauseous and exhausted. Just not from drinking.

“I hope you have not picked up anything at the ball,” her mother continued, “I bet the salmon mousse was going sour. Do you feel any cramping in your stomach? A fever coming on?”

Lucy just sighed. “I did not have any salmon. I swear, mother, it is just the drink.”

Lady Fitzgerald nodded reluctantly. As a mother all she wanted was to help her daughter, to make her feel better again. But she could not. Even if she knew what was troubling Lucy, she could not help her.

Lord Jones was not interested in her, or in marriage. He might have seemed sweet and friendly to her, but at the end she was just deceiving herself. She had wanted him to be a nice man. She had wanted him to be gentle and shy and innocent. She had wanted him to be like her. So she had assumed that his bravado was all an act. She had seen signs of sweetness where there were none. She had lied to herself. And now she was paying the price.

He was not pretending to be bold or rude. That was who he truly was at his core. That was his true nature. And there was nothing she could do to change him.

Getting home, all she wanted to do was collapse in bed and go to sleep. The lie about drinking too much was a perfect cover for this too. Her mother made sure she was properly undressed, got a servant to bring her some tea, and left her in her room with the lights off, to get some proper rest.

Lucy could barely sleep that night. The image of what she had seen was burned into her mind for good. She could not believe it. After all his big words about not trusting Clara. After all he had said about feeling betrayed and rejected. After getting angry at Lucy and saying he could not trust her because she kissed Prince Ferdinand.

And he had gone and done that. It was ridiculous. It was repulsive. She needed to hate him.

And she could not. She still wanted him to like her, to notice her, to care about her. She still heard this little voice in the back of her mind telling her that she was right the first time, that he really was a good, sweet gentleman.

Telling the voice to shut up, she rolled over in her bed and tried to get to sleep.

* * *

Lucy awoke the next morning feeling absolutely dreadful. She could not bear the thought of facing the day. What was the point, after all? She could not be with Lord Jones, and she could not be with anyone else. She had deceived herself that a perfect man existed again. And, yet again, she had been proven wrong. There was no perfect man. Anyone who looked perfect was just a liar and a hypocrite.

Eventually she started to feel a little silly for lying in bed, feeling sorry for herself, and missing breakfast. She could do with getting up and carrying on as normal. Why should Lord Jones have the satisfaction of messing with her head, after all? No, she would be fine without him.

Downstairs, her mother seemed relieved to see her. “Finally!” Lady Fitzgerald exclaimed. “I was so worried about you. When you did not come downstairs, I thought you had most definitely eaten something bad.”

Lucy shook her head. “Like I said, it was just the champagne. It was more than I thought. I am actually still feeling a little light-headed,” she remarked.

“But we have another suitor for you to meet,” her mother said in frustration. “After all you said about wanting to get married, I thought you would make more of an effort.”

“I am making as much of an effort as I can,” Lucy replied, “but you know that I never feel well after drinking, and I was foolish enough to have too much last night.”

Lady Fitzgerald shook her head. “Are you certain that you cannot at least try? Percival is such a lovely young man, I would hate to disappoint him.”

All Lucy really wanted to do was go back upstairs. But that would mean that Lord Jones and the men like him were winning. They had successfully put her off men. She thought it over. Her mother was right. The only way to find the right man was to court more men.

Perhaps her problems with men were just the type of man, that was all. She was picking men who were already in love with someone else. But not every man had to be in love with someone. Some men were probably waiting for the right woman to marry. And she could meet them, and maybe there would be love then too.

Since coming to terms with her affections for Duke Perry, Lucy had been forced to accept that she was able to feel something for more than one man. Which meant that, just as she had felt some attraction towards Prince Ferdinand and Lord Jones, there must be other men she was able to be attracted to. Men who would reciprocate.

Besides, if Lord Jones was still obsessed with Clara, then he could not be the right man, could he?

“Very well,” she said, “I shall get dressed properly in time to see this... Percy?”

Her mother nodded. “Yes, Percival, Percy. He will be here for lunch, so you have a few hours in which to prepare yourself. He is very sweet, very lovely. I am sure you will get along with him.”

Lucy smiled and nodded. She had to make the effort. After all, what if Percival was another man she could love? And what if he loved her back? Then all her problems would be solved. She could not ruin her own life just because a few men were less than courteous to her. She just had to move on.

And yet, there was still the very real possibility that she would never marry. There was still the possibility that Lord Jones was truly the one for her. Or Duke Perry. Or even Prince Ferdinand. And she had been rejected by them, unwanted except for her body. Just as she had rejected so many suitors before.

Suddenly mortified, Lucy realised that she had never got to know most of her suitors before beginning to reject them. She had done everything in her power to insult them, push them away. What if one of them had been her true love? What if one of them was perfectly lovable, and perfectly capable of loving her? They would never give her a second chance. She would never know.

For two years she had been ruining her own life, all because of one man who broke her heart.

And now it was possible she would never again meet a man who inspired such passions in her.

She just wanted to cry, but what good would that do?

No, she had to carry on. She had already come to terms with the possibility of remaining a spinster. So now she had nothing to lose. Either she met a man she could love and who would love her, or nothing changed and she remained unwed forever.

But she was going to at least make a serious effort. Lucy made a point of looking her very best. She could barely find the motivation to dress properly, and she had to tell herself that it was for Lord Jones just to persuade herself to make the effort. She felt somewhat ashamed that it was only by pretending to dress up for the man she was still obsessed with that she could make herself look beautiful.

She didn't know if Percival would be worth the effort. She did not know he wouldn't be worth the effort, but it was quite hard to get excited about something so unknown.