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Chapter Text

The end of life as Lucy Carlyle knew it began with something normal: an ordinary, every-day case for Lockwood and Co. A case that just so happened to take them to the country house of a fairly well-known and influential old family. The dear departed sister of the current matriarch wasn’t content to rest in peace, apparently, and the family wanted Lucy, George, and Lockwood to come and find her source (Holly had taken the weekend off).

Five years ago, Lockwood would have put a second mortgage on 35 Portland Row just for a chance at a job like this. Three years ago, he would have agreed to it politely and charmingly, as he always did while the client was present, and then cheered and whooped once they were gone. He would have talked of nothing else for days, even after the (hopefully) successful conclusion. One year ago, he would have smiled and agreed, then quietly put George, Kipps, and Holly onto looking for the family’s ties to Penelope Fittes, in an attempt to discover whatever trap they were being pushed into before they were actually in it. 

But this year, cases like this one were common for Lockwood and Co. and there was little reason to look for traps or schemes. 

Lucy had been out the morning their client came by- at Satchell’s and Mullet and Son’s- and so missed the meeting. Later, when she got back, George accused her of conveniently forgetting to get their supplies the day before just so she could avoid playing manners around a bonafide Lady.

Lucy had rolled her eyes and gone to put the supplies away.

Regardless, the client, a Lady Kate Bridgerton- Indian-English, and (according to Holly) both tall and striking- came around to Portland Row for her scheduled meeting, during which she disclosed that her own son had seen the apparition, and had described it as an old lady, who wouldn’t stop screaming one particular name- that of a younger daughter of the family, who had disappeared a long time ago while under the Aunt’s care.

“They tell me Aunt Winnifred was never the same after Francesca disappeared,” Lady Bridgerton had said. “There was no evidence that she neglected the child, or had done something to her, but it was, understandably, a difficult time for the family, and it did cause a rift. That was eventually healed, but… well, I think we can all imagine why there might be lingering guilt- enough to cause her to return as a visitor.”

“Sounds likely,” Lockwood had said. “At any rate, it’s a good place to start the research.”

Two days later, they rolled up to Aubry Hall in a private car that was, thankfully, a completely different make and model from the red convertible that Fairfax had once sent to fetch them. None of them needed a reminder of how the Combe Carey Hall case had gone when they were about to clear a house that rivaled it for size.

Aubry Hall wasn’t quite as sprawling as Combe Carey, but it was taller. Thankfully, it was in much better condition, having been built to one plan instead of cobbled together over centuries, constantly inhabited, and scrupulously maintained.

They were met in front of the door by the rest of the Bridgerton family- those residing there at present anyway- consisting of Lady Kate and Lord Anthony Bridgerton (he and Lockwood complimented each other on their matching first names), little Ned Bridgerton, and the former Lady Bridgerton, Lady Violet, Lord Bridgerton’s mother (Holly later told them her proper address was dowager Lady Bridgerton).

Lord Bridgerton was a brusque man who seemed intent on them solving this case as quickly as possible, claiming that it was getting too close to their annual Spring Ball, for which they usually hosted upwards of fifty guests. Lady Bridgerton smiled continually, but told him rather sharply that they still had a full month before the ball, and that he’d trusted her to hire the best. He didn’t reply.

Lady Violet was a grandmotherly woman, though oddly young-looking for a woman with a son in his early thirties. She set about taking care of them all, though she seemed to focus mostly on Lucy. Lucy bore it as well as she could for politeness, but it made her self-conscious to be constantly asked if she had everything she needed, or if she wanted anything more to eat. The sad, almost wistful look in the old lady’s eyes made her drop her own every time she met them. Lockwood and George teased her about it after the family had gone, telling her to be careful or she might find herself adopted. They didn’t understand why that made her snappish, but quickly dropped the subject to focus on the case.

As it happened, the case was fairly straightforward. 

The visitor was the old aunt, and the name she was screaming was that of the young daughter who had gone missing. The source ended up being the little girl’s hairbrush- since she’d never been found, the family had decided to keep her room in the country house as a kind of shrine to her memory. The hairbrush had been the one the girl was using when she’d been under the Aunt’s care, and presumably the old woman had handled it, so there was a connection there, tenuous as it may be.

But that was it, really. Nothing too exciting, or too perilous. The visitor had a powerful set of psychic lungs, and at one point had come close enough to scream ‘FRANCESCA’ directly in Lucy’s face. There hadn’t really been any danger of ghost-touch, whatever Lockwood might have thought at the time- Lucy could tell, even in the moment, that the old woman didn’t mean her any harm. In fact, she’d gotten distinct feelings of relief from the banshee, and after that last scream, she’d shut up and practically led them to the hairbrush herself. That, or Lucy had just gone temporarily deaf- something which her inability to hear what Lockwood and George were saying after the source was finally contained seemed to support.

They had all been given access to guest rooms for after the case was over, and Lucy should have slept fine. The case had gone well, no injuries- aside from her temporary psychic deafness- were received, and the bed she’d been given was miles more comfortable than Lockwood’s childhood mattress (fond as she was of it). But she kept waking up, feeling like she wasn’t where she was supposed to be, or that something was going to happen. Each time, she tuned into her senses, trying to figure out what it was that was waking her up.

But there was nothing- not a single psychic echo to explain that feeling of something being not quite right.

The last time she fell asleep, she dreamt of one of her earliest memories: that time on the water meadows with Mary, when she’d heard the drowned lady calling to her. There was something about that memory… something odd… but she was woken up by an actual maid before she had a chance to figure out what it was, and the dream soon faded.

When Lockwood told the Bridgertons how the case went over a late breakfast, they seemed sad at first- Lady Violet, and Lord Bridgerton more so than Lady Bridgerton. Lucy tried to cheer them up by telling them how the old woman’s spirit had grown more peaceful toward the end, hoping they would see it as the Aunt being content to move on. They perked up a bit at that, though she noticed that both Lord Bridgerton and Lady Violet kept staring at her.

Tired as she was, Lucy was glad when they were finally ushered back into the waiting car and dropped at the station- all that politeness wearied her like nothing else could. Everyone caught a nap on the train, and then ordered takeaway for supper when they got home, still too tired to cook. The next morning, Holly cheerfully announced that the Bridgerton’s check had cleared, and life went on.

No one had any clue that everything had just changed.

Chapter Text

Two days after the Case of the Guilt-ridden Aunt, George was on his way to Arifs, only to run into Lady Bridgerton on the doorstep, hand just raised to ring the bell.

“Oh, it’s you again,” he said, with his customary bluntness. “Do you have another haunting for us, already? That was quick.”

Lady Bridgerton laughed. “Not this time, no. I’m actually here on… personal business.”

“Oh,” George said, frowning as he tried to figure out what kind of ‘personal business’ a Lady would have with them. “Well, Lockwood’s not here right now. He cracked his rapier on a stone wall last night, and he and Lucy went to get it repaired.”

George wasn’t great at reading body language- not until he’d known someone for a while, anyway- but it seemed to him that Lady Bridgerton didn’t want to leave.

“Do you want me to give him a message?” he offered reluctantly. 

It figured that it would fall to him. Given the choice, he would have called any of the others to take over with the posh client while he went to get donuts, but not even Holly was in, having taken a half day to spend with her girlfriend. Her efficiency, and the fact that Lockwood was actually keeping up with paperwork lately, meant everyone could take more time for themselves.

“That’s alright,” Lady Bridgerton said. “It wasn’t actually Mr. Lockwood I came to see. You see… well… perhaps we could talk about this inside?”

George sighed.

Loath as he was to do it, he knew Lockwood would have his head if he offended such a high profile client. So he held the door for her and ushered her into the sitting room, taking a certain amount of satisfaction in Lucy’s used mug and plate sitting on the coffee table. As usual, she’d forgotten to take it back to the kitchen when Lockwood asked her to go with him, and Holly wasn’t here to tidy it up. George thought it served Lady Bridgerton right for not calling ahead, and almost wished that there was a load of laundry to keep the dirty dishes company. Still, he took the dirty dishes with him when he went to the kitchen to prepare a fresh pot of tea.

Lady Bridgerton was looking at some of the frames on the wall when he got back. After Winkman’s break-in, all the previous decorations had been trashed and/or confiscated by DEPRAC, so they’d slowly been building a new set of them. Holly, Lucy, and George had surprised Lockwood with a framed collection of newspaper articles detailing their most successful cases for his recent birthday, and he’d decided the best place for them was the sitting room. Many of the articles also had pictures of the team at the top or alongside.

There was a similar collection of team pictures hung up in the library, but those were more candid shots that Kipps and Lucy had captured as they worked on restoring the house. Holly had deemed those too informal to display in the space where they met with clients, though.

George put the tea tray on the coffee table, and the noise made Lady Bridgerton turn around. For a moment they did the polite thing with creams and sugars, and Lady Bridgerton finally sat down.

When George didn’t say anything, just sipping his tea and wishing he had a donut to eat with it, Lady Bridgerton finally got started on why she’d come ‘round.

“How well would you say you know your teammates?” she asked.

“Better than you,” George immediately said. “I’ve lived with Lockwood going on five years, and almost that long with Lucy. Holly used to be new, but she’s not anymore, and Kipps doesn’t really count as a teammate. Why?”

Lady Bridgerton did something with her hands that George had noticed Holly do sometimes, when she was being precious about something.

“Look, just say it,” he said. “I’ve never gone in for pussy-footing around things.”

Lady Bridgerton gave him a sharp look for that, but then took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Instead of saying anything, though, she took a picture out of the bag she carried and handed it to him. 

George took it and studied it. It featured a girl in an old-fashioned dress, standing next to a tree, smiling at the camera. If it hadn’t been for the old clothes, the slightly fake quality of the colors that indicated it was a colorized black-and-white picture instead of one taken with color film, and the fact that there was a ribbon in the girl’s hair, he would have thought it was a picture of Lucy.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Who do you think that is?” Lady Bridgerton asked in return.

George went through his mental analysis out loud for her benefit. “But it obviously can’t be Lucy,” he finished.

“Exactly,” Lady Bridgerton said. “That is a picture of my husband’s paternal grandmother, Madeline, when she was a girl.”

George stared at her for a moment. “What’s your point?” he finally asked.

“Well, when Mr. Lockwood told us how the case with Aunt Winnie went, the resolution struck me as… odd. It seems she came back because she felt guilty about losing Francesca all those years ago. But then, when she came face to face with your Lucy… all the fight went out of her. Or at least, that’s how I interpreted what you said. And your Lucy had almost seemed familiar to me, like I’d seen her before-”

“We’ve been in the papers a lot, this past year,” George pointed out. He could see where this was going, but it was honestly a ridiculous idea.

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain her resemblance to this woman,” Lady Bridgerton pointed out.

George shrugged. “Lookalikes exist, even when they’re not in the least related to each other. And besides, who’s to say some earl in your family-”

“Viscount, actually.”

“Some noble ass,” George continued implacably, “didn’t go around fathering a bunch of brats onto his peasants? Lucy could be descended from one of them.”

Lady Bridgerton frowned, and he sat up straighter. “Look, there’s no reason to suppose that Lucy is your missing Bridgerton just because she’s about the right age, and looks like someone in your family. I mean, she’d have memories, wouldn’t she? Didn’t you say the girl was seven at the time? She’d have been too old not to remember her real family. So why didn’t she say anything? Lucy didn’t act out of character, or seem to be at all familiar with your house, or any of the things in Francesca’s room, which is where the source was. And since we got back, she’s been completely normal.”

“Well… if you say so,” Lady Bridgerton reluctantly agreed. “I don’t know- maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there. But I know how much Francesca’s absence has hurt the people I love, and all the more because they’re not sure what happened to her.” She shook her head. “But perhaps I’ve got it all wrong.”

The door opened and George could hear Lockwood and Lucy arguing as they came in.

“- would you just admit that it was worse than you thought?” Lucy demanded.

“Yes, alright, but only if you admit that what they charge for repairs is straight up extortion,” Lockwood fired back.

“Cheaper than buying a new one, and you promised to-”

“Lucy?” George called. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Lucy poked her head through the sitting room doorway. “George, would you tell Lockwood he’s being a cheapskate again? That rapier of his- oh,” she said, stopping herself as she took in the elegant woman sitting on the sofa. “Lady Bridgerton. Er, nice to see you again?”

Lady Bridgerton rose and smiled. Lockwood came up behind Lucy and looked in, pushing Lucy forward a little. Lucy elbowed him as discreetly as she could, making George smirk.

“Lady Bridgerton!” Lockwood said, smiling his client-smile. “What an unexpected pleasure! And to what do we owe this? Not another visitor so soon, I hope.”

Lady Bridgerton glanced down at George, still sitting in his armchair and then back up. “I actually came to speak to Miss Carlyle about something.”

“Me? What do you want to talk to me for?” Lucy’s eyebrows rose high, and George closely examined her expression for any hint of recognition or guilt. There was none, and he nodded to himself, feeling vindicated. He was looking forward to watching Lucy laugh in the woman’s face.

“Er, George, perhaps you and I should leave the ladies to their chat?” Lockwood suggested, when Lady Bridgerton didn’t immediately answer. “It could be a delicate matter.”

Lucy snorted. “She’s not here to talk to me about periods, Lockwood,” she said, not quietly enough.

Lady Bridgerton laughed. “No, certainly not! It is something personal, but you’re welcome to stay. I’ve already told Mr. Karim here most of it, anyway.”

“So what is it?” Lucy asked, finally moving toward the other sofa, Lockwood close behind. They settled into it, with Lockwood’s arm around Lucy’s shoulders, as they tended to do now that they were (finally!) officially dating.

Lady Bridgerton smiled a funny little smile at them, cleared her throat, and began.

“Well, with George I think I may have started in the wrong place,” she said. “Miss Carlyle, I understand you grew up in the north? In the Cheviot Hills?”

George sunk a little further into his armchair, content to let the crazy aristocrat lead up to the main question in her own time and way, now that he knew the end goal of it all.

“Yes, I did,” Lucy answered. “A little town near Newcastle. Why?”

“Well, you see… that’s the area where Francesca Bridgerton disappeared. I don’t know how it is, but… well, with Aunt Winnie turning up again all of a sudden, it’s pulled the mystery back out into the light. I don’t think anyone in the family has ever forgotten about Francesca, please don’t think that- but it’s been in the background and they mostly don’t talk of it. I’m sure you understand. Only, now it’s all been brought back up. I suppose- I was only wondering if you might remember something from around that time, something that might lead to a clue about what happened to her?”

Lucy was frowning a little- more in confusion than anger or fear, George thought.

“I don’t think so. I don’t remember hearing anything about a missing child, anyway. But it might have been before-” Lucy cut herself off, flushing a bit. “Sorry. Erm, George and Lockwood aren’t aware of this- it never seemed to be relevant, so I didn’t bring it up- but I was actually adopted by the Carlyles when I was little. So I don’t remember anything about the region before… oh, 2006, I think? It’s all a little fuzzy- it was so long ago, and I don’t actually remember much of anything before that.”

Lady Bridgerton sat up straighter, and George couldn’t help feeling struck himself. Lockwood, too, looked surprised.

Lucy was adopted?

“What?” George blurted. 

“You were adopted?” Lockwood asked. “Why didn’t you say?”

Lucy flushed a bit more. “Well, it’s just… you know how it is, people think you’re ungrateful if you don’t happen to like your adoptive family. It’s completely normal to hate the family you’re born to- people can accept that. But if you’re adopted, you’re forever supposed to be grateful to them, no matter how they treat you.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on,” George insisted. “You couldn’t have thought we’d care about that! Not after all this time.”

Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat, recapturing their attention. “2006 was the year that Francesca disappeared. Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

Lucy opened her mouth but then stopped herself, frowning. “... no,” she said eventually. “No one talked about a missing girl, once I got there. It must have happened earlier in the year.”

“Around June?” Lady Bridgerton pressed.

Lucy shook her head, her expression regretful. “I didn’t get adopted until September. I’m sorry- I really am. I wish I could help.”

Lady Bridgerton seemed to deflate a little. “What about your adopted family? Surely, since a girl went missing near their town, they would have warned you?”

Lucy snorted again. “No, no one ever warned me about getting snatched up or anything. You have to understand, folks where I grew up were more likely to try selling their own kids off to strangers, not trying to get more mouths to feed. The Carlyles were the odd ones for adopting not just one, but four additional kids. But it was about the Talent, with them. They figured the orphans with Talent would at least help pay for themselves, right?” She shrugged, as if this was an entirely normal and logical view to hold.

Lady Bridgerton looked like she genuinely didn’t know what to say to that. George figured it was probably a new idea for someone like her, and didn’t judge her too harshly for it. Finally she patted her knees in a decisive way.

“Well, I have to thank you for even letting me ask these questions, Miss Carlyle. And please don’t feel bad about not knowing anything. It was a shot in the dark, you might say. I just felt like I couldn’t let it go without asking, you know?” She looked sad, but in that distant way the upper crust always did it, when the injustice or horrific consequences they were sad about were far away and would never affect them personally. “I never got to know Francesca, but her disappearance was a wound that still affects my husband and our family. I’d like to think that she knows we never really stopped looking, even if the official investigation went cold a long time ago.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to know that,” Lucy said, softening her usual brash tone. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think she’s dead, so there’s still the possibility she could turn up.”

Lady Bridgerton inhaled in a not-quite gasp. “Why- why do you think that?”

Lucy smiled. “Because there weren’t any psychic echoes in her old room. I mean, it’s possible that if she is dead, and has a source, that it’s somewhere else entirely- probaby where she was killed, or where her body is buried, if that’s what happened. But even so, items that were dear or were used a lot can often hold traces of that person after death. I certainly didn’t feel anything like that in her room, other than from the source, and I don’t think anyone else did, either.”

George nodded. “I didn’t feel anything. Lockwood? Did you pick up on anything?”

“No,” Lockwood said, shaken out of his typical contemplation of Lucy. “But I probably wouldn’t, since Sight’s my only Talent, and obviously Francesca, if she was killed, didn’t die there.”

He frowned a little and tightened his arm around Lucy, looking back to her.

Lady Bridgerton watched them for a moment before smiling again and stretching out her hand for Lucy to shake.

Lucy and Lockwood got up to do the polite farewells, but George didn’t bother. He simply held up the photograph of the Viscount’s grandmother.

“Don’t forget this,” he said. “Didn’t you want to show Lucy?”

Lady Bridgerton gave him a swift smile even he could tell she didn’t really mean, and took it. She looked down at it for a long moment before nodding.

“I suppose it can’t hurt.” 

She held out the picture for them to take. Lockwood’s slight frown deepened again as he took it from her, but Lucy’s eyes widened and she bent to look more closely at it.

“What- where- that’s not me … is it?” she asked. 

George cocked his head, because unless he was mistaken, Lucy sounded alarmed.

“No. That’s a picture of my husband’s grandmother, when she was a young lady about your age.”

Lockwood swallowed convulsively. “I suppose this was why you wanted to talk to Lucy in the first place?”

“It was one of the reasons, yes. I felt like I had to follow the lead, you know.”

“So you came here,” Lucy said, sounding genuinely shaken, though George doubted that Lady Bridgerton would be able to tell- to her, she probably sounded angry, “to ask me questions about a missing girl you’ve never even met, because you thought I might be her?” She laughed, short and sharp. 

“I don’t even know what to say to that! I mean, why would I stay with the Carlyles if I was meant to be some posh girl, growing up in luxury with everything I could ever want or dream of? I mean, surely I’d remember who I was supposed to be, right?”

Lady Bridgerton began to look uncomfortable. “I already told you why I came. Yes, I had a thought that… perhaps you might be Francesca. But, if you weren’t, you might remember something about the time she disappeared, since you grew up in the right area. I don’t have an answer as to why, if you were Francesca originally, you wouldn’t do whatever you could to come home. I’ve heard accounts of kidnapping victims who eventually just accepted their fate and stopped trying to run away, but… that doesn’t seem to fit with your personality at all.”

“No!” Lucy agreed. “So… oh, just go already.”

But instead of waiting for Lady Bridgerton to leave, Lucy rushed out of the room herself, and George heard her rushing up the stairs, probably heading to the attic.

Lockwood ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to decide how best to handle this situation. George, secure in the knowledge he could only make things worse at the moment, just sat there.

“I feel like I should apologize,” Lockwood said after a moment, “but in this instance, I’m not going to. I don’t know why Lucy reacted the way she did, but obviously something you said upset her, and… well.”

“I understand,” Lady Bridgerton said, quietly. “For what it’s worth, I did not intend to upset her. It’s an upsetting topic, however, and I don’t blame her for reacting the way she did. To be honest, I didn’t have much hope that Miss Carlyle really was Francesca in some kind of disguise, or false identity. But I couldn’t leave it alone, because… well, suppose she was? What if she really was Francesca and no one ever found out, and nothing changed? Wouldn’t that be a fate worth a little upset to avoid?”

Lockwood sighed and put his hands on his hips. “I see your point. But perhaps it would be best if you left now.”

“Of course. Please do tell Miss Carlyle that I apologize for upsetting her.”

“I will.”

“And… I hesitate to ask, after how she reacted to even the suggestion, but… perhaps you might ask if she would be willing to take a DNA test?”

Lockwood clenched his jaw, but mustered up an echo of his client smile and ushered Lady Bridgerton out without answering, leaving George behind to ponder several new avenues of research.

Chapter Text

Lucy made it up to her attic before the threatened tears became actual tears. 

God, from the moment that woman had shown up in their living room again, she’d been uncomfortable. At first she thought it was just because several of their previous wealthy and influential clients had come after them… 

There was Fairfax, for one, who almost succeeded in killing them all. Winkman probably counted, even though he hadn’t been a client, per say, and wasn’t a member of high society… Then there was Miss Wintergarden- she’d caused some real damage in the company, even though she hadn’t even known about it. And Marissa Fittes, of course, with that bastard Rupert Gale. And now the Bridgertons, apparently.

Why did she have to come back?

Lucy was already dealing with vaguely disturbing dreams, leaving her tired even when they didn’t have a case. Now she had to deal with people questioning her whole life, her very identity? She scoffed, even as tears streamed silently down her face. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure why she was so upset. 

She crossed her arms and started pacing, reminding herself of just who she was with every step. She was Lucy Carlyle, adopted daughter of a laundress and a railway porter, who had run off to make something of herself when everyone in that town turned on her. She was the best Listener in the world, a key member of Lockwood and Co. and, finally, Anthony Lockwood’s official girlfriend. Who, having endured the life she had, could possibly want more? Maybe her childhood hadn’t been as great as George’s or even Lockwood’s before his parents died, but she’d left all that behind, hadn’t she?

She had as much fame and recognition as she wanted, thank you very much- just enough to feel proud, and not enough to be afraid of random strangers on the street. She had a wonderful partner and friend in Lockwood, and friends and colleagues in Holly, George, Flo, and yes, even Quill Kipps. She’d helped to solve the Problem by fighting Marissa Fittes and helped uncover what she’d done by installing all those spirit gates everywhere and preventing the dead from moving on. Lucy Carlyle was a national hero, even if she hadn’t been officially recognized as such, and she was content.

The tears wouldn’t stop, though. Finally, Lucy couldn’t bear it any more. She strode over to the desk, where she kept a small jewelry box. She didn’t have very much jewelry to store at the moment, but since Lockwood kept gifting her his family’s heirlooms, she’d decided she needed someplace to keep it that was more secure than her bedside table. 

She pulled out the artificially short middle drawer, allowing access to a secret compartment at the back of the box. Pulling that open, she reached inside for the familiar little pouch. She awkwardly wiggled it out with two fingers, closed the compartment, put the drawer back in, and then sat down on the bed.

She pulled her legs up and just held the pouch for a while, staring at it. It wasn’t anything special to look at- two small squares of mismatched cotton fabric, clumsily stitched together with dark thread. It looked like a child had made it, and not very well, either. But then, Mary had been a child when she made it, and she hadn’t had any help. She’d needed to do it very swiftly, using things that wouldn’t be missed.

Lucy wiped her eyes and sniffed before opening the pouch and shaking out what it contained. The gold links of the chain lay gleaming in her palm, almost burying the small charm delicately threaded on it. 

She held it up by the clasp, staring at the small golden heart with the fancy capital ‘F’ engraved on it. Mary had shown it to her not long after her adoption, told her that it was hers, and that Mary had taken it before mum could. Mary had kept it hidden for years, never letting it stay in the same hiding spot for very long, in case mum should go on a tear and find it. But she would take it out and show it to Lucy sometimes, reminding her that she had something of value, and that she would get to keep it as soon as she moved out. Indeed, a week after Lucy sent word home that she was working at Lockwood and Co., the necklace in its pouch had shown up in the mail in an envelope addressed to her.

For a long time Lucy hadn’t believed Mary- at least, not about the necklace being hers . After all, it didn’t seem to have anything to do with her. She didn’t even think it was real gold, until one day during the Black Winter, she’d gotten anxious about being able to live on her own and had taken it to a jeweler. At the time she’d made up a story about gifting it to a niece- it was clearly made for a young girl- and wanting to have it cleaned.

A short while later, Lucy was in possession of a newly shiny 24 carat gold necklace.

And now here was Lady Bridgerton, forcing Lucy to confront the idea that maybe- just maybe- the necklace that Mary had always told her was hers, had really belonged to Francesca Bridgerton. 

It had an ‘F’ on it, for starters. And it came from the general area where Francesca disappeared. And since all that was true, then… maybe Mary knew what had really happened to the girl. Or maybe she’d just found the necklace in the dirt somewhere, leaving no other trace of its former owner, and felt like doing something nice for her new sister.

As for Mary claiming that it was Lucy’s to begin with… that had to be fantasy, right? The timing wasn’t right. And Lucy couldn’t possibly be a Bridgerton originally. She didn’t fit with them at all. They were all tall, and thin, and elegant, while Lucy was average height and built on sturdier lines. The fact that she looked nearly identical to a Bridgerton grandmother… well, there were ways to explain that, too. There had to be.

Lucy was not a Bridgerton. 

But she did need to speak to Mary, and soon.

Stomping footsteps and Lockwood calling her name had her wiping her eyes and wishing she’d had just a few more moments to collect herself.

“Lucy? Are you alright? Lady Bridgerton is gone, so you can come back-” Lockwood cut himself off as he crested the attic stairs and saw her. Lucy clenched her hand around the necklace, but she could feel part of the chain dangling over the edge of her palm. Lockwood’s eyes flicked down to it, but he didn’t ask questions. Not about that, anyway.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, gently.

Lucy nodded and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand again.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I don’t know what-” Her throat closed unexpectedly and a couple more tears escaped to roll down her face. “I don’t even know why I’m doing this!” she cried instead. “I can’t stop crying, Lockwood. And yeah, I didn’t like that she- she- I don’t know. Questioned who I am? But I know who I am! It shouldn’t bother me this much… should it?”

Lockwood came and sat beside her, pulling her in for an awkward, but welcome, hug.

“I don’t know what’s going on, either,” he admitted. “But all I care about right now is that you’re upset. What can I do to make it better?”

They’d been working on this- talking about what they needed from each other. It didn’t come easily, to either of them, but they were making progress. Lockwood’s question had been hesitant and awkward, but she knew it wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he cared so much that he thought he should be able to just know what she needed from him, and it bothered him that he had to ask. In the past he’d been wrong about what she needed often enough that now he knew to ask, even if he thought he already knew the answer.

Lucy had her own issues to overcome when it came to Lockwood, and in this moment, she needed to open up and share one of her only remaining secrets with him. She didn’t want to, but if he could be strong enough to ask her for guidance, she could certainly be brave enough to share.

If she took just a few more moments to take comfort in his hug before doing that, though, she was convinced no one would blame her.

“I don’t know what you can do, yet,” Lucy said, pulling back and once more wiping her eyes. “But I need to show you something.”

Slowly she opened her fist, showing him the necklace. Lockwood gently touched the chain and the charm with one long finger.

“It’s lovely, Luce.”

Lucy sniffed. “My sister Mary gave it to me. She’s always said it was mine, but she used to keep it hidden so mum wouldn’t find it and sell it for cash. When I moved down here, she sent it to me in the mail. I never wore it because… well, it’s gold, isn’t it? No use against visitors. Plus, I never had worn it, and it seemed weird to start. I thought of selling it once, when I was over in Tooting, but thankfully it never came to that.”

Lockwood turned the charm over and his finger stopped as he registered the initial carved into the smooth curve of the heart.

“Lucy… that’s an ‘F.’”

“Yep!” Lucy said, trying for a jaunty tone. “I think that… well, I think Mary might know what happened to Francesca Bridgerton.”

Lockwood bit his lip. “I don’t want to say the obvious thing here, given how upset it made you earlier, but… if Mary always said this was your necklace…”

Lucy started shaking her head before he could finish, her voice thick as she answered. “No. It’s not me, Lockwood. It can’t be me.”

“Why not?” he asked, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. “If you were adopted around that time… would it really change that much if you were?”

For some reason that made her start crying in earnest again. Lucy would have minded that more if it hadn’t meant that Lockwood stopped talking and pulled her into another hug. It was still irritating, because she couldn’t figure out why she was reacting this way, but at least she could hold on to Lockwood and let him rub her back and say soothing things.

After a bit, when she felt calmer and really needed to blow her nose, she pulled back. Lockwood offered her his handkerchief and she accepted it, turning away while she used it. Afterward, she folded it and set it down on the bed.

“I’ll wash that for you,” she promised.

“It’s fine, Luce, really,” he said, like he always did whenever she messed up one of his things. Then he sighed. “Unfortunately, I think we’re going to have to call Lady Bridgerton back. I don’t want to because this obviously bothers you, but… the necklace changes things.”

Lucy nodded. “I know. But I’d like to call Mary first, maybe offer to buy her a train ticket. She’s the one who knows where this necklace really came from, so what’s the point in saying anything to the Bridgertons before I’ve talked to her?”

Lockwood nodded. “Alright. How soon do you think she could come?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy shrugged. “It’s been a while since her youngest was born, but she hasn’t been back to work long. She might not be able to come until the weekend.”

“Okay. The Bridgertons won’t know one thing or the other until we tell them, so I suppose a few more days can’t hurt.”

—

When they went downstairs, Lucy went to the hall to call her sister, and Lockwood went to make tea in the kitchen, where he found George already digging into a fresh box of donuts.

“Is Lucy okay?” he asked around a mouthful of jam and sweet bread.

Lockwood nodded, then shrugged. “For now, I guess. Lady Bridgerton questioning her identity really set her off. Listen, we should look into this Francesca. Find out as much as we can about the missing persons case. I know it’s not your usual line of research, but…”

George nodded, like he’d been expecting this. “I was already planning on it. Lucy’s family, too. If there was a Bridgerton bastard somewhere in the Carlyle line, that could explain a few things.”

Lockwood’s eyebrows rose. “I hadn’t thought of that- good one, George. Lucy’s calling her sister right now- we think she might know something about when and where Francesca Bridgerton disappeared.”

“Why?”

“For one, she was in the area before Lucy, and for another… it seems she gave Lucy a necklace when they were both young. A gold necklace with a heart charm that has an ‘F’ inscribed on it.” 

Lockwood left off mentioning that Mary had claimed the necklace belonged to Lucy, and wasn’t just given to her. George wasn’t usually the type to jump to conclusions and ignore other evidence, but knowing that might make him focus his research too narrowly to uncover evidence that Lucy wasn’t a Bridgerton. As it was, George was far too clever not to see the implication. He sat back in his chair.

“Well. That makes things a lot more interesting, now doesn’t it?” he said, and took another bite of donut.

—

When Lucy called Mary, she didn’t hide that it was the necklace she wanted to talk about, and the missing girl who might or might not be connected to it. Mary didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about- she didn’t even seem all that surprised.

“I always wondered if you’d ever actually ask me about that,” she’d said, after a little pause. “It seemed less and less likely the older you got, and you seemed happy enough, so I thought, better to let things be. Anyway, I can’t come until Saturday, and that’s if Lenny isn’t on shift. If he is, I might be able to get a sitter, but it’s not a guarantee. Can I kip with you in that big house of Lockwood’s?”

“Of course you can,” Lucy said. “We’ve got a guest room now. You could even bring Isaac with you, if you don’t want to leave him.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine. He’s on a bottle now that I’m back to work, and Granny Wren loves to have him and Bonnie for a night,” Mary laughed, naming the old lady who used to babysit for anyone and everyone when they were growing up.

“Isn’t she too old to be looking after babies?” Lucy asked. “I thought she must’ve died by now!”

Mary laughed again. “She’s ten years younger than mum, if you can believe that! I know we always used to think she was ancient, but it turns out, her hair went gray early, and she just never dyed it.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Lucy said. “Only I hope Lenny isn’t on a job. I’ve got to say, Mary, he’s turned out to be an excellent father.”

“I know, right? He was surprised, too. He was worried when we found out I was pregnant with Bonnie, but I just told him all he had to do was the exact opposite of what he’d seen his own dad do growing up. It seems to be working.”

Lucy couldn’t help smiling. Of all her sisters, Mary’s life had turned out the best, so far. She worked as a receptionist for a dentist in Newcastle, and was training to become a dental assistant, while her husband Lenny was an electrician. She’d met him while working, when he came to the practice to update some old wiring, and he’d turned out to be a good and kind man. They had two children now, and on the whole, they were better off than most of their respective families.

“I’m glad- I really am, Mary,” Lucy said. “I’ll send you some money for the ticket, yeah?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that! I’ve got some money saved up already. Even with Isaac coming, I was planning to go down and see you this summer- I’ll just come a little early instead.”

Lucy could tell she wouldn’t win the argument, so she just said goodbye and resolved to quietly buy the return ticket instead.

Chapter Text

The week went by in awkward fits and starts for Lucy. During the days, time dragged, and she felt like the weekend would never come. But then the nights seemed to be over before they’d barely begun, especially if they had a case. 

These days, they rarely needed more than one night to find a source and seal it, even with extra safety precautions, so they were often home only an hour or two after midnight. Lucy would creep into bed- sometimes with Lockwood, but this week it was more often not- close her eyes, and then open them again to sunlight streaming through the thin curtains. It felt like hardly any time had passed at all, and yet hours had gone by while she slept. Even her uneasy dreams didn’t feel like they took up any appreciable time.

George spent most of his time at the archives, either researching for one of their cases, or looking into the necklace, Francesca Bridgerton, and tracing Lucy’s family line. Lucy was grateful, and even wanted to help him, but the one day she did go to the archives, she mostly sat around, too anxious to actually do anything. Occasionally she’d snag a book from in front of George and try to look through it for information, but even after reading for a good ten minutes, she still couldn’t have told you what was in it. Her eyes just skipped over the words without taking anything in. She gave up around lunchtime and went home to exhaust herself with rapier training.

When Saturday finally arrived, Lucy woke up surprisingly early and decided to just get dressed and go to the station to wait for Mary. But to her surprise, when she opened the door, Mary was already standing there, reaching for the bell.

“Mary! What are you doing?” Lucy asked, shocked and surprised. “It’s barely daylight! The Problem might be getting better, but it’s still not exactly safe after dark!”

“It’s improved enough that the trains have started making night journeys again. They’ve got special carriages with silverglass windows and iron banding on the doors and laid into the floors, so it’s pretty safe. Anyway, I wanted to get here early- we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Lucy’s stomach immediately started churning. “Do we? Okay. Well, come in, then. We can put your bag here in the hall until the boys wake up. You want a cuppa?”

“Actually, do you have any coffee?”

Lucy gave her a look. “Coffee?”

Mary shrugged. “I’m the mum of a toddler and a four month old, Lucy. I need more caffeine of a morning than just a cup of tea.”

Lucy just shook her head in wonder. “We’ll have to go to Arif’s for coffee, but that’s alright because they’ve got really good donuts and we have an account there.”

She didn’t mention what Mary had said about having a lot to talk about. She’d been looking forward to getting some answers all week, but now that she was about to, her stomach clenched at the very thought. Still, Mary didn’t seem all that bothered, and surely she would be if it was bad news, right? She must not have a lot to say on the subject of missing girls and mysterious necklaces.

Mary put her bag against the wall and then followed Lucy out of the door and down the street. Early as it was, Arif had already unlocked his door. Even with curfew restrictions still in place, a lot of people had to get to work at the crack of dawn, and the iron bars on Arif’s door and windows served well enough to keep any lingering visitors at bay.

“Morning, Arif,” Lucy called as they entered the store.

The skinny old man waved at her from behind the counter. “Donuts for brekky today, Miss Lucy?”

“The usual,” Lucy called back as she led Mary over to the drinks station. “Plus a couple of iced buns, please.”

“You remembered,” Mary remarked, as they waited for Mrs. Hendren and her daughter to finish with the coffee machine.

“It’s what you always got when mum let you keep a coin or two from your wages,” Lucy said.

They took their places in front of the machine, Lucy making one with plenty of cream and sugar, and Mary adding a shot of espresso to hers. By the time they were done with packets and lids, the neighbors had paid and gone, leaving no line. Lucy had Arif put everything on the company account- she’d pay Lockwood back for it later.

“Tell Miss Holly that George is running up quite the bill this month,” Arif said as they were leaving.

Lucy rolled her eyes but called back an acknowledgment.

“Eat a lot of donuts, does he?” Mary asked. “Or is it the coffee for him?”

“I think it’s mainly the donuts. Don’t get me wrong, he actually likes to cook, and he can make some amazing Persian food… but donuts are his weakness. If you ever want to get on his good side, a jam-filled will see you safe.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mary said, grinning.

By the time they got back Lockwood was up, though George’s snores could still be faintly heard, even down in the kitchen.

“Listen to that,” Mary mused. “Does he ever wake himself up?”

“No, he got earplugs a couple years ago,” Lockwood said. “Good morning, Mary. You’re here rather early.”

“Yeah, I got the night train,” Mary said, and they went through the whole business again. Lucy settled down on the chair next to Lockwood, squeezing his shoulder as she sat down. He smiled at her, but that was the extent of their displays of affection. Mary still chortled and teased, though.

“So, Mary,” Lucy said, after coffee and donuts had had time to settle her stomach. “About what you came here for…”

Mary’s smile slipped. “Yeah. About that- why don’t we wait until George is up? I’m sure he’d like to hear it all, too, and really, the more witnesses there are, the better.”

“Witnesses?” Lockwood asked, frowning slightly.

“Why do you need witnesses?” Lucy asked.

“It’s not exactly easy to talk about, Lucy. I’ve been keeping mum about this whole thing for a long time,” Mary said. “I actually thought about going to the station when I got here, and bringing a police constable along, just to keep things simple. But I didn’t want to worry you too much… and plus, I’m really hoping I don’t end up getting arrested. I told Lenny everything before I left- well, actually I left a note for him- so he’ll know what might happen. But it would still be better for Bonnie and Isaac to grow up with their mum around.”

Lucy found she was clutching Lockwood’s hand hard enough it must hurt. He put his other hand over hers and she consciously relaxed her hold, breathing in and out in the way all agents used to help control their emotions.

“You’re not filling me with confidence here,” Lucy said after a moment.

“Yeah, well…” Mary shrugged and put her coffee down on the table. “You may end up hating me for this, Lucy. I just want you to be prepared for that… and to know that I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

Lucy stared at her, and then made a decision.

“Right, screw waiting. I’m going to go wake up George,” she said, standing up so fast she bumped the table and her chair grated on the floor.

—

Once George had been threatened into decent clothing, and then placated with tea and donuts, they all gathered in the sitting room. Mary sat on the new sofa while Lockwood and Lucy sat on the new loveseat and George took his armchair.

“This isn’t an easy story to tell,” Mary began. “In fact, this will be the first time I’m talking to anyone about it- other than writing that letter for Lenny- since it happened. I mean, I’m not the only one who knows, obviously. It’s just that I haven’t told anyone. I just wanted you to know that, Lucy. It’s not like I’ve been going around telling everyone else and leaving you in the dark all these years.”

“Would you just get on with it?” Lucy said through gritted teeth. “I think I know the start of it, anyway. There was a girl who went missing a couple of months before mum and dad adopted me. I know that much. … I suspect you found her necklace and, for some reason, decided to give it to me instead of keeping it for yourself. I mean, it was a nice thing to do, but… I guess I don’t really understand that part of it. Why not turn it in to the police? You could probably have gotten a reward, and then maybe mum and dad wouldn’t have been so hard on you for not having Talent after all. And the family who lost their little girl might have found her body, at least, if they’d known where to look.”

Mary just looked at her, a mix of guilt and compassion in her face. Lucy grabbed Lockwood’s hand where it hung over her shoulder and looked down, unable to meet her sister’s eyes. 

“I didn’t find that necklace anywhere, Lucy,” Mary said, slowly and gently. “I took it off of you, before mum and dad could. Honestly, I don’t know how they missed it. Your dress had a close neckline, and you were wearing it underneath, but they did have all day while I was at school. But I guess they were too busy getting everything set up to take care of you.”

Lucy stopped breathing. “What.”

Mary took a deep breath. “You weren’t adopted, Lucy. None of us were. We were all kidnapped. Mum and dad drugged us-”

“No. No!” Lucy interrupted. “No, you’re wrong. They- they had the papers, the adoption papers, they showed them to me-”

“They forged them, Lucy,” Mary said, louder than her protests. 

Lucy sat back down, only then realizing she’d surged to her feet.

“No,” she said again.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Mary said again. “You were just a little girl- like me, only younger. It was the last day of school, in June. I came home, and dad took me down to the basement. I thought he was going to beat me for some little thing again, but instead you were down there, on a little cot in your pretty blue dress. You were asleep, and there were all these wires attached to your head and chest and a plastic tube sticking out of your arm. I didn’t know what an IV was then, I was only nine, but in hindsight it’s obvious what it was. Dad told me to watch you, and to call him if you moved or woke up. I knew better than to say no.”

Lucy felt like she was floating, like it was a dream- some horrible nightmare, worse than anything her years as an agent had prepared her for. She groped for Lockwood’s hand again, dimly aware that he was still beside her, that she was still in Portland Row, and not back there , in that dark, dank basement…

Lockwood squeezed her shoulders, head close to hers. “It’s okay, Luce, you’re safe. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, you’re not alone .”

Lucy realized she was shaking.

“What-” her voice came out in a croak. She tried to clear her throat and coughed instead. “What- Mary, what-” She couldn’t finish it, didn’t even know what she was trying to ask.

“They never told me your real name,” Mary said, now looking down at her hands. “They called you Lucy from the start. But I’d seen the necklace, so I knew your real name had to start with an ‘F.’ After a few days, it was obvious that they were keeping you asleep somehow- drugs in the IV, probably. School was over, the oldest three were working, and Connie and Laura had to sleep because of their Nightwatch jobs, so I had to stay down there with you during the day while mum and dad worked. They set you up with a feeding tube the morning of the second day, and mum showed me how to mix the nutrient solution and put it in.”

Mary gave her a brittle smile. “She wasn’t too bothered about making sure I didn’t accidentally kill you with it, but I was careful, never putting in more than a tablespoon at a time. But they’d always check your IV fluid before leaving, and then again as soon as they got back from work. Sometimes they’d look at the readings on the machine and add something from a syringe. I wasn’t allowed to touch that stuff, I was just supposed to watch you. I did that all summer- I fed you through the tube, and watched you sleep on that cot, getting thinner and thinner… I’d read aloud to you, improvise a checkers game, or pretend I was playing ‘house,’ just to keep myself awake, sometimes. At some point they got rid of the clothes you were wearing when you arrived. I don’t know what happened to them, but at least I was able to save your necklace.”

“Why?”

That was George, Lucy thought, numbly- asking the questions she couldn’t at the moment- bless him.

Mary looked at him. “I guess… I thought it might be a clue, or she could sell it someday to get cash to get out. It’s hard to remember what I was thinking back then. I was terrified of dad, and maybe in a bit of shock myself. You see I realized that summer what mum and dad were doing with you- and what they’d already done with Laura and Connie and me. What was it they always told us, Lucy?”

“They wanted us for our Talent,” Lucy repeated in a hollow monotone. “They took in kids with Talent because we’d bring in money sooner than any other worthless brat.”

“Right. Only they didn’t actually adopt us. You have to believe me on this, Lucy, I’ve looked into it. There’s paperwork, and processes, and fees that go along with adopting children. You have to pay court costs, have lawyers to draw up the paperwork, meet with the judge- and you have to pay for home inspections and follow up meetings with state workers, final medical check-ups, and all of that. Mum and Dad wouldn’t have been able to afford it- not with the jobs they had, and certainly not four times . I certainly don’t remember being taken to the doctor, or having a home inspection to make sure the place was safe for more kids- I never talked to a lawyer to make sure I wanted to be adopted, or got checked on by a state worker. I don’t remember being in care at all, Lucy,” Mary said, leaning forward. “In fact, I can’t remember much of anything before living with the Carlyles. It’s like I woke up one day, and I was just there, and there wasn’t anything before that. That’s what made me realize what they were doing. Because, when you finally woke up, you couldn’t remember anything either. Not your name, or where you were from, or anyone you lived with before.”

Lucy closed her eyes. “This isn’t real,” she murmured. “This is some sick dream- a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy, but it’s not,” Mary said. And she did sound sorry.

Lucy turned her face into Lockwood’s shoulder, clutching at him and just trying to breathe.

“Wake me up, Lockwood,” she pleaded. “God, please , just wake me up. This can’t be real.”

Chapter Text

For once in his life, Lockwood had no idea what to do. 

Here was Lucy, asking him to wake her up, after hearing an absolute horror story from her own sister- adopted, kidnapped, whatever , it was clear that they cared for each other- about how she ended up with the Carlyles. Hearing all of that had shaken him, he couldn’t imagine what it was like for her.

Fortunately, George was the least likely to get caught up in emotion. 

“How do we know you’re not just making all this up for a laugh,” George asked, with brutal directness. 

Lockwood glanced briefly at him and then at Mary before turning his attention back to Lucy, who was still trying to burrow her way into his shoulder. 

“I mean, that stuff you said, about them keeping Lucy asleep with drugs, putting in feeding tubes- they’d have to get the proper equipment from somewhere, and get the training to use it, or they would’ve just ended up killing the lot of you..”

George might look impassive, cold, and clinical at the moment, but Lockwood could tell he was very angry indeed. He might feel the same, if he wasn’t so preoccupied with making sure Lucy felt supported. Plus, George had a point.

It was a terrible story, and more so because it could be true. But it could also be a very cruel joke- Lockwood might not have had a bad relationship with his own sister, but he’d heard plenty of stories of older siblings trying to upset younger ones by trying to convince them that they were adopted, or something. This could be similar. Granted, Mary and Lucy were both far too old for that explanation to be likely, and to his knowledge, Lucy had always had a pretty good relationship with Mary. But it was, barely, possible.

“It’s not a prank, or a joke, or a cry for attention, or anything like that,” Mary said, sounding weary. “I know it’s horrible, especially since you had no idea, Lucy… but it is the truth. I witnessed it, I lived it. As for the equipment? I don’t know where it came from, or where it went after Lucy woke up. All I know is that mum and dad clearly knew how to use it. It was another thing that convinced me they’d done this before. It was probably dad using his connections- the adoption papers were forged, but they looked real because he knew someone who worked in the right department.”

“So why keep it a secret this long? You could have told Lucy much earlier, could have gone to the police… this late in the game, are you even going to be able to prove anything you’ve said?” George persisted.

“I didn’t say anything at first because dad threatened to kill me if I did,” Mary said. “And I knew he would, so I kept quiet. Then, when he died, mum threatened me in the same way. I figured she’d done the same with Connie and Laura, because the one time I tried to ask them about where they’d come from, Connie slapped me so hard my head bounced off the wall. Then she told me never to ask again, to just accept that the Carlyles were my family now, and to make the best of it.” She sighed. “Laura probably had to watch over Connie while she was drugged, and Connie had to do it for me. At least, that’s what I would guess- dad always was the type to use object lessons. And each time, they would have realized what happened to them… and dad would have threatened them with their lives if they ever told.”

“Was he really that bad?” Lockwood asked, unable to stay quiet any longer. “Wouldn’t the police have kept you safe if you went to them?”

Lucy shivered in his arms, and he tightened his hold, trying to ground her.

Mary gave him a pitying look. “Dad might have just been a railroad porter, but he knew a lot of people, Lockwood- most of them bad news. That’s how he set it all up in the first place, and forged our adoption papers. If I’d gone to the police anywhere close enough to travel to before I was missed, he would have known within an hour of me telling what I knew. He’d already fallen into a habit of beating me everytime he was reminded I didn’t have any Talent- I was scared, okay? I was nine years old, I had to take care of a kidnapped girl, I’d just found out I was probably kidnapped, too, and the people I was dependent on would most likely kill me if I talked. And anyway, what would I have told the police? I didn’t know Lucy’s real name- to this day I can’t even remember mine , or anything about where I used to live, or who with. There wouldn’t be anything for the police to go on.”

“But you must remember something about your previous lives,” George insisted. “Even if they kept you in a drug induced coma for a while after kidnapping you… drugs don’t work like that! They might keep you asleep, and they might mess with your brain a bit, but they can’t actually erase memories.”

Mary shrugged. “I don’t know what all they did to us, aside from keeping us asleep and monitoring heartrate and all that. I don’t even know what drugs they used, or what they might have added from time to time. All I know is that all I can remember from before the Carlyle household is the sound of seagulls, and the smell of salt in the air. Now, that could indicate that I lived by the sea, but it’s just as likely that my family was on holiday at the seaside when I was snatched, and we actually lived somewhere else entirely.”

Lucy finally pushed back against Lockwood, so he released his hold, glad to see that at least this time she hadn’t been crying.

“Mary,” Lucy said, her voice rough. “I get that you were scared. I was scared too, remember? I was scared, and I didn’t want to be beaten so I just shut up and worked for Jacobs until everyone decided it was my fault everyone but Norrie and me died in that mill. But why didn’t you tell me once I was gone? You could have come down anytime! You could have put all this in a letter! You sent me the necklace, so why didn’t you tell me then?”

Mary looked back down at her hands. “I don’t know, Lucy. Except… you were finally free, weren’t you? I wanted you to be happy, to make a better life for yourself than the one I still had to put up with. I mean, I’m telling you now and look how it’s going- you’re not taking this well. And I don’t blame you!” she hurried to add, seeing how Lucy shifted, noting the clenching of her hands and tensing of her jaw. 

“It’s an awful thing to find out about, however you look at it. But here and now, you’ve got Lockwood, and George, and me, to help you wrap your head around it. Who would have helped you if I’d told you then? You’d just started here, so you wouldn’t have trusted these boys yet, and you didn’t know anyone else in London. I certainly couldn’t have stayed for long enough to help you find your balance…”

Lucy slumped over, planting elbows on knees and face in hand, slowly shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she answered helplessly.

Lockwood’s heart broke a little more. Lucy wasn’t one to easily admit defeat, but right now she sounded like she had down in the King’s Prison after Aickemere’s, or right before that last, terrible push through Dark London- like she was at the end of her strength, and couldn’t figure out where to get more.

“I’d like to say that Lucy could always have counted on us to help her, even right after she started,” Lockwood said, softly rubbing Lucy’s back to let her know he was still here for her. “But I have to admit that she and George didn’t get along well for quite a while after we hired her. If she’d learned all of this then… I’m not sure what would have happened, but it wouldn’t have been good.”

“I’ll tell you,” George immediately offered. “She’d have been a ghost magnet and probably either got herself killed, or fired.”

“George!” Lockwood almost shouted, glaring at him. Most times he would have laughed at his best friend’s ill-timed wit, but now was definitely not the time.

“Thanks, George,” Lucy deadpanned, lifting her face out of her hands. “I’m so glad you have such a high opinion of my ability as an agent.”

“Come on, Luce,” Lockwood objected, even as George grinned. “You can’t claim that you wouldn’t have been affected by all this.”

“Of course it would have affected me, Lockwood,” Lucy glowered. “Probably at least as much as losing Jessica affected you. But you’ll notice that you stayed alive anyway, and used that emotion to help you get better at fighting visitors.”

Lockwood didn’t recoil, even though hearing his sister’s name was a shock. He did feel a spark of anger at having her death be used against him this way… but he had to admit Lucy had a point. 

“Yes, well… that’s something to discuss another time. Mary, was there anything else you wanted to add?”

Mary looked between them all a little uncertainly. “Well… I guess I’m curious what made you ask for answers now. I mean, it’s been ten years since you became a Carlyle, Lucy, and you never asked before, even when I told you the necklace was yours.”

Lucy sighed and let her head sink back into her hands. “God, I don’t even want to tell you, now. You’ll just jump to conclusions.”

Mary looked questioningly at Lockwood, who took pity on her. 

“We recently did a job for an aristocratic family. They’ve got a lot of children, and one of them went missing years ago- never found. It came out during the case that the girl disappeared close to your hometown, apparently right before Lucy woke up as a Carlyle. The daughter’s name, by the way, was Francesca. With an ‘F.’”

Mary gaped at him, clearly not expecting anything like that. “You’re not serious… I thought you’d maybe remembered something, Lucy- something that made you question your ‘adoption’- not that you’d bleedin’ gone and found your birth family by accident!”

“I haven’t, though!” Lucy burst out, back to being distressed. “I’m not a Bridgerton, I swear! I can’t be! I mean, look at me! I’m short and stocky and I don’t have even the slightest clue about style. Meanwhile, the Bridgertons are all tall, and thin, and elegant!”

“But you do look like one of their grandmothers,” George put in.

“Not helping, George!” Lucy cried.

“Bridgerton- haven’t heard that name before,” Mary mused. “But from what you’re yelling, I’d assume they’re pretty well off?”

“Yes,” Lockwood said, a bit grimly since Lucy had started crying again. He didn’t know why it bothered her so much to be even theoretically connected with a high society family, but he instinctively didn’t like anything that made her so upset.

Mary nodded. “Well, I always knew they had to be. I mean, a gold necklace for a child that’s not a saint’s medallion? And the dress she showed up in was pale blue and frilly- made for show, not for playing in a muddy field. It had lace on it, for Christ’s sake.”

Lucy groaned. “God, that is so not me.”

“It isn’t now, because mum and life probably beat it out of you,” Mary said. “But there’s nothing wrong with liking pretty things, Lucy. Nothing wrong with wearing something stupidly impractical just because it looks nice. I mean, are you really going to marry Lockwood wearing a jumper and skirt? Or are you going to find a nice dress that you’d never dream of wearing on the ordinary- maybe something that matches that sapphire around your neck?”

Lockwood flushed, and Lucy did too. He cleared his throat self-consciously.

“Yes, well…” he started.

“That’s not even…” Lucy said. “We’ve barely even started actually dating, Mary. I mean yes, we’re… probably headed that way, but…”

“Not quite ready for that,” Lockwood finished for them both. He reached out to touch Lucy’s arm, just to let her know he was still there- he wasn’t going to run away from his feelings again, not even when things got a little awkward.

Mary shrugged. “But you see my point.”

“Yes, I see your point, Mary,” Lucy said reluctantly. She wiped her eyes, and Lockwood was glad to see that, despite all the upheaval this morning, she was more composed. 

“Alright. So. According to you,” she said, “we weren’t adopted by mum and dad, we were actually kidnapped, and somehow our memories were erased, or blocked somehow. And because of this, it’s… possible … that I might be connected to- God, it sounds so stupid - an old and wealthy noble family.” 

“This might be a good time for Lockwood to tell you what Lady Bridgerton asked for before she left the other day,” George said, with an evil grin.

Lucy fixed him with a gimlet stare. “What?”

Lockwood smiled apologetically. “She only asked if you’d be willing to consider a DNA test. I didn’t tell you at the time because you were already so upset.”

Lucy groaned into her hands.

At that moment, the front door opened and Holly breezed in, humming to herself. She hung up her light summer jacket and purse, slipped off her shoes, and was just turning ‘round to put on the neat little house slippers she wore here when she saw the rest of them through the sitting room door.

“Oh! Good morning, everybody,” she said, surprised. “Did we get an early morning client, then? I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“Not a client, Holly,” Lockwood assured her. “This is Lucy’s sister, Mary Kendall. She’s come down for a visit- just an overnight.”

“Ah, lovely! Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mary,” Holly said, coming in and offering Mary a warm smile and a handshake. “I’m Holly Munro- secretary, and occasional field agent.”

Mary’s eyebrows had risen high upon seeing the vision of preciseness that is Holly Munro. “Glad to meet you, too,” she said, shaking hands. “Have to say, Lucy really wasn’t lying about you, Miss Munro.”

“Oh, call me Holly,” Holly said, taking a seat in the other armchair. “So- what are we talking about?”

The silence that answered her gave Holly the opportunity to actually look at everyone.

“Oh dear,” she said.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long after Holly came in that Lucy managed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the sitting room, and go back up to her attic to think.

Mary’s revelation had shaken her, deeply. And yet, thinking on it, it wasn’t actually that much of a surprise. It made a sick kind of sense- much more sense than for the Carlyles to actually adopt more children. Lucy had always felt more like an asset- a burden only tolerated for the money she brought in- than someone actually wanted in the family. The older three girls- the ones the Carlyles had the normal way, were treated better, but every emphasis was still on the jobs they could get, or the rich boys they could attract. And she’d seen how Laura, Connie, Mary, and herself were treated, by contrast- less like daughters, and more like employees. And not particularly well-liked or appreciated employees, either.

Mary got it the worst, of course, because she turned out not to have any Talent, not even enough to work the Nightwatch. Lucy couldn’t count the number of times she’d come home at the crack of dawn just to hear her mum berating Mary for that lack, promising that if she couldn’t bring home more money, she’d be sent back to whatever orphanage she’d originally come from. Lucy had sometimes guiltily wondered if that might not be a better fate than to continue living at home.

Now, of course, it made sense that Mrs. Carlyle had never made good on the threat. 

Mary had never been an orphan. She’d been kidnapped, and letting her go would just bring a world of hurt down on Mrs. Carlyle, one way or another. The woman who’d made Lucy call her ‘mum’ from the moment she woke up might have known some of the same people as her husband did, but clearly she wasn’t willing to incur any favors to have her ‘problem child’ taken care of.

Lucy wondered how Laura, Connie, and Mary had made it through all these years without breaking their silence. She supposed that, having had the fear of death beaten into them early and often, they were just happy to escape into their various marriages. 

But now, that silence had been broken. Lucy had been brought into the secret, and… it probably shouldn’t remain a secret.

Mary had said something about being arrested, but… surely they wouldn’t? 

Lucy was just trying to puzzle out what the law might require of witnesses to kidnapping, when those witnesses were also victims of kidnapping, when she heard feet on the stairs up to the attic.

“Lucy?” Mary called up. “Can I come up?”

“Yeah.”

Mary mounted the last few steps and hesitated at the top, reminding Lucy of a scared Grade One apprentice, entering her first haunted house.

“It’s okay, Mary,” she reassured her sister. “I’m not mad. I just needed a moment.”

“I can understand that,” Mary said. “Listen… I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner than this, but…”

“No, I get it,” Lucy said. “You saw that I was happy, and you thought, ‘why ruin it?’”

“Something like that,” Mary admitted. She sat down on the bed next to Lucy and looked around the attic room. “This is nice,” she said. “Cozy. But… well, aren’t you and Lockwood…?”

“We’re taking things slow,” Lucy said. “And I like having my own space- it’s nice to have a place I can go where people know to leave me alone for a bit. Like after a hard case when my ears are bloody tired, for example. Or when I’ve just learned I was kidnapped as a little girl so that strangers could exploit me for my Talent.”

“Right. So… maybe a bit mad?”

“... maybe,” Lucy admitted. “Just a bit.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, neither knowing quite what to say. 

“You know I don’t blame-”  

“Is that a skull??”

Mary’s voice overlapped Lucy’s as they both spoke at the same time, but Lucy chose to answer Mary first. She stood up and walked over to where the skull’s cracked and blackened cranium still sat in the corner of the windowsill. She ran gentle fingers over the bumpy curve, a little startled- as always- at how small it really was. Sometimes she forgot that the skull hadn’t been much older than thirteen or so when he died.

“Yeah. This is- or rather was- a haunted skull that I talked to almost everyday for years. He was a type three- I don’t know if you know what that means, but basically, he wasn’t like other visitors. He was fully conscious, not just fragments and bits of emotion and memory. He was snarky and mean, and had bloody awful taste, but he was still my friend. He helped me out on so many cases… he even ended up saving mine and Lockwood’s life last year, when we were fighting Penelope Fittes. I used to think he might come back, even if only to say goodbye, but he never has.”

Lucy turned away from the skull. “His source got damaged in the explosion- too much like being burned, I suppose.”

Mary was staring at her like she was a visitor herself, but to her credit, she didn’t question Lucy’s sanity out loud.

“Mary, you know I don’t blame you, right?” Lucy asked. “I wish you’d told me… but I know why you didn’t. I’m not mad at you. The thing is… we probably can’t keep this quiet anymore.”

“Are you talking about those posh people? The… Bridgleys, was it?”

“Bridgertons,” Lucy corrected. “And yeah- them. As much as I don’t-” she cut herself off with a gasp, once more caught out by outrageous and unwanted tears. She blinked them back and forced the lump down her throat. 

“As much as I don’t want to be one of them,” she continued in a mostly steady voice, “I don’t think I can hide… what you told me, from them. It wouldn’t be fair. They deserve to know the truth about- about whether or not I’m… I’m…” 

Despite her best efforts, Lucy’s face crumpled and she turned away, trying desperately to hide the sudden burst of emotion. She mentally scolded herself, even as the sobs threatened to break through her control. She was trying to survive on the memory of air, her throat and nose both pinched off by her need to not break down in front of her sister, when a gentle hand on her shoulder completely undid her.

Lucy folded in on herself, gasping through sobs while trying to stifle herself. Mary pulled her around and into a hug.

“I don’t understand,” Lucy said eventually, after she’d cried for an embarrassing amount of time. “I don’t know why this upsets me so much… I can’t even talk about it without crying! Which is ridiculous, because I’ve been stuffing my emotions down since I was eight! I should be able to talk about belonging to another family without breaking down into fits. I didn’t even like being a Carlyle!”

Mary rubbed her back, the way she’d been doing since Lucy broke down.

“Oh, love- I don’t know… maybe that’s why you’re breaking down. It’s all finally too much, and now the dam’s broken.”

Lucy leaned her forehead on Mary’s shoulder. “Mary, I’m an agent. I have to be able to control my emotions.”

“Yeah well, I’m not so sure walling off your emotions like that is good for anyone. Sometimes a wound’s got to be cleaned out before it can heal properly, you know? And for people, that means crying about the things that hurt sometimes.”

“Maybe,” Lucy said, though she still felt, rather rebelliously, that however much this news shocked her, it shouldn’t affect her this much.

“So, are you going to do the DNA test?” Mary asked, after a moment.

Lucy’s chin started wobbling again, but she sat back up, folded her arms… and nodded.

“I think I have to,” she said, resolutely ignoring how much that scared her. 

—

Kate Bridgerton sat at her desk in the study, going through some paperwork for the scholarship she was sponsoring. She was trying not to look at her desk phone, which had stubbornly refused to ring all week long.

She’d really hoped that Mr. Lockwood would be able to convince Lucy to do the DNA test. At worst, she would get confirmation that the girl really wasn’t Francesca. At best… well, at best she would have managed to find the missing Bridgerton. Even if Anthony wasn’t on board with that scheme.

Both he and Lady Violet had been struck with a certain familiarity when they’d met with the members of Lockwood and Co. both before and after they took care of poor Aunt Winnie’s source. That Francesca’s old hairbrush had ended up being the source, and the fact that all three of them stated the old lady’s ghost had gone over docile after screaming in Lucy Carlyle’s face… well, it all added up to a certain conclusion in Kate’s mind.

She’d mentioned her suspicions to Anthony, who had flat out forbidden her to do anything about it.

“It’s bad enough that Aunt Winnie came back- screaming Francesca’s name, too. I know you didn’t know us back then, but losing her devastated my mother, and she was already fragile at the time, what with dad passing so unexpectedly, and then the twins coming early… She was a shell of herself for years, Kate. It took years of therapy to get her back to where she is now, and… I’m afraid that dealing with Aunt Winnie’s ghost may have pushed her a little too close to that edge again.”

He strode about the room, the way he always did when he was agitated. 

“As much as it pains me to say it,” he finally said, “and as much as I wish I could change it, Francesca simply isn’t a part of our lives anymore. We’ve moved on from her disappearance. You should leave it alone, too.”

Kate had digested that, and come to a different conclusion, of course. It was a rare occasion when she didn’t think Anthony’s reasoning flawed, and though finding her mother-in-law’s missing daughter might cause some pain (she had to admit to that) she thought that, in the long run, it would turn out to be healing as well. At last the mystery of what had happened would be laid to rest. Right now, it was like a sore, covered over by a bandage, but not truly healing. The bandage kept it from hurting too much, and perhaps a scab had formed over it… but Kate didn’t think it would ever truly heal until that mystery was resolved.

And so she’d paid another visit to 35 Portland Row, only to be all but thrown out after seriously upsetting Miss Carlyle.

Kate was honestly baffled by that. She understood that having your entire identity questioned would be upsetting, but surely not to the extent that Miss Carlyle had displayed. She was sure there was more going on there than anyone else assumed. Maybe some repressed memories, trying to break free? At the last moment she’d asked Mr. Lockwood to check and see if Lucy would at least be willing to take a DNA test. Of course, Kate would have to ask Lady Violet, or perhaps Daphne or Eloise to also submit a sample, since she herself wasn’t a blood relative- but she didn’t have to cross that bridge just yet.

But the phone had remained stubbornly silent, and Kate was beginning to think that Miss Carlyle and her friends had decided not to engage further. If that was the case, she wasn’t sure what she could do about it. It might be possible to get a court ordered DNA sample, but she wasn’t at all sure about how to go about that, and she had a feeling that no one would react well if things went that far. But perhaps she could begin investigating the girl’s adoptive family… 

The phone rang. Kate jumped, and then hurried to answer.

“Yes?” she asked- the phone number she’d give Lockwood would have been answered by her personal secretary, who would transfer anyone Kate actually needed to talk to.

“I have a Lucy Carlyle for you, my lady,” her secretary said, at her most polite. In more private interactions, Kate didn’t demand such formality from her, but Mrs. Crenshaw insisted that phone calls and the like be treated with more decorum.

“Oh, good. Thank you, Amelia,” Kate said, and waited for the click that signaled the call transfer.

“Hello?” a hesitant voice came across the line. “Lady Bridgerton?”

“Yes,” Kate said, her heart pounding. “How can I help you, Miss Carlyle?”

“Well… I talked to one of my sisters after you came the other day,” the girl said. “Some things came to light- things I think you and your family should know about.”

Kate paused. The girl didn’t sound exactly enthusiastic. And if she wanted to talk to others in the family, this might all blow up and become a right mess. Still… in for a penny, in for a pound.

“I see. I assume this is about Francesca?”

“Yeah,” the girl said, sighing heavily. “My sister is in town right now, if you have time today or tomorrow. Like I said, I don’t know anything myself, but she does. So, if you wanted to hear it directly from her…”

Kate flipped through her schedule rapidly. There was a cream tea on the following day she could very easily miss, and it would give her time to decide who else to bring in on this.

“Would tomorrow at three p.m. work for you?” Kate asked.

“That’s fine,” Miss Carlyle said.

“And you don’t mind if I bring along another Bridgerton?” Kate asked, just to be sure.

“Oh. Well… I guess that would be alright. They should know.”

“Excellent. I will bring one of my sisters-in-law. I think, perhaps, we should not say anything to my mother-in-law until I have heard what this news is.”

“Probably a good idea,” Miss Carlyle agreed. “We’ll see you then-”

“Miss Carlyle,” Kate interrupted. “Did Mr. Lockwood tell you about my request?” 

There was a brief silence, then another sigh. “About the DNA test?” Miss Carlyle asked.

“Yes.”

“He told me. I’m still not sure.”

Kate sighed. “You don’t seem all that excited about this news, Miss Carlyle.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not that great, if I’m being honest,” Lucy said.

Kate bit her lip. “Well, thank you for reaching out anyway. Good or bad, I hope any news will help my family to heal.”

“Right.”

“Thank you for calling, Miss Carlyle,” Kate said, bringing the rather depressing conversation to a close. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Goodbye, Lady Bridgerton.”

And then the girl hung up. Kate looked at the receiver for a moment before slotting it back into the cradle. It wasn’t that no one had ever hung up on her before- Edwina and some of her in-laws did it quite frequently, whenever they were mad, or trying to play a joke on her. But it was rather odd to be hung up on in her official capacity as Viscountess Bridgerton.

Kate put that aside, however, and started thinking about which of her Bridgerton sisters to bring to the meeting. Hyacinth was too young, obviously- she and Gregory were only ten, going on eleven. Hyacinth had heard about Francesca, of course, but only briefly and had never seemed that curious about her to Kate. 

Eloise might be a good choice- she had the same brashness of character that Lucy Carlyle displayed. She wasn’t very comfortable meeting new people, but the fact that Lucy and her sister had information about Francesca would probably help her over that hurdle. Still… Eloise might come across as too intense once she knew the reason for this meeting. If Kate’s own gentle questioning had the power to make Miss Carlyle flee the room… 

Daphne, Kate decided. The new duchess might not be a Bridgerton anymore, but she had poise and knew how to navigate uncomfortable situations. She was also the oldest Bridgerton sister, and probably remembered the most about Francesca. And if there seemed to be a scheme afoot, or whatever information they were given seemed shady, she was best placed to have it investigated quietly without anything coming to Anthony’s ears before they were certain about the veracity of it.

Kate picked up her mobile-phone- a truly ingenious invention the rest of the world had already adopted, and which was now becoming popular in Britain- at least among those who could afford one- and flipped it open. She navigated the little computer screen and selected the duchess’ number, then pushed the ‘call’ button. A few moments later, Daphne answered.

After the usual pleasantries, Kate quickly summarized her investigation into Miss Carlyle and wrapped it up by asking Daphne to come along to the next meeting.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Kate,” Daphne said.

“Surely you must know how good this could end up being,” Kate said. “If the girl knows something-”

“But it probably won’t be anything new,” Daphne interrupted. “I know the investigations were all pretty much over by the time you married my brother, but if you think we left any stones unturned, you must be mad. This is my sister we are talking about, Kate. Anthony and I had our hands full with mama and the other children at the time, but I can assure you, we did everything we could to find her. Nothing was ever found.” Daphne paused. “There were people who claimed to have found, or even to be, Francesca over the years. That all stopped a while ago, but… we’ve hoped before, and had our hopes dashed, over and over again. That’s why Anthony told you to leave it alone, Kate. We just can’t go through that again. Now, I will go with you tomorrow, but you should know I don’t expect to believe anything I hear.”

Daphne hung up before Kate could say goodbye, much less explain how sure she was that claiming to be Francesca Bridgerton was the furthest thing from Lucy Carlyle’s mind. But that was alright. At least the duchess would go with her and they could find out what the Carlyles had dug up together. Perhaps it would be as Daphne said- nothing new and not much help. But then again, it could be something that had lain hidden for a decade or more- something that could cast a lot of light on what had happened to Francesca.

—

The phone rang almost immediately after Lucy hung up with the Viscountess, making her jump. Had… had the lady called her back? Was she going to scold her for hanging up like that?

Warily, Lucy answered, forgetting to identify herself in her paranoia.

“Yes, hello, is Mary Kendall there? Only this is her husband, Lenny, and I really need to speak to her-”

“Lenny, hi!” Lucy said, feeling such relief she actually smiled. “Yes, Mary’s here. Let me just go and get her for you.”

Lucy carried the phone up to the guest bedroom, thankful for the extended range of the new handset. Their old phone, though still serviceable (before it had been smashed during the break-in), had developed a dodgy antenna connection, which meant you had to hold it a certain way, or else stick very close to the base in order to get proper reception. The new phone was considerably sleeker in design, with a stubby, rubber-coated antenna, which worked just fine, even when surrounded by all the iron in the basement.

Lucy knocked on the guest bedroom’s door, which wasn’t latched, bumping it open a few inches. “Mary? It’s Lenny on the phone for you.”

Mary came quickly to the door, and took the phone with a perfunctory sort of smile. 

“Lenny? Yes, love. I know, I’m sorry- yes, I probably should have told you sooner, but-”

Mary shut the door in Lucy’s face, reducing what she could hear to nothing more than faint murmurs.

Oddly, Mary had acted normally before telling Lucy the story of her actual origins, and right after Lucy had been too preoccupied with her own grief and confusion to notice anything. But now that things had calmed down a bit, Mary had seemingly retreated, both emotionally and physically. Hopefully a good chat with Lenny would put her right, although it seemed that Lenny had read the note and wasn’t too pleased with her. 

Instead of going back downstairs, Lucy went back up to the attic. She had more thinking to do, and not just on her own behalf. Lenny’s call made her consider not just how her own life was about to change, but Mary’s, too. All of their lives, probably.  

If their original ‘adoptions’ were investigated, and found to be forgeries… well, mum would be in trouble, certainly. Possibly the older three former Carlyle girls would be implicated as well. But what about Laura, Connie, and Mary? They’d known… but they’d also been victims. Would they welcome the truth coming out, or would they be annoyed at the fuss and bother, when they were well settled into their lives? Mary, of course, would be prepared, but what about the other two?

Should she reach out and try to warn them what was coming? They could resent her and Mary for that, but then they would probably resent it either way, and more if they had no idea it was coming.

It was something to think about, at any rate.

Chapter Text

Somehow- Lucy wasn’t quite sure how, time was doing weird things for her lately- three p.m. on Sunday afternoon arrived, along with the expected visitors. 

Holly, Lockwood, and even George had done their best to make the sitting room and hall look the best they possibly could. Holly had made finger sandwiches and baked fresh biscuits, George had organized a rum cake from Arif’s, and Lockwood had got out the fancy tea service, which was new and hadn’t actually been used yet. 

Lucy thought it was a bit much, given the terrible events they were going to be talking about, but she didn’t say how much she thought bread and water served on dented old tin dishes would have been more appropriate to the occasion. 

Instead, she put on something that wasn’t stained, ripped, or smelly, and joined the others in the sitting room. Lockwood wrapped a warm and comforting arm about her, and Mary gave her a tight smile. Holly hovered in the hall, anxiously waiting for the bell to ring, and George sat in his preferred armchair, blandly surveying everything.

Fortunately for all of their nerves, the ladies arrived on time, ringing the bell at three on the dot.

Holly ushered them into the sitting room, her customer service smile firmly in place, but Lucy could tell by her wide eyes that she’d received a shock of some kind.

Lady Bridgerton looked just as sleek and polished as she had a week earlier, but the woman with her was even more elegant. She wasn’t quite as tall as Lady Bridgerton, and if Lucy had to guess, she’d say she had dressed both to intimidate, and to impress. She didn’t look to be much older than Holly or Mary, but her pantsuit was impeccably pressed, and her light brown hair was pulled back into one of those outwardly simple hairstyles that only a professional hairdresser could actually achieve. Lucy might have taken her for a princess, or even the Queen, if she didn’t know what the Queen looked like.

Lady Bridgerton didn’t leave them in suspense for long.

“Thank you for having us today,” she said in her cultured, rather deep voice. “I appreciate you taking the time to inform me that you may have news about my family’s missing daughter. But as I was not born a Bridgerton, I’ve brought my sister-in-law, the Duchess of Hastings, to hear it as well.”

Given the slight jolt that went through Lockwood, Lucy couldn’t help but think that even he was rattled by that. Beside her, Mary let out a small gasp. Lucy, though, smiled.

“That’s fine,” she heard herself say. “Please sit down,” she continued, gesturing to the sofa behind the ladies. “Hopefully this won’t take all that long.”

Lucy saw the Duchess raise her eyebrows slightly, but both women sat down without saying anything else. Lockwood, Lucy, and Mary moved to take seats on the opposite sofa, while Holly took the other armchair. 

Holly offered them tea, of course, and neither lady was impatient enough to refuse. So tea cups were handed out, and cake and sandwiches passed around. But finally, it was time to talk, and Lucy again took charge of the meeting.

“Lady Bridgerton already knows this, but our agency recently took care of a visitor at her country house,” she said. “It was suspected that the visitor was Mrs. Winnifred Winsham, a sister of the Dowager Lady Bridgerton. We were told, and George’s research confirmed, that one of the Dowager’s daughters, named Francesca, went missing while in Mrs. Winsham’s charge about eleven years ago. She was never found, and we suspected that might be the cause of Mrs. Winsham’s return after death. In fact, her source turned out to be a hairbrush used by Francesca, so we concluded that this was the case.”

Lucy paused for breath, then continued.

“A couple of days after the case, Lady Bridgerton came here to ask if I, specifically, knew anything about Francesca’s disappearance. Apparently, it happened close to where I grew up. I told her that I didn’t, that I wasn’t adopted into my family until later that year.”

The Duchess’s eyebrows twitched upward again, but Lucy went right on. “However, I called my sister Mary,” Lucy took Mary’s cold hand and squeezed it reassuringly, “because I thought she might remember something. She was adopted a few years before I was, and-” Lucy took a deep breath, “- and she’d given me a necklace that might be proof that Francesca was in the area.”

Lucy could feel Lockwood’s slightly disapproving frown on one side while Mary elbowed her on the other.

“What she means to say, your grace,” Mary spoke up, “is that I’ve always told her the necklace is hers, and I only kept it hidden because I didn’t want mum to find it and sell it. Also, neither of us was actually adopted- I’ve looked into it, and the adoptions were forged. What I believe, and told Lucy yesterday, is that both of us, and two of our older sisters, were actually kidnapped, and given some sort of treatment that either erased, or blocked, all of our memories before we were taken. Neither I nor Lucy can remember anything much before we came to live with the Carlyles. As for the time when Francesca went missing, I was preoccupied taking care of Lucy, so I don’t know what rumors were going around town at the time, and I didn’t see or speak to any investigators.”

Lady Bridgerton and the Duchess shared a look.

“That’s quite a story,” Lady Bridgerton said, noncommittally.

“And quite the claim,” the Duchess chimed in. “It sounds, if you’ll forgive me, very convenient. The time-line, especially.”

“I can assure you, your grace,” Lockwood said, sitting forward and putting a hand on Lucy’s knee to keep her from erupting, “that this is not a bid for money or attention, or anything like that. Lockwood and Co. is a psychical detection agency, not a private investigation agency, though we do sometimes follow up on cases we work on, especially when our client asks us to. I’ll remind you that it was Lady Bridgerton who came back to ask further questions after our successful case. We did not seek you out but, when it was brought to Lucy’s attention that she might actually have a way to find out more about Francesca, of course she acted on that. You can’t blame either her, or Mary, for knowing something your previous investigators failed to uncover.”

“Besides which, I don’t think I’m Francesca Bridgerton,” Lucy added, bluntly. “I know how it looks and how it sounds, believe me. I do actually believe that my parents never adopted me and probably did kidnap me, because I know from living with them that it’s exactly what they would have done. But I’m not exactly the posh type, and I don’t want to be a Bridgerton- I’m quite happy where I am, thank you.”

Lucy took the necklace pouch out of her pocket and shook out the chain, while a faintly stunned Duchess looked on. She held it out over the still-loaded coffee table. “This is the necklace, by the way. Do you recognize it at all?”

The Duchess took the chain out of Lucy’s hand. She spread it out and examined the chain and the charm, fingering the initial carved into it. Then she focused on the clasp, and the little gold tag attached to it.

Lucy hadn’t paid much attention to it, being more focused on the charm and that incriminating ‘F.’ She’d assumed it was a maker’s mark, since all it had were two letters stamped on one side and ‘24k’ stamped on the other. The Duchess, however, seemed to think it was significant. She looked up at Lucy and Mary.

“Where did you find this?” she asked, suddenly much less aloof.

Mary drew herself up. “I told you- as far as I’m concerned, that necklace is Lucy’s. I took it off her neck that first day I was set to watch over her.”

The Duchess fixed Mary with a very stern look. 

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

Mary sighed, and met Lucy’s eye with an apologetic smile. She squeezed her hand.

“I don’t know where the Carlyles found her, or how they got Lucy home, but when I saw her for the first time, she was lying unconscious on a little cot in our basement.” 

Mary relayed the same set of events as she’d told Lucy yesterday. This time Lucy was able to sit through it without breaking down, though she didn’t meet anyone’s eye.

“My god,” Lady Bridgerton whispered, when Mary was finished. Lucy glanced up to see that the two ladies were holding hands in a very supportive way, and the Duchess looked like she didn’t know what to believe. She was clutching the necklace to her chest.

Lucy was suddenly irritated with the whole situation. 

Yes, it sucked that she and Mary had been kidnapped instead of being adopted- but life often sucked, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t used to traumatic events. She was an agent, and she knew what life was like. The fact that these two noble ladies were so shocked at the story just told her that she definitely had no place in their lives, however she’d gotten into the one she had now.

“Keep the necklace,” she said shortly, standing up so suddenly she drew everyone’s eye. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go do some training.”

And with that, she escaped down the hall, through the kitchen, and into the basement, where she grabbed the first rapier she put her hands on, and proceeded to take out her frustration on the practice dummies.

—

Once more Lockwood found himself trying to excuse Lucy’s tendency to run away from things that upset her. Once more, he found himself unable to.

“You’ll have to forgive Lucy,” he said. “All of this has… well. It’s unsettling for me, so I can’t imagine what she must be going through.”

The Duchess still looked confused, her well-tended eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“I don’t understand. The story, the necklace… it’s exactly what any would-be imposter would choose if they had the chance. And yet…”

“Lucy wouldn’t do that,” Mary said, firmly. “And neither would I. It’s just like she said, your grace- we don’t particularly care if you believe us, we just felt like you should know. You know, because we’re decent folk who want to help people when we can.”

She also stood, suddenly very stiff and dignified, even though Lockwood knew she wasn’t that much older than him and Lucy, and also left the room. Sighing, Lockwood rose as well, and the ladies must have decided that was their signal to leave. They put their cups and plates down and stood.

After a few handshakes and some half-hearted thanks, Holly ushered them to the door.

“Well, that didn’t go as bad as I thought it would,” George remarked, from where he was still ensconced in his armchair.

“Why?” Lockwood asked, not quite paying attention. He was trying to decide if he should follow Lucy and try to calm her down, or just let her get on with whatever she was doing to calm herself down.

“I guess I thought the Duchess might leap over the table and attack Lucy… or Mary,” he said. “Apparently there were quite a few claimants to Francesca Bridgerton’s name over the years, until Lord Bridgerton declared they were done looking for her. The Duchess, or Miss Daphne Bridgerton as she was back then, got close to some of them during the height of it, so she probably felt pretty betrayed when it came out the girls were just talented cons. Well, actually, it turned out that some of them were just pawns for the people backing them- orphans who were persuaded that they could be the missing Bridgerton girl, they just didn’t remember it.”

“I don’t think she knew what to think,” Holly said. “To me it seemed she came here prepared for Lucy to try throwing herself into her arms, and here Lucy is actively running away from the very mention of it. That must have been a surprise… hopefully a good one.”

“Maybe,” Lockwood said. “George, what have you found out about the Carlyles? Any Bridgerton bastards in the lot?”

“No,” George said. “I’ve found a few noble bastards in that line, but no one and nothing nearly connected enough to the Bridgertons, or any of the married-in families, that could explain why Lucy looks like one of the grandmothers. Plus, given that we now know Lucy wasn’t born to Mrs. Carlyle, that’s not even a viable explanation anymore. It’s something I should have thought of as soon as Lucy told us she was adopted, but I must have been too distracted by everything else because it didn’t occur to me until I was looking up the current Lord’s many-times great grandfather. It’s still possible that whoever her parents were, they were somehow connected to the Bridgertons, but without more information, there’s not much I can do to prove it.”

—

“Well?” Kate asked, after she and Daphne got into the waiting car.

“I don’t know what to think,” Daphne said, and indeed she did sound a little lost.

“I would say it warrants more investigation, myself,” Kate answered her own question. “But I do not think they came up with this story just to try and get money or favor from us. They were right when they told you that I was the one to approach them.”

Daphne shook her head and looked at the necklace she was still clutching. She hadn’t put it down even once since Lucy Carlyle had handed it over.

“Is it real?” Kate asked, indicating the chain hanging over the edge of Daphne’s hand.

“Yes- maybe,” Daphne said. “It seems to match the necklaces daddy had made for all of us when we were born. Look,” she continued, pinching the delicate little tag on the clasp. On one side were the stamped letters E and B, and on the other, the authentication of the gold the necklace was made from. “My father had his initials put there, as a sign that the jewelry was a gift from him. We all got these, even the boys, though their pendants were different, when we were born.”

“Greg and Cindy, too?” Kate asked, curious. 

“Yes, even Gregory and Hyacinth. He put the orders in after they found out Mama was carrying twins this time, so they were delivered about a month after their birth.” 

Kate watched Daphne close her mouth tightly after that, and went on with a different question.

“What about Lucy Carlyle? Can you believe she might be your missing sister, or are there too many differences?”

Daphne closed her eyes and turned her face away. “I don’t know,” she said. “... maybe there were a few mannerisms I noticed… but nothing concrete. She does look like daddy’s gran, though, I’ll give you that. It’s strange how much she resembles her. But she doesn’t seem especially keen to be part of our family. I was expecting more pleading and attempts to get on my good side, not to have her outright say she doesn’t want to be a Bridgerton.”

“Yes, I was surprised, too,” Kate said, pensively. “But she rejected that idea even the first time I brought it up. At least this time she didn’t run away in tears.”

Daphne turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. Kate shrugged. 

“I don’t know why, but the suggestion seriously upset her. I asked Mr. Lockwood to ask her if she would be open to submitting a sample for a DNA test-”

“Kate! Before you even talked to us about it?” Daphne protested, not without cause.

Kate bowed her head. “Perhaps it was too soon, but… I had a very strong feeling about her, Daphne. And would it not be the most efficient way to know for sure? Investigations are all very well, but there will always be doubt until her DNA is compared to yours, or Anthony’s, or your mother’s.”

Daphne fumed for a moment before relenting. “Yes well, I still think you were rather jumping to conclusions. You didn’t even know about the necklace then, did you?”

“No, that was news to me.” Kate sighed. “I can’t even imagine what those girls have been through. To be taken from your home, your memories blocked, so you can’t even remember who you should be… and then to be forced to work in such a dangerous trade, all so that your ‘adopted’ family can take all your money? It’s sickening.”

“I know,” Daphne agreed. “I mean, it still sounds a bit like a fairytale to me- I would want to send someone I trust to investigate that part of the story. But I’ve always hated that children are the ones who can sense visitors- I’m so very grateful that I never had any Talent myself. Eloise had some, but Anthony and mama wouldn’t even let her work as a Sensitive.”

“What about Francesca?” Kate asked, gently. “Did she have Talent?”

Daphne looked down at her hands. “Yes. She… heard daddy, after he died. She said she saw him, there on the drive beside the flower beds, and that he was saying over and over how sorry he was to leave us. That he loved us.”

“Anthony and I made sure to keep her away from the area until an agency came to salt the ground there, and then Anthony made the decision to go visit Aunt Winnie, and get away from the Hall for a while.” Daphne wiped her eyes. 

“I’ve never told him, because it would be too unfair… but for a while I blamed him for Franny going missing. I couldn’t help thinking that, if he hadn’t forced us to leave, then mama wouldn’t have gone into premature labor, and El and Franny wouldn’t have been left with Aunt Winnie.”

Kate was silent for a long moment. “Can you bear to tell me what happened? All I know is that she did go missing, but not what the circumstances were. Did she just run off one day?”

Daphne shook her head. “No. Aunt Winnie had taken the girls on a picnic. It wasn’t the first time- she’d been doing it for us all about every other day, and each time it went well, and nothing happened. Eloise and Franny would sometimes play with children from the nearby town, but it wasn’t ever a guarantee that the same ones would be there when they arrived. Anyway, Fran was taken the fourth time they went- the day after mama went into labor. Aunt Winnie had let the servants prepare the food, of course, but she liked to drive herself. When they didn’t come back to the house, and curfew was only an hour away, her butler and maid drove out in a cab to look for them, thinking maybe the car had broken down. They arrived at the meadow- they knew where Aunt Winnie was, of course, she wasn’t stupid enough to keep it a secret- and they found Eloise frantically trying to wake her up. El said that they’d fallen asleep after lunch, and that Aunt Winnie wasn’t waking up, and she couldn’t find Franny. El was hysterical at that point, of course- she was nine, and Fran was almost seven. They fought a lot, but they also played together- they were close.”

“Anyway, the butler and maid searched everywhere they could think to look, but there was no trace of Francesca, or signs of a struggle. By the time they searched the whole meadow, Aunt Winnie was finally coming around, but she was still groggy and confused, so they bundled her and Eloise into the car and drove it to the town, looking for a constable or police station. Curfew was coming on then, so they arranged rooms at one of the hotels, and the next day the local constabulary organized a search with dogs.”

“Nothing was ever found,” Daphne said, in a hollow voice. “Aunt Winnie and Eloise were both seen by the local clinic, who said there were traces of some sort of drug in their blood- I can’t remember the exact one. After three days, the constable gave it up- he said there wasn’t anything more he could do, except have the local agency patrol the area at night, looking for Francesca’s ghost.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kate said, squeezing Daphne’s hand comfortingly. “I can’t even imagine how terrible it must have been, to be at the hospital with your mother and the twins, and then to get the word…”

“It was rather terrible,” Daphne agreed, looking out of the window. “Anthony was pulled this way and that- trying to manage mama and the children, and then the investigation as well… He was only fourteen, you know. Daddy’s will named trustees, but they were only supposed to take over if mama died before Anthony was twenty-one. Mama was still with us, but she was understandably shattered. She’d lost Daddy, and then the hard birth, and then losing Franny on top of everything else… she wasn’t up to much decision making, and Anthony was too proud to ask for help.”

“He still is,” Kate said, smiling wryly. “But at least now he knows he’s too stubborn, and will sometimes ask for help anyway.”

“And you , of course, have absolutely nothing to do with keeping him humble,” Daphne smiled, suddenly lightening the tone.

“I am many things,” Kate agreed, chuckling, “but a meek and dutiful wife, I am not!”

“No, and a good thing, too! Anthony’s head would get too big for the house, if you were,” Daphne responded. Then her smile faded. “He’ll be angry with you for pursuing this, you know.”

“I know,” Kate said. “But I was hoping that you might convince him it’s worth further investigation, now that we have something to go on.”

Daphne sighed. “I suppose… it’s hard, and I’m not entirely sure I believe the Carlyle sisters- but you’re right. It’s more than we’ve ever had to go on before. Even those times when people would come around, claiming to have found Francesca, they could never offer much proof, and our investigators always found out they were lying.” She paused. “I might just continue this on my own for a bit. There’s no sense in bothering my brother with all this until I have something to put in front of him that he can’t reject out of hand.”

“The necklace isn’t enough?”

“No. I believe it may be authentic, but Mary Carlyle might have found it anywhere. Like I said, I’m not sure I believe her story of kidnapping, but at least finding out whether the Carlyle girls were actually adopted legally or not should be easy enough to find out. All I have to do is put Simon’s lawyers onto it.”

“You should have them query Mr. Karim about what he’s discovered, too,” Kate said.

Daphne raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

“On my first visit, he seemed extremely doubtful of my suspicion that Lucy was actually Francesca, and advanced several theories as to why she might resemble your great-grandmother. I have no doubt he’s looked into it, even if he didn’t actually say anything at the meeting.”

Daphne looked thoughtful. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. I’ll think about it.”

The car pulled up to the Bridgerton townhouse at that moment, and the ladies got out.

“You will come in, won’t you?” Kate asked.

But Daphne shook her head. “Not this time. I don’t want to risk running into Anthony or mama right now. They’d be sure to see how unsettled I am, and I don’t want to lie and say I’m fine, when I’m not. I think it’s better if I go home and talk to Simon about all this. I can swear him to temporary secrecy, especially if he knows I’m going to talk to the lawyers and not just take these girls at their word.”

“Alright. Thank you for coming with me,” Kate said, and gave her a hug. “I know this is difficult for all of you, but… I can’t help feeling like this is ultimately going to be a good thing- for everyone.”

“You might be right,” Daphne said, with a real smile. “I’m not sure I have hope again… and even if I did believe them, convincing Lucy of it would probably take a DNA test- and I’m not sure she will ever be willing to give a sample. Which, again, I just don’t understand.”

Kate squeezed her shoulders. “To be honest, I don’t either. Being a Bridgerton has been quite wonderful for me! But perhaps she doesn’t know the answer to that herself. I imagine she is quite confused at the moment. If what Mary told us was true and Lucy didn’t know about the kidnapping until yesterday… well, how would you feel if you were told you were never actually a Bridgerton, but someone else entirely?”

Daphne actually recoiled at that, but then her expression cleared. “Oh. I see what you mean. Alright, I will try to remember that. But I’m definitely going to be looking into that story.”

“Keep me informed?” Kate asked as Daphne got back into the car.

“Of course. And we’ll be here for Family Dinner on Saturday, as usual.”

“Good.”

Kate waved to the departing car and then went back into the house to play with her son for a while before getting ready for dinner.

—

Anthony Bridgerton was often a fool- he knew that just as well as the women in his family- but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what his wife was up to, whether she kept him in the loop or not. He also knew that he was far too emotional about the issue to keep a cool head about it, so he mostly ignored it. Kate would find out soon enough that this Lucy Carlyle- however much she reminded him of his lost sister- was not Francesca, and the matter would resolve itself. If he could ignore it until then, there would be no need for a huge fight about it. 

He probably shouldn’t have told her she wasn’t allowed to investigate further in the first place- no better way to ensure she would do exactly that, than to tell her she couldn’t. But he’d been emotional at the time- too caught up in the guilt and the what-if’s to properly think about it. He’d fallen into bad, autocratic habits again, and he was determined not to compound the crime by getting further involved.

But when the morning newspaper ran yet another article about Lockwood and Co.- the tiny agency at the heart of all the upheaval about finally solving the Problem, and the downfall of the Fittes Agency- well, he didn’t exactly snatch it up and eagerly devour it, but he did read the article from start to finish.

As usual, it mentioned the agency head, the shockingly-young-for-the-position Mr. Anthony Lockwood. Anthony recalled both of them sharing compliments a few weeks ago, upon learning they had the same first name, and remembered the easy charm of the young man, and the way he praised the strengths of his team to assure him they could get the job done in a single night. Which, to be fair, they had, and with remarkably little damage, too.

The article focused on the proposed additions to the Anthony Lockwood wing of the National Archives: the agency’s casebooks to date, transcribed by Miss Holly Munro, the agency’s secretary, who had painstakingly copied the originals. Anthony wondered what she might have left out of them. The article also mentioned the agency’s spotty history with DEPRAC- apparently in earlier years the regulatory body had often objected to the methods employed by Lockwood and Co.

Perhaps that was an avenue worth exploring, Anthony thought to himself. He might just have to look into what they had been up to… and just how the famous Listener, Lucy Carlyle, had ended up at that particular agency.

Chapter Text

It was coming on two weeks since the interview with Lady Bridgerton and Duchess Hastings, and Lucy really felt like things were finally settling back down. Mary had gone home on the night train the same day as the interview, and Lucy couldn’t help feeling like she’d been abandoned to whatever came next.

But she’d talked with her sister several times since then. She’d even thought about calling up Laura and Connie… only she didn’t have their numbers, and they’d never been close. They would know something was up if she called them. Calling their mum was out of the question, of course. Even if Lucy gathered the courage to ask whether or not she’d been kidnapped, there was no way Mrs. Carlyle would ever admit to it. And it would probably lead her to threaten Lucy into silence, and put poor Mary in danger again.

Lucy wasn’t particularly worried about herself in that regard- not with Lockwood and the rest of their team on her side. But Mary didn’t have such protection, and she had two small children to take care of. No, it was better to just let that particular sleeping dog lie.

Lockwood, George, and Holly had all brought up the dangers of letting Lucy come on cases at the moment, but she’d managed to convince them all that she was just fine, and wouldn’t be a danger to them. That wasn’t strictly true, but she made it work.

Mostly.

She only got ghost-locked the one time- on the Hopkins case- and the Barmingham poltergeist was weak to begin with, so Lucy being there didn’t really make things worse. And Lockwood managed to keep her from throwing that flare at the Wharf Wraith and burning down an old warehouse, so really, everything was fine.

Except that it wasn’t.

No matter what she did, Lucy’s sleep was disturbed. It was like those first few weeks after the Mill- either she couldn’t settle down, and just lay in bed tossing and turning until she gave up and went downstairs to read, sip tea, and eventually fall asleep on the couch… or she gave in, took one of Lockwood’s sleep aids, and spent the night ceaselessly dreaming about things she couldn’t even remember when she woke up, more groggy than usual, and somehow still tired. Fortunately, unlike after the Mill, the dreams weren’t nightmares - but they did disturb her, and they kept her mind active when all she wanted was some peaceful, dreamless rest.

“Lucy,” Lockwood said from the doorway of the library, where Lucy was currently curled up trying to get her mind off things with a good mystery. 

The problem with that, of course, was that it wasn’t really a good mystery (Lucy had clocked the whodunnit after the third chapter, even though she was distracted). In short, Lockwood’s appearance made for a good reason to abandon her reading, so she sat up and smiled at him.

“Yes?”

He looked serious as he came in and took a seat next to her. Lucy’s smile faded.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did the client cancel for tonight? Is Barnes angry with us again? Or,” she gasped, “they’re not holding another ball, are they?” she asked in hushed, overly-horrified tones.

That made Lockwood laugh. “No, nothing like that. Only…,” he continued, quickly sobering, “I don’t think you should come on the case tonight.”

“Lockwood-”

“No, listen,” he insisted, putting a hand on her knee. “George’s research suggests that it’s going to be a Fetch. I- we- don’t want you facing down a Fetch when you’ve been so… unsettled, lately.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I really don’t think it’s going to come after me, Lockwood. It’s much more likely to go after George! Didn’t he and Flo have another row?”

Lockwood sighed. “George and Flo fight all the time, and it hasn’t affected his performance on the job yet. And honestly, I’ve been worried about you. I know you say you’re alright, but you’re not sleeping well, you’ve been more reckless and volatile on cases, you only eat half your meals… I’m just worried. I know I’m hardly one to talk when it comes to recklessness, but if even I can see it…” he trailed off.

Lucy sat very still, trying not to let her instant anger take control. Lockwood was right- he wasn’t one to talk about recklessness on the job. And yet… 

“I need to do something, Lockwood,” she said, quietly. “I can’t just sit home thinking about things- I’ll go mad doing that. And I’ve been alright on cases… so far.”

Lockwood nodded, and shifted slightly. “So far is the part that worries me. Maybe… maybe you should talk to someone. Professionally, I mean,” he said. “DEPRAC has that list of therapists familiar with agents-”

“Are you serious?” Lucy exploded. “This, from the man so closed off that it took you two years to admit to us that your sister died and it really messed you up? And then almost two more years to say, out loud, that you liked me and wanted to be my boyfriend?”

Lockwood’s jaw tensed, but he took a breath and let it out. “Yes. And maybe that’s the point I’m making, Luce. Don’t be like me! We’re still agents, and will be for a while- we still need to be able to handle our emotions when out on a case, and… despite everything in me telling me that simply talking about problems actually solves nothing… I have to admit that not talking about them only makes them worse. …In fact, I’ve actually been thinking of trying to find a therapist for myself.”

That brought Lucy’s anger crashing back down.

“Why not talk to me?” she asked, hurt that he hadn’t already.

“Because you’re already carrying enough of my burdens, and now you have something just as bad to carry yourself! Besides, neither of us can very well deal with our own problems, so how are we supposed to give advice on how to handle each other’s?” he asked, sounding genuinely frustrated. He shook his head and ran his hands up into his hair.

“Luce, what if that Fetch turns into a Bridgerton, and claims that you’re their long-lost sister or daughter, and that you should have known all along, and how could you have abandoned them all this time? Or what if it turns into your… not dad , but you know what I mean, and starts railing at you for how worthless and ungrateful you are?”

He looked at Lucy, but she couldn’t respond because the tears that were always too close to the surface lately had spilled over, and there was a lump in her throat.

“Oh, Luce,” he said, instantly sorry, and hugged her. 

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her face pressed into the curve between his neck and shoulder. “I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

“I know. But that’s what worries me,” he said. “I know how strong you are, at least when it comes to operative situations- but this is something else entirely.” 

Lucy closed her eyes… and admitted defeat. If she could burst into tears at the mere mention of seeing a ghost impersonate a ‘loving Bridgerton,’ or worse, the man she’d been forced to call dad… then Lockwood had a point about her skipping the case. She pulled back a little and wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm.

“Okay,” she sniffed. “Alright. I’ll stay home tonight.” She took a breath and let it out. “I want to say that I’ll come with and just act as support, staying in the chains… but I know myself, and I wouldn’t.”

Lockwood gave her a crooked smile. “Yeah, you wouldn’t.”

“Just don’t get snared yourself,” Lucy warned him. “If I’m staying home, that means you and George need to stay together, and not split up or go off to do stupid things on your own. I remember La Belle Dame, if you don’t.”

“That was one time!” Lockwood protested. “Besides, I asked Holly to come along as support. Her Sight may be fading, but it’s still good enough to keep her relatively safe if she needs to step out of the chains.”

“Oh, well- if Holly’s going, the Fetch will be too worried about getting scolded for disturbing her perfectly circular chains to actually hurt any of you,” Lucy tried to joke. It fell a little flat, but Lockwood smiled at her- that warm, oddly-proud smile he reserved just for her.

“Of course, it will. It’ll probably run the other way, just to avoid her,” he said. “I’ll miss you, you know. I’m not just saying that, either. It’s always better when we’re on a job together. But don’t worry about me- I will know that you’re safe here, so there won’t be any point in the Fetch trying to turn into you. I can handle anyone else it tries.”

He leaned forward to kiss her, something which Lucy heartily approved of, and settled her more than anything else could have. They could have lost themselves for a while, but after a delicious moment or two, Lucy made herself pull back.

“What about George?” Lucy asked. “Somehow I don’t think he’ll get much protection out of knowing I’m just puttering around the house until you get back.”

“Actually, as long as you promise not to ruin my pans again, I’ll be just fine,” George said from the doorway. “The closest thing I’ve got to a psychic wound is the memory of that chicken dinner you turned into charcoal that one time. But I don’t suppose a burnt-out roasting pan is scary enough for the Fetch to latch onto. Also, we need to revisit the house PDA rules.” He stared at them both while Lucy suppressed involuntary giggles. 

“Tea?” he asked after a moment, and both Lockwood and Lucy laughed.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, with Lucy taking the time to help Holly pack the kitbags and make sure they would have everything they would need.

—

Lucy wandered through the water meadows, letting the autumn grasses tickle her hands and legs. She raised her face to the sky, enjoying the left-over warmth of the unusually sunny day, and hoping to stretch the time out until she had to return to her cot in the basement for the night. Mum and Dad had finally let her leave the house with Mary, saying it might be best if she got out and about a bit before being enrolled in school.

“It’ll get people used to seeing you,” mum had said, while dad grunted over his morning coffee.

So Mary had taken her out after getting home from school that afternoon, and Lucy got to play a little. She hadn’t played much since waking up in the Carlyle household, and she didn’t have any real memories of what playing was like before, but she’d been pretty good at throwing and catching the ball that Mary had brought with them. Mary had said it meant she’d be good at throwing salt-bombs at visitors.

That thought scared Lucy, but by now she knew better than to say so.

The light was dying fast, but Lucy had wanted to do one last throw before heading back. She knew they were supposed to be back before the curfew bell, but she hated the thought of it, and Mary must have seen something in her face because she agreed.

Unfortunately, Mary’s throw to her had gone over her head and straight over the edge of the embankment that prevented flood waters from encroaching too close to the edge of town. Lucy had run after it anyway, even with Mary calling her to come back. She could always say she hadn’t heard, or claim that she thought she would get in trouble if they came back without the ball.

Lucy wasn’t looking too carefully, though- simply enjoying being out a little bit longer. Still… it was getting dusky now. She reluctantly turned back, almost running into Mary who had come storming after her.

“Come on!” Mary groused, grabbing her wrist. “You know Mum will beat us if we don’t get back home.”

“But the ball, Mary!” Lucy protested. “Won’t we get in trouble for losing it?”

“We’ll get beaten either way, except if we’re late it’ll be worse, so come on!”

Lucy reluctantly turned away from the river and back toward the embankment, only to stop. She listened, wondering if she’d really heard it after all.

“Lucy, come on!” Mary urged again, tugging at her arm.

“Wait! Don’t you hear it?” Lucy said, resisting. Her eyes widened as she heard it again- a woman, calling her name. “She’s calling me, Mary! She’s calling to me!”

Mary was looking scared now. “I don’t hear anything, Lucy, and if we don’t get home soon…”

Lucy was about to protest when the first warning bell for curfew drifted across the fields. Reluctantly, Lucy decided that Mary was right- Mary didn’t have any Talent, and if she couldn’t hear the woman, it was probably a visitor, and Lucy didn’t want to meet one of those before she absolutely had to. They jogged toward the little steps that led up the embankment, but Lucy couldn’t help hearing the calls again. It sounded like the woman was getting closer, and Lucy almost turned to look when the second warning bell clanged.

“I’ll race you,” Lucy said, now sure that they were going to be in for a good beating. If they could get back before the last bell, though, they might be able to talk their way into a lighter one. She started running… but the plaintive, haunting voice called her name again, this time despairing. Lucy started to turn back, but Mary still held her wrist in a firm, tight grip. Lucy stopped, sure that something important was about to happen, visitor or not-

Lucy jolted awake, and kept rocking in defiance of her wakefulness. It took her a moment to realize three things: one, she was on the sofa in the living room of Portland Row, two, Lockwood was shaking her, and three, her cheeks were wet.

“Lucy!” Lockwood called again, cupping her cheek once he saw her eyes were now open.

“Yes- sorry,” Lucy sort of huffed. “I must’ve fallen asleep… but you’re back- how did everything go?”

She sat up, and Lockwood collapsed onto the cushion beside her. George hovered in the doorway, slightly frowning. Both of them were covered in dust and scuffs, but neither had obvious injuries.

“It could’ve gone better,” George said. “But we got the source in the end.”

Lucy rubbed her eyes. “Good. Um, was it really necessary to shake me awake? You could’ve poked me or something.”

“Yes, Lucy, it was,” George said, seriously. She looked at him.

“You were crying in your sleep,” Lockwood said, sounding more weary than the day after they fought Marissa Fittes.

“And you kept saying something,” George said, finally coming into the room and sitting down.

“What was I saying?” Lucy asked, confused. She was aware of a certain feeling of disturbance, but that was getting to be all too common after waking up.

“You kept saying, ‘That’s my name,’” Lockwood supplied.

Lucy frowned, trying to remember, but sure she wouldn’t be able to. But this time, perhaps because Lockwood and George were able to prompt her waking brain, she finally made that connection with her subconscious she’d been lacking… and remembered.

She’d been dreaming about Penny Nolan… at least, that’s who she’d been told the woman was. A young woman who had drowned herself for love and now haunted the water meadows. Lucy had looked her up one afternoon, during her apprenticeship with Jacobs, and there was a recorded drowning there, along with Jacobs’ notes on where he’d strewed iron in an attempt to quell the ghost- so that part of the story was true. What hadn’t been true, at least when Lucy had experienced it- was who was calling her name.

Lucy started shivering, and wrapped her arms around herself, tears rising up again. She not only remembered the events clearly now, she remembered the name the woman had been calling. 

It wasn’t ‘Lucy,’ at all- it had been ‘Francesca.’  

And her younger self- even though she had lost her memory- somehow recognized it as her name. Looking back on the memory in that light made it obvious that Mary had been scared, not because it was a visitor she wasn’t able to detect in any measurable way, but because she could hear the woman, too, and realized what would happen if Lucy answered that call.

“Oh, god,” Lucy whimpered, curling herself into Lockwood’s ready arms.

Mary had said Lucy might end up hating her over this… but Lucy had been too focused on the other things Mary had said to think about why that might be. But now she knew- Mary had prevented her from responding to the one person who might have scotched the Carlyles’ plans for her- and their whole kidnapping scheme.

With shaky, breathless words, Lucy told her boys what she’d been dreaming about. She didn’t know for sure who the woman calling her name had been… but there was really only one possibility.

“It has to have been the aunt,” George said, when she was done. “That’s the only thing that would make sense- she still lived near enough to go out searching on her own, even long after the official search for Francesca was over. I wish we knew whether or not she actually saw you, Lucy, or if she was just shouting her niece’s name because that was the only thing she could think of. I guess we’ll never know.”

Lucy just sat there, curled into Lockwood and staring at nothing in particular, thinking despairingly of how the voice had gotten closer just before she and Mary ran for the embankment. 

“I’ve been dreaming of it for weeks now, I’m sure of it,” she said, sounding just as despairing as she felt. She felt a sting of conscience as she recognized how she herself would have reacted to anyone else sounding so affected. She was an agent! She should be better at controlling at least the appearance of emotion. Lucy swallowed hard and continued, in a much more composed tone. “I could never remember the dream when I woke up, though. Even tonight, it took the two of you telling me what I was saying in my sleep to bring it back.”

Lockwood squeezed her gently. “I don’t know whether to be sorry about that or not,” he admitted after a moment.

“Not,” Lucy answered immediately, a little surprised to find that it was the truth.

George nodded in agreement. “It’s always better to know, even if it’s bad news. At least then, you’re not imagining worse, or just anxious all the time without knowing why.”

Lucy sighed. “I hate to agree with George- he’s pretty insufferable as it is- but he’s right anyway. At least I might sleep better, now that my subconscious has finally been heard.”

“God, I hope so,” Lockwood muttered. “You’ve got very sharp elbows and knees, Luce.”

Lucy shoved him a bit with her shoulder where it was nestled in his ribcage and he chuckled.

“And on that note, I’m going to bed,” George said.

He got up and left, and Lockwood patted Lucy on the back. 

“We’d better follow his example,” he said. “Especially if you’re right and you will actually sleep well tonight.”

“Right,” Lucy said, and levered herself upright. 

They went upstairs together and by unspoken consent, headed for Lockwood’s room. Lately, Lucy hadn’t always known where she would prefer to sleep- either with Lockwood, or in the attic by herself- and often migrated from one to the other in the middle of the night. But tonight, after the revelation she’d just had, she needed the comfort of Lockwood’s arms. Not that anything was likely to happen between them tonight- he was tired from the case, and she was exhausted and emotionally drained, and all she wanted was companionship and to not wake up alone.

—

Lucy slept late the next morning- which wasn’t unusual- but when she woke up, she actually felt rested for once. And since there wasn’t anything very pressing to do, she took the opportunity to lie in bed and think about her situation. With a decent night’s sleep behind her, she felt a lot more calm and level-headed about the whole thing. She could actually think about turning out to be a Bridgerton all this time and not instantly burst into tears, although it still made her distinctly sad and uncomfortable.

Still… Lockwood might be on to something with his idea of speaking to someone professionally. Now that the Problem was officially winding down, DEPRAC had assembled a list of therapists and other mental health experts to help agents and former agents process their experiences and transition into a post-Problem world. Her issues weren’t exactly agent or Problem related, but it might be a good place to start looking. Lucy decided that she would call and ask for that list- that, at least, couldn’t hurt. If she decided she didn’t want to use it after all, well… that could be her business.

But first, she needed to talk to Mary again. … Or did she? 

In the light of day, Lucy examined the new memory again. She remembered what had come after they finally made it back- not home- to the Carlyle’s house. She remembered the sting of the wooden spoon on her backside, and the way she couldn’t sit down for two days without feeling it. And she also remembered the sharp look mum had thrown at Mary when Lucy confessed to hearing the woman calling her name. 

Lucy couldn’t recall if, even then, she’d been aware that the woman by the river had called a completely different name than the one the Carlyles forced on her (although she liked ‘Lucy’ as a name- a lot more than ‘Francesca’ if it came down to it). She might have been too scared to say, if she did remember that. Either way, mum had sat her down and explained all about Penny Nolan and how she’d best stay away from the river, lest she be lured in to be ghost-touched, or drowned herself. It had surprised Lucy at the time- not the warning, but the care mum had taken to explain things to her so that she understood why it wasn’t a good idea to go back there. Usually, mum and dad would simply bark orders at her and expect her to obey or feel the back of their hands- or belts.

In hindsight, Lucy could see how it was all carefully orchestrated to make her believe there was a perfectly rational explanation for why she’d recognized that someone was calling her, and why it would be dangerous to act on that. 

Lucy hadn’t blamed Mary for not turning in their ‘parents’ long ago- they’d both been scared and threatened into obedience, and at some point had become accustomed to how things were. But, in this at least, Mary had been complicit. She’d acted against Lucy’s best interests, bringing her back to the Carlyle’s like she’d been told to do. She might not have recognized Lucy’s real name when she heard it, but she knew what would happen if Lucy ran toward that voice.

If Lucy had been discovered then… well, anything could have happened. Lucy would have gone back to her family (she carefully didn’t even think what name they might have had), and Mary… well, Mary might have gone back to the Carlyles on her own, and been punished. Perhaps even killed, in order to hide the evidence. Maybe Dad would have killed all three of their ‘adopted’ kids. 

But maybe they would have kept her alive, just restricted to the house.

But would that have mattered? Lucy knew who she’d been living with. She could have identified them easily, even if she didn’t consciously remember her real name at the time. There would have been an investigation, surely. 

The Carlyles had those faked adoption papers… that might have fooled everyone but Aunt Winnifred. She, of course, would know her own niece. But they might not have believed her, thinking that she’d only mistaken Lucy for her missing niece. She’d probably gone a bit barmy from grief at the time, so it was likely they might not have even called the rest of the Bridgertons to come up and check on Lucy’s identity. And Lucy couldn’t have told the police who her real family was. At the time, and even since then, all she’d known of family life was the Carlyles.

So, maybe, Aunt Winnie gets carted off to a hospital, Lucy thought to herself. And I get shipped off by the Carlyles, to get me out of the area. Or maybe the Carlyles pack up and move, and leave us behind to fend for ourselves- or take us with them to set up shop somewhere else. Either way, it’s even odds that I would have ended up back with my family or still under mum and dad’s thumb. If they’d moved, dad probably would have become worse than ever, and maybe lived longer so that I’d never have been able to leave at all.

It was a chilling thought. 

Yes, what Mary had done that evening played right into the Carlyles’ plans. But if she hadn’t, who knew where they would have ended up? 

It was done and over with and couldn’t be changed. Mary had acted from fear, and neither of them had the happiest of childhoods because of it… but both of them had ended up in a fairly good place. 

Mary had Lenny and the kids- although they might be going through a rough patch just now because of how Mary had let her husband know about her past- and Lucy had George, Holly, and most of all, Lockwood. The Problem was on its way out, and things were looking up for the merry old state of England.

Would that still be true if Lucy had gone back to the Bridge- her real family? 

George probably would still have ended up with Lockwood, but if they never found a Listener quite as good as her, and Lockwood never overcame that death wish of his, they probably would have died early- if not in the Hope’s house, or Combe Carey Hall, then during the Bickerstaff case. 

George probably wouldn’t have forgotten the iron chains for the Hope’s, or Lockwood wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave without George, given he had no one else to rely on. And possibly they would have figured out the hidden door in the Red Room in time… but without someone who could hear and understand the skull, Lockwood wouldn’t have found out where George was after he went back to the Cemetery, and who knows if he would have had the courage to go on after losing his best mate along with everyone else? He might just have given in, or perhaps turned to relic dealing, like Flo.

Either way, Marissa would still be masquerading as her own grand-daughter, and Steve Rotwell would be well on his way to establishing his own set of spirit gates, making the Problem that much worse across the entire country and maybe even the world. 

Maybe someone else would have risen up to take Lockwood and Co.’s place in finding and eliminating the threats… but it didn’t seem likely. Their own success had been threaded through with truly astonishing amounts of luck, and it took a mind like George’s- very rare indeed- to identify the patterns and keep digging for the answers past the point any reasonable person would have given up, either from frustration at the lack of information, or from fear, as they got close to the truth of the matter, and ran into the dangers that came with that knowledge.

In the end, what really mattered was that Lucy was here, in this time and place, with the people she’d come to love. Maybe Mary had made a mistake back then… but maybe not. Either way, Lucy could find happiness now.

Chapter Text

Daphne Bassett, Duchess of Hastings, sat in the study with her husband Simon, waiting impatiently for his lawyers to arrive. The law firm had arranged this meeting after nearly three weeks of radio silence, thus forcing her to rely purely on instinct and muscle memory to get through Kate and Mama’s annual Spring Ball. 

But even that had been a week ago now, and she was finding it very difficult to sit still. Simon rubbed her shoulder in a soothing way she would normally have relaxed into, but today she was so on edge the attempt to soothe her merely irritated already inflamed nerves.

Daphne got up and started pacing, trying to breathe and compose herself again, but only succeeding in getting more worked up.

“Breathe, Daph,” Simon said, worried eyes on her. “I understand why you’re anxious, but-”

“Don’t tell me you understand, Simon,” Daphne snapped. “You couldn’t possibly understand- you’ve never lost a brother or sister, much less had one disappear on you, only to possibly turn up without even knowing who she is after more than a decade!” 

She stopped where she was and lightly touched her temples, trying to center herself. She took several deep breaths, holding them and then releasing them. Her hands were shaking, making it hard to focus. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, more quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that- about you not having brothers and sisters. It’s not fair, especially when you did know the loss of a father.”

Simon just snorted. “Hardly- you can’t really miss something you never had.”

“That’s not true,” Daphne said. “It’s quite possible to miss things you never had, especially when you see the people around you enjoying them. Anyway… I’m frazzled, and I’m lashing out, and I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

The worst part was that she hardly knew what answer she was hoping for. 

If Lucy Carlyle did turn out to be her sister after all… well, that would solve one mystery, but open up a couple of new ones for investigation. Why didn’t she remember being Francesca? What had her ‘adoptive’ family done to her to erase or block her memories, and could it be undone? Would she even want it to be undone? Lucy had, by her own reckoning, just turned seventeen, but Francesca wouldn't be seventeen for another six months or so. It was highly likely that she’d been lied to about her age and birthdate, but how that news would impact her was hard to tell.

And she was very clearly in a relationship with someone who was both her boss, and her landlord. If Lucy was her missing sister, then Daphne knew just how well that would fly with Anthony. He would be ready to murder Lockwood, which would not go over well with Lucy. Or Daphne, for that matter. She didn’t really know either of them, but Anthony had made an ass of himself over all of his sisters’ relationships so far, so Daphne was preemptively on Lucy’s side, in this case.

Unless and until Anthony Lockwood proved himself to be unworthy, that is.

And then there was their mother. Lady Violet had more or less come to terms with the dual losses of her husband and her daughter, but she still had days when she retreated to her rooms and hardly spoke to anyone. No doubt that her mother would welcome Lucy with grateful tears, and open arms… but what if Lucy didn’t want to be welcomed? What if she showed how uncomfortable she was every time mama tried to mother her?

By Lucy’s own account, the only mother figure she’d known was an abusive and neglectful woman who cared more about Lucy’s earnings and her own reputation than she cared about Lucy herself. Daphne had heard of children latching on to new mothers with grateful desperation… but she’d also heard the opposite story- children who had been so hurt that they mistrusted any sign of open affection, especially from strangers, and avoided such until a lengthy process of familiarization had happened.

Daphne wasn’t sure her mother would survive an open display of hostility or rejection from Lucy, once she accepted her as her missing daughter.

And yet… if Lucy was lying, or perhaps if her story was true, but she turned out to be the missing daughter of some other family… that would be another blow to Daphne’s heart. It really wasn’t fair that she’d had to endure so many years with the yawning void that was Francesca’s absence in their family. The wound had scabbed over in the intervening years, but Daphne was often aware of it even so. She would look at her own children and wonder what she would do if one of them went missing… she’d cried herself to sleep in Simon’s arms because of that fear, especially after the first had been born. Therapy had helped, but nothing could take that fear away entirely.

Lucy’s story was so achingly close to what she’d always imagined had happened- that little Fran had been kidnapped, and been taken away for nefarious reasons. The kidnappers profiting off of her Talent was, admittedly, not something she’d thought of, but it made a depressing kind of sense. It was both better and worse than the fates she had sometimes imagined for Franny.

If it turned out that Lucy wasn’t Francesca after all, that wound would have been opened up again for nothing. No healing would come, no chance at a new relationship, no family made whole. Instead, there would only be more pain, and the renewed fear that Francesca would never be found.

Thankfully, Daphne wasn’t left to stew in her worries for much longer. A knock on the study door heralded the arrival of the lawyers. Simon stood up to greet them and Daphne turned away just long enough to arrange her expression into a welcoming, but neutral, smile, hiding her fears away.

The lawyers spent some time shuffling briefcases and papers around, but eventually that had to stop and they had to actually talk to her. And Simon. But mostly her.

“Your Grace set us a pretty puzzle, my lord Duke,” the lead lawyer said- Daphne thought his name was Johnathan- “and we have done our best to solve it. Unfortunately, there were only so many puzzle pieces we could find. The background information on the young lady in question was helpful, up to a point. Lucy Carlyle has a birth certificate with the name she is currently using, and a certificate of adoption, reporting the change of name from Francine Waters to Lucy Carlyle. We have school registrations, an apprenticeship to a local ghost-hunting agency, a steady progression of agency certifications and commendations, and a thin medical file, all under the name of Lucy Carlyle.”

“Francine Waters…” Daphne said, struck by the similarity of the name on that adoption certificate. There was only a little bit of difference between Francesca and Francine, and the last name of Waters , well… what are bridges used for if not to cross water? Could this be the elder Carlyle’s way of laughing at them? Taking one of her sisters and using a remarkably similar fake name on their forged adoption…

“We were unable to find any trace of a Francine Waters of the correct age and description,” the lawyer continued on, “in any orphanages, hostels, group homes, or police records either locally, or further afield. There are, naturally, several other people who bear or bore the same or similar name, but we’ve determined that none of them could have been the same Francine Waters who became Lucy Carlyle.”

“Additionally, though the adoption document exists, and appears to be legitimate, there is evidence that the judge who apparently signed it had taken a leave of absence at that particular time, making it more likely to be a clever forgery. Additionally, it is just the certificate itself, without any of the other paperwork attached to an adoption. Typically, adoptions are a lengthy process and involve doctor’s visits, psychiatric assessments of the adoptive family, inspections of the new residence, trial periods where the child lives with the family- all of it happening before the adoption can be finalized, and all of it documented. Even after that finalization, there are often follow-up interviews and inspections, in order to make sure the adopted child has been well-placed. None of these things appear to have been done properly, or at all, either in the case of Lucy Carlyle’s adoption, or in the adoptions of the three other girls the Carlyle family took in. In fact- but that has no bearing on this particular case,” the lawyer stopped himself.

Daphne held her breath, then let it out. “So… what does that mean?” she asked.

“What it means, is that Lucy Carlyle’s adoption is likely to be a forgery, and possibly illegal,” the lawyer said. “I will not say that it is illegal, because only a judge may determine that, and there may be mitigating circumstances of which I am unaware- such as a fire which destroyed records, for example. But, as far as the adoption process with which I and my colleagues are familiar, it simply didn’t happen. In my opinion, Miss Carlyle has a strong case for fraud and kidnapping against her still living adoptive parent.”

“What about the rest of her story,” Simon asked, when Daphne didn’t respond. “The part where the sister claimed the adoptive family had Miss Carlyle sedated for a time?”

The lawyer paused. “It is difficult to verify such details, not only because so much time has passed, but also because this type of criminal behavior very often doesn’t leave much of a paper trail. We found some inventory discrepancies at the local hospital, but the dates the equipment went missing do not correspond to the dates given us of the likely time in which Miss Carlyle was kidnapped. Interestingly, they do occur several months before the Carlyle’s first ‘adopted’ daughter was enrolled in the school there. An inference can possibly be made, but without any evidence, or any idea where to look for the equipment itself, I’m afraid that is a dead end.”

“Did you talk to the other adopted sisters?” Daphne asked, clasping her hands tightly to stop them from shaking. “Surely they must be able to corroborate Mary Carlyle’s story.”

The lawyer grimaced. “Several attempts were made to speak with Laura Barnsmith and Connie Haversham, both of them former Carlyles, but neither were willing to speak without being legally compelled to do so. We also tried to interview Mrs. Jane Carlyle, but she also refused to speak with us.”

“I’ll bet she did,” Simon muttered. 

Daphne couldn’t help but agree. Granted, their refusal wasn’t a guarantee of guilt- how many times had she heard from these very same lawyers never to speak to anyone on a possible legal matter without having attending counsel to advise her? But in these circumstances, it did seem more sinister than prudent.

“Where does this leave the investigation?”

“Unfortunately, there is little more we can do. Our recommendation would be to proceed with a DNA test, assuming Miss Carlyle is amenable to that. It really is the only way to be sure.”

Daphne sighed. She herself would be willing, but she knew from previous attempts to verify someone as her sister, that it was better if the suspect DNA was compared to multiple other strands. Previously, those other strands had been Anthony and their mother, but that might not be the best idea at the moment. Anthony in particular was likely to be against another DNA test, and as for their mother… well, she might be a little too eager- another symptom of that never-completely-dealt-with depression.

Well, whatever happened next, it was clear that she was out of options she could pursue without involving her brother.

—

Lucy’s first appointment with a therapist from the DEPRAC list of mental health experts was a smashing failure. The hyper man she’d been paired with seemed to think her main issue was working for the man she was dating, and wouldn’t listen to anything she said on the subject. From the way he smiled at her and hinted at knowing how it felt to be pressured into a relationship she didn’t really want, Lucy came away from the appointment feeling like he was trying to break her up so he could be her rebound.

She stopped at the front desk on her way out to refuse any more appointments with him.

The next one was better, in that the old lady- she had fluffy white hair, so Lucy felt justified in calling her old- didn’t try to break up her relationship, and listened when Lucy talked about her actual concern. What she didn’t seem to get, though, was that Lucy wasn’t that broken-up about the kidnapping part of it.

Yes, it was awful that had happened to her… but a lot of awful things had happened to her. None of those had ever actually interfered with her job, though. What Lucy needed was to get a handle on the way that simply thinking of becoming Francesca Bridgerton could make her cry. As long as that was happening, Lockwood wouldn’t let her go on anything by verified Type One cases.

Yet the lady was insistent on trying to get Lucy to recognize the horror she had endured as a child, which was something Lucy just didn’t understand.

She knew it was messed up- of course it was! In a way, Lucy’s entire life , even after joining Lockwood and Co., was one horrifying experience after another. She understood that, and even regretted it. But she saw no benefit in lingering on those traumas when she had an (almost) entirely separate issue to deal with.

Lucy left the session confused about whether she should stand her ground on confronting her (suddenly terrifying) future, or allow the old woman to direct her attention to her past.

In the end, she called the office after two days and- politely, this time- refused any more sessions with the old lady.

By this time Lucy was about ready to call it quits on the whole ‘therapy’ thing. Wasn’t it supposed to be easy? Healing? So many of the testimonials she’d been given along with the list of therapists talked about how much it had helped so many agents. Why was her experience one of frustration and confusion?

Fortunately, Quill Kipps convinced her to give it at least a couple more tries.

“It’s like donuts,” he’d said, while they sat at the kitchen table indulging in said dessert. “George likes jam-filled, and Lockwood likes almond buns. I prefer cake, and you always go for the crullers. Therapists are like different types of donuts- not everyone is going to like the same kind, but there’s a lot of different styles to choose from.”

“I bet they’d love the comparison,” Lucy snarked. “I’ll be sure to tell my favorite therapist they’re like a cruller. That will cheer them right up after hearing my sad, sad story.”

Kipps rolled his eyes and protested, but they were both aware that he’d won the argument.

Lucy tried again.

This time the old man was quiet and attentive, but just… didn’t have anything to offer. Lucy went to two more sessions with him before telling him at the end of the final session that his blank-wall impression wasn’t doing anything for her. Predictably, he just nodded and made a note on his pad of paper. Then, to her surprise, he flipped the page, wrote something else on a different one, tore it out, and handed it to her.

“Dr. Eileen Graham?” Lucy read out loud.

He nodded, pointed his pen at the paper, and looked at her over his glasses. Lucy rolled her eyes, but also smiled.

“I guess I can give her a try,” she said, and said goodbye.

—

Lockwood was in the basement finishing up some paperwork when Holly came down, looking a little concerned.

“It’s Inspector Barnes,” she said. “He just showed up- didn’t call ahead like he usually does.”

“Right,” Lockwood said, still more than half concentrating on filling in the form he was working on. “Tell him I’ll be right up? And get some tea going, please.”

“Of course. Kettle’s already on the hob,” Holly said, and disappeared back upstairs.

It only took Lockwood another minute to complete the form, and then he followed, heading straight for the sitting room.

Inspector Barnes was eyeing their new furnishings with a warily approving expression.

“Good afternoon, Inspector,” Lockwood said, offering his hand. “Admiring the new decorations? We’ve worked very hard to erase the damage Winkman and his goons left behind.”

“Mr. Lockwood,” he acknowledged. “Sorry to barge in on you like this- although I must say the place looks better than ever… though I have to admit I’d be wary of poking into the cupboards, knowing the kind of things you kept around the house before. The way it looked then, you expected to find skulls in silverglass jars tucked away into a nook or cranny. Now, however… well, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

Lockwood controlled his impulse to snap at the older man, and invited him to sit down instead.

“What can I do for you? Is there a case giving DEPRAC trouble?” he asked, as Holly came in with the tea tray. She’d thought ahead and had her notebook tucked under her right arm. Lockwood poured the tea so she could get herself situated.

“No, no- nothing like that. Anyway, UPRA can handle our own cases,” Barnes said, his bushy mustache making him look like a slightly bilious walrus as he sipped from the cup. “No, this visit doesn’t concern a case. I’m… following up on a report, that’s all.”

“What report?” Lockwood asked, frowning. Had one of their recent clients had a complaint they didn’t bring to him?

“I understand a member of your company is seeking help,” Barnes said, a bit stiffly. “Professional therapy, in point of fact.”

Lockwood sat up a little straighter, and noticed Holly sitting very still as well out of the corner of his eye.

“I don’t believe that is any of your business,” Lockwood said, just as stiff. “At any rate, I would think that, if one of us was seeking that sort of help, your lot would be all for it. You provide a list of therapists, for god’s sake!”

“Oh, no, I’m not looking for details, Mr. Lockwood,” Barnes hurried to assure him. “And this is no kind of witch hunt. We do provide that list, and I always count it a good thing when it’s used the way it should be- I honestly wish more agents would take advantage, in fact. It’s just that your agency has been central to solving some very high-profile cases, up to and including the Problem itself. I just wanted to make you aware that word has got around, and you may encounter some... unusual media attention.”

“I see,” Lockwood said. “So, basically, you’re warning us?”

“Warning is too strong a word. I’m merely advising you to have some statement ready, that’s all. Always best to be prepared for awkward questions, you know. There’s still a general feeling that agents are brave young people who sacrifice for the good of all and don’t complain. That was the view popularized by Marissa Fittes and Tom Rotwell, and unfortunately, it stuck. By and large, that’s not necessarily a bad thing- stoicism is needed at an active haunting- but at UPRA I’m trying to encourage a more modern line of thinking.”

“And what is that?” Holly asked, her voice crisp but polite.

“That, while stoicism is practical and needed in the field, there are times and places where it is healthy and necessary to let agents express and explore their emotions. You’re all children and teenagers, for god’s sake- bottling things up the way you’ve been taught to only leads to explosions further down the line. I don’t know how many former agents I’ve seen blow up their entire lives for want of a little introspection and therapy. It’s not the 1950’s anymore, you know- it’s perfectly acceptable to admit you need help in that way.”

Lockwood digested this entirely unexpected consequence of Lucy’s foray into therapy while he finished his own cup of tea. 

“I have to thank you, Inspector,” he said, eventually. “I believe you’re right about being prepared for awkward questions at our next interview. Would it be alright if we simply said that we’re testing, or perhaps complying with, new UPRA recommendations for agents about to age out of field work?”

Barnes’ mustache crinkled upward. “I see you understand me, Mr. Lockwood. Yes, I’d say that would just about do it.”

Chapter Text

Lucy started her first session with Dr. Eileen Graham with a sort of grim determination.

She’d learned some basic steps to follow through each of her previous therapy appointments. One, be clear and up-front about your problem, no matter how difficult you find it to talk about. Two, don’t be afraid to fire your therapist. Three, respect your therapist’s knowledge and advice, but don’t let them dictate what you actually need help with (see step one). And four, don’t be afraid to let your therapist know if their methods aren’t working for you (see step two).

Dr. Graham’s office looked a lot like she’d hired Holly Munro to decorate it for her, going by the neutral colors and emphasis on plants. Holly had originally tried to guide Portland Row’s redecoration along similar lines, until Lockwood put his foot down and insisted it be a team effort, with suggestions made and votes taken on most of the personalization.

Still, the place wasn’t off-putting or anything, so Lucy took her seat on the small couch. A few minutes later, the doctor came in. She was a nice-looking, tallish, dark-skinned woman with graying hair, and she smiled as she shook Lucy’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Carlyle,” she said. “Dr. Hardison let me know you would be making an appointment. I must say, it’s an honor to meet one of the agents responsible for solving the Problem.”

Lucy’s eyebrows rose a little- none of her other therapists had mentioned the connection, not even the creepy guy she went to first. She felt a little guilty- it was George who had tracked down all the information and pieced it together, George who had nearly been beaten to death just for the crime of being clever and relentless in his pursuit of the truth. She almost said as much… but then she stopped herself.

She wasn’t here to talk about George, or solving the Problem- and anyway it might not be a good idea to discuss that, considering the NDA’s Lockwood had made them all sign.

“Er, thanks,” she said, after a moment. “It was a team effort, you know. I wouldn’t want to claim all, or even most, of the credit.”

Dr. Graham just smiled again, and took her seat in the armchair opposite the couch. Lucy didn’t know why, but most of the offices she’d been in had this set-up. The patient would be seated on a sofa far too big for just one person, while the therapist sat in their own chair facing them. There might or might not be a coffee table between them, upon which there might or might not be a cup of tea.

“So, what’s so overwhelming in your life that you’re actually seeking help with it?” Dr. Graham asked.

Again, Lucy found herself reeling mentally. When she just blinked in confusion, Dr. Graham smiled.

“I’m familiar with agents, Ms. Carlyle,” she said. “I’m very familiar with the way the best of you tend to push anything and everything down until there’s no room anymore. And even then, most of you just continue to carry on as best you can, without admitting that you’re slowly losing control. I’m actually quite happy to see that you haven’t already burst into tears, although I do have tissues available if you feel the urge to while you’re here.”

Lucy immediately felt dread in the pit of her stomach. The doctor folded her hands, leaning one elbow on the arm of her chair and cocked her head. 

“I want to state right here and now that I will do no judging on any loss of emotional control you may have during our sessions. Crying, screaming, fits of rage- I’ve seen it all. In my opinion, it’s often a long-needed release, and I usually urge my patients to find healthy outlets to continue with that release. These outlets may include joining a boxing club, watching sad movies or listening to music that speaks to them, or writing truly scathing and vitriol-laden letters that they never actually send to the people whom they address.”

Lucy licked her lips, suddenly not too sure about this therapist, either. Still, she was already here. She might as well give this one a fair chance.

“I’m not sure I’ll need any of that,” she said, clasping her hands together. She’d found they always started shaking when she got close to actually talking about her fear of being a Bridgerton. “My problem isn’t exactly agent related. It’s… more personal.”

Dr. Graham nodded. “Alright,” she said. 

Lucy took a deep breath, and tried to relax her throat, which was trying to close up on her. “I recently found out that, while I always believed I was adopted growing up, I was actually kidnapped,” she forced out. “For my Talent.”

Her first appointment, she’d floundered around, trying to explain all the history behind the true heart of the matter. Since then, she’d learned it was better to keep it simple.

“Anyway,” she continued when Dr. Graham’s eyebrows rose, “that’s not actually what’s bothering me, though. It was a shock to hear it, I won’t say it wasn’t… but in hindsight, it makes so much more sense than the adoption story. But the problem is that I… may have found my birth family. They seem like nice people,” Lucy continued, closing her eyes on the expected, unwelcome tears, “but I don’t know them, and they’re all posh and elegant and… well, everything I’m not. And everytime I think about… belonging to them, being a part of their family… well!”

Lucy huffed a short laugh and indicated the tears before wiping her eyes. “I start crying! It doesn’t make any sense to me, and it’s beginning to affect my work. My boss won’t let me go on any cases that aren’t confirmed Type Ones right now. And I know he’s right- I’d be a liability and a danger to the rest of them. But I can’t just sit at home, either, crying all the time.” 

“So, anyway,” she sniffed and wiped her eyes again, keeping her gaze on the gentle wave pattern of the area rug under the coffee table. “That’s why I’m here.”

Dr. Graham sighed audibly. Then she opened the top of what Lucy had assumed was just one of those fancy, fabric covered side tables and pulled out a box of tissues. She handed it over, and Lucy took several tissues to wipe her cheeks before holding the box on her lap. She wasn’t shy about blowing her nose either.

“Ms. Carlyle, given what you’ve just told me, I can only imagine that your tendency to cry at the mere thought of your birth family is only the tip of an entire iceberg of problems you’ve managed to overcome in your short life. However, let’s address that first- you say you can’t even think about being a part of their family without tearing up?”

Lucy nodded, a few more tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Were you at all close to your ‘adoptive’ family?” Dr. Graham asked. “And just to be clear, I’m only calling them that because that’s what you believed about them all this time. If you’d prefer me to call them something else, please let me know.”

“It’s fine,” Lucy said. “I did think they adopted me. And no, I wasn’t close to them- not really. Well, there was Mary,” she amended. “Mary was the ‘adopted’ kid next oldest to me. She’s about two years older- if our birthdays are right, anyway. I… I suppose I don’t actually know when I was born, now,” she realized, pausing to reflect on that extremely weird notion. Then she shook her head. “Anyway, Mary was usually nice, and played with me. Mum and Dad mostly made her take care of me before I went to work for Jacobs.”

“Jacobs was an agency?” Dr. Graham prompted.

Lucy nodded. “The only one around for miles. But that’s the north for you- not much population except in the big cities.”

“And how old were you then?”

“Eight. It’s the earliest you can apprentice. I still went to school for half-days until I got my Grade Three certificate at eleven.”

Dr. Graham’s eyebrow twitched. “I see. So, until you were eight, this adopted sister- Mary- took care of you?”

“Mostly. It was just about a year or so. I used to feel bad for her, because she turned out not to have any Talent at all, so dad, and later mum, were harder on her than the rest of us. I didn’t see her much after I moved here, but we’d write letters and all. She’s the one who finally told me the truth.” Lucy tried to suppress a shudder at the thought of that terrible conversation and the not-quite memories it had pulled up.

“And you believed her, just like that? Or is there other evidence to support that rather extreme claim?”

Lucy tried to smile, but it fell flat. 

“It made sense,” she said, shrugging. “And… well, there has to be a reason why I don’t remember anything before the Carlyles, right? She told me they kept me drugged and asleep for two months after bringing me home. But yes, there was other evidence, actually. There was a necklace… and apparently she’d done some research into our “adoptions,” and found out they were pretty shady. There’s supposed to be all this paperwork and forms, and doctor visits, and all. But none of us remember anything like that. We just… woke up there, with the Carlyles telling us they’d just adopted us and we should call them mum and dad.”

Dr. Graham frowned. “That does seem suspicious. Your sister is right- adoption is normally an involved process that requires a lot of paperwork and sign-offs. That should all be attached to your adoption files, which should be available to you. Some information may be redacted, depending on whether or not the adoption is closed, or open- that just refers to whether or not the birth parents are named in the adoption, in case the child wants to try to find them once they’re an adult,” she explained, when Lucy frowned at the terms.

Lucy shook her head, still frowning. “The most I ever saw was the adoption certificate. Nothing else- certainly no file.”

“Alright, that’s one piece of evidence. You mentioned a necklace?”

“Yes,” Lucy said, flushing. “It’s… what’s led to maybe finding my birth family. It’s a gold necklace with a heart charm, and there’s an initial carved into the heart. Mary always said it was mine, and she kept it safe for me while I was still living at home, but then she sent it to me as soon as I was settled here in London. The initial on the heart wasn’t mine, though, so I always kind of thought she’d found it somewhere and just wanted me to have it for some reason. Anyway, we- we did a case, recently. The visitor ended up being a relative of the family- someone who had been responsible for a little girl who disappeared.”

Lucy’s knee started jiggling. “We did the job, and found the source, and everything seemed to be fine. I didn’t have any flash-backs or anything- I mean, it was a little weird sleeping there- it was a country house, so we couldn’t exactly get a nightcab home, you know?- but other than that… But then a couple days later, the lady came around again, and this time she wanted to know if I remembered anything from around the time the girl went missing.”

Lucy paused, blinking rapidly. “It happened right before I turned up with the Carlyles, you see. I had to tell her I didn’t remember anything because it happened before I got there… and then she took out this old photo… and it looked exactly like me, except the clothes were wrong and the hair was wrong. Turns out it was some grandmother in her family- well, her husband’s family. She married in. Anyway… that initial on the necklace matched the name of the girl who disappeared.”

“I didn’t believe the necklace was actually mine, though,” Lucy rushed to add, afraid that Dr. Graham might think she was merely trying to get help convincing the Bridgertons she really was Francesca, or something. “So I called Mary, and she came down, and explained everything. I still didn’t really believe her that I could be that missing girl… but I thought the necklace might help them find some other evidence, so I called them and gave it to them.”

“How did they react to that?” Dr. Graham asked after a little pause to make sure Lucy wasn’t going to keep going.

Lucy shrugged. “The lady brought one of the sisters with her- she didn’t seem to be that impressed, but that’s fine. I wasn’t asking them to believe I was the missing girl. I just let them take the necklace with them. Mary went home, and… I thought that was that.”

“But?” Dr. Graham prompted again.

Lucy pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. “But, I… remembered something.”

“Something from before the Carlyles?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, not before. It was after, but… I think it must have been right after- I don’t remember much from the time right after I woke up there. It’s hazy and disjointed, anyway. But… I remember that Mary was allowed to take me out to play once, and we lost our ball. We were searching for it when I thought I heard someone calling me. I told Mary, but she just looked scared- it was nearly curfew- and said she didn’t hear anything.”

“Listening is my main Talent, you see,” Lucy explained, looking up at the doctor for the first time in a while. “So, then, we both thought it must be some ghost and ran home before the last curfew bell could ring. And then mum told me that there had been a woman drowned near the stream we were playing by. So I always thought it must have been her- Penny Nolan, her name was, before she drowned.”

“But?” Dr. Graham asked again, more gently this time.

“I haven’t been sleeping well, lately,” Lucy said. “Dreams I couldn’t really remember. But the other night, I stayed home from a job, and when the boys came back, I was sleeping on the sofa. They woke me up- they said I’d been muttering something and tossing and turning- and that’s when I remembered.”

More tears escaped, but Lucy just sniffed and got on with it. “The lady- she’d been calling for the other girl. Her name- not, not ‘Lucy.’ And, even though I can’t remember anything about my life before the Carlyles, somehow the younger me knew that she was calling my name. So. I mean, it just makes it worse, you know? Because now I’ve remembered something that makes me think I am that other girl… and for some reason I don’t want to be.”

Lucy roughly pulled out more tissues and defiantly blew her nose, wiping her cheeks at the same time.

Dr. Graham sighed again. “That is quite the story, Ms. Carlyle. I believe you- at least in that you’ve told me what you honestly believe happened to you. Has anyone looked into it? Have you gotten the police involved, for example?”

Lucy shook her head. “No. After I told the lady and the sister, I let it be. It’s been so long… and I’m free of the Carlyles anyway. I don’t ever have to go back there if I don’t want to. What would be the point of making a fuss?”

Dr. Graham’s brows rose high. “Justice for your birth family, for one, and the possibility of finding the birth families of the other children the Carlyles kidnapped, if kidnapped they were. I’m sure they, at least, would like some closure on the issue of their missing children, even if the children themselves have moved on. There’s also the issue of making sure other potential kidnappers don’t try to do the same thing. I, for one, would very much like to know what kind of drugs they used, and how, to make you forget your previous lives so completely that you didn’t even question your new life. If it could be reversed, you might regain memories that would make it easier for you to accept your birth family, for example.”

Lucy sat back and sniffed. “I didn’t think of that… Would it really be possible?”

Dr. Graham shrugged and shifted. “I don’t know. Drugs are not my area of expertise, I’m afraid, so I can’t tell you for certain. But if you don’t even explore the possibility, you won’t ever know if it is possible.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay- I can see that.”

“As for your difficulty with accepting your birth family… you’ve told me you weren’t close to the Carlyles. Did you ever consider anyone else as ‘family?’” the doctor asked.

Lucy nodded again. “Yes- my team, up north. We worked together for so long they became more than friends. It’s why I couldn’t stay there after they died. And here- Lockwood and George, and even Holly… they’re so important to me. They are my family,” Lucy admitted, starting to cry again.

And once again she was frustrated with the constant tears- of course Lockwood and Co. were her family! She’d known that for years now! So why was it making her cry??

Dr. Graham smiled wryly. “Well… I think I’ve identified your problem, Ms. Carlyle.”

Lucy sniffed again. “What? Already?”

She nodded. “You’re upset because you’re afraid of losing the people you care for most- your family- again. They might not be blood related, but after everything you’ve been through with them, your relationship resembles that of blood relatives, at least in your mind. I’ve seen it a lot in my practice- agents who forge bonds deeper than friendship with their teammates. Sometimes it’s just one or two of them, and sometimes it’s more.”

“What I think is happening is that you feel that bond being threatened by this new discovery of your birth family. And who could blame you? Whether you remember it or not, you lost your family twice- once as a small child, and then again when your teammates died.”

Tears were rolling down her cheeks again as something inside Lucy recognized the truth of what Dr. Graham was saying, but all she could do was sit and gape at her while her mind whirled.

“Since then you’ve been, I assume, content and stable with your new team for years. But now come all these revelations and complications and suddenly you feel like you’re going to lose your family again. All for people whom you feel no connection to, and maybe even feel negatively about, given how you described them earlier. ‘Posh, elegant, and everything I’m not,’ if I remember correctly. Those aren’t the words you use to describe people you admire, Ms. Carlyle- not in that tone of voice, anyway. It’s really no wonder you start crying, when you think about it that way.”

Lucy managed to stop the tears this time as she considered what she’d just heard.

It… it made sense!  

In fact, it made so much sense that Lucy scrunched up her face and leaned forward, digging fists into her eyes.

“Oh my god,” she groaned. “ Why couldn’t I figure that out for myself? It’s so obvious! ”

Dr. Graham sighed again. “Considering everything you’ve recently had dumped on you, I am not surprised it didn’t occur to you, Ms. Carlyle. You do not strike me as stupid by any means, but anyone would forgive you for not being able to think very clearly at the moment.”

Lucy let her hands drop, but kept her elbows on her knees. “So what now? How do I… fix it?”

“Well, I would suggest getting the police involved in your kidnapping case, first of all,” Dr. Graham said. “In many ways, all of this started with that one event. They should be able to find something more to go on than your sister’s word, a necklace, and a hazy memory you’ve only just now uncovered. Perhaps their findings would ease the burden of trying to decide what to believe.”

“Secondly, you can start mentally distancing yourself from your supposed birth family, while at the same time acknowledging that they might be your family.”

“What?” Lucy asked, completely confused by that last statement.

“What I mean is, you could think of them as relatives of yours, but distant ones: extended family who have lived on the continent until now, maybe. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins- something of that nature. People whose only commonality with you is that of blood. That way, there is no pressure on you to fit in with them right away- it’s to be expected that you won’t have much in common with people you may have heard about but never met. An exercise like that might let your mind accept them as related to you, while still honoring the bond of the family that you made for yourself . Perhaps later, as you get to know them, you’ll be able to acknowledge a closer relationship- sister, daughter, and etc.- but don’t worry about that right now. The goal at the moment is just to get to a place where you aren’t so unstable, emotionally.”

Lucy swore she could feel something in her mind relax- or maybe untangle- as she considered Dr. Graham’s suggestion. 

“That sounds good,” she said. “I think I can do that.”

“And talking to the police?”

Lucy winced. “Maybe… I don’t know. There’s a lot to consider. My other ‘adopted’ sisters, for one. I wasn’t ever close to them except for Mary, and I doubt they’d like me butting in and ruining things for them.”

“Why do you think simply telling the truth would be ruining things?”

Lucy shrugged. “Everyone’s settled now, aren’t they? They have families of their own, and I don’t think they would have told their husbands or children. What would there be to tell, except for what they already knew? Mum and dad didn’t treat them well, and they were happy to escape into marriages and make their own families. As far as I know, they don’t remember anything more than I do, which is nothing. It’s hard to justify causing a fuss and mucking up a good life, all for the sake of some other family you don’t even remember.”

Dr. Graham nodded thoughtfully. “I would ask you to consider it, though. Maybe speak with your sisters and ask if they would be willing to testify against the Carlyles if it came to that.”

“It’s only mum, now,” Lucy said, absently. “Dad died just about a year after they… took me, I guess- that’s what I should say, now, instead of ‘adopted,’ isn’t it?”

“It would be more accurate, according to what you’ve told me,” Dr. Graham agreed. “And there’s one more thing I want you to think about, Lucy.”

The use of her first name pulled Lucy back from thoughts of the nebulous future. “What?” she asked.

Dr. Graham didn’t immediately continue, seeming to search for the right words for a minute or two. Finally, she spoke.

“The Problem has dominated your life, and the lives of countless other Talented children, for a long time now. It became so common and so widespread that even places with relatively few or even no visitors still implemented safety measures like a curfew, putting up ghost lamps, and testing their children for Talent. Yet now, so many years after it started, you and your colleagues fought to find the truth about why , and then fought to reveal that truth, against the wishes of some very powerful people. Now, if you believed enough in justice to overturn that status quo, which affects a whole nation, why are you hesitating to overturn one that only affects you and the people you grew up with?”

Lucy didn’t know why, and said so.

“Well, I’d like you to think about it, and see if you can come up with an answer,” the doctor said, before standing up.

Lucy realized that the session must be over, and hurried to get up.

“Thank you,” she said, shaking Dr. Graham’s hand. “This has been so helpful- really.”

“I’m glad. And I hope you’ll come and see me again,” the doctor said, with a sardonic smile. “I’ll want to see how you get on with this. Besides, in my experience, agents always have more than one problem to sort out.”

Chapter Text

Lockwood was in the kitchen when he heard the front door open and close. Looking at the clock Holly had insisted on hanging, he judged it to be Lucy, back from her latest therapy session. Hopefully this one had gone better than the previous ones. True, the last three hadn’t made her come home in tears, but she’d been frustrated and disgruntled after them anyway. The first one had made her retreat into the basement until she’d worked off her anger, and after hearing about the way the man had essentially hit on her instead of helping her, Lockwood couldn’t blame her. 

Not that Lucy wasn’t pretty enough to be hit on, but it wasn’t a gentlemanly thing to do, and he especially didn’t like how that would have created an unhealthy power imbalance. There were still times Lockwood wondered whether or not he had created an unhealthy power imbalance between them, just by the fact that Lucy still worked for him and lived in his house. Not that he’d ever tried to use his position as agency head or landlord to force Lucy into doing anything.

Well, there had been that time after the Wintergarden case, when he’d essentially threatened to leave her home if she wouldn’t stop talking to ghosts instead of fighting them… but the way that had turned out was more than enough proof for him that trying to enforce his will on someone he fancied was a recipe for disaster.

But hopefully this session- with a new doctor, if he remembered correctly- had gone much better. He’d been worried when Lucy kept going to new therapists without, in his mind, giving them a fair trial, but Kipps had told him the same thing he’d told Lucy. Apparently, it was important to find a therapist whose style didn’t make you want to go out and drown yourself- something to remember as Lockwood slowly built up to actually finding one for himself.

Meanwhile, Lockwood popped bread in the toaster and put the kettle on. Lucy would no doubt want a nice cuppa, and toast was comfort food. Or so he’d been told- it always seemed to work for Lucy, anyway.

Not a minute after the kettle was almost boiling, Lucy entered the kitchen and came straight over to pull him into a tight hug.

“Hm!” he said appreciatively as he wrapped his arms around her. “Does this mean it was a good session, or a bad session? Whichever it is, I think you should have another one if this is the reaction I get when you come back from it.”

Lucy snorted into his chest, and he relaxed the slightest bit.

“You know, you and George and Holly… you’re my family. You know that, right?” She just about mumbled into his shoulder.

Lockwood huffed a laugh. “Yes, Lucy. Don’t worry, we know. You say it anytime you get a bit too tired after a case, or have a beer too many.”

“Okay,” was all she said. “As long as you know.”

George wandered in with a pile of papers in one hand, and an empty glass in the other just as the toast popped. Lucy let go of Lockwood so he could attend to it, but only so she could latch on to George instead.

“Er, hi Lucy,” George said, now effectively trapped near the sink.

“Georgie, you don’t mind having another sister do you?” Lucy asked.

Lockwood laughed as he buttered her toast.

“Did the new therapist offer you anything to drink, Luce? Because she might have put something in your tea,” George said, obviously trying to decide how to fill his glass without either putting his precious papers down, or risking getting them wet.

Lucy just snorted again and let him go. “Put your silly papers down and get your water, George. And no, I haven’t been drugged. I just realized something, is all.”

“I take it the session was a good one, then?” Lockwood confirmed.

“My papers, I’ll have you know,” George interrupted, following instructions. “Are anything but silly. The information that will keep us all alive tonight is found in papers just like these.”

“But not those papers, specifically?” Lockwood asked, giving in to the inevitable.

“Unfortunately, no,” George said. “I did find a fascinating theory on-”

Lockwood listened to George going off on another tangent while Lucy sat down and he put her toast and tea in front of her. She smiled at him, and they both glanced at George, who had his back turned rummaging in the fridge for a yogurt, before stealing a kiss. Lockwood was just sitting down like nothing had happened when George suddenly whirled around and pointed a yogurt cup at them accusingly.

“I saw that!”

“What?” Lockwood asked, while Lucy maintained a fantastically innocent expression.

“Lockwood’s been buttering my toast for ages, George,” she said, picking up a slice. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed before. You usually pay so much attention to details.”

George glowered at them, and grumbled under his breath while Lockwood manfully suppressed a smile. George dug a spoon out of the drawer and sat down at the table with them.

“So, it was a good session for you, Lucy?” he asked, echoing Lockwood.

“It was. I like this one- the doctor, I mean,” Lucy said, holding her mug and studying the swirl of cream. “She listened. I mean, she did end up telling me what I was thinking which was sort of annoying- but she was right, so I didn’t complain. It was… helpful.”

Lockwood and George exchanged a glance.

“Helpful?” Lockwood asked, infusing a wealth of questions into one word.

“Yep- enough that I think I can go on the case with you and George,” Lucy said. “Holly could use a night off, and I could use a night dealing with something a bit more exciting than a Tom-o-shadows.”

Lockwood’s anxieties- always close to the surface when it came to Lucy- surged up. “Are you sure?”

Lucy smiled, in a way she hadn’t quite managed ever since Lady Bridgerton showed up at their house for the second time… and Lockwood felt a ray of hope.

“I’m not saying it’s all fixed yet,” she temporized. “But she helped me find a way to think about things so that I don’t immediately burst into tears about it.”

“Good,” George proclaimed. “Next time, see if she can advise you on how to stop giving Lockwood those nauseating looks.”

“Ha!” Lucy scoffed. “As if you don’t look at Flo the same way!”

“Flo and I are responsible, mature, adults , and we keep our displays of affection to acceptable levels when in company.”

“By which you mean you fight like cats and dogs around us,” Lockwood stated. “I think I prefer mine and Lucy’s arrangement. Besides, you’ve only just turned eighteen, and you still have your Talents.”

“Can you really be considered an adult if you still have Talent?” Lucy mused, backing him up. “After all, everyone knows that adults don’t have any Talent.”

“Hey! There are documented cases of people retaining their Talents into the late twenties!” George protested. “And then there was Marissa Fittes, who… er,” he trailed off, looking suddenly sheepish. “That’s a bad example. She was extending her Talent artificially, so really, her case should be thrown out of the sample.”

Lockwood rolled his eyes. “I agree, but for entirely different reasons. Please don’t ever compare me to Marissa Fittes again.”

“You? What about me?” Lucy also complained. “I’m the Listener here… and to be honest, I’ve been thinking lately how I’d handle it if… well, if my Talent just never faded.”

Lockwood and George both looked at her, and she took a hurried bite of toast. “I mean, it’s possible, right? We know that journeying to the Other Side is at least part of what strengthened Marissa’s Talent. Consuming the ectoplasm probably helped, but… well, the skull always said the strength of my Talent is what drew ghosts to me, and that we all had, technically, died while over on the Other Side. Maybe ‘dying,’” she said, making the air-quotes, “extends the life of your Talent because you’ve, I don’t know, already sort of crossed over into their realm?”

“Like, forging a connection with death, you mean? Like a possession, but… for yourself?” George asked, frowning as he thought his way through Lucy’s logic.

Lucy shrugged and ran a hand through her hair. “Maybe? I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. It’s probably stupid, though. I’m sure my Talents- all of our Talents- will fade just like everyone else’s.”

“Well, that’s one thing I’m not going to be stuck thinking on,” Lockwood lied. 

One of his secret fears had always been becoming irrelevant as soon as his Sight went. He didn’t think he had it in him to hire Talented youngsters and guide them through hauntings he couldn’t sense, and he wasn’t about to ask any of the others to do it, either. 

They had those goggles that Kipps used, and UPRA had taken charge of the stores of personal visitor defenses and detectors that Fittes and the Orpheus Society had produced, so he could probably obtain a pair for himself, but… well, Lockwood wasn’t sure he could handle needing them. It would be a constant reminder that he could no longer do on his own what had once been so natural that it took effort not to see death-glows everywhere. 

Not only that, but there currently wasn’t an equivalent of the goggles for the psychic senses of Touch or Listening, so that meant he’d have to go out without George or Lucy. Holly could possibly be convinced to try the goggles, but Lockwood had a hard time imagining that. Holly had always been the employee least likely to miss her Talent in any way, however far she’d come in re-engaging with it under his leadership.

George probably was second, always tending to view his research as his most valuable contribution. Research was something that didn’t require any Talent, and he’d always been more interested in the Problem itself than in actually fighting visitors, so he would probably make the transition fairly easily.

Lucy, though… Lucy was like him. In the years she’d been with Lockwood and Co. she’d come to view herself as her Talent, largely because being able to talk with the skull was so useful (at times) and unique. And he knew her ‘adoptive’ family had always emphasized the importance of her Talent, so it was no wonder she identified so strongly with it. 

In a way it was comforting to think that their various trips to the Other Side might extend the time they had before their Talents faded completely, but inside Lockwood knew it wasn’t a healthy way to cope. It wasn’t really a way to ‘cope’ at all, just a way to avoid facing the inevitable. If he was honest, he might admit it was possible he had too much experience with that particular ‘coping’ technique.

He himself, well… He’d made it his goal to eradicate every ghost- or at least every source- he came across since he was nine years old. For the longest time he’d taken comfort from the thought that he probably wouldn’t survive until his Sight faded, because then he’d never have to face a lifetime of being utterly useless against the dead.

Now, though… now the Problem was fading, and he had a future with Lucy to look forward to, and yet… he still couldn’t really entertain the thought of any future that didn’t include fighting visitors on a nightly basis. He had a few ideas he’d been thinking about, but nothing that he thought would give half as much satisfaction as vanquishing ghosts.

But they- he- had time. Lockwood was sure he would figure things out if just given enough time- that’s how it had always gone before.

In the hall the phone rang, and Lockwood got up since Lucy and George were still trading theories about what exact effects traveling to the Other Side might have on the Talented.

“You’ve reached Lockwood and Co., Anthony Lockwood speaking,” he said, after finding the right button to actually answer the phone. The new model had its perks- it even had an answerphone in the base, which was very convenient- but it was taking him a while not to automatically reach for a button that was in the wrong place. “How can we assist with your visitor?”

“I’m thankful to say there haven’t been any more issues with visitors,” the voice on the other end- male, slightly familiar- answered. “This is Lord Bridgerton, by the way, and I’m glad you’re the one who answered the phone.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” Lockwood said, after an embarrassing blank moment. “If this isn’t about a visitor… I’m not sure how we can help you?”

“I’ve been reading up on your agency,” Lord Bridgerton said, “and I must say, I’ve been impressed. I was wondering if you’d agree to a meeting to talk about your future business.”

“My future business?” Lockwood asked, bemused. 

“Yes, what you’re planning to do when your Talent fades. I have an opening on Thursday at four- or, no, that would likely be too late for you, wouldn’t it? If you have a case scheduled you’d likely be leaving about then. Er… what do you say to the next Tuesday at ten o’clock. Would that be too early?”

Lockwood gaped, his mind racing. “Well… Naturally, I have thought about my options after, but… I suppose a meeting couldn’t hurt. Thank you for the opportunity. And Tuesday at ten is fine, it’s not too early. Actually, these days it’s a rare case that keeps us out after two am. Where would you like to meet?”

“Excellent. I have you on my schedule now- you can come to my townhouse.”

Lockwood wrote the address down on the notepad by the phone base. “Very good. Er… do you want all of us to come?”

It might be awkward to bring George and Lucy, considering the possibility of Lucy’s real family being the Bridgertons. He had no idea whether Lord Bridgerton knew of that, or approved, or didn’t.

“Just you for now,” Lord Bridgerton said. “You are the head of the agency, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Well then. See you on Tuesday, Mr. Lockwood.”

“Yes. And again, thank you.”

Lockwood hung up the phone, feeling like the floor had suddenly gone wobbly under him. He vividly remembered feeling exactly like this the day after Sheen Road, when Barnes had called only to order him to fire Lucy.

Somehow, even though Lord Bridgerton hadn’t mentioned her, Lockwood couldn’t shake the feeling that this was about her, too. He would have to wait and see whether that was a good thing, or a bad thing- and be prepared for either possibility.

—

Lucy had been toying with the thought of calling up Lady Bridgerton and agreeing to the DNA test- might as well get it over with, was her thought- but after Lockwood told them about the meeting with Lord Bridgerton, she decided to hold off.

Lockwood was right- there was something odd about it. 

Of course, it could just be that this was the way things worked sometimes. A service was rendered, a powerful connection made, and boom: suddenly, opportunities sprang up out of thin air. It only happened to the lucky and the few, but Lockwood and Co. were both lucky and few in number, so she supposed they qualified. In fact, it was probably something exactly like this that the Lockwood of four years ago had been angling for when he tried to insist that they were ‘mansion specialists.’

Either way, Lucy decided to put her family status out of her mind, at least until after the case.

The case which, as it turned out, went very well.

Lucy was clear-headed enough to resist the attempted ghost-lock, and though it was a dark spectre, which was always tricky, she was able to hear enough to pinpoint the source for George while she and Lockwood kept the visitor busy. It did take longer than normal because it was a dark spectre, though, so they didn’t get to drop into bed until nearly four a.m. and Lucy had no intention to get up before ten.

Of course, just because she decided to put the DNA test on hold, that didn’t mean the Bridgertons felt the same way. George brought the phone up to the attic at eight o’clock the next morning, sans trousers, and grumbling loudly about irritating relatives.

Lucy took the phone and immediately fell back into her comfortable nest of duvet and pillows. “Hello?” she said, voice still fuzzy with sleep.

“Lucy Carlyle?” an unfamiliar woman’s voice asked.

“Uh huh,” she said, wondering if this person had called without knowing who she was looking for, or whether she’d just opened the phone book to the ‘C’s and started calling every Carlyle in it.

“It’s Daphne,” the lady said. “Er, Duchess Hastings, I guess. I don’t know if I told you my first name the other week.”

“Oh. Okay,” Lucy sighed, rolled over, then rolled over again to avoid lying on the handset.

“Are you still there?” the Duchess asked after a moment, jolting Lucy back to waking.

“Um, yeah,” Lucy said. “Sorry, what can I do for you?”

“... is this too early? I wasn’t quite sure…”

“No, it’s fine,” Lucy said, giving in and levering herself into sitting up against her headboard. “Please go on.”

“Right. Well… I looked into your… situation. Actually, my husband's lawyers did, and… well, they’re advising us to go ahead with the DNA test.”

Lucy’s heart sank. “Right.”

“So,” the duchess said, drawing it out. “I suppose I’m asking if you would be willing to do that.”

“Yeah, I guess.” It came out a lot easier than Lucy had expected it to. She didn’t even feel that opposed to the idea- wow, that Dr. Graham really had helped!

“Oh! Really?” The Duchess sounded surprised. “You didn’t seem too keen on the idea earlier.”

“No,” Lucy admitted. “But there’s only one way to know for sure, right? And even if I am this Francesca,” she continued, feeling her tongue start to freeze up again, but powering through, “then, well… I mean, it’s not like we have to go from practical strangers to being all lovey-dovey sisters, right? There should be time to get used to it, right? For everyone.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” the Duchess said. “It has been over a decade.”

“Uh huh,” Lucy agreed, yawning. “So, when do you want to do this?”

“Well, ideally there would be samples from more than one person in our family, so I’ll have to consult- but I wanted to make sure that you would agree before bringing it up to them.”

“... You still haven’t told them about this, have you?” Lucy asked, seeing right through that.

“Well… no. It’s a difficult subject,” the Duchess said defensively.

“Yep,” Lucy agreed. “Okay, well let me know when and how you want to do this. I mean, I guess the samples would be taken at a hospital…”

“Actually, they can be taken anywhere,” the Duchess said, surprising her. “It’s just a cotton swab that they swipe on the inside of your cheek, and then put in a sterile container to be tested. Previously, we did that at my brother’s townhouse… but you might not feel comfortable there. We could probably do it in a clinic or something- I can arrange that if you’d prefer. But we would want all the samples to be taken at the same time so they can be sent off together- to avoid any possibility of tampering, you understand.”

“That’s fine, and yes, I’d like to do it at a clinic instead,” Lucy said, too tired to be offended by the suggestion that she- or someone else- might try to fix the test results with a false sample. “Just call me when it’s all arranged and I’ll be there.”

“Good. Thank you, Lucy,” the Duchess said, sounding like she actually meant it. 

Lucy didn’t know how to feel about that and it was far too early to start figuring it out now. She needed tea first. Tea, and some breakfast.

“Right,” she said again. “Just let me know.”

And then, since it was far too early to actually get up, she hung up the phone and rolled over to get a little more sleep.

Chapter Text

“You don’t seem surprised, Mama,” Daphne said, sitting across from her mother on the sofas in Kate’s office.

“I’m not,” Violet said, with her customary little smile. “I suspected something like this was coming. You’ve all been very secretive for the last few weeks. A mother always knows when her children are up to something.”

Kate looked at Daphne who only raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

“But you’re not upset?” Kate asked.

“Why should I be upset? From what you tell me, this Lucy Carlyle is not acting like the other girls who have come forward claiming to be Francesca. Hopefully, that means if she turns out not to be my missing daughter, she won’t cause a scene or try to convince us the test results must be wrong, or demand money from us for the ‘pain and heartbreak’ she suffered while pretending to be a member of my family.”

“That doesn’t seem likely, no,” Kate said. “In fact, I suspect she would be very much relieved if she were not related to us.”

“How complimentary,” Violet murmured over her teacup, with a wicked gleam in her eye.

“That is not what I meant, and you know it,” Kate replied with an answering gleam. She knew better than to rise to that bait. 

“She did seem very hostile to the idea when I met her,” Daphne said, “so it surprised me when she agreed to the test without any pushback. Although, I may have called a little too early- she sounded like she’d just woken up on the phone, so I suppose she might have agreed just to get rid of me.”

“What time did you call?” Kate asked.

“Around seven-”

“Seven! In the morning?”

“The first time, yes, but I got their answering machine. I called back twice before someone actually answered-”

“Daphne Marie, you should know better!” Violet scolded. “Small agencies usually don’t have the resources for a receptionist, and if they do, that person won’t be getting in until eight at the earliest. I know you were anxious, and probably up all night, but so were they, and they were probably working a difficult and dangerous case! Let them sleep! Honestly…”

Lady Violet shook her head and sipped at her tea disapprovingly. Daphne wilted a little, but perked up almost immediately.

“Be that as it may, at least I have Lucy’s agreement. If you are willing to provide another sample, Mama, I just need to speak to Anthony and then I can schedule a time at a clinic.”

“Why not here?” Violet asked. “We’ve always done it here, before.”

“I didn’t think Lucy would be comfortable,” Daphne replied. “She even said as much when I asked her. She wants a neutral setting, which, again, speaks well of her intentions.”

“What about the boys she works with?” Violet asked. “If I recall, the leader- doesn’t he have the same name as Anthony?- he seemed like the type to like… a bit of grandeur , for lack of a better term.”

“Having seen Mr. Lockwood’s house several times now, it’s a mix,” Kate answered. “It seems to have been freshly updated, but not… not quite finished, if you know what I mean. Everything is clean and painted, and the furnishings match, but it’s a little bare- as if it was still in progress. I believe his company is doing quite well, financially, but if he is spending all his money, it is not going toward frivolities like decorations.”

“And does he know of this idea of Lucy being my Francesca?”

“He does. He does not seem to be either for or against it.”

“He seemed confused, mostly,” Daphne recalled. “Hesitant to do or say anything that wasn’t putting his full support behind Lucy.”

“They’re dating, you know,” Kate confided. “According to Mr. Karim, it’s very recent- not even a year, although he claims they’ve always been heading in that direction.”

“Hmm,” Lady Violet hummed thoughtfully. “I do hope that isn’t going to cause problems. None of the other girls were in an active relationship while they were pleading their case, were they?”

“Not that we were aware of,” Daphne said. “I think one of the first ones might have been influenced by the man behind her- I don’t know much about that because Anthony handled that one almost entirely by himself. She didn’t last long, I know that much.”

“Well, I suppose there’s not much point in speculating. Why don’t you speak to Anthony this evening, and go ahead and arrange the test? He shouldn’t put up much of a fight if he knows I don’t have a problem with it,” Violet said, putting her teacup down on the tray. “And if he does, we can simply ask one of the others- Benedict, or Colin, or even Eloise.” She paused a moment. “Have you told any of the others yet?”

“No. I wanted to wait until… well, until the lawyers were confident there was a real possibility. You know how intense Eloise can get when there’s a mystery to solve, and the boys can be just as bad in their own way. No doubt they would have started following the poor girl, and taking the boys she lives with aside ‘for a chat…’ I can just imagine how well that would have gone. Someone would have ended up skewered, beaten up, or both, and nothing but bad blood all around for their efforts.” Daphne rolled her eyes.

“Well, let’s hope they take the news with composure,” Lady Violet said. “Although I can threaten them all into behaving if I need to. They may be grown, and I may be getting on in years, but I am still their mother.”

“I’m sure there will be no need for that,” Kate put in. “As you said, most of us are adults, and we can handle this situation with calm.”

—

“What do you mean you think you’ve found Francesca?” Colin burst out, bolting up from the sofa. 

Daphne and Kate had called everyone for a family meeting at the Bridgerton townhouse, and though it took some persuasion, all of them had come, dispersing themselves to lounge on whatever seat took their fancy at that moment.

“Wait- didn’t we already go through like, five Francescas some years ago?” Benedict asked, sipping from his brandy glass, as Colin began to pace back and forth behind the sofa.

“I’m not going to insult you by assuming that you haven’t looked into this girl, Daphne- not after what we went through the last time,” Eloise huffed. “But you could have told me before now!”

“And then read all about it in Penelope’s little gossip column?” Daphne asked, rather witheringly. “I don’t think so.”

Eloise huffed again and crossed her arms. “She’s not nearly as bad as she was before I finally discovered Whistledown was her nom de plume. I’m sure she would have been discreet…”

“Besides,” Colin put in, “you know that was her way to deal with the constant bullying she had to put up with- not only from everyone at school, but from her own family. She only wrote about us to keep anyone from suspecting her. It was never malicious- not toward us.”

“Having it known at all that we were looking again…” Daphne trailed off. “You know how society journalists are- they would have followed us around, trying to figure out who it was before anyone was sure… it would have scared her off, I know it would.”

“What do you mean, ‘scared her off,’” Colin asked. “Who is this person?”

“Yes, who?” Benedict backed him up.

“Her name is Lucy Carlyle,” Anthony spoke up for the first time. “She was one of the agents we hired to take care of Aunt Winnie’s ghost down at Aubry Hall. Some of the things that happened during their investigation, and the way mother and I both thought she looked familiar… well. But she didn’t seem to recognize us, or anything around her, so I wanted to let it go, thinking she must just have a similar face or something. Kate, of course, had other ideas.” 

“Yes,” Kate said, “I did take it upon myself to look into her. She comes from the same little town near where Francesca disappeared, and she also claims to be adopted.”

Kate explained everything she had pieced together, and then Daphne added what the lawyers had turned up, and their recommendation that Lucy be tested.

“But what’s she really like?” Eloise pushed. 

Daphne put a comforting hand on her knee. “She’s not like the others. She’s actually quite opposed to the idea of being our lost sister- the thought of it seems to upset her, and even her teammates don’t know why. They say she doesn’t typically react like that. Anyway, she has agreed to the testing, so we thought it was time to let everyone know.”

“What about Greg and Cindy?” Colin asked. “Why aren’t they here? Don’t they deserve to know the sister they never got to meet might have been found?”

“Of course, but they’re still up at school right now,” Lady Violet answered. “Their end of term exams are this week, and I don’t want to cause them any distress or confusion right before they take them. If the news affected them, they would perform badly, and that would be completely unfair, don’t you think? But don’t worry, I plan to tell them as soon as they get home.”

“Lucy asked me to arrange the test at a clinic, so I will need time to set that up anyway,” Daphne put in. 

“Why at a clinic?” Benedict asked. “Didn’t you do it here, before?”

“Lucy isn’t comfortable coming here for it,” Daphne said.

“But what is she like?” Eloise asked again. “You said she’s an agent- fine, that’s lucky for her, she actually got to make something of her Talent, but… what kind of person is she, aside from that?”

Daphne and Kate exchanged glances, but it was Lady Violet who answered first.

“Well, at the Hall, before all this blew up,” she said. “She seemed like an ordinary young woman- very practical and matter of fact, but perhaps a little shy and rather stiff. She seemed uncomfortable around all our nice things, and didn’t want much attention. You know me,” she said with a sad smile, “I tend to try and mother, even when there’s no need. Of the boys, the leader seemed to accept my efforts with thankful charm, and the other boy let it glance off of him. He didn’t seem uncomfortable- I thought he must be used to, and tired of, similar treatment at home. But Miss Carlyle- she almost recoiled from it, as though- well, that’s neither here nor there.”

Kate and Daphne exchanged another look. Knowing what they knew about Lucy’s home-life growing up, it seemed more than probable that she’d learned to be wary of any helpful-seeming adults.

“Her teammate, Mr. Karim, described her as feisty,” Kate said, filling the gap. “And from what I saw, I would say that is correct, though that is mainly how she deals with unwelcome surprises. She was polite enough before I proposed the connection to Francesca, which was when she showed that feistiness. She does seem to soften around her friends. Mr. Lockwood said she was extremely loyal and stubborn, but she could, eventually, admit when she was wrong.”

Benedict snorted. “Sounds familiar- except for the ‘admitting when he’s wrong’ part,” he said, looking over at Anthony, who had remained quiet.

“I’d have to back up Kate on the feistiness,” Daphne admitted. “I only met her the once, and while the others there seemed rattled to have a Duchess suddenly turn up when all they were expecting was a Viscountess, Lucy almost took it as a challenge. Even her sister was more-”

“Wait,” Anthony sat forward, frowning. “What sister?”

“Lucy has six sisters from her ‘adopted’ family, three of whom were also ‘adopted.’ One of them, Mary Kendall, was the one who told Lucy she was actually kidnapped, not adopted. Apparently, it was her job to look after Lucy when she first came and was kept sedated- mind you, she was only nine years old herself, at the time. Mrs. Kendall claims that Lucy, at least, was given some sort of treatment to make her forget her previous life, and thinks that all of the ‘adopted’ children were treated that way- neither she nor the others remember their true names, or where they came from, something that Lucy confirms, at least for herself. The lawyers I had looking into things said it was likely all four of the ‘adoptions’ were forged- apparently none of them had all the right paperwork, and the adoption certificates were signed by judges who either weren’t sitting, or were out of the county at the time.” 

“It’s undeniable that Lucy Carlyle, at least, does not remember being Francesca at all,” Kate took up the thread. “Which is why we’re doing the DNA test. If it comes back positive… well, we can possibly look into treatments to encourage those memories to return. But without any idea of what was done to her…” she trailed off, raising helpless hands. 

“Is it possible she’s lying about not remembering?” Benedict asked, serious for once. “If she does remember, and just doesn’t want to come back to us… that could explain her reluctance.”

“If that was the case, she wouldn’t have agreed to the test at all,” Colin objected, still obviously bothered by the whole thing. “She would have just disappeared again- run off before we could dig too deep and uncover the truth.”

“And she also wouldn’t have given me this,” Daphne said, taking the small necklace Lucy had given her out of her pocket and laying it on the coffee table. 

They all leaned forward to look at the delicate little chain and pendant, but Eloise snatched it up. She gaped at it, fingering the pendant with the letter ‘F,’ and then running her fingers along the chain to capture the little tag with their father’s initials stamped into it.

“Daph,” Eloise said. “This is…!”

Daphne nodded. “I recognized it, too. It’s exactly like the ones daddy had made for us.”

“You’re telling me Lucy Carlyle had it all this time?” Anthony asked sharply.

“Not quite,” Kate said. “She said, and her sister Mary agrees, that Mary kept it hidden for quite some time after Lucy came to the Carlyles. Mary claims that she actually took it off of Lucy’s neck that first day, hoping to keep the Carlyles from selling it. She said she wanted Lucy to have something of her old life, but obviously there is no way to confirm this. To be fair to Lucy, she never claimed that the necklace was actually hers, just that her sister told her it was, and then sent it to her as soon as she moved to London and was out of Mrs. Carlyle’s reach. Lucy herself said she’d assumed Mary had found it somewhere and decided to give it to her for some reason. She can’t remember ever wearing it, for example. But it was the necklace that caused her to reach out to me again, after my second visit. She thought it might belong to the missing Francesca and wanted to return it to her family.”

A chorus of low curses and whistles went around the room, and Lady Violet swallowed hard, leaning back into the sofa and shading her eyes with one hand. After a moment she cleared her throat, holding out her hand for the necklace. Eloise handed it over, looking stunned.

“Well,” Lady Violet said, laying it flat across her palm and smoothing the links. “It is certainly very familiar. And I must say, none of the other girls had anything quite so…” she trailed off, her voice fading to nothing as she swallowed again.

“Convenient?” Anthony supplied, sneering a little. Beside him, Kate rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“Seriously?” Eloise asked for her. “This girl has a necklace that could only be Franny’s and all you can say is that it’s convenient?”

“May I remind you that her status is still very much up in the air?” Anthony asked, his voice hard. “And yes, I say it is convenient! After all this time, all the fruitless searching, all the heartbreak… to be randomly hiring some agent who turns out to have lived close enough to where Fran disappeared that she might actually be her? And she has Fran’s necklace? Come on- I can’t believe you’re all swallowing this! It’s an obvious set-up, probably orchestrated by this Mary!”

“You may choose to believe what you wish, Anthony,” Lady Violet said, unsteadily and without looking at anyone. “I do see what you’re saying, and you’re right- we’re jumping to conclusions. But… Daphne, please arrange that test as soon as possible.”

“Yes. Just don’t schedule it for Tuesday morning,” Anthony said.

Everyone frowned a little.

“Busy morning that day, dear brother?” Daphne asked too sweetly.

Anthony huffed, looking annoyed. “I’ve got a meeting I can’t miss.”

“With who?” Benedict asked, incredulous. “Who and what could be more important than finding out whether this girl is our sister or not?”

“You do know we won’t find out immediately, right?” Eloise asked him. “Like, it takes several weeks at least, and probably more like months.”

“It won’t take that long,” Daphne informed them both. “Being nobility, and having money enough to pay for rapid results does have some perks. Last time it took two weeks, but they may have gotten faster since then.”

“I suppose you’ll want us all to clear our schedules for reading the test results, too?” Colin asked.

“If you like,” Daphne said. “I mean, I would, and will. This is too important to me not to be there when the truth is revealed.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “And will Lucy Carlyle be there at the reading, too?”

“I don’t know. I would assume so, but as I recall, there was an option for having the results sent to each individual involved, not just to the person ordering the test. If I had to guess, I would say Lucy will want that option- and I can’t say she’d be wrong.”

“You think she will react badly?” Lady Violet asked, alarmed.

“Well… as I said, she doesn’t want to be a Bridgerton. Can you imagine how she will feel if she is? How she might react? How would you feel if the results are positive, and she runs from the room crying? Or faints, or starts raging at us all? It might be the best option to send her the results privately, so she can come to terms with them before meeting all of us.”

“What if the results are negative?” Anthony asked. “If that’s the case, from what you’ve said, she might be happy enough to rub that in our faces in person.”

“I fail to see how that would be better, Anthony,” Lady Violet said dryly. Anthony had the grace to look ashamed.

“Anyway, I agree with Daphne,” Lady Violet continued. “It would probably be better to read these results privately before making other plans. If Lucy is our missing Francesca… I can’t imagine how she’s going to feel. I always thought I would be happy to find her, whoever or whatever she’s become… but I admit, I never really thought about it from her perspective. I suppose I always assumed she would remember us- bits and pieces of her life before the kidnapping, anyway- and want to return. I never considered what might happen if Franny didn’t remember us at all. Here she is, living what she thinks is a normal life, her fake identity being the only one she’s ever known… and then suddenly she finds out she was supposed to be someone else entirely. It’s not surprising she’s been upset.”

Everyone was quiet, thinking about that.

“Well,” Daphne said after a few moments. “I will call the clinic this afternoon and see when they have an opening. If everyone will send me their schedules for the next month or so, I’ll set up an appointment, and, of course, let everyone know when that is. So far, Anthony, mama, and I have all agreed to participate. I don’t think anyone else needs to, but if for some reason one of us can’t do it the day of, I would appreciate it if you would all be willing to put your sample up for consideration. It doesn’t take long- a few minutes at most- and it’s not invasive. Just a cheek swab.”

“Wouldn’t a blood test be more accurate?” Benedict asked.

“Not really,” Daphne answered. “I don’t understand everything about it, but apparently the cheek swab is the industry standard, unless it’s not possible for some reason.”

“Can I tell Penelope about this?” Colin asked. “She won’t write about it if I ask her not to- at least, not until after the results come.”

“El?” Daphne asked, turning to Eloise.

Eloise bit her lips, thinking hard. “I think it would be okay. Like I said earlier, she hasn’t been as bad about airing our private lives since I discovered her. Besides, she’s been out of school for a while now, and under a lot less stress since moving out a year ago. And since she started dating Colin, she’s been a lot happier. I don’t think she would want to mess that up.”

Colin turned away, but there was no mistaking the smug smile on his face. Daphne sighed. 

“Fine, you can tell Penelope. But please stress that she is not to write about us doing another DNA test to find Francesca. I do not want reporters and tv cameras all over the front of the house like the last few times.”

“Yes, fine,” Colin agreed. “I’ll make it clear that I’m sharing this as a privilege, not as a green-light to go writing about it.” He paused. “Just in case she asks, when would she be able to write about it?”

Lady Violet rubbed her forehead as if she was getting a headache.

“Just tell her that she’ll get rights of first publication,” Kate said. “Assuming, of course, that no one else gets any ideas of following us around to see what we’re up to and discovers everything.”

Colin nodded. “Fine.”

The meeting broke up pretty quickly after that, with Lady Violet disappearing to her own rooms, and Daphne leaving Kate and Anthony to have what she assumed was going to be a long interrogation session about her brother’s mysterious Tuesday meeting. Daphne actually would have liked to stay for that, but she had a clinic to call, and an appointment to set for the earliest available date.

—

“Welcome back,” Penelope Featherington said, from her spot on Colin’s couch. She’d been reading a book, but instantly put it down when he came in. 

Colin smiled and kissed her, savoring the thrill he got every single time he did that. It was strange that it hadn’t faded even a bit, even after dating for nearly six months in total- there’d been a month in the middle where he wasn’t sure about his own feelings anymore. Naturally, he’d been upset with her after she finally confessed to being the one who wrote all those nasty things about his family, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize that he’d been hurt more than angry, and that he wanted some sort of explanation more than he wanted to punish her.

They’d needed a lot of talking and a lot of time, but they’d worked it out. And now their relationship was stronger than ever. He was even hoping to propose soon, provided that his family could work through more of their own hurt feelings about Penelope’s gossip column.

“I’m back,” he said, kissing her again- just a peck this time. “Fancy a cuppa?”

“No- I just had one,” she said, nodding to the used cup on the coffee table next to the couch.

“Right. I’ll make one for myself, though.”

Colin moved on to the kitchenette off the living area. It wasn’t really a living room - it was too small for that- but it was enough for him and Pen at the moment. 

“So how did it go?” she asked, as he refilled the kettle and flipped it on.

“It was… interesting,” he said, a little evasively. “Um… look, if I tell you something, will you promise not to write about it for a while? Like, until I tell you you can?”

Penelope pressed her lips together for a moment, but she nodded. “Of course. You know I’ll keep any secrets you want me to.”

“Right. Well, this will come out eventually, but… if it comes out too soon, it might cause problems we want to avoid.”

She frowned at him. “Is it bad?”

“No… at least, it shouldn’t be,” he said. He turned and leaned against the counter. “The thing is, Daphne and Kate think they’ve found Francesca. Like, actually found her this time.”

Penelope’s expression went through several changes before settling on cautiously excited. “Well! That’s good news! Right?”

“Yeah,” Colin said, sighing. “I haven’t met the girl yet, but apparently she’s not too keen on being part of the family.”

“Oh. That’s… different.”

He nodded. “It’s part of why they’re so sure this time- she’s not trying to force the connection like the others did.” He scrubbed at his eyes and forehead for a moment. The kettle flipped off, and he went about making himself a cup of his favorite blend.

“Thing is… it makes me wonder why she’s hesitant. They keep saying she doesn’t remember being Fran, but… what if she does, and she’s angry with us for just… letting her go? For not finding her before now?”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty, Colin Bridgerton,” Pen said, with some of that hidden fierceness that usually only came out in her writing. “Because we both know that you and and the others were all shipped back off to school barely a week after Fran disappeared. You literally couldn’t have done anything to find her- no one even let you try!”

Colin winced and nodded. “I… I know. It’s just…” He shrugged helplessly and ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like I should have. I feel like I should have fought harder to stick around and help with the search. Maybe if I had… maybe then we would have found her in time.” He let out a frustrated breath. “It wouldn’t have. I know that- don’t even start. I’ve heard her story, and according to her and one of the other ‘adopted’ sisters, she was kept drugged unconscious for at least two months after she disappeared. That’s assuming that this girl really is Francesca and not some other unfortunate girl.”

Pen was staring at him open-mouthed. “Colin… that’s horrible.”

He nodded.

“But you were eleven. Even if you had stayed, and even if this girl who might be Fran hadn’t been… insensible… you wouldn’t have been allowed to help with the search. You were just too young, and say what you will, but I can understand why they shipped you off. Your mum must have been terrified to lose another one of you, and wanted you to be somewhere she definitely knew no one else could get at you, and school was the safest place right then.”

He nodded again, and took the tea infuser out of the mug. He added sugar and lemon and went over to sit next to Penelope, who made room for him.

“You know, every time I thought about finding Franny all these years, I never really thought about what it might actually be like. In my head it was always this happy, joyful thing, where she’d run up excited and hug all of us, and it’s just a wonderful time for everyone. But now… it feels like it’s going to complicate everything. I mean, she’s seventeen, or nearly… she’s been living on her own for four or five years now, working as an agent… She’s got her own life- a whole life that I don’t know anything about. She’s going to be a complete stranger, Pen. I don’t even know if I’ll like her, or if she’ll like me. When you grow up with someone, sure you might find them annoying or not like them much, but at least you’ve got that connection- that you grew up together. We won’t have that with her.”

Pen bit her lips and reached over to massage one of his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Colin. I mean, you’re right- you don’t know what her life has been like, or the kind of person she is, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn. It’ll take time, that’s all. If she’s at all a decent person, I think she’ll be happy to at least give you all a chance… I wish I knew why she doesn’t want to be a Bridgerton, though. That part doesn’t make much sense to me.” 

She smiled self-consciously, and he couldn’t help smiling back. “Give it some time, Pen. The others will come around, and then…” he hoped his eyes and smile gave her the promise he couldn’t voice just yet. “And in the meantime, I’ve been told that, when we’re ready to go public with any new information on Francesca, you’ll have right of first publication.”

She beamed at him, and he was once again thankful that he’d made the effort to forgive her for her anonymously unkind words.

Chapter Text

Anthony, Lord Bridgerton, entered his study on Tuesday morning uncommonly nervous, and wondering if he shouldn’t call the whole thing off after all. It probably wasn’t too late to call and cancel… it was what Kate had advised him to do, but he’d been waffling back and forth on that ever since. 

Terrible woman that she was, she’d immediately pegged what his real motive was in calling Anthony Lockwood to a private meeting.

“You cannot force that boy to break up with Lucy just because she might be your sister,” she’d sternly informed him. “Especially since you argued so strongly against her being so.”

“It’s unethical!” Anthony had tried to defend himself. “He’s her boss, and she lives in his house! That’s two pressure points right there! Not to mention, if he’s such a good guy for her, why did it take four years for her to say yes?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “There are any number of reasons for them to have waited, starting with the fact that they are in an extremely dangerous profession! Also, they are not only teenagers, but also agents , which means they have no experience dealing with their emotions other than ignoring them and pretending they don’t exist.”

Anthony had grumbled and complained, but eventually promised not to threaten Lockwood’s entire business if he didn’t break up with Lucy Carlyle.

It was stupid, really. He knew that, but it only made it worse. He wasn’t even convinced that Lucy Carlyle was Francesca, and so he couldn’t begin to explain the intense protective feeling that had sprung up so suddenly he was left reeling from the shock. It was part of why he’d felt the need to argue for it all being a set-up at the family meeting- he couldn’t reconcile his own feelings, so he pushed that possibility as far away from himself as possible. That was a mistake he’d made before, though, so perhaps he should have learned his lesson by now.

Maybe it was due to the fact that he’d been fairly successful in preventing himself from looking for Franny in every girl he saw that was about the right age, telling himself that it was madness to be constantly on the alert. Maybe, now that there was a possibility she’d been found, with actual physical evidence for once, he was overreacting because he’d kept himself from reacting at all for so long.

Whatever the reason, he now had to pretend that he really was interested in investing in Lockwood and Co.’s future. Which… he actually might be, given certain outcomes. But he still didn’t know what to make of their relationship. It seemed like such a red-flag, to be dating one of your subordinates. And if Lucy did turn out to be his sister… well, he’d always been protective of his younger siblings.

The butler knocked on the door to the study, then opened it and ushered young Mr. Lockwood in. Anthony smiled, and shook the young man’s hand, noting the firm grip and the easy, practiced charm of the answering smile. To Anthony, Lockwood’s smile was like a suit- easily put on and off, and worn mostly in business settings. Well, fair enough- the boy had been dealing with- and competing with- adults almost his whole life. He would have needed an edge to be taken seriously, even in this messed up world of ghosts and child agents.

Anthony ordered tea for them both, and offered something a bit stronger, only to be turned down. He put a point in the plus column. Not that he truly thought the boy shouldn’t drink, just that he was aware it was an early-morning meeting for which alcohol wouldn’t be appropriate.

After the initial pleasantries were out of the way, Anthony started in on his hastily revised plan. He meant to compliment the young man with the success of his agency, but Lockwood forestalled him.

“Before we get started, I’d like to ask if this meeting has anything to do with the fact that Lucy Carlyle is one of my agents,” he asked. His tone was smooth and inoffensive, but Anthony noted that he’d gone just a bit stiff.

Anthony decided that honesty was probably the best policy here. 

“Well… yes. I know nothing has been confirmed, but… I’m a very protective brother, Mr. Lockwood. My sisters would probably tell you that I’m overprotective, but…” he shrugged. “What can I say? I’m concerned that someone who may be the one sister I have already thoroughly failed is currently dating her boss and landlord. It just doesn’t seem like a good situation.”

To his surprise, Lockwood actually relaxed a bit, nodding. “I thought it might be that. She knows I’m here, by the way. I didn’t keep it a secret from her or the others. And for what it’s worth, if it were my sister, I’d have the same doubts. But it’s not like that,” he hurried to add. “Lucy and I… we’ve been heading this way for a long time. Both of us have had years of time to think about what it means and what we really want and, ultimately, what we want is to be together, whatever comes next. We’ve both been through too much not to spend what little time we might have left with each other. Of course, with the Problem slowly fading, and our level of skill and experience, imminent death is a less likely outcome of hunting ghosts… but you never can tell in this profession.” 

He looked out one of the windows, while Anthony bit down on his tongue to keep from blurting out that that outcome was the precise reason he’d never have allowed Francesca to work as an agent.

“Would it help to know that I’ve put her on the deed of my house?” Lockwood went on, successfully shocking Anthony out of his pre-emptive anger and blame. 

“If we were ever to have a nasty breakup, well… she wouldn’t be either homeless, or destitute, however it shook out. I can’t see that happening, but I also didn’t see my sister getting fatally ghost-touched in the safety of her own bedroom, so,” he shrugged, “I’ve taken precautions. I’ve had a will made up, and she and George Karim will inherit the majority of what’s left of my worldly wealth aside from the house, with a generous portion also going to Holly Munro. There are a couple of others in there as well, but they’ll be getting mainly sentimental items.”

Anthony took a slow breath, taken by surprise and reluctantly impressed. He hadn’t expected young Mr. Lockwood to sit across from him on the blue-striped sofa in his immaculate study, calmly detailing how his maybe-sister would be taken care of in case of either his death, or the dissolution of their relationship. He didn’t seem old enough to have thought of all of that… but if he considered how many people Lockwood had lost over his brief life, and the fact that his career centered around death, it made a morbid kind of sense.

“Do you know, I think it does help,” Anthony said after a moment of collecting his thoughts. “I suppose I only have your word for it right now, but it says a great deal about your character if you truly did look out for Lucy like that. I have no doubt, knowing my other sisters, that she would probably have something to say on the subject of you being morbid enough to do that for her… but as her maybe-brother, I can appreciate it.”

Lockwood grinned. “Oh, she did. Not the will so much- Lucy only yelled at me about my latent death wish for that- but she resisted being put on the deed amazingly. She’s always going on about how much I’ve already given her, and said she couldn’t take on the responsibility of a house as well.”

Anthony grinned in return, though his chest tightened as Lockwood described how Lucy Carlyle viewed her own worth. If she’d grown up in the family, like she’d been meant to- he batted that thought away. It wasn’t confirmed yet.  

“Well. Now that that’s out of the way, why don’t we discuss the nominal reason for this meeting? I’ve been reading up on your agency, Mr. Lockwood, and I have to say- a business owner at thirteen? It’s damned impressive, not to say shocking. Hard to believe DEPRAC allowed it, actually, or that you had the money at that age to fund it.”

Lockwood’s smile became a bit brittle. “Yes, well, I had some inheritance from my parents, and the house to live in, and use as capital… but I needed a way to earn money, and my previous agency had just shut up shop. I wasn’t very keen to join the going outfits at that time so, with some research, a lot of paperwork, and a friend to help me out, I got myself registered, and that’s all she wrote. I’ll admit it was slow going at first, and we had some close shaves, but… here we are.”

Anthony had a sudden vision of Gregory- somehow orphaned and all alone at thirteen, scrounging desperately for some way to support himself- and suppressed a shudder. Gregory, Francesca, and Eloise had all shown signs of Talent, but neither Anthony nor their mother was anxious to send them into the kind of dangerous situations that visitors always brought. Greg didn’t seem all that interested in using his Talents, thank god- but Eloise had been a different matter. She’d continued to hound him for years to let her at least become a Sensitive, until her Talents had abruptly deserted her at just eighteen years of age.

In a way, it would be twice as galling to find out Lucy was Francesca all this time. Not only did he fail to find her, not only had she been living in London (under everyone’s nose!) for the last four or five years, but she’d also been thrust- completely against his intention- into a deathly career. He never would have chosen that for her but, given the articles he’d dug up about her and the agency, she had not only survived, but actually thrived in it. She’d even been instrumental in finding the underlying causes of the Problem, and working to fix them! 

Anthony squirmed internally at the very idea, and yet it had already happened. There was nothing he could do to change it, and… he might even be forced to accept that keeping her out of that life might have been for the worse. He cleared his throat and moved on.

“So, what made you decide to start your own agency, instead of finding another one to join after your old agency shut down.”

“It didn’t shut down,” Lockwood corrected. “It merely stopped operating.”

“What’s the difference?” asked Anthony, fully aware of what the difference could mean.

“The owner died,” Lockwood stated bluntly. “On the job. He didn’t have a partner or anyone to carry on with the agency, so naturally it closed. In fact, his death, among other things, was what inspired me to do away with adult supervisors for my own agency.”

“But doesn’t that make everything twice as dangerous?” Anthony asked with a slight frown.

“Not really,” Lockwood said. “Supervisors are supposed to back up their agents, keep charge of the visitor defense supplies, and give them the benefit of their experience. But by the time anyone’s old enough to become a supervisor, their Talent is fading, or is already gone. To be blunt, anyone without active psychic senses in a haunted location after sundown is nothing more than bait. Supervisors are supposed to make things easier, but in reality they just get in the way. Some of them do it deliberately- they refuse to let their agents make any decisions on their own, and end up micromanaging them straight into an early grave. Some of them do it out of ignorance- they mean well, but they see their agents struggling and they step out of the chains to help just once … But most of them are just there to collect a paycheck. They know they don’t have any skills beyond ghost-hunting, so they find a way to market the skills they used to have, and don’t bother with trying to actually help the agents they get assigned. At least, that’s been my experience, and you can believe I’ve heard plenty of stories from other agents. In fact, that’s partly why Lucy moved down here to London. Her entire team got wiped out by a changer because her supervisor didn’t listen to her warnings, and then the bastard had the audacity to blame her for it!” 

Lockwood took a sip of his tea. “With supervisors like that running around and DEPRAC doing sod-all about it, why on earth would I want any supervisors in my agency?”

Anthony nodded, once more surprised and with the growing idea of walking slowly into deeper and deeper water in this conversation.

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said. “But it feels wrong to admit that there’s really nothing adults can do to safeguard the lives of young agents. We’re supposed to keep children safe, after all.”

“I didn’t say there was nothing that could be done,” Lockwood cut in. “There’s plenty that adults can do to keep young agents safe. It’s just that they’ve consistently avoided doing the things that would actually help, in favor of doing the things that make other adults feel better.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, George has a whole list. I can send you a copy, if you’d really like to know, but for an example: ghost lamps. Yes, their bulbs have magnesium in them, and they do have some effect on visitors, but it’s not nearly as strong as good old salt and iron. Remember that ill-fated carnival that Fittes and Rotwell put on a year and a half ago? Well, the visitors who came out of those ghost-bombs certainly didn’t like being under the suspended ghost-lamps along the parade route… but that didn’t stop them from manifesting, or trying to kill people once they were out.”

Anthony hummed, thinking about it. He hadn’t been there, but he’d read about it in the papers, privately wondering if things had really gotten bad enough that the big agencies were treating them all like citizens of a dying roman empire- easily placated with bread and circuses, only in this case after-hours fun and a parade of shiny rich people.

“Alright, I can accept that ghost-lamps are largely a palliative, rather than a cure. But let’s move on. Obviously you know a great deal about ghost-hunting: what’s required, what the weapons are and how to use them, how best to find good agents and keep them. But have you considered how you can apply those skills to some kind of career after you ‘age-out’ of ghost-hunting, as it were? I’m assuming becoming a supervisor is right out, considering your opinion on them.”

Lockwood grinned wryly. “Would you call me a hypocrite if I told you I’d seriously considered it? I told myself that I’d do things differently- let the agents do what they needed, trust their Talent over my experience, all that. But it didn’t take long for me to realize that, as well as betraying my own principles, I’d only be prolonging my own pain.” 

He sighed and sipped at his tea. “Destroying visitors has been such a large part of my life that it’s been hard to think of any other purpose to which I could put it. Even things that I enjoy for their own sake, like fencing, would inevitably make me think of how I used that skill to defend against ghosts. I’ve thought of joining a fencing school, but I don’t know that I could confine myself to teaching moves not intended for survival against the dead. My only other real skills are my Sight, being a leader in my own agency, and knowing how to deal with others. And truthfully, I don’t really want to dissolve the agency, but I also don’t want to see it morph into nothing but a clone of the larger agencies whose policies and power I’ve always fought against. Fighting ghosts meant keeping other people safe, and… whatever I end up doing, I’d like to keep that assurance. I’d like to know that what I’m doing- what we’re all doing- is actually making a difference.”

Anthony hummed thoughtfully and sipped his own tea.

“That’s an admirable attitude, but I’m afraid that there aren’t that many jobs going where people really have that kind of assurance. There are some- police work, military service, some civil posts… but all of those tend to require people who can follow orders and respect the rules that everyone’s agreed on. Your case history with DEPRAC doesn’t really paint you in that light. It tells me you're more of a maverick or renegade at heart, ignoring the rules if you don’t like them, and bypassing them when you can.”

“That’s fair,” Lockwood conceded. “I understand the need for rules, and I follow the ones that make sense, but in my opinion most of them are made up in order to make things more difficult than they need to be. I don’t think I’d be a good fit for the military or a police force, for example. A civil post, though… I hadn’t considered that. That might be worth thinking on… the only thing is that Lucy would hate it, if I was constantly dragging her into the spotlight.”

“Not every civil post of worth requires that kind of visibility,” Anthony said, once again wondering about this aversion to attention on Lucy’s part. “But surely Lucy must be used to that, what with the prominence of your agency ever since you brought down Fittes House.”

Lockwood narrowed his eyes consideringly. “A bit. But it’s mostly me talking to the reporters and journalists when they come calling. I imagine it’ll be different if I ever get to some higher position, like…. oh, Lord Mayor or something.”

Anthony burst out laughing. “You do know how to aim for the clouds, Mr. Lockwood!”

Lockwood grinned again. “It’s not completely out of reach, though, is it? I’ve got a lot of good will going for me, I’m gaining connections, and if I don’t muck it up entirely along the way, I can actually see myself getting there now that I’ve actually considered it.”

Anthony shook his head. “I suppose you would. Well… you surprise me at every turn of the conversation. I’m not sure yet if that’s a good thing or not, but… if Ms. Carlyle is my sister, and if nothing else comes between us… I think you might make a good brother-in-law- in time, of course. And if not, well… still a good man to know as he rises to new heights.”

He stood up and held out his hand, waiting for Lockwood to put his tea down so he could do the same. They shook hands again, and this time Anthony was aware of the calluses on Lockwood’s palm- no doubt from his rapier. He hadn’t really known what to expect from this young man, but now that they’d talked like this, his impression was of someone who had fought too hard to get where he was to sacrifice it all for the kind of stupid mistake a lot of young men his age tended to make.

“Thank you,” Lockwood said. “I said I appreciated the opportunity of this meeting, and I wasn’t lying. You’ve given me a new option to think about for the future, and while it’s more than a little insulting to have you suggest that I might have pressured Lucy into a relationship… it does show that you care about her enough to check, even though you don’t know if she really is your sister or not, yet.”

Anthony shrugged. “I suppose it’s hypocritical of me, considering how I treated a lot of women back when I was your age. But they do say that time and experience make the man, and I’m trying to learn from my mistakes, as well as trying to prevent making more of them.”

Lockwood narrowed his eyes and grinned in a way that wouldn’t have been out of place on Greg’s or even Colin’s face. “I could say something here- something about age and maturity- but I think I won’t. This time.”

Anthony just raised an eyebrow. “Yes… you’re acting like a brother-in-law already. Well, perhaps I’ll have to get used to that.”

—

“So how did the meeting go?” Holly asked when Lockwood got back to the house.

George, Holly, and Lucy were gathered around the Thinking Cloth, going over George’s research for the Holloway case that night.

“It went well,” Lockwood said, coming in and sitting down next to Lucy. She shifted to face him, and he could tell she was tense, though she kept her expression neutral. “We were right- it was originally about Lucy, although I managed to clear up his misunderstanding fairly quickly.”

“What misunderstanding?” Holly asked.

“That I basically forced Lucy to start dating me, because I’m both her boss and her landlord,” Lockwood replied calmly. “You know- the usual.”

“Oh, for-” George started, slapping the papers he was holding onto the table.

“Honestly, if you would just let me publish all those pictures of you and Lucy looking longingly at each other,” Holly began.

“At this point, I’d be happy to sign a statement,” George interrupted, disgustedly. “I’m the one who’s had to put up with all the pining all these years. The fact that it’s morphed into unnecessary PDA is unfortunate, but at least they’re not pining anymore!”

“So what did you talk about after you got the nonsense sorted?” Lucy prompted, not quite hiding a smug smile.

“I think I might go into politics,” he said airily, surprising them into momentary silence. “Or find some kind of civil post where I won’t want to stab either myself, or the people I’m supposed to be serving, anyway.”

“Politics…” Lucy mused, leaning forward to put her elbow on the table, chin in hand. “I hadn’t thought of that…”

“Me, either,” Lockwood said. “It surprised me, but… I can see it- sort of. I wouldn’t want to be just a flunky- someone attached to a bigger name, doing all the errand running and interference. But if I could find a posting where I could do some actual good…”

“It makes sense, for you,” Lucy said softly. “I honestly can’t believe we didn’t think of that before, considering how much you love the spotlight. Mind you, George probably thought of it straight away, he just didn’t say anything because he wouldn’t want to deal with you in the middle of running a political campaign.”

“I definitely wouldn’t stick around for that,” George’s glasses glinted in the light from the window. “Might vote for you, though. Depends on what office you were running for and whether I thought you had either the skills or the charisma to pull it off.”

“What about you, Holly?” Lockwood asked. “You certainly have the skills, and some pretty good connections.”

“I don’t know,” Holly said, tilting her head in consideration. “I could, of course- I helped Rotwell run countless ad campaigns, and political ones aren’t that different, come to think of it. You’d need someone about as good as me for organization, but I imagine it’s a terrible time sink come campaigning season, especially if I was the one in charge of everyone else. I’m not sure- I think it would depend on the salary. If it was high enough, or- I suppose- if I was invested enough in you as a candidate, I might be willing to do it.”

“Well, we all know how things would go if I tried to help,” Lucy began, laughing awkwardly. “Might as well kiss your chances of winning goodbye at the outset.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t ask you for that,” Lockwood interrupted, taking her hand. “I know how much you hate the spotlight and dealing with posh people, and parties, and reporters. And I’m not even sure this is the career I actually want. I might go for something completely different- join the military, or go work for UPRA, or even transition the agency from psychical detection to private investigation. It’s just another option, right now. But it is something I want to check out and explore a little. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” Lucy said, squeezing his hand. She smiled. “And you know I’d do my best… I’m just not sure my best will be good enough if you ever actually run for an office or something.”

“Luce, if I ever run for an office, you know it’s going to be because I want to shake things up,” Lockwood said. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that…”

Lucy grinned- slowly and a little reluctantly, but still. “... Maybe.” 

“Great- that’s Lockwood’s future decided then,” George said, snapping them out of the moment. “But we still have this phantasm to deal with tonight, so…”

Lockwood sat back and listened while George expounded on the history of the location and his predictions for who the visitor might be. A few minutes into the recital Lucy slid a mug of tea in front of him, still steaming hot. He smiled at her and let George drone on while his mind wandered to thoughts of what Lucy might have been like now if she’d grown up a Bridgerton instead of a Carlyle.

He knew it wasn’t confirmed, but… it was too much of a coincidence, surely, that she grew up in the same town, and had Francesca’s necklace, and looked like one of the family’s grandmothers… wasn’t it? The meeting with Lord Bridgerton today had just cemented the possibility in his mind- why on earth would someone go to that much trouble for a girl who he thought might be an imposter? Not that it wasn’t an effort worth going to, but most people would think it wasn’t any of their business.

And so he wondered. Would he have even met her? She wouldn’t even be a ‘Lucy,’ she would be a ‘Francesca,’... or would she instead go by Fran, or Franny? There wasn’t much you could do for the last half of the name in terms of a nickname… ‘Chess,’ maybe? But that would be a weird nickname to have if you weren’t fond of the game, and Lucy wasn’t very fond of chess at all. Not that he could blame her there- it was a very tedious game. But if she’d grown up with the Bridgertons instead of the Carlyles, then maybe… maybe she’d have turned out different enough that they wouldn’t have much in common. Different enough that they might never have met.

Somehow, he couldn’t see Lord Bridgerton as the kind of man who would let his younger brothers and sisters become agents, and the nobility mostly shunned social events centered around the agencies and agents, so Lucy probably wouldn’t even have gone to the Fittes Galas. Unless she was involved in a case, it was highly unlikely they ever would have met.

Before Lockwood could get too depressed by that thought, George wrapped up his theories and the overview of the house plan, and started gathering his various papers and maps together again. Holly got up and Lockwood joined her in clearing the dishes, happy to have something physical to focus on. Lucy disappeared upstairs for a bit, and Lockwood let her, going down to the basement to fill out paperwork instead. He would join her in a while, but he thought she might need the solitude right now, and to be honest, he did too.

Later that night, after another successful case in which no houses were set on fire (always a benchmark for him ever since Sheen Road), Lockwood lay next to Lucy in bed, one arm around her shoulders as she lay with her damp head on his chest.

“I don’t hate them, you know,” she said, quietly.

“Who?” Lockwood asked, even though he thought he knew.

“You know,” she said, tapping his chest in mock reproval. “The Bridgertons. I don’t hate them. I think they could be nice… maybe.”

“But you don’t want them to be your family,” Lockwood stated. 

It was something she’d made clear from the beginning, and… truth be told, he had no idea why, despite his earlier thoughts on the likelihood of meeting her as Francesca Bridgerton. Lucy was right, they did seem like nice people- a close-knit family, where everyone kept in touch and cared for each other. The kind of family he just knew his own would have grown to be, if he’d been allowed to keep them for long enough. They had to be a sight better than the Carlyles from everything he’d ever heard, even before the whole kidnapping plot was revealed. So why didn’t Lucy want them?

“You’re my family,” Lucy stated, very firmly. “You, George, Holly, and yes, even Kipps and Flo- you’ve all earned that place in my life, and… I don’t want to just give that up. That’s what Dr. Graham helped me to realize- deep down, I thought that I would have to give you up if I became a Bridgerton. That’s what was upsetting me so much, because… well, because…” she turned her face into his chest and hugged him tightly for a moment, then relaxed and sighed and looked up at him, dark eyes large in her pale face. “Because I love you.”

Lockwood’s breath hitched even as his chest seized painfully. He swallowed with difficulty and tightened his hold on Lucy’s shoulders, turning his face to press a kiss on the top of her head.

They both knew that they loved each other- it was plain in every word and action. But neither of them had actually said it, yet… until tonight.

He should say it back, he knew he should- he felt the same way about her, after all, and he knew how insecure she could be about their relationship. But right now his throat was too tight with threatened tears, so he settled for kissing her thoroughly.

And by the time he finished doing that, his throat had relaxed enough for him to tell her. Given the way she responded, Lucy didn’t mind the delay.

Chapter Text

Lucy had just gotten off the phone with Duchess Hastings about the day and time of the DNA test (and just when exactly had she become so comfortable having regular conversations with a Duchess??) when the phone rang again. Lucy raised an eyebrow at it, wondering if she could get away with scarpering and letting one of the others answer it, or even letting it go to the answer-phone.

But when it rang again, she rolled her eyes, sighed, and answered anyway. She was literally right there, so she might as well.

“Lockwood and Co., this is Lucy Carlyle,” she said, in the approved method that Holly and Lockwood both insisted on. “How can we help-”

“You can help by stopping all this nonsense!” an outraged female voice interrupted her.

“What nonsense? Who is this?” Lucy asked, not angry yet, but getting there.

“Oh, that’s rich- that’s rich,” the other woman scoffed, in a tone that called up some unpleasant memories of a certain department store. “You don’t even recognize your own sister’s voice!”

Lucy shook her head and frowned. “Well, you’re not Mary, so I don’t know why you’d expect me to. Not like you lot ever go to the trouble of calling me, much less visiting. Which one are you? Connie, or Laura?”

“It’s Linda , you ungrateful snitch! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’re already famous for stopping the Problem, you didn’t have to go this far!”

Lucy sighed, rolled her eyes, and took the handset into the library, shutting both the hall and sitting room doors. She was tempted to take it straight up to the attic, but she didn’t feel like climbing all the stairs at the moment. 

Linda was the oldest of the real Carlyle daughters, and she’d always been weirdly jealous of the ‘adopted’ girls- as if they got special treatment from their parents. Lucy didn’t know where she’d gotten that idea, especially since Linda, Tammy, and Cora all got to stay in school, date around, and got new clothes every spring and fall. They also got to pick where they worked, and if it happened to be a place in Newcastle, far away from Mrs. Carlyle, all the better. Meanwhile, the ‘adopted’ girls were forced to drop out, wear hand-me-downs or thrift store clothes, live at home even if they worked the Newcastle nightwatch, and had to work as much as humanly possible. 

“What are you going on about?” Lucy asked, once the doors were closed. “I haven’t done anything.”

Linda laughed bitterly. “Oh, sure- not done a thing! I suppose I’m just imagining the investigators who came by while Pat and the boys were home, to ask me if you were really adopted!”

Lucy went cold all over. She didn’t say anything, and Linda apparently took that as an admission of guilt, because she started ranting about how unfair it was that someone was questioning her about Lucy in front of her husband (who she didn’t even like all that much) and her children.

“Let me get this straight,” Lucy said, keeping her voice level by sheer force of will. “You’re mad at me because someone is finally asking questions about whether or not Connie, Laura, Mary, and I were actually adopted.”

“What do you mean ‘finally?’” Linda cried. “You always knew where you came from- no one ever kept that a secret from you!”

“Actually, I never knew where I came from- I can’t remember anything before waking up in that basement,” Lucy retorted. “But I’ll bet you know where I come from… don’t you?”

It was more accusation than question, and one which Linda apparently didn’t want to answer, because she fell silent. Lucy’s anger grew into that silence.

“There would have been talk in the village,” Lucy continued, now that she had her ‘sister’s’ attention. “A nine-days wonder at the very least: a little girl- a posh girl- gone missing from a place just beyond the water meadows outside town. There was an aunt and a sister, both terribly upset, because it turned out they’d been drugged, and were asleep when the girl disappeared. Apparently there was a big search- dogs and people and everything, all looking for this girl. And two months after all this- two months during which Mary had to look after me- I woke up in the basement of your house without any memories.”

“It’s funny,” Lucy said, voice going rough. “You’d think someone would have warned me about that girl, once I started being allowed out- not to go wandering off, in case I got snatched, too. But no one said a word. It’s almost like they didn’t want me to know about it at all. Like there was something about that story that might have given me a clue to what was really going on.”

Laura barked a laugh, but even over the phone it sounded fake. “Yeah, right. You’re delusional! You need to stop this before you embarrass the family as well as yourself. Mum’s in her last years, and-”

“I don’t care about ‘mum,’” Lucy snapped. “That woman kidnapped me and forced me to work a job that killed all my friends and nearly got me killed from the moment I turned eight! And you just stood by and let her! If you’re embarrassed, it should be because you finally realized you should have stopped it instead of letting her get away with it!”

“Cry me a river,” Linda snapped. “Mum and dad gave you a family, and a chance to prove you’re not a worthless leech, and besides- no one cares about things that happened ten years ago, so get over it, and stop ruining everyone else’s life!”

“Not my call to make,” Lucy said, suddenly deadly calm.

“What are you talking about- of course it is! I don’t know where you got the money to hire all these posh lawyers, but clearly it’s enough that you shouldn’t even care about what happened all those years ago! Just let it go and move on! Everyone else has.”

“I didn’t hire the lawyers,” Lucy said, still calm and actually drawing some satisfaction from the thought of telling Linda just who she had to deal with. “I never sent anyone after you or mum. I didn’t even know that story until a month ago, and you’re right- I don’t have the money to hire lawyers.”

Linda was silent for a moment. “... then who…?”

“I’d guess it was probably the people who might be my birth family,” Lucy said airily, like she didn’t know exactly how that would hit with Linda. “We’re not certain yet, of course, but the DNA test is scheduled.”

“Lucy… you wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what?” Lucy asked. “Wouldn’t let them go after the people who stole their daughter? Why wouldn’t I? Kidnapping is a crime, you know. Whether I’m actually their daughter or not, kidnappers should pay for what they’ve done.”

The line suddenly went dead before the dial tone blared into Lucy’s ear.

Lucy looked down at the handset before sighing before pushing the off button. The anger she’d felt simmering just underneath the surface ever since Linda’s first few words was still there. Yeah, maybe she’d gotten a few hits in, but it infuriated her that Linda was still acting like what had happened to her was ordinary, normal, and perfectly acceptable. She was tempted to smash the handset into the floor just to relieve her feelings… but it was a new phone after all, and there was no sense in destroying it.

Instead, she went down to the basement to take out her anger on the sparring dummies.

—

Somewhat to Daphne’s amused annoyance, all of her family except for Simon, Kate, and the twins, came to the clinic the day of the DNA swab- the tiny waiting room for the clinic was absolutely packed, and she was so very grateful that it was a private clinic and could accommodate her request for absolute privacy during their time block. It did help that cheek swabs didn’t take much time at all, and as long as she could get everyone out before the half-hour mark, there shouldn’t be any other patients arriving who might be able to identify them and figure out what it was they were doing there. 

Daphne was actually one of the last to arrive, meaning she didn’t have time to send the rest of them away before Lucy Carlyle walked in. Lucy strode boldly through the door only to double-check and stop dead on her way to the counter to check in for the appointment. Daphne had a strong urge to hide her face in shame, but drew on some of that inner confidence her mother was always going on about, and managed a small smile in her direction. Lucy got a little pinker in the cheeks, but that was the only change in her expression, which had started out neutral anyway. She snapped out of her temporary pause and continued on to get checked in.

Daphne was oddly proud of her- that was exactly the kind of reaction one might expect from a Bridgerton thrown into a slightly awkward situation. 

Once Lucy was done filling out the paperwork- which she did standing at the counter- she finally turned around and faced them all. Her look was so intent that Daphne was sure she was going to say something but, fortunately or unfortunately, the nurse came through the office door just then and called them all back to the exam room.

Daphne got up first, trusting that only Anthony and their mother would have the temerity to actually come through. In a way, she couldn’t really blame her other brothers and sister- they’d just found out after all, and none of them had met Lucy before, either before or after dealing with Aunt Winifred. But would it have killed them to be a little more subtle about their enthusiasm to meet Lucy? The poor girl was already on the fence about joining the family- they didn’t need to make her uncomfortable on the very day of the DNA test.

Back in the exam room- and Daphne congratulated herself on seeing that she’d been right about the others staying in the waiting room- the nurse explained the procedure for Lucy’s benefit.

“We’ll take a sample from the inside of your cheek with this swab, which we will then put in this container here. All the containers are labeled with your names, so it’s important for me to take samples in order. We don’t want any samples to get mixed up, do we? Then the containers will be sent out to the lab, which will do the DNA analysis. You should get the results in one to two weeks with the rush order. Everything clear?”

Lucy nodded. Daphne realized she hadn’t actually said anything this whole time, but considering that the nurse called her mother’s name right then, she kept quiet herself. Lady Violet submitted to the swab with her customary good grace, though Daphne knew from experience that it was difficult to appear graceful when your mouth was hanging open with someone else’s hand in it. Still, her mother did her proud, and even managed a small smile at them all once her swab was done.

Lucy had leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed, and now one of her knees started bouncing nervously. 

Anthony was next, and then Daphne. The cotton swab was just as off-putting as usual, leaving the inside of her cheek oddly dry, but she didn’t complain. 

Then it was Lucy’s turn. It was subtle, but Daphne thought she saw the girl’s jaw tense before she pushed herself off the wall and submitted to the test. 

The nurse snapped off her sample swab into the correct container- she’d made a point of showing the labeled containers to each of them before snapping and sealing the swabs inside- and then gathered all the containers into a plastic bag and put them into a little cardboard box for shipment to the lab.

Daphne half thought Lucy would bolt then, but instead she just followed the rest of them back out to the waiting room, still not saying anything. When they got there, though, she stuck around long enough for the waiting Bridgerton siblings to introduce themselves. To her credit, she shook everyone’s hand, and nodded with each introduction, although Daphne could have sworn she muttered something about ‘stupidly posh names.’

Once that was done, Lucy nervously tucked her hair behind her ear and bit her lip.

“Listen,” she said, “I’m still not sure if I’m the one you’re looking for. But if I turn out to be, I need you to understand something. I… already have a family,” she said, haltingly. Daphne’s heart plummeted, but she made herself listen instead of interrupting. Unfortunately, Anthony wasn’t so wise.

“You can’t mean-!” he began.

“ Not the Carlyles- of course not them! Well, except for Mary,” Lucy interrupted. “But my agency- Lockwood, George, Holly… they’re the most important people in my life, and that’s not going to change anytime soon. I’m not saying that it can’t change… just that it’s not a change that’s going to come quickly. I’m sorry but I don’t know any of you. I mean, we can get to know each other, obviously, but…” she sighed. “Look, I’m just saying that, if you were hoping for us all to be playing happy families immediately…” she trailed off, shrugging. “I’m just not ready for that.”

“Of course,” Lady Violet said, taking a step forward. “Of course, we understand that. I can’t say that I’m exactly happy to hear it, but… well, as you said, we don’t know each other yet. I do hope you’ll allow us to get to know you, though.”

Lucy hesitated before nodding. “Right. Well, I guess we’ll know for sure in a week and a half or so, and… any more plans will have to wait for that. So, I guess I’ll talk to you all then.”

And with that, she turned and left the clinic, taking all the awkward tension with her. It was like a collective sigh passed through them all, and Daphne even found herself taking Eloise’ arm and leaning against her for support. 

“I think that went well! She’s surprisingly…” Eloise trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Northern?” Benedict asked.

“Standoffish?” Colin supplied.

“I was going to say ‘okay with this,’” Eloise finished. “I mean, you said she was crying every time it came up, Daph, but she got through that speech without a single tear shed. Unless something happened back in the room that we didn’t see?”

“No, she was very composed,” Daphne replied. “It surprised me, too. But perhaps she’s just had time to get used to the idea now. It’s been a couple of weeks since it was first brought up, after all.”

“Whatever it was, I’m just thankful that it’s made her more accepting of the idea of being my daughter,” their mother said.

The boys, though they exchanged unreadable glances, remained silent.

Chapter Text

“So, how did it go?” Kipps asked from where he sat at the kitchen table with George and Lockwood, going over some notes for their next case.

Lucy shrugged and sat down. “It was fine- simple, just like they said. The nurse said I could expect to hear in about two weeks, maybe sooner.”

“Which Bridgertons were involved?” George asked.

“All of them, I think,” Lucy said. “At least, they were all there , but only three of them had samples taken. It was the mother, Lady Violet, Lord Bridgerton, and then the Duchess. The rest of them all seemed to want to meet me, so I stuck around long enough to be introduced.” She stole a donut from Kipps’ plate to his faint objection, and took a bite before continuing. “Oh, and I told them that it’s going to take time for them to become family, if there’s actually anything to this suspicion.”

George nodded, while Kipps rolled his eyes. Lockwood just looked thoughtful.

“You may as well accept it now, Lucy,” Kipps said, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands behind his head. “However much you don’t like the idea, you’re actually one of those ‘posh pricks’ you so despise. Pretty soon you’ll be prancing around in gauze and lace and insisting we call you Lady Lucy.”

Lucy tore a piece off her donut and threw it at him. “Not even in my worst nightmares.”

“Besides,” Lockwood spoke up, “the Bridgertons are only minor nobility. Only the head of the house and their spouse have the right to be called Lady or Lord. So, at most, Lucy would be a Miss which is hardly different from what she’s already entitled to.”

Lucy smiled warmly at him. “There. See, Kipps? No different than before.”

“Yeah, except for the fact that your family has a seat in Parliament,” George put in. “Can you imagine the kind of reforms we could get passed with that kind of pull?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Come on! It’s not like I’ll be able to convince them to vote one way or another- they don’t even know me! And they’re being my family still isn’t confirmed.”

“How many sisters and brothers are in that family, anyway?” Kipps asked. “Some of them are quite old, aren’t they? Will you still be the youngest, Lucy?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “They all looked older than me at the clinic.”

“There are eight Bridgerton children in this generation,” George supplied. “And the last two were twins, so actually, Lucy would be child number six, as opposed to seven, with two younger siblings- a girl and a boy, about ten years old.”

Lucy frowned. “I didn’t see any kids there… and there were only six Bridgertons in total.”

“They’re probably still at school,” Kipps said. 

They all blinked at him and it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“I weep for this generation,” he said. “School! You know- that place where normal kids spend their days learning all sorts of useful things for having a normal job and living a normal life? Being posh, they probably go to some fancy boarding school for most of the year, and only come home on holidays. I’d imagine they’re either ready for, or already took, their final exams for the current semester.”

Lucy blew her breath out. “That’s weird…”

“It’s actually quite normal,” Kipps insisted.

“Not that- them being at school- but just the thought of having a brother and sister that are younger than I am. In fact, the idea of having brothers at all is…” she shook her head. “If it’s true, it’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Well,” Lockwood said. “I have to warn you that Lord Bridgerton told me the rest of his sisters often accuse him of being overprotective, so…”

“Oh god, not another interfering busybody,” Lucy groaned. “As if I don’t have enough of them around me already!”

“Hey!” Lockwood protested. “I’ve gotten a lot better! Plus, I actually enable you more often than not, now.”

“That’s true,” she admitted with a grin.

“Ugh,” George groaned. “Can we get back to the topic at hand? Which, to be clear, is Mrs. Granville’s melting chandelier?”

—

Lady Violet wasn’t really looking forward to this conversation, but now that Gregory and Hyacinth were back from school, it was one she needed to have. They’d arrived the night before, fresh from their exams, and bursting with all the news they hadn’t already shared over the phone or in letters. 

Gregory wasn’t one for focusing on scandals in his friend group, but he was full of information on his cricket team’s performance and how the school was planning to include a computing program in the next year, which he was already looking forward to. 

Lady Violet wasn’t at all sure about computers and all the other electronic devices that were becoming popular now that the Problem was fading, but she told herself that she shouldn’t stand in the way of progress. The rest of the world had adopted these things and seemed to be doing just fine, and she didn’t want to turn into an old fuddy-duddy always complaining about new advancements and the world changing around her.

Hyacinth’s news was more focused on her friend group interactions, who she’d become best friends with and who was currently being shunned for one slight or another. Violet hid a sigh, wishing that girls didn’t have that tendency to view friendship as a battle-ground as they grew up. But at least Hyacinth seemed to be doing her best to be kind to the current outcasts, even if she didn’t always do so where the others could see. She’d have to talk to her daughter about that… but hopefully exposure to Kate and Eloise would also help. Both of them were outspoken and not at all afraid of making enemies by championing what was right.

Finally, all the talk ran down and Violet could get a word in edgewise. Hyacinth even offered the best opening possible, by asking if the ghost at Aubry Hall had been dealt with yet.

The Spring Ball had come and gone while everything with Ms. Carlyle was still up in the air, and for once Violet had attended it without worrying too much about the decorations, the caterers, or whether her guests would create some sort of scandal.

“Yes, the visitor is gone, Hyacinth,” Violet said now, watching her daughter make a face at the use of her full name.

“Mum - can’t you call me Cindy, like everyone else?” she complained, distracted. 

“I love your name!” Violet protested, like she always did. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It’s so old,” Hyacinth objected. “It makes me sound like someone from the nineteen hundreds!”

Violet couldn’t help laughing. “Oh my dear- very well, if you insist, I will call you Cindy. But only around strangers. Your father and I chose both of your names, and I love them just as much as I love you two.”

The twins groaned and rolled their eyes, and Violet laughed again.

“Now, I’ve heard everything there is to hear about you, but don’t you want to know what’s been going on here?”

“Why? Isn’t it just the same old stuff that’s been going on for ages?” Gregory asked, narrowed eyed in suspicion.

“Well…” Violet paused for a moment, “it’s rather exciting- for me, at least. We’re fairly sure that we’ve found your missing sister, Francesca.”

Violet watched as they both went still, and looked at each other before looking back at her.

“What do you mean?” Hyacinth asked. “Is she… did they find her body?”

“No! No, not at all- she’s not dead, dear- she’s very much alive!”

“Well… if she’s alive, why didn’t she come find us before? Was she in another country or something?” Gregory asked. “They told us in school that foreign travel was starting back up, and my French teacher said we might actually get to visit France once we’re in A-levels.”

Violet smiled. “She wasn’t in another country, although that was a guess that we never could check up on with all the travel restrictions in place. But…. she doesn’t remember being Francesca. Simply put, she thought she was adopted into another family all these years, and didn’t know to look for us.”

“Wait, if she can’t even remember, then… how did you find her?” Hyacinth asked.

“Do you remember I told you she had strong Talents?” Violet asked. They both nodded. “It seems she’s been working as an agent for quite some time. Anthony and Kate hired her agency as the one to come and deal with Aunt Winnie’s ghost, and… well, one thing led to another.”

The twins exchanged another look.

“Okay, but how do you know she’s really Francesca? Did she recognize the Hall, or something?” Gregory asked.

“We don’t know for sure- not yet,” Violet admitted. “But the DNA test has been submitted, and the results should be here in less than a week, now.”

“Wait, you’ve already done the test?” Hyacinth asked, incensed. “Just when were you going to tell us about her?”

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t know about how strong the possibility was until two weeks ago,” Violet said, a little tartly. “Kate and Daphne spearheaded the investigation, and it was all practically over and done with by the time they told me- which was when the lawyers recommended the DNA test. Of course I wanted to call and tell you as soon as I found out, but you were about to take your exams- I didn’t know if it would worry or upset you to know, if you did badly on the end-of-term tests because I couldn’t wait a few more days- well, it would have been terribly unfair to you.”

They seemed to consider this and then admitted it was valid.

“I don’t know that I could have thought of anything else,” Hyacinth admitted.

“I could,” Gregory said, “but I can see how it would have bothered you enough to make you fail.”

Hyacinth stuck her tongue out at him, and Violet shook her head at them.

“What do I always say?” she asked, challenging them.

“We don’t have to do the same things-” Hyacinth started

“Or wear the same clothes-” Gregory added.

“Or even feel the same way-” Hyacinth continued.

“Just because we’re twins,” they finished together.

“But?” Violet prompted, when they seemed happy to stop there.

“But we still have to be nice to each other,” Gregory grudgingly supplied.

“And was what you said to your sister very kind?”

“No… it’s true, though.”

“Just because something may be true, that doesn’t mean that you have to find the most offensive way to say it, Gregory,” Violet said pointedly. “Hyacinth may be more emotional than you are, but that doesn’t mean she’s any less intelligent or capable than you. You have different strengths and weaknesses, but I wouldn’t say that being affected by what happens to the people you love is a weakness. It could be, Hyacinth, if you allowed it to stop you from acting in their best interests, or if you allowed yourself to become so wrapped up in everyone else’s life that you forget to live your own. But it can also be a commendable trait that helps keep a relationship healthy- any relationship, from friends, to family, to whoever you decide to partner with later on. So just remember that, Gregory.”

“Yes, mum,” Gregory said, his tone just shy of resentful. 

Violet suppressed an entirely innappropriate smile and let it drop.

“Now, do either of you have any questions, now that you know?”

They were silent for a moment as they thought about it.

“Well… is she going to live here?” Hyacinth asked. “If the test says she’s really Francesca?”

“Probably not,” Violet said. “At the clinic, where we took the samples, she said that she considers her agency team her family, and that it would take a while before she could think of us as such.”

“What’s her name?” Gregory wondered. “The one she’s been living under, I mean.”

“Lucy Carlyle,” Violet told them.

Their eyes went wide.

“The Lucy Carlyle?” Hyacinth squeaked.

“Lockwood and Co.’s famous Listener?” Gregory asked with just as much awe. 

They looked at each other, wide grins spreading over their faces.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe I’m going to have a famous sister!” Hyacinth squealed in pure delight. “Do you think she’ll let me give her autograph to all my friends?” She gasped. “I could have her sign all my copies of True Hauntings that Lockwood and Co. features in!”

“Do you think she’d teach me ghost-fighting rapier tricks?” Gregory asked. “The fencing masters at school won’t- I already asked.”

Violet put a hand to her chest, overwhelmed by her youngests’ evident hero-worship.

“Slow down, you two!” she said, half-laughing. “It’s not even confirmed yet! As for the rest, I expect it’s something you’ll have to ask yourselves, and only once Lucy herself is ready.”

They spent a few more minutes gushing about how amazing and ‘awesome’ it would be to have Lucy Carlyle for a sister, and, had they but noticed, giving Violet some new concerns when it came to thinking of the girl as her missing daughter. Evidently, Lucy had had quite the adventurous career as an agent, even before her agency discovered and revealed the source of the Problem.

Violet decided it was probably time to do a little research of her own- perhaps Anthony would have some pointers on that. And if not, well, Hyacinth and Gregory would probably be more than happy to fill her in. Perhaps she might borrow some of those copies of True Hauntings that Hyacinth wanted Lucy to sign.

—

The next week and a half passed without Lucy spending one single night alone in the attic. She would sometimes retreat there during the day, just to sit and think, and breathe through the random surges of panic she still sometimes got when thinking about being a Bridgerton after all.

And yet, she found Dr. Graham’s advice helpful. She went to two more sessions, in which they discussed how Lucy’s life might change in the near future, and between those, she kept up thinking of the Bridgertons as weird cousins whom she had just met and needed to get along with, for everyone’s sake. It was a little difficult because she hadn’t spent much time with any of them, but she also didn’t want to start any ‘getting to know you’ meet-ups while her status was still up in the air.

Meanwhile, she called Mary a lot more often, and even tried calling Connie and Laura. The older two girls weren’t actively hostile to Lucy finding her birth family, but they weren’t on board with the idea of exposing the Carlyles for their kidnapping schemes.

“There’s no point,” Connie had said. “Too much time has passed, and everyone’s settled. As far as me and my family are concerned, we stay away from that witch and her daughters, but I don’t feel any need for revenge. I’m gone, and I’m staying that way- she can go rot for all I care, but it’s just… It’s not worth the stress of it all.”

Laura had similar feelings, although hers were more visceral. “I can’t handle it, Lucy,” she’d said, sounding on the verge of tears. “I can’t handle the press and the fuss and bother of it. I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

After those conversations, Lucy had truly begun to wonder what their stories had been. She could sort of relate to Connie- she, too, had felt like it wasn’t worth the effort involved to get justice after all these years. Until Linda had called, anyway. She’d been just fine with pursuing justice after that. But Laura? Laura’s reaction spoke to something the rest of them hadn’t experienced- like the whole thing had traumatized her much more than the simple fact of waking up in the Carlyle’s basement without any memories.

She called Mary about that.

“Do you think she remembers more than we do?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. She was always angrier, from what I remember. I didn’t really see her or Connie all that much- not after Connie was sent back to the nightwatch after taking care of me while I got used to the way the Carlyle’s ran things. But what I do remember was her getting beat a lot more than us because she’d always give them lip about things. It could be that she does remember more. She was the first, after all, and maybe they were still working out how to block her memories, or maybe they didn’t do it quite right because it was their first go ’round with the equipment and the drugs and everything.”

“Have you found out where all that stuff was kept, by the way?” Lucy asked, uncomfortable with the thought of Laura having to endure the clumsiness of the Carlyles trying whatever it was they did to the rest of them for the first time.

“... Actually, I might have,” Mary said, somewhat to her surprise. “I knew they didn’t keep it at the house all the time, so they must have had some place to stash it. I got the idea to look through land records- if there was a shed or a storage unit somewhere, that’d have to be registered, right?”

“Yeah, but they could’ve used a false name,” Lucy objected. “If I was going to try storing stuff I needed to keep hidden, I wouldn’t use my real name- and mum and dad weren’t that stupid!”

“I did think of that, but I also know what name dad’s mates used to call him. And wouldn’t you know, I found a storage unit in Newcastle registered under that name- well, I say storage unit, but it’s more like a series of slowly rotting sheds on the edge of a field somewhere between our town and the city. Trouble is, it’s probably been sold off and emptied by now due to non-payment. And even if it wasn’t, I’d have to pay the past rental fees before I could get into it, wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe,” Lucy admitted. “But if you got the police to do it?”

“Nah- they already said it’s too old of a case. No one will take it on up here. I’m sorry, but if the police are to get involved at this stage, it’s going to be up to you to convince the London force to investigate.”

Lucy sighed at that and rubbed her face. “I don’t know that they would- not with as little evidence as I have to go on. Maybe, if the DNA results come back positive, the Bridgertons might help. I have a feeling they’d like to prosecute mu- Mrs. Carlyle, if it turns out I am one of their daughters.”

“I really think you are, Lucy,” Mary said. “I know you don’t like that idea, but it’s just so obvious- at least to me. There’s too many coincidences, and the timing is too perfect.”

That brought up Lucy’s memory of the woman who probably hadn’t been Penny Nolan.

“Hey,” Lucy said, suddenly needing to hear that memory confirmed. “You remember that time, right after I woke up, that you took me to play, and we lost our ball? And we searched for it, but couldn’t find it, and then the curfew bell rang and we ran home as fast as we could?”

“Sure,” Mary said, though she sounded uncertain.

“That woman I told you was calling me… you could hear her, too, couldn’t you? And the reason you said you couldn’t was because she wasn’t calling the name I have now… wasn’t it?”

Mary was quiet on the other end of the line.

“I don’t blame you,” Lucy said, meaning it. “You were barely older than I was, and you were scared of mum and dad. I get it. I just… I need to know if that’s something that happened, or if I made it up-”

“No. You didn’t make it up,” Mary said. “I heard her, too. But you’re right, she wasn’t… she wasn’t calling for ‘Lucy.’ I was all set to ignore her, until you said she was calling your name. I got scared. I didn’t even think, I just knew I had to get you away from her before…”

“Before she found me and it all went to shit,” Lucy finished.

“Yeah.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about it now,” Lucy said. “I’ve been thinking about it, and there’s no guarantee that it would have fixed anything. I think I know who it was, and… well, the chance that her finding me would have actually gotten us back to our families is pretty small, I think.”

“Why?” Mary asked, genuinely confused. “She knew who you were! She could have identified you, and then mum and dad would have been found out!”

“Yeah, but what if everyone just made out like she’d gone mad? What if they said she just latched onto me as her niece because she couldn’t bear the thought that her niece was dead? I was new in town, sure, but it’d been a couple of months, and the Carlyles were telling everyone that they were adopting a new girl, right? So, what probably would have happened was that I’d have been taken back to the Carlyles with you, and both of us would have been beat within an inch of our lives for causing all the drama. And the old lady would have been shut up in a hospital and drugged until they were certain she wasn’t going to cause anymore problems.”

“But… you knew it was your name,” Mary said. “You could have told them-”

“I was seven, Mary,” Lucy interrupted. “And I was ‘recently adopted.’ No one would have believed me, especially since I couldn’t have told them anything about the lady or where I’d lived before.”

Mary fell silent again. 

“What I’m saying is,” Lucy continued, “that you pulling me away from her before she could catch us wasn’t the terrible thing you probably think it is. It’s just what happened. Okay?”

“I don’t know why you don’t hate me for it, though,” Mary said quietly. “You say it wouldn’t have gone over well, but… you don’t know that. It could have solved everything- saved everyone years of beatings and abuse…”

“Maybe. And that’s a big maybe, Mary,” Lucy said. “I just don’t see how it could have gone any other way than what I told you. Maybe if I could’ve remembered more about my previous life… but I couldn’t then, and I still can’t now. The thing is, I don’t see the point of wallowing in what might have been, when we still have to deal with how things are now.”

“That’s all well and good,” Mary said, “but I hope you’ll at least talk to that therapist about it at some point.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, even though Mary couldn’t see. “Fine. If it starts bothering me, I’ll bring it up,” she promised. “In the meantime, I’ll just worry about what’s going to happen if that test is positive.”

The conversation wrapped up pretty quickly after that, with Lucy promising to call Mary to tell her the test results as soon as she could.

Two more days passed before the innocuous letter from the testing facility arrived. Lucy opened it at breakfast in the kitchen with Lockwood, George, and Holly. Her hands shook a little as she unfolded the papers- there seemed to be a stack of them, though the top sheet told her all she really cared about at the moment.

The first few lines told her that no DNA test could be 100% positive, but with modern methods it could get very close. The letter went on to explain the process by which maternity was determined, and below that was a chart.

The chart had five columns, and Lucy needed George’s help to figure out what it all meant, but what it all boiled down to, was that there was a 99.9998% probability that Violet Bridgerton, identified in the chart as simply “Mother,” was, in fact, Lucy’s biological mother, and a 98.7% chance that she was also related as a sibling to the other two Bridgertons who submitted samples.

Chapter Text

Violet ran her eyes over her brood as everyone settled into their usual place in the townhouse sitting room. Daphne and Kate sat together on one couch, with Anthony on the other side of Kate, and Simon standing behind with one hand on the back of the couch (which he was sure to move to Daphne’s shoulder if needed). 

Benedict made himself comfortable by sitting sideways in an armchair with his legs dangling over one of the armrests. Violet shook her head slightly- at twenty-seven he was surely too old to be acting like a boy. Perhaps it was the influence of his friends- that odd couple he seemed to spend most of his time with lately. He had yet to bring them around, but he talked about them frequently, and it seemed they spent most of their time indulging in childish games of one sort or another…

Colin had thankfully not brought Penelope. Fond as she had always been of the youngest Featherington, given how close a friend she’d been to Eloise, it was hard to forget that she had targeted Violet’s family in her little gossip column for years. She had been writing under a pen name, but in Violet’s mind, that just made it worse. Colin and Eloise claimed that she had only done it to protect her anonymity, but if she’d been writing something other than gossip, she wouldn’t have had to resort to a pen-name, would she? 

Still… Penelope seemed to make Colin happy, so very likely it would be time to truly forgive her soon. Even Eloise had given up her grudge, and though Daphne was still sore about the mess Whistledown had made of her early relationships, she seemed to be coming around, too. But that was for the future. For now…

Violet noted that Colin sat with Eloise on the loveseat, and Hyacinth and Gregory came running in at the last minute, flinging themselves down at her feet. She smiled at her family- despite keeping up weekly Family Dinners, it had been a while since everyone had gathered together like this.

Perhaps now we will get to add the last remaining member, she thought, eyeing the crisp letter on the coffee table.

She could see everyone else’s nerves- it was there in the way Daphne sat so straight, and the way Anthony held Kate’s hand so tightly his knuckles were white. Benedict did a better job of concealing his feelings, but he was staring so blankly at the ceiling that Violet knew his thoughts were a million miles away. Colin and Eloise were whispering earnestly together, and Hyacinth and Gregory could hardly keep still with how excited they were. 

All the others had been through this before, of course- they knew a positive result was by no means a guarantee- but the twins had always been too young to be involved in the process of verifying the possible Francescas’ identity. This would be their first time… and Violet’s breath hitched involuntarily as she thought of the possibility that it could be their only time.

Still, considering everything, she felt remarkably calm. She thought herself very well prepared for either outcome. From all accounts, Lucy was an intelligent girl, whom she could see fitting into their family, once she got used to the idea and got to know them all. And if not… well, at least she wouldn’t be inclined to think herself taken advantage of, or that they had raised false hopes for her.

Kate cleared her throat and asked everyone for a moment of silence as she claimed the right- as the instigator of the investigation- to open the letter and read the contents out loud. She neatly slit the envelope open and took out the pages, unfolding them.

A relieved smile broke out on Kate’s face, and a moment later she triumphantly announced, “a ninety-nine percent probability that Lady Violet is Lucy’s biological mother.”

There was a moment of charged silence, and then the rest of them erupted into cheers, clutching at each other, crying and laughing. Hyacinth and Gregory got up and started dancing around. Violet tried to smile and join in, but for some unaccountable reason, she also broke into tears- and not the happy kind.

She rose and quickly crept out of the room, trying not to let anyone see. It was hard to understand her own reaction- it was good news! Her missing daughter- her Francesca, over whose disappearance she’d wept, and prayed, and pleaded- had been found! Not only alive, but safe, and well, and willing to give them all a chance.

And yet…

Violet continued to cry as she let herself into the library. Her emotions continued to rage, and it was as if she was living through all the sadness and anger and grief she’d experienced over a decade of time, compressed into these few moments. She was struck again by the injustice of it all. 

Fran should have never gone missing. She should have grown up with them all, under her eye, so that she could love and guide her the way she deserved. The way she so clearly hadn’t been loved and guided by the people who had stolen her away.

Violet wanted to return to the sitting room and celebrate with the rest of her family, but she knew from too many years of mourning that out-pourings of grief just had to run their course. So she sat alone in the library and let herself weep until, finally, her sobs calmed, and her tears dried up. 

By that time her absence had been noticed, and it was Anthony who found her, carefully drying her eyes with an old-fashioned pocket handkerchief.

“Mum? Are you in here?” he called quietly into the stillness. Then he spotted her in the old leather-backed chair in an alcove between bookcases and started over.

“Are you alright?” he asked, crouching down next to her. “I thought- we all thought- that you’d be happy with this news.”

“I am- oh, I am,” Violet reassured him. “It’s just that I needed a moment to grieve for all the time we’ve missed. I’m not sure why it hit me now, but…” She shrugged, and managed to dig up a smile for her eldest. “Sometimes these things are unpredictable.”

Anthony smiled back, but rather sadly. “I know what you mean. Even when it wasn’t confirmed… well, I nearly threatened Anthony Lockwood into breaking up with Lucy, just on the chance that she was Fran. Kate helped me to see that I was overreacting, though.”

He shrugged, and Violet chuckled- a little wetly. “You’ve always thought no one was good enough for your sisters,” she said. “But that’s a very outdated view of things, you know.”

“I know,” he sighed. “It doesn’t help that I used to be such a smug little playboy myself, though. I find myself projecting how I used to think and act onto every other man, regardless of what they’re really like.”

“And what is Anthony Lockwood really like?” Violet asked, curiously.

Anthony hummed, his gaze growing distant as he considered. “I’m not entirely sure yet. But it’s evident he’s nothing like I was at that age- at least not where it concerns women. Of course, he was denied the considerable free-time and lack of responsibility that I enjoyed. Much too busy running a company and trying to survive, I imagine. It’s early days yet, but… I can give a tentative approval.”

Violet shook her head at him, then made to get up. “I only hope he approves of us. I remember being sixteen- I was absolutely convinced my first relationship would be my last. It will be harder to win Lucy over if her agency-family is against her building relationships with us. But as you said, it’s early days.”

She sighed as they both stood. “I suppose we should rejoin the others... I don’t want them thinking I’m not happy with the news.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Anthony asked, placing a comforting hand on her arm.

“Yes, Anthony, I’m fine,” Violet said, even though internally she still felt a little unbalanced. “There’s no need to make a fuss. Now, how do you think we should reach out? I know Lucy said she didn’t want to talk to us until after the results came, but now they’re here, and… well.”

“I think Daphne and Kate have some ideas on that,” Anthony said, leading her from the room.

—

Lucy seemed to be in a state of continual numbness, ever since the DNA results had come. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t seem to feel anything, anymore. It was like all her emotions had been transferred to a tape, and it was in the tape player, but someone had pushed the pause button as soon as she’d read that letter and just never unpaused it. In a way that was a good thing- cases were easier than they’d ever been before. With her own emotions unavailable, Lucy found it much easier to push aside the ones from the spirits they faced, and not let them affect her.

If she could have, she would have made another appointment with Dr. Graham, but at their last session, the doctor had told her she would be unavailable until the following week, since she would be out of town. In fact, on hearing that, Lucy had gone ahead and scheduled a session for the earliest availability when the doctor returned. Until then, though, she was on her own. She tried the coping techniques Dr. Graham had recommended, but they didn’t seem to be doing much.

She could still act right, at least. She could smile and reminded herself to laugh if someone told a joke, or something funny happened, but though she could recognize when something ought to make her angry or annoyed or offended, she couldn’t seem to make herself care enough to react. 

Unfortunately- and she really did feel distantly guilty about this- that included Lockwood. He kept trying to check in with her, and while Lucy appreciated the effort he was putting in… she just had no idea what to tell him.

The Bridgertons were her birth family. It was confirmed. She was meant to be- had always been- Francesca Bridgerton- a girl who was doubtless frilly, frothy, posh and always elegantly put together..

Problem was, she’d grown up as Lucy Carlyle- brash, belligerent, common as dirt, and more than a little bit broken.

So… where did that leave her?

Daphne had called the afternoon of the day she got the results, and Lucy had agreed to attend a family dinner that was apparently regularly scheduled for Saturday nights. She had been so out of it, she hadn’t even considered checking their case schedule, but when she’d told Lockwood, he’d just smiled and told her not to worry about it. They could reschedule, or if it looked to be an easy case, perhaps George and Holly could handle it on their own. 

He’d offered to go with her, and Lucy, though stuck in that limbo of unfeeling, was grateful. She couldn’t quite see herself braving the stares of all those people on her own.

Lockwood, perhaps sensing that Lucy wasn’t in the right headspace to make the best decisions, asked Holly to help her choose an outfit.

Feelings momentarily returned as they stood in front of the old wardrobe up in the attic- disgust. Disgust and embarrassment. 

“Nothing,” Lucy said, eyeing the jumpers and skirts she usually found both practical and comfortable with unaccustomed loathing. “It’s hopeless, Holly. I’ve literally got nothing to wear that they’d find appropriate.”

Holly stared at the clothes for another moment, chewing her lip and obviously trying to find a more tactful way of putting it, but Lucy didn’t see the point. She flopped onto her old bed and lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s probably for the best,” she mused. “I mean, they’ll find out eventually that I’m nothing like them, so I might as well show up wearing something I’m comfortable in, right? That way I can blast any expectations they might have of me fitting in into very small pieces.”

Holly made a disagreeing sound. “You’re making too big a deal of this, Lucy. I know you think I care about appearance too much, but the truth is, the one who’s too focused on clothing here is actually you.”

“What?” Lucy asked, her own indignation surprising her.

“Or rather, the one who thinks that clothing choice defines a whole person, rather than just one aspect of them, is you. Admit it- you’re always the first one of us to judge people based on what they’re wearing, aren’t you, Lucy?” Holly asked, turning to look at her with a very judgemental look of her own. Lucy rolled her eyes.

“Well, if people are going to dress like posh pricks…” she said. “I mean, it’s like book covers, isn’t it? The outside reflects the inside.”

Holly raised an eyebrow, and smirked. “You do know that there’s a famous saying on how you shouldn’t judge books by their covers, right?”

“George says that saying predates modern publishing, and that nowadays it’s perfectly logical to judge a book by its cover, because that’s the whole point and purpose of them,” Lucy shot back.

Holly sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “My point, Lucy, is that you could choose to wear something more in line with what you think the Bridgertons would wear, if you wanted to. That’s a choice you can make. Or not, if you don’t want to! But you need to acknowledge that they are most likely just going to be happy that you showed up, and not notice what you’re wearing at all.” 

Lucy flopped back down on the bed to think about that.

“That said,” Holly continued. “I do think we should avoid anything with noticeable stains or rips. If we had time, I might be able to re-dye some of these for you, and mend the others…”

Lucy snorted. “Yeah, because a plain jumper and skirt combo is really going to cut it while having dinner with a Lord and no less than three Ladies, one of whom is a Duchess.”

“Actually, yes, it would,” was Holly’s surprising reply. “I had a feeling you didn’t think to ask, so I called Lady Bridgerton myself, and just asked her directly if there was any kind of dress code. A jumper and skirt combo would be just fine, if we just dressed them up a bit… and if any of them were lacking ectoplasm stains. I think all we need to do is just go out and buy you a new outfit-”

Lucy groaned and flopped her arm over her eyes.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Holly scolded mildly. “It’s not like we’ll be shopping for me . I’m well aware our styles are different. But it wouldn’t hurt you to have something in your wardrobe that isn’t dedicated to hunting ghosts, you know!”

“Fine,” Lucy said, giving in as her previous indignation drained away, taking most of her energy with it. “But we’re getting fish and chips, after, and you can’t complain.”

An hour later, she found herself staring at her own reflection in a dressing room mirror, wondering who exactly she was seeing in it. Was it Lucy? Or was it Francesca?

The outfit itself was fine- Holly had taken her to a shop that wasn’t that much more posh than what Lucy usually went to, and then dragged her on a whirlwind tour through the jumpers and skirts they had available, keeping to dark colors and minimal embellishment. She paired each jumper with a skirt and instructed Lucy to try them on as the sets she’d assembled, rather than one at a time. As a result, Lucy was currently wearing a pleated navy and green plaid skirt with a navy jumper on top. 

It looked fine on her, but there was something about it that Lucy didn’t like. After a minute of cocking her head to one side and then another, it came to her. It looked like a school uniform. All she needed to complete the look was a pair of chunky mary janes, white knee socks, and a white collared shirt under the jumper. Lucy scowled at it, and took it off.

The next outfit was better. A tan corduroy skirt that came to about mid-thigh, with a slouchy but soft, thin but warm, sapphire blue jumper. She liked the jumper quite a lot, despite- or maybe because of- the single row of rhinestones around the neckline… but she was scared to look at the price tag. The skirt was nice, too, but she didn’t know how it would look with the leggings she usually wore under her skirts. The color might clash with the dark leggings.

She took that outfit off and tried on the next. This time the color was purple, and the jumper was two-toned, with a darker hue on one side and a lighter hue on the other. There was a heart in the middle, straddling the demarcation line, and knitted in the opposite colors so that it stood out against the rest. Lucy actually felt it was something she would buy for herself, but didn’t think it was quite the right thing for what she couldn’t help thinking of as a fancy dinner. The skirt was pleated again, but black, and came to just above her knees. It didn’t really hang right, though. Lucy kept tugging at it, trying to adjust it so it looked… normal? Okay? Good would definitely be pushing it.

Lucy worked her way through the outfits Holly had picked out like this, usually liking some things about them, but finding plenty to complain about as well.

With Holly’s help, she managed to find two outfits that would be both acceptable and nice enough. They swapped some things around, and she ended up taking home the sapphire blue jumper with a black straight skirt, and the tan corduroy skirt paired now with a dark green jumper that Holly said looked stunning on her. She hadn’t planned to buy both outfits, but Holly insisted, saying that Lockwood had given her the company credit card. That made Lucy scowl- why he should squander the agency’s money on her when she was getting regular paychecks and he had bills to pay, she couldn’t imagine. But there was no arguing with Holly on a mission, so she let it be, just reminding herself to have a talk with him later.

When they got home, Lucy hung the new outfits in the attic wardrobe. More often than not she slept in Lockwood’s bed these days, but she had yet to start moving any of her clothes downstairs. Maybe she might start doing that in a few months, but… she wasn’t sure if Lockwood would feel she was overstepping, and she didn’t want to assume. She needed to talk to him… but not right now.

The night of the dinner, Lucy decided to wear the blue outfit, instead of the green. The green was gorgeous- she could agree with Holly on that, although she wasn’t sure it was such a hit on her as it would have been on someone else- but the blue just felt… better. More like her. Even if it was a bit more sparkly than she usually went for.

Luckily, the color of the jumper matched Celia’s necklace, so Lucy forewent her usual silver studs and hoops for a pair of gold stud earrings that Holly had given her for her last birthday.

Lucy’s hand froze halfway to her earlobe as she stared at herself in the mirror. Her birthday…

She took a deep breath to still the sudden shake in her hands and focused on putting the earring in without hurting herself. By the time she went downstairs to get her coat and shoes on (a nicer pair that Lucy had picked up in a second-hand shop a couple of months ago on a whim, and which Holly had polished up for her) she had her breathing under control again, and was able to smile at Lockwood as he complimented her appearance. 

George and Holly were there in the hall, too, though George looked like he was there only under threat of torture. Lucy shot a quick smile at Holly, as thanks for her help in getting ready for this dinner, but her focus was on George.

“George, could I… I mean, I’ve got a quick question?”

Lockwood looked at his watch and then glanced out the open door to the waiting cab. “Luce, we’re going to be-”

“It won’t take a minute,” she interrupted, and grabbed George’s arm, pulling him into the library.

“Ow- watch the arm, watch the arm! I need that, you know,” he protested.

“You’re fine,” Lucy insisted. “Look, I just… I know you looked into all the Bridgerton kids, so… I just need to know when my birthday is. The real one, I mean.”

George’s mouth fell open a little, and then he did something that filled Lucy with dismay. He took his glasses off and started polishing them in a very apologetic way.

“George!” she exclaimed. “You can’t have forgotten to look at birthdates!”

“I- I didn’t, ” he said. “I mean, I did- I don’t have it memorized or anything. I’m sure it’s upstairs in my room… somewhere… But you’re going to their house anyway, and you’re about to be late, so why do you need me to tell you? Can’t you just ask them?”

Lucy floundered, unable to articulate why she felt she needed to know right now, and without asking the Bridgertons. 

“I just…” she stopped herself, took a breath, and swallowed hard. “Right. I’ll just… ask them.”

“There you go,” George mumbled. He awkwardly patted her shoulder. “You’ll be okay, Lucy. Plus, Lockwood’s going too, so if they all gang up on you, you can just poke him and he’ll blind them with those teeth of his. They’ll back right off.”

Lucy snorted, feeling abruptly more grounded in that moment than she had all week.

“Right. Thanks, George.”

“Lucy?” Lockwood appeared in the doorway. “If you don’t want to go anymore, that’s fine, but the cab’s about to leave without us if you do.”

“No, I’m coming. Sorry,” Lucy said, giving him a much more genuine smile than she had earlier. She stuck her arms into the coat Lockwood held out for her, and then they rushed out to the waiting cab.

Lucy settled herself into the seat by the far door, and Lockwood held her hand all the way there.

Chapter Text

It took all of Lucy’s courage just to step out of the cab outside the Bridgerton townhouse. 

Bridgerton mansion, more like, Lucy thought, looking up at the broad facade. The sun was setting, and though the front of the house was in shadow, there was still enough light to pick out the details of the wrought-iron fence, the plumeing purple flowers draped over it, and the ornate windows and doors. They had time to take it all in, given that it was still safe to be out, and she couldn’t help thinking that this was the kind of home that only the generationally wealthy could afford. She idly wondered how many generations it had been in the family.

Lockwood took her hand, and she suddenly realized how cold she was, just from the incredible warmth of his palm against hers.

“Ready?” he asked, with an understanding expression, resting his left hand on the hilt of his rapier.

Lucy nodded, even though she wished she’d brought her own rapier- it might have helped to ground her. She’d decided against it after realizing too late that she didn’t have a belt that wasn’t scuffed, scraped, or scorched from too many close encounters with visitors.

They walked under a flower-hung arch set into the fence into a front garden . It wasn’t particularly large- no lawn, or anything like that- but still. It had enough room for a couple of flower beds, a small fountain, and a stone bench.

“Who has a front garden?” Lucy whispered, almost incensed at the sheer extravagance. “Even Ms. Wintergarden didn’t have a front garden, and she was absolutely loaded!”

“It just means the house was built before modern construction laws,” Lockwood said soothingly. “And you have to admit that it’s inviting,” he added, looking around. “I wouldn’t mind if our back garden looked something like this.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow at him, but reluctantly admitted that it did look nice. “I’m not sure about inviting, though. Seems more like a place we’d get shooed out of if someone came by and found us sitting on the bench.” 

“I don’t think they’d be that rude,” Lockwood said.

“Maybe, but let’s just get in,” she said. “No point hanging around out here.”

“Of course,” Lockwood agreed with one of his maddening grins. “Not like this house is haunted, but I suppose the first rule still applies.”

“You never know…” Lucy muttered. “It’s been around long enough it’s probably got a spectre in the master bath and a phantasm in the lounge.”

“Well, if you’re right, then I guess we’ll have a case tonight after all,” Lockwood replied cheerfully. “It’ll be a shame to ruin your outfit, though… I rather like seeing you in it.”

Lucy just rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t quite suppress the smile that always threatened to break out when Lockwood complimented her. He’d always been enthusiastic about her Talent and her skills as an agent- apart from that brief period where he was terrified she’d end up dead through carelessness- but since they officially started dating, he’d begun complimenting her on things apart from her role as an agent. It was weird, at first- Lucy had never considered herself anything beyond average when it came to looks- but she’d decided she liked it. It helped that he wasn’t particularly extravagant about it- that comment on how he liked seeing her in this particular outfit was about as enthusiastic as he got- but it was enough to reassure her that he did, in fact, find her attractive whenever she got too far into her own head on the issue.

The three steps up to the door were semi-circular and the top step had wrought iron inlay around the edges which matched the iron door-knocker. Lucy had to work not to scoff at the ostentation. Surely a simple band of iron would have sufficed, or even the more pedestrian iron tiles, such as Lockwood used. But no, it had to be decorative as well as functional, and probably cost three times as much as a result. The fact that the Bridgertons obviously had the money to afford it absolutely didn’t annoy her in the least.

Lockwood waited for Lucy to either knock or ring the bell, but when she didn’t, he just gave her a smile and rang the bell himself. 

There was an immediate thunder of footsteps, and the door was flung open. In no time they were both pulled inside and practically thrust into the crowd of Bridgertons massed in the hall.

Lucy was a little overwhelmed by it all, trying and failing to remember which name went with which face, and positively baffled by the fact that Cindy and Greg- the two Bridgerton siblings she hadn’t met yet, recognizable by the fact that they were the youngest people there- immediately asked for her autograph. Fortunately, Lady Violet soon took charge of the situation and herded everyone upstairs into a posh sitting room for appetizers and drinks.

Lucy wasn’t used to that- sure, the parties she’d gone to as a member of Lockwood and Co. usually had some sort of small comestible for guests, but she typically stayed away from those unless George had first approved them (due to the unfortunate likelihood of getting horseradish when she expected gravy). More importantly, she didn’t really understand why they didn’t just go to the table instead of fiddling around with fussy little skewers of fancy breads, cheese, meat, and veg. She wasn’t planning to take any at first, but found herself holding a plate that had been filled anyway. Of course, she managed to drop at least two of the skewers entirely, and lost bits and pieces of the others in the sofa cushions before giving it up as a lost cause.

Lord Bridgerton handed round tumblers and wine glasses, pouring out for each family member without asking their preferences. When he got to Lucy she felt herself flush- she wasn’t the biggest drinker, and the only liquor she’d ever had was pilfered from her mum’s stash of grocery store vodka, and then it was only because she’d wanted to get drunk with Norrie. But then Norrie had stopped her, and somehow… she’d just never gone for the hard stuff again. 

“Do you have any beer?” she asked, trying to sound like she didn’t know it was a stupid question. Why would this household, with poshness practically dripping off every possible surface, have something as pedestrian as beer?

Lord Bridgerton’s eyebrows twitched upward, but then he smiled and said he would see what he could find. He disappeared out the door, and Lucy hoped he wasn’t about to ring up a nightcab and make a lone sojourn to one of the seedy but expensive 24 hour liquor stores that dotted London.

Everyone settled on sofas and chairs arranged in a loose oval around a central coffee table in the middle of the room, delicate little plates and paper napkins in hand. Now that they were all sitting, it was much easier for Lucy to remember who was who, and to take in the fact that, while everyone was wearing some version of what she and Lockwood wore, the Bridgerton version was quite a lot sleeker than her own get up. Lucy’s outfit hadn’t looked that bad in the mirror back at home, but compared to them…

Before she could get too deep into her own head about it, Lockwood squeezed her hand, she made herself sit up straighter. She was Lucy Carlyle, after all- she was a hero of England, and if she wanted to wear clothes that were soft and comfortable instead of smooth and tailored, she had a perfect right to. A second later, she hid a wince as Holly’s words echoed in her head. Maybe she should stop being so hard on other people for the clothes they chose to wear. 

She focused on the couple of faces in the crowd of Bridgertons she was sure she hadn’t seen before, trying to remember their names. 

There was a redhead who was stouter than Lucy and yet bubbled with good cheer as she alternated between one of the younger brothers- Colin?- and the next oldest sister- Eloise, if she remembered right. Apart from her there was a mostly silent black man who she couldn’t place until the oldest sister- Daphne the Duchess- took possession of his arm. Lucy could tell by the way his expression softened then, and the way she smiled up at him, that he must be her Duke. He seemed to feel her eyes on them, because he looked up and over at her, and Lucy quickly looked away.

She still had no idea what to do with the information that she was related to true nobility.

Luckily, Greg and Cindy, the two children she hadn’t met before that night, took the opportunity of one of those moments when everyone at a gathering shuts up at the same time, to ask her and Lockwood questions about their business. Unfortunately, those questions quickly took a personal turn.

“So have you always been dating?” Cindy asked. “And just kept it a secret until now?”

“It would make sense,” Greg put in before either Lucy or Lockwood could come up with a reply. “Since he’s the business owner, he wouldn’t want people to know he was dating one of his employees. At least not until you were both a lot older. Didn’t you join the agency nearly five years ago? Twelve is awfully young for a romantic relationship, even among agents.”

Lucy blushed crimson, and beside her Lockwood coughed up the square of cheese he’d just eaten. What made it worse was that she was fully aware of the stares of everyone else.

“I was thirteen, actually, and the thing is,” she began, a sudden rush of annoyance overcoming her embarrassment. “When you’re spending your nights fighting visitors, and your days either sleeping or trying to keep up with all the other things you have to do, there’s not a lot of time left over for romance. No matter what you hear, good agents aren’t all constantly jumping into bed with each other. So no, we haven’t been dating this whole time. In fact-”

“In fact,” Lockwood interjected. “I didn’t even admit to myself that I saw Lucy as anything but a friend and colleague until after she left the agency.”

“Oh, right! I forgot she did that!” Cindy gasped. Then she frowned. “Why did you do that, Lucy? There wasn’t anything about why in the papers or agency magazines- just an article about how you were doing great things as an independent. And then you were suddenly back with Lockwood and Co. a couple months later without explanation.”

“Yes, well… that’s hard to explain,” Lucy said, absently taking the cold bottle someone handed to her over her shoulder. How could she explain it? How could she tell them about the Aickmere Fetch, and her fears for Lockwood? Then again, why should she have to? Family or not, she didn’t really know these people. 

“It’s a bit personal. Not in that way!” she exclaimed as she saw everyone’s eyes shift over to Lockwood. “Lockwood didn’t do anything to make me leave- or well, he did, but it wasn’t- he wasn’t pressuring me, or anything. He just…” she stopped and sighed. Maybe it would be easier to just tell the truth. She looked at him herself then, and the slight smile and understanding in his eyes made her relax.

“Lockwood is the type of person to always put himself between danger and the people he cares about,” she said, after thinking for a moment. “And it got to the point where I really thought he was going to die right in front of me, and sooner rather than later. I couldn’t bear that, and I honestly thought he’d be safer if I wasn’t around. So I left.” Lucy smiled then, taking his hand. “But it turns out we keep each other safer when we’re together than when we’re apart.”

“How did you end up at Lockwood and Co. to begin with?” One of the brothers- Colin- asked after a quiet moment during which Lucy realized the bottle she was holding was an open beer bottle. It wasn’t a brand she’d heard of, but a quick swig told her it was a lot better than what Lockwood typically bought. 

“Given your apparently high level of Talent, I’d have thought that one of the bigger agencies would have been your first choice,” Colin continued. “No offense intended, of course- you’ve obviously built a highly competent team of agents, Mr. Lockwood.”

Lucy snorted. “Well, they weren’t my first choice,” she said, “It was my goal- mine and my friend Norrie’s- to work for Fittes, or Rotwell if Fittes didn’t bite. Only none of the big outfits would have me in the beginning. I came to London before getting my Grade Four certificate, and since I’d run away from home, I didn’t have my- erm, the Carlyle’s, permission. You can’t- or couldn’t- get hired at a big agency without at least one of those. The history of my last case with Jacobs didn’t help, either. So, yeah- Lockwood and Co. was basically my last hope. Literally,” she chuckled. It was easy to laugh at it now, but at the time, she really had been desperate. “I’d spent my last pound on a tea right before going to the interview.”

“You should’ve seen the way she attacked the biscuits I offered her,” Lockwood joked, picking up where she left off. “Like a ravenous hyena. George- my deputy- made me explain the biscuit rotation rule straight off after I hired her. I think he was afraid she’d gorge the lot before dawn, otherwise.”

Lucy gave him a mock glare. “A hyena? Really? You try surviving on a couple of tenners in London with no idea where you can kip for the night, and then see how much you decide to spend on food. Anyway, I hadn’t eaten anything but a couple of cheap candy bars for a few days at that point, so I think I held myself back pretty well-”

A gasp made her stop and look up. Instead of the amused smiles she’d expected to see, everyone but the kids wore some kind of concerned expression. Greg and Cindy just looked attentive- too young and privileged to really understand what she was talking about.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Lucy said. “It’s just that, after the trial my- the Carlyles- weren’t best pleased with me. They were trying to get me to apologize to Jacobs and go back and... but it’s not like they never fed me, or… you know what, it doesn’t matter,” she said, when the frowns didn’t ease like she expected. “Short version, Lockwood hired me, and I haven’t had to go without since. Not even when I was an independent.”

Lucy took another swig of her beer in the awkward quiet that followed, a little annoyed by the way the mood had suddenly shifted. This was exactly why she hated these kinds of things. Lockwood always said to just tell a funny story to break the ice, but somehow it never worked out for her.

Beside her Lockwood cleared his throat and squeezed her hand. “So, it was all a bit loud out there in the hall, and I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch everyone’s name,” he said, with that little laugh that seemed to invite people to laugh with him instead of at him. Lucy had often envied him that laugh.

There was a nearly inaudible collective sigh and the mood lifted again. Introductions were made for a second time, and Lucy learned that Daphne’s husband was called Simon (not that she’d ever call him by name, given that he was a Duke) , and that Colin’s red-haired girlfriend was named Penelope Featherington (which last name almost made Lucy snort her beer). Neither she nor Lockwood said anything about the fact that they’d known another Penelope not too long since, who had turned out to be very dangerous. However likely it was that the girl had been named after Fittes, this Penelope wasn’t likely to be her own grandmother in disguise.

“I know Lucy said you don’t have a lot of free time as agents, but what do you like to do in the little time you have?” Penelope asked.

They both shrugged and raised their eyebrows a little, trying to think.

“Honestly, I’m usually doing paperwork or going over potential clients with Holly when I get a free moment,” Lockwood said. “But I try to go for walks with Lucy, maybe catch an early dinner somewhere before coming back to get ready for a case. And we both tend to read in the library in the evenings when we don’t have a case.”

“Mostly we just try to relax,” Lucy said, picking up that thread. “It’s easier for me than for Lockwood- he’s a bit of a work-a-holic, honestly, or maybe it’s just habit by now because of how long he’s been running the agency. It means he’s usually doing something work-related in our downtime. But if I have the time and the weather’s nice, I like to do my part to tame the back garden, or just sit out there with my sketch book. If it’s pouring or freezing, I’ll do the same inside with the telly on or the radio, or read a book.”

Benedict- the brother between Lord Bridgerton and Colin- sat up a bit straighter. “You draw? I’d love to see your work sometime- I’m interested in drawing and painting myself. I was even offered a spot in the Royal College- but then it turned out to be a clerical error, and I gave it up to the person who should have gotten it instead.” He said that last with a glance at Lord Bridgerton, who was busy picking a bit of fluff off the sleeve of his otherwise smooth jumper.

“I mean… I wouldn’t call my sketching good, or anything,” Lucy said, flushing again. “I mostly just do it to pass the time on a case- waiting for the ghost to show up, you know. Or I’ll do a sketch of the visitor for George to put in our casebook. My Sight isn’t the best, though, so they’re usually a bit undefined, unless it’s a very strong Type Two.”

“Still, I’d really like to see some of your work,” Benedict said, smiling. “It’s nice to know we have an interest in common.”

Lucy managed a smile in return, suddenly uncomfortable. It was weird to think of her having anything in common with the Bridgertons, and yet… but then she remembered that Benedict had said he’d been in college for art, and relaxed. He’d probably take one look at her work and dismiss it as the scratchings of the amateur that she was, and leave her alone about it.

Before she could actually say he could look at it, a bell rang somewhere, and everyone stood up. Lucy and Lockwood followed suit, though she had no idea what the signal was for. They followed the crowd of siblings as they went out into the hall and then downstairs to the ground floor.

The dining room was like something straight out of one of those homemaking magazines that Holly liked to read. The decorations were sparse, but the walls were covered in pale purple wall-paper, and all the furniture was that deep, dark wood that basically shouted money.  

The table was long- certainly long enough for their group of twelve- and covered with a gleaming white table cloth that had to be something other than plain cotton by the sheen to it. There were cloth napkins in gold, elegantly folded and secured with shiny rings at every place setting, and the plates- stacked two deep, with a smaller plate on top of a larger one- were also edged in gold. There were at least two forks and spoons arrayed beside the plates, and a saucer or something set above and to the left with a water goblet set above and to the right. There were also more wine glasses, but they were left empty. Along the center of the table ran a garland of flowers- real, by the heavy perfume they gave off- taking up the space where Lucy would have expected platters of food.

It did make for a pretty picture, all pristine and spotless, but Lucy hoped the food wouldn’t take too long to arrive.

No one made much fuss about where to sit, except for Lord and Lady Bridgerton, who sat at either end of the table. The rest of them dispersed and settled at what were likely their usual spots, given the way they all silently navigated the table, leaving two chairs together for Lucy and Lockwood in the center of one side. Lockwood gave Lucy’s hand a brief, encouraging, squeeze and then walked forward to pull her chair out for her.

She blushed and sat down, ungracefully. Lockwood sat beside her, on her right, and Lucy only then realized Lady Violet was on her left. She had an immediate urge to switch with Lockwood… but even she knew how rude that would be. Still… she wished she and Lockwood could sit somewhere else- between Greg and Cindy, for example- because now she’d be worried about using the right fork all night, and have to remember to keep her elbows off the table. 

George would tell me all these silly rules are complete bosh, she suddenly thought, and took heart from that knowledge.

No one said anything as Lucy and Lockwood settled themselves (Lucy doing her best not to make eye contact with anyone), but a door at the end of the room soon opened and what seemed like a parade of servers came through, each carrying a silver or glass bowl. They looped around the table, deftly tonging lettuce, spooning cut vegetables and other toppings, and ladling salad dressing onto each smaller plate in rapid succession. Lucy recognized most of what was put before her, but she wasn’t sure about the dressing (which was a dark red). Hesitantly, she started to reach for her fork, but Lockwood’s hand suddenly landed on her thigh and she pulled her own hand back, biting her lip.

“Well, this is new,” Lord Bridgerton said dryly, once the servers had left through the same door they’d come in by. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to see some proper etiquette being followed for once, but let’s not give Lucy the wrong impression. This is a family dinner, not a society function- eat!”

So saying, he took up his own fork and started stabbing at his salad. Everyone else followed suit. This time, when Lucy reached for her fork- looking over first to see which one Lockwood grabbed- he didn’t stop her. She took a tentative bite of salad, and decided it wasn’t too bad- wasn’t going to poison her or anything. She worked her way through it bite by bite, trying to subtly look around at everyone and listening to the way they talked to each other.

They seemed to be a friendly kind of family- the jibes and snark they threw at each other were always followed by laughs, and not the nasty kind. It was like a posher version of what they got up to at one of their celebratory feasts at home, and it helped Lucy to relax more and more.

Until they started asking her and Lockwood about some of their richer clients, that is. Lockwood and Co.’s track record for high-paying clients wasn’t… great. Not that they’d botched the jobs- for the most part, the jobs themselves had been successes. It was just that the rich clients they’d dealt with tended to have it in for them, in one way or another.

They fielded questions about Fairfax and Winkman fairly easily, and then the conversation turned more toward whether or not she or Lockwood had met this or that nobleman or school connection. They didn’t know most of the people mentioned, but at least Lockwood could speak positively about Miss Wintergarden. That led to Cindy remembering their involvement in the ill-fated Agency Parade, which led to Benedict saying he’d known Sir Rupert Gale at school, and asking if they’d ever worked with him, since he knew Gale had gotten a job with Fittes after graduation.

Lucy exchanged an awkward glance with Lockwood.

Smiling rather tightly, Lockwood simply said, “Sir Rupert was an excellent swordsman. I always learned something whenever we crossed blades.”

“Oh, yes,” Benedict said mildly. “I remember now- he was captain of the fencing club. Well, I’m glad to know he still has some people who remember him fondly. I know Fittes turned out to be run by villains at the end there, but not everyone who worked for Ms. Fittes was part of it, surely. I can’t imagine she would have pulled more than a few people into her nefarious plots.”

Lucy bit her lip and clutched Lockwood’s hand under the table to keep from violating that dumb NDA Lockwood had made them all sign. But the temptation to blurt out just how far Sir Rupert had been willing to go to keep Marissa’s secrets- of which he knew more than most- was almost unbearable. Something of that struggle must have shown in her expression, because someone else scoffed.

“I think that notion just got put to bed, Ben,” Penelope Featherington said. “Look at their faces! They clearly know a lot more about Sir Rupert than we do, and all of it bad! You have to wonder just how many people were involved that you’d never ordinarily suspect.”

They all waited expectantly for some kind of answer. Lucy, unwilling to lie, kept her mouth shut, but Lockwood said quietly, “As to that, we can’t say. I do stand by my previous statement, however.”

Which answer made Penelope laugh again, but thankfully she didn’t ask any more awkward questions.

“Didn’t you try to set me up with him once, Anthony?” Daphne asked from the other end of the table, obviously trying to turn the conversation into less dangerous territory.

“I did. To be fair, I only remembered him as Benedict’s friend, and he did seem very interested in you. Was he at least a satisfactory date?”

“No,” was Daphne’s brutally honest reply. “He was only interested in talking about himself, and how he routinely dealt with dangerous criminals while tracking down stolen sources. I thought he was merely bragging at the time, but as I recall, he kept asking me about Bridgerton family heirlooms and whether we were at all concerned about possible sources among them. Well, that’s all water under the bridge.”

The conversation moved on, and so did the dinner. No other awkward topics were brought up, and the main dish was delicious in an entirely new way. Lucy almost didn’t want to admit it, but the dish (it wasn’t chicken, but it tasted like something similar) might even be in the running for her favorite meal of all time, coming up against George’s Gormeh Sabzi.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying the duck, dear,” Lady Violet leaned over to say quietly. “It’s an old recipe- been in the family for generations!”

Lucy gulped down her current bite and nodded. “It’s very good- I’ve never had duck before.”

“Well, if you’re interested in learning how to make it, just let me know. I’d be happy to arrange a lesson.”

“Oh, I… don’t really cook much,” Lucy admitted. “I mean, I might be open to trying, but I’m not really that domestic.”

“Of course. I’m sure you’re far too busy with your agent duties. But when you’re not an agent anymore, perhaps we could arrange some cooking lessons. Only if that’s something you think you’d want,” Lady Violet added, probably picking up on the panic Lucy felt at that suggestion.

“Maybe,” she said weakly, and took a large bite out of a dinner roll (carefully segregated onto the little plate set above the main plate for some reason).

All in all, it was all going well, and Lucy was hopeful the whole evening would end on a high note by the time the dessert course was served.

She’d stuffed herself on the duck dish, so she wasn’t sure there was even any room for dessert in her stomach, but the warm tarts brought in by the servers looked mouth-watering. Tarts weren’t something Lucy was used to- donuts and cakes were more Lockwood and Co.’s style- but they smelled good, and Lucy had always wanted to try one when she saw them on display in cafe windows. They always looked so delicious… somehow, though, whenever she actually had the time to visit a cafe, she always ordered something else, like a slice of pie or ice cream or something. So she was actually excited to try these.

There were two kinds- one with a pale yellow filling, and one with a bright red filling. A quick question to Lady Violet identified them as custard and raspberry tarts, respectively. Lucy was given a raspberry tart, and, having learned her lesson from the other courses, looked around to see if anyone else was eating before picking up her dessert fork (which was smaller and only had three tines) and digging in. 

Lucy watched the others to see how they were doing it- the tarts were small enough she would have thought picking up the whole thing and taking a bite straight out of the side would have worked nicely. But everyone else was cutting small, triangular bites with their forks, so she did the same- if you could call the heaping mess of jam and crumbly crust on her fork a “bite” anyway.

As soon as she took that bite, though, a malaise more powerful than any she’d ever experienced before hit her. She spit out what was in her mouth, but it was too late. There was no time for anything- not even a breath- before Lucy was spewing all over the table.

She vaguely heard the shouts of shock and disgust that followed, the sounds of expensive chairs being shoved back unceremoniously in order to escape- but she was too busy trying to get a breath in to care at that moment, coughing and sputtering between spasms. But in the back corner of her mind, as she spewed again and again, Lucy was aware that she’d just ruined everything.

—

Lockwood thought the dinner was going rather well. True, they’d had to field some awkward questions, and the Bridgertons were evidently quite unprepared to pretend that what Lucy had gone through was in any way normal- even though it was normal for a disturbing number of children- but on the whole, he was hopeful the evening would be a success.

And then, without warning, Lucy started spewing all over the table. To be fair, after the first explosion, she tried to hold it back with her hands… unsuccessfully, but at least it was no longer projectiling across the table.

The Bridgertons sprang up and away from the splatter of bile and undigested food with shouts and gasps, but when Lockwood leapt to his feet, it was to grab a random vase off a small table that he’d barely noticed when they came into the dining room. A quick tilt of his wrist sent the flowers and water within it tumbling to the floor, and then he was holding it under Lucy’s face, to catch the rest of her vomit. 

It took another three heaves and some coughing before Lucy was finally through. She stood still leaning over the vase, catching her breath while her dripping, shaking hands hovered over the mucky surface of the table. 

“All done?” Lockwood asked, as if this kind of thing happened every day.

Lucy nodded twice, jerkily.

The Bridgertons stood around in shocked silence while Lockwood cautiously lowered the vase onto the table and then just as carefully tucked Lucy’s hair behind her ears and tilted her face to look at him. He frowned at the shock and fear he saw there, and even more at the way she was still trembling.

“What was it?” he asked. “The plate? The fork?”

Lucy shook her head as much as she could while he was still holding it. “I don’t– I don’t know,” she croaked. “It was just… malaise. So sudden, so strong… I don’t think I’ve ever felt something that strong before. I’m sorry,” she said then, sounding close to tears. “I didn’t mean to-”

“On a scale of one to boneglass, how bad was it?” Lockwood asked, interrupting her before she could spiral. 

Lucy gulped, grimaced, and took a breath, visibly calming herself. “Worse than the boneglass,” she whispered.

Lockwood nodded and let go of her, his stomach tightening in anticipation of the coming ordeal. 

“Right,” he said, reaching out to snatch a cloth napkin that had so far escaped ruin and wiping his hands on it. “Everyone out. We’ll need candles and as much salt as you can get us. Also a basin of water for Lucy, and a glass so she can rinse out her mouth. Gum would help, too- preferably something minty. Please turn off the lights as you leave, as electricity can interfere with our Talents.”

It took a moment for the Bridgertons to grasp what he was asking.

“Are you trying to say there’s a visitor? Here? Now?” Anthony Bridgerton asked, his tone incredulous.

“As of right now, all I know is that Lucy felt something strongly enough to cause this kind of reaction. In case you don’t realize the danger you’re all currently in, that’s very bad . Is the silverware actual silver, or stainless?”

“The- the forks-” Lady Kate stammered as the rest of them finally started moving toward the doors of the dining room, though far too slowly for Lockwood’s peace of mind. “The forks and spoons are real silver. The knives only have silver handles.”

“Thank you,” Lockwood said, and started gathering the scattered utensils, wiping them mostly clean with the same napkin he’d already used. He finished with his side of the table and turned, only to see Lady Violet using a napkin to wipe one of Lucy’s hands. Lucy used another one to wipe her mouth and chin, then balled it up and squeezed it in a vain effort to wipe that hand clean.

“Lady Violet,” Lockwood said. “I must insist you leave now, for your own safety.”

“Not until I’m sure Lucy is alright and this mess is cleaned up,” Lady Violet said, just as firmly. “That was quite a bit of spewing.”

“I’m alright,” Lucy said quietly, though she didn’t look up. “And the mess can’t be cleaned until the source is found. It could be anything, including what’s covered in sick,” she said, gesturing to the sopping table.

Lady Violet studied her for a moment, obviously torn, but then drew back. “If you insist. I’ll make sure you get that water, and the other things.”

“You can leave them outside the door,” Lucy said, her own voice firming up nicely. “Just knock and we’ll come get them. Don’t let the servers come back in. And don’t worry-” a fleeting smile- “we’ve done this before. I’m sure we’ll find the source in no time.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Lady Violet said. Her hands came up as if she wanted to reach for Lucy again, but then she abruptly turned and hurried to the door.

—

Eloise paced up and down in front of the dining room door, wishing she had the courage to actually march in there and demand to be heard.

Everyone had taken Anthony Lockwood at his word, believing that there was a visitor to be contained. Here, in the Bridgerton townhouse, which had been visitor-free for decades, and with no prior warning. Mum had organized the salt, water, and candles, and left them at the door while everyone else retreated, first to their rooms to get cleaned up- Lucy’s sick fit had splattered pretty much everyone, though some got it considerably worse than others- and then back to the sitting room where they’d had the appetizers. Eloise couldn’t stay there, though- not with everyone pacing around and comparing theories as to what could possibly be the source for the visitor.

She knew- she knew- that Lucy’s reaction wasn’t because of a ghost. And oh - how she despised herself for not seeing the danger before.

It was the tart. Of course it was the tart. It had to be. 

“El?” Penelope asked, coming down the stairs and across the hall. “You’re not thinking of going in there, are you?”

“And what if I am?” Eloise asked.

Penelope raised her eyebrows. “You know I’m sorry your Talent faded so early, but you really can’t help them. You’d just get in the way.”

Eloise laughed bitterly. “It’s not a visitor, Pen. I’m sure of it.”

Penelope frowned. “How? Given the way Lucy reacted-”

“Pen, do you remember how I was when I came back to school after Fran was kidnapped?”

“I- I’m not sure what you mean.”

Eloise stopped pacing and faced her. “I couldn’t eat tarts for two years after that, they made me sick- every time.”

Penelope’s bewildered expression smoothed into one of understanding. “Oh.”

“Exactly,” Eloise said, nodding. “Exactly. Oh.”

She lifted her arms and then let them fall. “I didn’t even think! It didn’t even occur to me that Lucy might, probably would, have the same problem with tarts that I had. Only she probably wouldn’t know about it, unless she’d already experienced it- which, given how she was treated all those years, with those people stealing all her money, she probably didn’t have the opportunity to eat many tarts. Which doesn’t excuse me forgetting about it! How? How could I forget something so important?”

Penelope bit her lips. “Honestly, it sounds like it is something you should have thought of- all of you, though. You can’t take the blame all for yourself, El- your family was bound to notice. But it’s not like you set out to trigger Lucy like that.”

“No! But we should have thought of it- me, especially! I should have said, ‘wait a minute, these tarts might make Lucy throw up, just like I used to,’ and changed the bloody menu!”

“It was a mistake,” Penelope said, finally coming closer. “You didn’t mean for it to happen, you just… forgot. And, in a way, it’s good that you forgot- it means you’ve healed that part of it, at least.”

Eloise snorted. “In case you didn’t notice, Lucy hasn’t healed from any of it! She hasn’t had the time!”

“No. Which is why you’ll go in there and convince her she’s not about to try fighting a visitor without the proper equipment. I think she’ll understand, even if she’s angry at first.”

Eloise sighed and hunched in on herself. “I know, I should. I just can’t make myself do it. It feels like something she’ll never forgive us for, and… I know I always railed at Anthony for not even letting me be a Sensitive, but the truth is, I’m a coward at heart. I talk a big game, but when it comes to following through…”

“No one ever said courage is a lack of fear,” Penelope said, answering that truth with another one. “I know you can do this, El. It’s the right thing to do, and honesty now will do more for your future relationship with Lucy than trying to cover it up.”

Eloise smiled crookedly. “I guess you’d know about that, huh?”

Penelope answered with her own crooked grin. “A bit, yeah.”

“Alright,” Eloise said, unfolding her arms and swinging them. “Here I go.”

She turned to the door, but stopped, turning back with a rueful grimace.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Penelope asked.

“Would you? Would that be too pathetic?” Eloise asked, pathetically.

“‘Course not. Come on.”

Eloise took Pen’s outstretched hand and they both approached the dining room door, but before they could open it, or even knock on it to announce their presence, they heard raised voices.

“I don’t know, Lockwood!” came Lucy’s muffled shout. “We’ve tried everything, and there’s just nothing! Not a whisper, not a hint of feeling… it’s all inert, without a scrap of psychic residue! And you keep saying you can’t see any deathglows or auras…”

“Well it has to be something, Luce.” Lockwood’s more moderate reply came quieter through the door, but Eliose and Penelope had their ears to it now, so that didn’t matter. “A reaction that strong has to come from at least a Type Two.”

“But what if… what if it wasn’t a visitor?” Lucy asked, now a lot quieter. “What if I’m just… ill?”

“You’d have a fever, at least, and other signs, so… do you have any weird aches? Chills? Is your stomach cramping again or, you know, discomfort on the other end?”

“No, no, and no,” Lucy said, now sounding tired. Then, “Stop it, Lockwood, I’m literally covered in sick.”

“I’m trying to see if you feel warm,” Lockwood said. “And we’ve been covered in worse.”

Eloise decided now was the time to intervene, before they got too frustrated with their lack of progress on this ‘case.’ She turned the handle and pushed the door open, spilling light into the dark, candle-lit room, and getting a faceful of rancid bile smell. She wrinkled her nose and tried not to breathe too deeply as she and Penelople pressed deeper into the room.

“What are you doing?” Lucy and Lockwood cried out together, separating from where they stood face to face on the other side of the table, where they’d been sitting before. “Get out!”

“There’s no visitor,” Eloise blurted out. “Don’t worry- it’s alright for us to be here because there’s no danger. You can’t find a source, because there isn’t one.”

Lockwood shook his head impatiently, but Lucy frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because it was the tart,” Eloise continued. “It was the tart that made you throw up, and I’m really sorry about it. It shouldn’t have happened. I should have remembered.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What do you mean by that?”

Eloise swallowed. “I don’t know if you were told, but the drugs that knocked everyone out that day- they were in the desserts. Aunt Winnie had brought fruit tarts for the picnic. I couldn’t eat tarts for years, afterwards. In the beginning they always made me throw up, but even after that stopped, they still made me feel queasy for a while. So… I’m sorry. It was years ago, but that’s no excuse. I should have remembered and made them pick something else for dessert.”

Lockwood huffed and half turned away, shaking his head. Lucy just stood there for another minute or two, staring at her.

“So, you’re saying that reaction I had,” she asked slowly. “That wasn’t because of a ghost, but because of a tart? How does that make sense? I don’t even remember it, for god’s sake!”

Eloise shrugged, helpless. “I don’t know. It’s something to do with the trauma of it. My therapist didn’t go into detail with me, she just said that my brain associated tarts with danger- like poison- so it made me throw up when I tried to eat them. I had to teach it not to do that anymore.” 

She paused a moment to let that sink in before asking a question herself. “Did you ever try to eat a tart before? Somewhere else, like a cafe, where you maybe felt safe?”

Lucy shook her head, sinking back down into one of the chairs that still stood where it had been shoved back. “No. Sometimes I’d see them and want to try, but… they were usually too expensive.”

Eloise nodded, her throat tightening. “I’m really sorry, Lucy,” she managed to say.

“Well, you should be,” Lockwood spat. “All of this could have easily been avoided.”

Eloise nodded again.

“I’ll let Lady Bridgerton know she can send people in to clean,” Penelope- all but forgotten until then- said from behind her.

“Lucy, if you want to clean up, you can use my room,” Eloise offered. “And I’m sure one of the boys would be happy to let you use theirs, Lockwood.”

Lucy didn’t reply, and for a moment Eloise was afraid she’d gone unresponsive from shock. But then she took in a sharp breath and straightened her spine. 

“Right,” she said, standing. “If someone could lend me a shirt or something, that’ll do for now. I can put my jumper in a plastic bag, wash my face and hands, and do the rest at home. Lockwood?”

Lockwood nodded. He was obviously still angry, but his expression softened for Lucy. “The worst of it is on my sleeves- I can manage if you can stand the smell for the cab ride.”

“Of course I can,” Lucy said firmly. “Like you said, we’ve been covered in worse.”

Eloise’s heart sank. Just as she feared, Lucy wanted to get out of their house as quickly as possible. She probably wouldn’t want to come back any time soon, or even speak to her or the others, at least for a while. Still, that didn’t mean Eloise shouldn’t do her best to fix her mistake.

“Alright,” she said, trying to sound as firm as they both sounded, but failing miserably. “If you’ll come with me, Lucy, we can find you something to wear.”

Chapter Text

Violet Bridgerton finished explaining the situation to the shocked servants, and assembled the various items Mr. Lockwood had asked for, making sure to include plenty of clean hand towels. She left those outside the dining room door, knocked quickly on it, and then made herself turn around and leave. She did not give in to the urge to simply sink down against the wall and cry.

For one, it wouldn’t do to show that side of her to the servants- they already knew all about her collapse after Edmund’s death, the twins’ birth, and Francesca’s disappearance. No one openly mentioned it, naturally, but she knew they all pitied her, and while that came from their own kindness and compassion, it was too much to expect her to want to give them any more reasons to pity her.

So she acted as if Lucy vomiting all over the table during the dessert course was just a mischance- a terribly awkward situation, and very unpleasant for everyone involved… but just a reaction to a strong visitor, after all. It was nothing to really get upset about, because Mr. Lockwood and Ms. Carlyle were agents, and would take care of it before anyone got hurt. 

She continued to tell herself that as she went upstairs to clean herself up.

This was Lucy’s very first interaction with them as a part of the family, and now… but that just made it even more important for Violet to remain calm.

Lucy faced down visitors on a near daily basis! This would be nothing to her- and nevermind that the townhouse had been visitor-free for a decade, at least. Visitors could pop up anywhere, at any time- everyone knew that, it was how the Problem spread, after all. Lucy wouldn’t hold it against them that this happened now…

No, Lucy and Mr. Lockwood barricading themselves into the ruined dining room was simply a routine precaution. No one was going to die- of course not!

Violet took one more look in the mirror and congratulated herself on the fact that while she looked a little solemn, perhaps, she was perfectly composed. Then she went back downstairs and made herself join the others in the sitting room. There was no point in hovering around the door of the dining room. Hovering had never done anything but annoy her other children, so Lucy probably wouldn’t appreciate it, either.

Fortunately, everyone else seemed to be taking the end of the meal about as well as could be expected.

Colin was perched on the edge of the sofa beside Penelope, who was rubbing his back. Anthony and Kate were standing with Daphne and Simon by the fireplace, talking in hushed tones, and Benedict was frowning at the arguing twins with his arms crossed.

“You heard Mr. Lockwood,” Hyacinth was insisting. “It’s got to be a Type Two!”

“But I didn’t feel anything,” Gregory said. “If it was a Type Two, and if it was close enough to manifesting that ‘malaise’ affected her strongly enough to make her throw up like that, then there should have been plenty of other warning signs!”

“Oh, just because you didn’t feel it, that means she’s lying, is it?”

“No, but there should have been a chill, ghost fog, creeping fear- even something as simple as the lights flickering! But there wasn’t any of that!”

“Mr. Lockwood seemed to think that it was Lucy’s Touch which triggered her reaction, though,” Benedict put in. “It’s still early for a full manifestation, isn’t it? Wouldn’t that mean that it might only have been detectable to the person touching the source?”

Gregory screwed up his face. “Maybe… but I still don’t think it was actually a visitor.”

Violet frowned slightly as she joined the group by the fireplace. She knew Gregory and Hyacinth read True Hauntings, but she’d had no idea that so much knowledge about visitors and their manifestations could be picked up from simply reading a few ghost hunting magazines. Or, for that matter, that Benedict had enough knowledge about ghosts to argue with them about it. That, however, was a (possible) problem for later- right now, she’d already spotted a potentially larger one.

“Where’s Eloise?” she asked, as the group by the fireplace turned to her.

“She didn’t stay long after cleaning up. I think she went back downstairs,” Kate said, absently tapping the fingers of her free hand on her wine glass.

“Oh dear,” Violet sighed. “I do hope she’s not going to try and interfere…”

“She won’t,” Daphne said. “I told her to leave them alone, and she promised she would.”

“Still,” Violet said. “Gregory doesn’t seem to think it really was a visitor, and even if her own Talents have faded, Eloise might think she would know where a source could be hidden. Not that she would listen to me on that subject…”

Her eyes lighted on Penelope, and she made a decision. As she walked over, both Penelope and Colin looked up at her.

“Penelope, I wonder if I might ask you to go and get Eloise. Kate said she went back downstairs and… well, I know she wanted to be an Agent at one time, but her Talents have faded, after all. She won’t listen to me, so…” She paused, trying to keep her hard fought composure. “I just… don’t want any more disasters this evening.”

Penelope shared a look with Colin, then pressed her lips into a tight smile and nodded. “Of course, Lady Violet.”

“Thank you,” Violet said, genuinely relieved.

She thought about sitting down beside Colin as Penelope left the room… but he was, at heart, a very sensitive young man, and right now she couldn’t risk talking about feelings. So she merely squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him before setting off on a round of the room.

It took a while for the door to open again, but when it did, it was Penelope alone. She immediately went over to Kate by the fireplace. Violet moved that way, but the low-voiced conversation, which seemed to puzzle Kate, was over before she got there.

Violet caught Kate’s arm on her way to the door. “Where are you going?”

Kate shook her head, frowning. “Penelope said I could send the servants in to clean. Normally, I’d have them wait until morning, but the mess will be impossible by then. But she assures me it’s perfectly safe, so I’ll just have to do my best to reassure them. And promise them suitable bonuses, of course.”

“Well it isn’t as if you and Anthony can’t afford it,” Violet said, though she was also alarmed at the idea of sending defenseless servants into a possibly still haunted room. Fortunately, Mr. Lockwood opened the door just then and came through. 

As soon as he saw everyone’s attention fixed on him, he forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“No need to worry,” he said, “As it turns out, there was no visitor after all.”

“I knew it!” Gregory whisper-yelled. 

“Oh, you guessed that, did you? Have a bit of Talent yourself? Well, congratulations,” Mr. Lockwood said sarcastically. “Now, if only one of you had guessed what kind of reaction Lucy might have to eating tarts, none of this would have happened.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Colin asked, even as Anthony and Daphne gasped. Everyone else just frowned in confusion, though Penelope, notably, was intently examining the interior of the unlit fireplace.

Violet looked from one face to another, equally confused.

“What do you mean?” she asked, when Mr. Lockwood merely set his jaw, now clearly angry.

He huffed a laugh. “I see. At least you didn’t deliberately set out to humiliate her- not that that makes it any better. I can tell you that if I had a long-lost brother or sister, who finally came home, I would make damn sure not to serve them any food that might trigger a trauma response.”

Ice raced down Violet’s spine, and not just because of the clear anger in Mr. Lockwood’s voice. Tarts…

Violet had done her best to suppress her memories of the three or four months that spanned Edmund’s death, the twins’ birth, and Francesca’s disappearance- she’d had to, what with needing to remain sane for the rest of her children. But the result of that was that everything from that time was a bit hazy. She knew the bare bones of what had happened, but she couldn’t recall any specifics… but from what Mr. Lockwood was implying…

“I don’t understand,” Kate said, voicing Violet’s own confusion. “Was there something wrong with the tarts?”

“Oh my god,” Daphne breathed, shock and horror plain to see. “Oh no!”

“Will someone please explain?” Hyacinth demanded.

Anthony sighed deeply. He started to wrap a supportive arm around Daphne but Simon beat him to it.

“You all know that the food Aunt Winnie had at the picnic that day was drugged,” Anthony explained. “But only a few people know which foods were responsible and, as Mr. Lockwood just reminded us,” he took a deep breath and sighed again, “it was the tarts.”

“No,” Violet breathed. The full import of what they’d done to Lucy- completely by accident- was dawning on her.

“And to make it worse,” Daphne said, tears rolling down her face. “I knew that Eloise had trouble with eating tarts after that. But I never even thought… Lucy said she doesn’t remember!”

“Well, apparently conscious memory doesn’t matter in this instance,” Mr. Lockwood said. His eyes were like hard black stones, and Violet just knew that any goodwill they’d managed to build up with him had just been wiped out.

“But why?” Colin cried out. “Why should eating a tart affect her like that? I mean, I know what you’re saying, that it’s a trauma response, but it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Welcome to my life,” Lucy’s sardonic reply came from the doorway, more accented than usual. “My reactions haven’t made much sense to me ever since all this business with me being kidnapped started.”

Everyone turned to look at her, Violet hoping to see some hint of forgiveness there. But Lucy’s expression was even more closed off than Mr. Lockwood’s. She didn’t even look angry- just blank.

She’d changed out of her sodden sweater and someone- probably Eloise, given that she was standing right behind Lucy- had given her a different blouse to wear. It was a bit tight on her, and quite a bit frillier than the sweater had been, but Violet couldn’t help thinking how much it suited Lucy.

She started forward, but stopped when Lucy took a step back.

“I’m so sorry, Lucy,” Violet said quietly, not trying to hide the pleading note in her voice. “I know it doesn’t make it better, but please believe that none of us intended this. I,” her voice broke just for a moment at the utter lack of reaction in her next youngest daughter. “I’m so sorry,” she finally repeated, unable to say anything else.

Everyone else immediately chimed in with their own assurances that no harm had been intended- that it was nothing but an unfortunate oversight.

Lucy just stood there in the doorway, in her borrowed blouse that was too tight for her, holding a tied-shut convenience store bag with a dark lump in it that had to be her ruined jumper. She looked around at all of their faces before fixing on Mr. Lockwood.

“I believe that you didn’t mean to do it,” Lucy said, and relief coursed through Violet, soothing her anxieties somewhat. “But I’d like to go home now, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ve already called a nightcab,” Mr. Lockwood said immediately. 

He moved to join her in the doorway, and Violet had to restrain an overwhelming urge to run over and grab Lucy, pull her into a hug, and make her realize that the very last thing she ever wanted was to drive her away like this.

—

Lockwood was thankful he’d had the sense to ask the butler, who had been hovering curiously in the hall, to phone a nightcab before going back up to the sitting room, because it meant that Lucy didn’t have to wait very long to leave.

He knew she’d want to. Lucy was no wilting flower but, like him, she didn’t exactly welcome being vulnerable- especially not with people she didn’t know. She wouldn’t want to stay after getting cleaned up. He didn’t know if she’d use this as an excuse to push the Bridgertons away entirely, though. It could go either way, depending on how they tried to make it up to her.

As for the Bridgertons themselves… he was convinced they really hadn’t planned this outcome to the evening. They all seemed either confused, or suitably horrified once they understood what had happened, and he was fairly sure her birth mother was on the point of throwing herself at Lucy’s feet and begging for a second chance.

He did feel slightly bad for Lady Violet. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he might feel in her shoes. That didn’t cancel out what Lucy had just gone through, though. He would always be on Lucy’s side, of course… but he could sympathize with a mother who clearly hadn’t known about the danger of the tarts, and who had already lost Lucy once.

He’d lost Lucy once, so he knew what that felt like.

Regardless, he was going to support whatever decision Lucy made on the Bridgertons.

“Do you want to tell George and Holly?” he asked, once they were in the cab on the way home. “Because you know what George will be like. Not that I think he will tease you immediately- not once he knows it was because of the kidnapping. We could hold off a few days, but eventually…”

Lucy gave a small sigh and kept her face turned toward her own window. “What’s the point in waiting? Can’t keep it a secret forever... might as well get it over with. It’s not like any of it was planned, or anything. Just bad luck.”

Her tone was even, but Lockwood worried that she wouldn’t look at him.

“They probably won’t even be home when we get there, so you’ll at least have tonight,” he said, in an attempt to reassure her. “And don’t worry, I’ll threaten George’s biscuit rotations for a month if he gets lippy.” 

Usually that would have gotten at least a snort from Lucy, but she just kept staring out the window.

When they got home Lockwood tried to suggest she take the first shower, but instead she went down to the basement to wash her jumper. And then, while he was still in the bathroom, he heard her cross the landing and pause briefly before going on up to the attic.

His heart sank. He didn’t know what to do, whether to follow her up, or give her space… in the end, after dithering over it and hoping she would come back down, he put on his pyjamas and went up to at least say goodnight. Lucy was curled up under the duvet with her back to the stairs, and merely hummed in response to him. But even though he sat on the edge of the bed to hug her and kissed the back of her head (wet hair, so at least she’d cleaned up), she didn’t do more than squeeze his hand where he wrapped it around her. 

He knew from that that she didn’t want to talk about it, or even acknowledge it before she absolutely had to. And the fact that she hadn’t curled up in his bed meant she likely wanted to be alone… but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave her. 

In the end, he just settled in behind her, on top of the duvet. He had barely any room at all, with his rear poking out over the side of the mattress, and his feet hanging off the end of the bed, but he would rather stay and be uncomfortable, than go back downstairs. He knew he would only lie awake all night worrying. The last time Lucy had gone all silent on him hadn’t ended well, after all.

But though he stayed awake for a long time, Lucy’s breathing remained steady, so eventually, Lockwood relaxed and let sleep take him.

—

Lady Violet paced the length of her room over and over again, unable to settle. She’d had such high hopes… the dinner had been going well, and Lucy absolutely loved the duck… but then dessert had happened.

And now she wasn’t sure if Lucy would ever want to come back. After the stress and the hopes of the last few weeks, it was suddenly all too much. She needed to talk to someone, and she couldn’t wait for her regular therapist. In such a case, there was only one person she could go to- only one person she could trust . She picked up the telephone by her bed and dialed the familiar number.

“Agatha?” Violet said, as the woman on the other end answered. “I know it’s late, but… something’s happened, and I- no, everyone’s alright, we’re all fine, there’s no emergency,” Violet paused to swallow the lump forming in her throat. “It’s just been… a very trying evening, and I need to tell someone about it before I wear a hole in my carpet. But I understand if it’s too late,” she continued when her friend didn’t immediately answer.

“Nonsense, you come right over,” Lady Agatha Danbury said at that. “I may be a good few years older than you, but I’m not that old. There’s enough iron on my front door, I’m not afraid of letting anything in along with you. Besides, if you’re that desperate you’d risk being driven across town after dark, it’s clearly something worth hearing.”

“Thank you,” Violet said, putting her whole heart into it. A few minutes later, she was getting into a nightcab. 

—

Lady Agatha Danbury’s living room was considerably smaller than Lady Violet Bridgerton’s- it seemed even smaller when she considered the broad-shouldered man sitting on the sofa across from her own usual seat. But, to be fair, that was because Agatha’s little flat was about a tenth the size of the Danbury mansion in which she’d lived with her husband and two children. it suited her current needs, however, and that was enough. If she wanted to see grand rooms again, all she had to do was pop round to the Danbury mansion or visit one of her friends, after all.

“Marcus, I’m afraid I have to ask you to go to bed now,” Agatha said, returning to her comfortable chair after putting the telephone back on the cradle. “Or at least go to the library. I’ve restocked the liquor cabinet in there and added a few books since your last visit, so you should be able to entertain yourself.”

Marcus, Lord Anderson, raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the clock on the mantle. “It’s nearly ten, Agatha. You can’t be expecting any visitors this late? The sun’s been down for hours, and if you were going to throw a party, everyone would be here by now.”

“You don’t know who my friends are, Marcus- this is only the second time you’ve come to visit me since we cleared up that little misunderstanding about the inheritance. I could be consorting with relic men, for all you know.”

Marcus snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it. I remember the fit you threw when you realized that the Danbury mansion hadn’t been cleared since the Problem began.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “That was the first real fight we had, Herman and I. He was so focused on preserving his precious family history that he wouldn’t hear of consigning any heirlooms to the furnace, no matter how many Visitors ran rampant through the halls.”

“I think that’s an exaggeration,” Marcus said, narrowing his eyes. “But I can’t be sure, since neither of us ever had a lick of Talent.”

“All the more reason not to keep heirlooms around,” Agatha insisted. “Of course, even if I had had Talent, I would have been too old to check for myself when we married- but Herman wouldn’t even call Fittes in to do a sweep! That had to wait until after his first stroke, and by then, I’d managed to convince him to at least lock them all behind silverglass, so it was a moot point. Dominic, thank god, had the sense to have excellent copies made and the originals destroyed when he took over the mansion two years ago, so at least there’s no more danger from that quarter. Still- you’re right about it not being a relic man.”

“Well, if you’re not letting in a relic man, who is coming by this late at night?”

“A friend.”

“Just a friend?” Marcus asked, with another raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” Agatha said, crisply. “ Just a friend. But it seems that she is in need of a confidant, and she doesn’t even know I have a brother. I don’t want to spring that information on her when she’s already in a fuss, so off you go-” she made a shooing motion with the hand that held her cane. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

“And will this friend be staying the night? It will be far too late for her to go home afterwards, I should think. I suppose I should give up the guest bed and sleep on the couch in the library,” he said thoughtfully, “but, well… if she’s not too young… I might be persuaded to share,” he said, with a suggestive grin.

Agatha narrowed her eyes at him. “You keep your wandering eyes away from my friends, Marcus. I may have forgiven you for the fact that father originally left everything to you, but that doesn’t mean you’re suddenly a paragon of virtue that I’m happy to introduce to my dearest friends.”

“You wound me!” Marcus said, mock offended. “I’ve never once pursued anything with anyone who wasn’t perfectly willing. But don’t worry, I’ll go to the library- I’d hate to get back in your black books so soon after getting out.”

“Good. Now scat- her house isn’t that far from here, and I’ve a feeling she won’t waste any time.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, but also smirked and shook his head as he stood up. Just then there was a knock on the front door. Agatha strode toward the short entrance hall as quickly as her stiff hip would allow. Marcus, thankfully, followed behind and split off promptly into the small library that was beyond the living room. Agatha waited to open the front door until the library door was closed, and then took the precaution of glancing through the vertical iron mail slot first- just in case.

Only Lady Violet stood there under the magnesium portico light, so Agatha unbolted the door and opened it.

“Violet! Come in, come in,” she said, urging her friend to enter. “You do look in a state.”

“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry to bother you- and this late, too.” 

Violet started in on the apologies before she even stepped a foot in the door, but Agatha just waved that away.

“Nevermind that,” Agatha said. “The important thing is that you got here safe and sound.”

“I have ridden in nightcabs before, you know,” Violet replied, with some of the tartness she’d picked up from Agatha herself. “It was perfectly safe.”

“It’s taking your life into your hands every time you get into one, if you ask me. You do know the drivers are pretty much all convicts on probation, don’t you? The job is so dangerous you need that kind of incentive to sign up for it! But nevermind- tell me what’s bothering you so much you’d risk coming here at night just to talk to me? After all, my telephone is working properly.”

“This isn’t the kind of thing I can talk about over the phone, though,” Violet insisted. She sat down on the sofa, only then noticing Agatha’s teacup and the tumbler of half-finished brandy Marcus had left behind.

“You had another guest?” Violet asked, looking up in some surprise. “I didn’t see anyone leaving…”

Agatha’s mouth twisted into a crooked smile despite her best efforts. “That’s because he’s still here. But don’t worry, I sent him to the library, and I had all the interior walls insulated when I moved in, so we’ll have plenty of privacy. He’ll sleep in there, too, if he knows what’s good for him, so don’t worry about going back home tonight- you can sleep in my guest bed.”

“Wait- he?” Violet asked, even more surprised. “Agatha! I had no idea you entertained gentlemen overnight! Not that it’s any of my business, of course!” she hurried to add, holding up her hands.

Agatha couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped then. “He’s hardly what I would call a gentleman! Titled, certainly, but a gentleman? No. You might say we grew up together and recently reconnected- but it’s nothing scandalous, so just you get your mind out of the gutter. I’ll probably introduce you two eventually, but this is hardly the time. Now,” she said, pouring a fresh cup of tea for her best friend, “tell me everything.”

Violet gazed at her cup for a moment before rather sheepishly asking for a splash of something stronger. Agatha raised her eyebrows, but agreed to it. The brandy decanter was close to hand, since she knew Marcus liked it, so she poured a generous measure into both of their cups. Violet thanked her, took a rather unladylike gulp of her doctored tea, and began.

Agatha had been prepared for anything from Daphne suddenly deciding to divorce the Duke of Hastings, to Penelope turning out to be Portia Featherington’s bastard daughter, but she had to admit that she hadn’t been expecting to hear that Francesca Bridgerton had finally been found… and apparently found the Bridgertons wanting.

The tale of the dinner party almost made her chuckle a few times as Violet related how evasive the girl and her beau had been about some of her family’s society connections, but there didn’t seem to be anything really objectionable there, so she actually choked on the last of her tea when Violet burst out with, “And then she just started vomiting all over the table!”

“She did what?” Agatha asked, as soon as she stopped coughing and regained her breath.

“She vomited! All over the table!” Violet repeated, staring into the middle distance as if reliving the horror of it. 

Agatha couldn’t blame her. It was certainly a startling end to what had seemed to be a dinner going fairly well.

“... is she alright?” Agatha ventured to ask. 

“She’s fine,” Violet said. “Everyone’s fine. At first… well, at first, Mr. Lockwood- both of them, really- thought that the vomiting was due to Lucy’s Touch activating on something there on the table.”

“A visitor?” Agatha gasped. The idea was so very unlikely- the Bridgertons had always been scrupulous about keeping their various houses cleared of any potential sources. And yet… the potential was always there.

“Yes, that was rather our reaction,” Violet said. “But it wasn’t a visitor at all.”

She licked her lips and suddenly held her cup out for a refill. Agatha didn’t bother with the tea this time, simply pouring a healthy measure of brandy into the teacup. Violet gave her a weak smile and sipped it.

“You know I’ve tried to put the past behind me,” Violet said. “I practically had to, or Gregory and Cindy would have grown up without any mothering from me at all. But, in doing so, I… missed things. One of those things is that the drug that allowed Francesca- Lucy- to be taken, was put into fruit tarts that my sister had bought for the picnic that day. Apparently, Eloise had some rather violent reactions to eating tarts after that… something that was either kept from me at the time, or that I simply forgot. But the point is… whether through simple lack of knowledge, or forgetfulness… we served tarts as the dessert course tonight.”

“Ah,” Agatha said, understanding dawning. She was about to say more- something comforting about how this wasn’t the disaster her friend clearly thought it was- but then Violet looked up, tears swimming in her eyes. She smiled that broken smile that had been so frequently on her face in the years after her husband’s death and her daughter’s disappearance.

“We apologized, of course, but… Lucy left,” Violet said simply. “She let Eloise lend her a clean blouse, but…” she shook her head, a few tears escaping. “I’m so afraid. I can’t lose her again, Agatha, I just can’t! She was already reluctant to accept us as her family, and after this… I fear she’ll just write us off as too thoughtless and troublesome to bother with. She has her own life, after all- she’s independent, with what seems like a lucrative job… and she was very clear that she considers her agency team to be her family. She has a Grade Four certificate, which is basically the same as being emancipated. She has no need of us.”

Agatha moved from her comfortable chair to the spot beside Violet on the sofa. Without a word, she pulled her into a firm hug. Violet resisted for a moment, but then collapsed into her embrace and let herself cry.

The idea that this girl, this Francesca-who-calls-herself-Lucy-now, could throw over the entire Bridgerton family for something as petty as this was ridiculous. Granted, it was embarrassing, and she had no doubt the girl felt humiliated- but they had apologized! Surely she wouldn’t hold it against them. 

But Violet was distressed and not ready to listen to reason just yet. She needed to cry first, so Agatha resigned herself to dealing with a damp patch on her shoulder, and probably more brandy, before putting Violet to bed. They could talk more sensibly in the morning, and perhaps come up with a plan for winning her errant daughter back.

Chapter Text

Lucy liked to think of herself as no-nonsense, practical, and effective. Those were the qualities that had kept her safe, and more or less sane, for most of her life. They were the qualities that had gotten her, if not exactly praise, at least less contempt and abuse from the Carlyles growing up. Even Jacobs had grunted acceptance of her performance once she’d gone out in the field, as long as she didn’t let the fear and the visitors’ emotions affect her. So, Lucy had decided fairly early not to let her own emotions affect her.

Annoyingly, her emotions had ignored, and continued to ignore, that decision.

Given her background, Lockwood’s enthusiasm had bowled her over when she’d first joined Lockwood and Co. She’d honestly not known what to do when faced with such sudden, overwhelming, and continuing approval. Quite aside from his classic good looks, that was probably where her crush on him had begun. He’d taken the time to appreciate what she appreciated about herself. 

Of course, over time, Lockwood’s mere approval had no longer been enough, but Lucy’s emotions, as usual, didn’t have the best timing in the world. She’d wanted more, even as she began to really explore the strength and reach of her Talent. Her experiments had terrified Lockwood, influenced as he was by his own early trauma, and he’d reacted in typical fashion. They’d ended up pushing each other away, when that was the last thing either had really wanted. It had taken months and a harrowing journey through the Other Side for them to trust again- both in the other, and in their own feelings.

Now, as she lay in bed with Lockwood breathing softly behind her, Lucy couldn’t help feeling like she was going to do it again. Her mind was in such a tangle after the events of the evening, and more than anything she wanted- needed- to be alone. Yet how could she leave Lockwood alone up here? He was so obviously worried- and possibly for good reason. The dread of her own future decisions and actions weighed heavy on her mind, even as she itched to run, run, run away from her problems. Again.

Almost in spite of herself, Lucy found herself on her feet beside the bed. She turned to see if Lockwood would wake up (would follow her), but he was still asleep under the layer of duvet she’d flung right over him. Part of her wanted to wake him up… but instead she tip-toed down the stairs, stopping only to grab a jumper and her boots. It might be summer, but the basement was still cool year-round.

But once in the basement, Lucy couldn’t settle. There was a pile of paperwork on her desk, but no sooner did she slide a page in front of her than the words blurred, and she found herself on her feet again.

She checked the chains in the High Security Vault- they’d already been oiled. Their stores of silver, salt bombs, and magnesium flares were, as usual, meticulously organized thanks to Holly. They didn’t have any relics of past cases anymore, so there was nothing else interesting in there.

Finally, desperately, Lucy turned to the last thing she knew- training. Maybe she could exhaust herself enough to curb that itch . 

Even as she began her warm-up, Lucy knew that what she really needed was to let herself feel. She’d had enough sessions with Dr. Graham to recognize that. It was just so much harder - it didn’t feel natural to indulge her contradictory and ridiculous emotions. It felt natural to push it all down, to focus on something else- something physical, something necessary, something that would keep her safe.  

Emotions weren’t safe- every agent knew that. So Lucy fell back on what had always worked before- even as she suspected it wasn’t working anymore.

—

Lord Marcus Anderson cracked open the library door and listened intently before opening it fully and peeking down the corridor. Agatha was true to her word, saying the library was fully stocked with things to keep him occupied, but while it had plenty of drink, there wasn’t anything to nibble on, and the last thing he wanted was a sore head in the morning. He’d been waiting to hear Agatha and her friend go up to bed before sneaking down to the kitchen, and he’d finally heard them go up the stairs ten minutes ago. Surely he wouldn’t disturb either of them if he went now…

He went quickly down the hall and the short flight of steps to the kitchen, rummaging around as quietly as he could for crackers and cheese. Fortunately, he and Agatha had the same ideas about properly arranging a kitchen and he found them fairly quickly.

Once he got back to the library he put his plate down and was just pouring himself a nice glass of wine when he realized that in his haste to follow his sister’s instructions, he’d forgotten he was still dressed in street clothes. Nor did he currently have access to the bathroom where his toothbrush was, and he hated going to bed without brushing his teeth. He could, of course, simply drink so much he no longer cared… but then he thought of a better plan.

He’d just wait long enough for Agatha’s mystery friend to fall asleep, then sneak upstairs and retrieve his nightgear and toothbrush. Smiling at his own cleverness, he settled down with a good book, and got through the all of the snacks and his second glass of wine before deciding to enact his plan.

He was just a bit unsteady, but he managed to avoid making too much noise by keeping one hand on the wall and moving slowly as he went upstairs. The door to the guest bedroom was closed, but Marcus had learned a trick to silently opening doors when he was a young boy who liked to spy on his older sister. The door opened inwards, so he pulled on the door knob while he turned it very slowly- just until he felt the tiny give as the catch released. Then he held the knob in position and pushed the door until the knob was past the frame. Only then did he release it, and then very slowly so it didn’t make a sound.

He’d been expecting a pitch dark room, and only opened the door a crack- but the room was still lit with the warm glow of one of the bedside lamps. He had a moment of panic- what if the woman was still awake? What if she saw him and screamed? But there was no sound and he ventured to open the door and peek in after a long minute. There was a lump under the duvet, and a head of dark hair on the pillow. In the silence he could hear slow, regular breaths.

Marcus breathed a silent sigh of relief and began on his mission. He’d only arrived that afternoon, and hadn’t had time to unpack yet, except for his pyjamas and toothbrush. After another panicked moment in which he thought he’d put his pyjamas under the pillow on the bed, he remembered that he’d meant to take a shower that evening and had put them in the bathroom instead. That just made things easier for him, and he made his way across the room to the en suite bathroom.

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten one of the updates Agatha had installed in the guest bathroom. There was a motion sensor installed which triggered both the light and a vent fan whenever it sensed movement. He’d marvelled at it earlier, wondering at the ingenuity of it, and making a plan to look into new technologies now coming over from Europe and the United States… but right now he cursed its existence. He quickly closed the bathroom door and hoped the sleeper in the bedroom was either too drunk to wake up, or a deep sleeper.

At least with the light on, he could quickly gather his things, and it only took another moment to find the actual light switch. Agatha had explained, when he asked, that the motion sensor only worked if you left the light switch on. It would shut the light and the fan off after a few minutes of no movement, but couldn’t do anything if the light switch was off.

He waited a moment to let his eyes adjust somewhat before quietly opening the bathroom door. The sleeper had rolled onto her back, but otherwise seemed to still be asleep. Marcus began sneaking back over to the bedroom door. His hand was on the knob to pull it back open when a voice stopped him.

“Edmund?”

The voice was low, cultured, plaintive. Marcus winced- that particular trifecta was a personal weakness. He never could resist a woman in trouble… He told himself to ignore it- to leave the poor woman alone and let her go back to sleep. No doubt, if she remembered anything at all, she would think he’d just been a dream in the morning.

“I’m so sorry Edmund. I did it all wrong,” the woman said again- and this time he heard a slight slurring in the voice. “But you can’t Touch me yet- the children still need me.”

Despite himself, he turned to look. The woman’s eyes were open and she was looking at him, her expression pleading. He realized she wasn’t seeing him, but whoever this ‘Edmund’ was- probably her husband- who must have died.

“I’m not going to Touch you,” he said, meaning both senses of the word. “You did the best you could, I’m sure,” he continued soothingly.

“No, I didn’t. I forgot,” she said, one hand plucking faintly at the duvet. “Our little girl went through so much and I forgot. She forgot too, but that’s no excuse. I should- should have remembered. She didn’t know, but I should have.” 

Her eyes blinked slowly closed and Marcus relaxed, thinking she was going back to sleep. He turned back to the door. No doubt in the morning, if she remembered anything at all, she would think he’d just been a dream.

“I told her I’m sorry- we’re sorry,” the woman spoke again, eyes still closed. “Do you think she’ll come back? Say she’ll come back, Edmund. You’ve been watching over her, haven’t you? That’s why she’s still alive- why she survived for so long. Please, Edmund, say she’ll come back.”

Marcus began to wonder if this woman was a ghost-cultist. She was certainly addressing what she thought was her dead husband’s visitor form as if she trusted him not to harm her. It was foolish, of course, but then she was drunk and more than half-asleep. He could probably just leave and she’d drift off again… still, something made him want to reassure her. He had no idea what this woman’s family life was like, but of one thing he was sure.

“She’s very clever, you know,” he said softly, hoping it was true. “You just need to be patient and wait for her to realize you still love her.”

The woman’s face contracted and a tear rolled off the end of her nose. She sniffed. “But we only just found her again!” she near wailed. 

“Patience, my dear,” Marcus urged again, now truly curious about her situation. “She’ll come back to you in time. Just keep loving her.”

The woman’s expression slowly relaxed and she began breathing more deeply again. Marcus waited, but it didn’t take long for the woman to utter a small snore. Rolling his eyes at himself, and yet smiling a little, he made his escape, carefully closing the door behind himself.

The whole escapade had sobered him up enough he didn’t need to concentrate so hard on the stairs. When he got to the library, he decided to get ready for bed before finishing his wine. A while later, stretched out on the luxuriously long and deep couch, his mind kept trying to come up with scenarios and situations that would fit with what the woman had said in her sleep and drink-addled state.

Agatha hadn’t seemed eager for them to meet, but he might have to arrange a run-in in the morning, so he could introduce himself. She might never tell him what was going on with her daughter, but he doubted he’d ever find out from Agatha alone, and it wouldn’t hurt to at least become an acquaintance.

—

When Lockwood woke up he was a lot warmer than he’d been before falling asleep… but that was because Lucy had apparently flung the duvet over him as she got up herself. The darkness of the room was just beginning to lighten a little with the coming of dawn, and the ghostlight on the corner hadn’t switched off yet. Sleep-fogged, Lockwood untangled a hand from the duvet and reached over to where Lucy had been laying. He didn’t even know why, since it was obvious she was gone- still, he wondered if she’d just gone to the toilet or something.

But the sheet was cold where she’d been laying, and eventually that fact filtered into his awareness. Lockwood laid there another few minutes before realizing that Lucy probably wasn’t going to materialize in the next few minutes, and he either needed to get up and find her (to find out what was going on) or just go back to sleep.

Of course, now that he was even half-awake, it was going to be impossible to get back to sleep- a situation Lockwood was quite familiar with. Between the hours agents were forced to keep, and his incessant anxiety over not only his, but his associates’- his friends’ - well-being (not to mention the state of his finances for most of his independent life), the times he’d slept for more than four to five hours at a time were few and far between. Sighing a bit, he heaved the duvet off and got to his feet, his toes curling against the warm floorboards. At least it was late summer, so the fact that there was no carpet on this side of the bed wasn’t an active punishment.

As Lockwood made his way down the stairs, he idly marked the point at which the sound of George’s snores actually started rattling the few pictures they’d re-hung. It seemed to be right around the landing that led to what had once been Jessica’s room. Lockwood brushed a hand against the closed door- not because there was any hint of her left in there, though. It was just a habit, and the action brought a small smile to his lips, his consciousness poking and prodding at the peace in his mind where once had been only guilt and despair- like a questing tongue feeling the place where a diseased tooth had once been, now empty, but devoid of pain.

He’d come a long way, though not on his own. His smile faded as he continued past his and George’s landing and he considered the difficulties Lucy was now facing. He knew she had another session with Dr. Graham coming, but that wasn’t for another few days… 

Hopefully she would talk to him about it, but he had his doubts. Ever since he’d told Lucy that they were both too broken to help each other, she’d resisted telling him about how she felt. Ironically, he’d shared some of how he felt with her, and it had made her close up, reversing their usual dynamic. Lockwood shook his head as he reached the empty kitchen, and resolved to actually set up a few appointments with therapists on his own account. The door to the basement was cracked, and he could hear the tell-tale smacks of a rapier on straw-stuffed cotton, so he had a fair idea of where Lucy was.

But now that he’d located her and knew she was safe, he suddenly felt too tired to actually go down and- 

Lockwood’s mind blanked, unable to imagine how their meeting might go.

Tea, he decided. Tea solved, if not all problems, at least the problem of not having anything to do, and gave him a reason to be down in the kitchen instead of still upstairs in bed. If Lucy happened to finish her uncharacteristically early morning training session and seemed annoyed to see him there waiting, well… he would deal with that when and if it happened.

After all, he was no stranger to the need to be up and doing something in order to escape from your own treacherous emotions. He would just make sure to have something ready for Lucy to eat and drink when she came up.

—

Despite her sleepless night and physical exhaustion, Lucy kept at it, the rhythmic strikes of her rapier on the dummies the only thing that could keep her uncomfortable thoughts at bay. 

Eventually, though, her body called a strike. Her side cramped in the middle of a particularly elaborate series of thrusts- the same place where she’d been sliced open nearly a year ago. And as if that was some kind of signal, her entire body, seemingly, decided to revolt; first one muscle, then another, seized up until she slowly and reluctantly collapsed onto the practice mats. She lay there, gasping through the waves of pain. For a brief moment she wondered if she’d actually torn something… but then the pain finally subsided. 

Not completely, though. The remaining cramps in her belly informed her that it had been entirely too long since she ate anything. Clearly, she would have to do something about that… but even the thought of food made her nauseous.

Thankfully, Lockwood came to her rescue. He came down the basement steps carrying a mug of tea and a plate of cheese and crackers.

“There you are, Lucy,” he said casually, as if finding her curled up in the practice area- sweaty, exhausted, and in obvious pain- was a normal occurrence.

“I thought you might need a bit of nosh,” he said, sinking gracefully into a cross-legged position beside her. Lucy found the strength to push herself up, wincing a bit at the remnants of cramping and the suddenly intense hunger that had possessed her. What was more frustrating than the lingering pain, though, was the fact that she still didn’t think she could actually eat anything without it coming right back up.

“I don’t think I can,” she said, closing her eyes and fighting back the nausea.

“Just don’t be like George,” Lockwood said. She heard the slight rasp of a cracker against the plate as he took one for himself. “You’ve got to start slow and pace yourself. Just a bite for now, and a sip. Come on- you can do it.”

Lucy drew in a shaky breath and swallowed, hard. You can do this, she told herself. You’re just being stupid again, come on- it’s cheese and crackers, not bloody poison.

That was the wrong thing to think. Lucy clamped a hand over her mouth just in time- bile rose up her throat, but she managed not to spew.

“It’s alright,” Lockwood said softly. “It’s just your body getting confused and lashing out- you pushed yourself too hard. Take a breath now- through your nose, not your mouth- and hold it for a count of eight. Then let it out, slowly.”

Shaking a little, Lucy followed Lockwood’s instructions. It did help with the nausea- a little, at least. Slowly, the cramping faded, and the nausea with it. 

Lockwood kept talking to her, telling her about new forms DEPRAC had come up with just to make everyone’s life a little bit more miserable, and soon Lucy found herself reaching almost absently for a cracker. Lockwood’s small encouraging smile and nod, even as he continued to rail against yet another seemingly pointless regulation, made her relax further.

It took a while, but Lucy managed to eat at least half the crackers and cheese, and to drink the now tepid tea.

“How’d you know?” Lucy asked, billowing her shirt to get the cracker crumbs off and studiously ignoring the thought of Holly’s inevitable disapproval. “That I’d need food, and that I’d need help to eat it, I mean?” she continued.

Lockwood shrugged. “Experience. Practice. Before George moved in… I’d stay up, sometimes for days at a time, just doing anything I could to avoid having the space and time to think. But you can’t run on air and determination indefinitely- you have to at least eat , to replace the energy you’re burning. But if you let it go too long, your stomach isn’t going to accept anything but the most bland thing you can find.” He started to say something else, then cleared his throat and looked away.

Guessing what he was about to say, Lucy appreciated his restraint. She felt miles better now than she had a half-hour ago, but she instinctively knew any mention of spewing would be a bad idea.

“I’m sorry I left you,” she suddenly blurted. “I just couldn’t stay in bed- I don’t know why.” Lucy gave him her own shrug. Lockwood just nodded. 

“I understand,” he said, and she knew he really did. 

Even if he didn’t know the exact reason- well, she hardly knew herself, so why should she expect him to?- he clearly had experience with the same kind of thing that had driven her out of bed last night.

“I called to make an appointment,” Lockwood said, raising one knee and wrapping his arms around it. “For myself.”

Lucy slowly ate another cracker before asking, “A therapy appointment?”

He nodded, and then shrugged again. “It’s time.”

Lucy smiled slowly, feeling something- some internal knot that had been pulled tight for so long she’d almost stopped noticing it- loosen.

“Besides,” Lockwood continued, “since you started looking before I did, I know which ones to avoid.”

“Only four of them,” Lucy scoffed. He just grinned, so she added, “And you can’t have Dr. Graham. She’s mine.”

“Fair enough,” Lockwood said. 

Lucy would have been tempted to continue the conversation, but Holly came down the basement steps just then, and she remembered that her jumper from the night before was still hanging on the line. Her belly clenched again, but from anxiety this time. She grabbed Lockwood’s hand, even though it was ridiculous to be afraid of Holly noticing the jumper and asking questions.

Fortunately, Holly’s eagle eyes instantly picked out the cracker and cheese crumbs all over the practice mats and scolding them both for that was enough to distract her until Lockwood could get Lucy up, and then they both made a break for the kitchen with the lame excuse of fetching down the broom and dustpan. 

They didn’t actually get them, of course- Holly had to come up for it herself after waiting in vain for at least five minutes, and by that time they’d escaped to other parts of the house.

—

Of course, it didn’t take long for Holly to notice Lucy’s jumper after the crumbs were dealt with, but her sense of tact had always been the best in the agency, so she waited until lunch to ask any questions.

By that time, Lucy had regained some of her usual sense of balance. The only thing she asked for was to tell the story after they finished eating, and then she just related the bare facts, and made no mention of how she felt about any of it.

George and Holly were properly sympathetic, in their own ways. George polished his glasses while commenting on how having a lot of money evidently didn’t increase one’s ability to remember important details, and Holly cooed and frowned and shook her head. And that was that- aside from both of them promising to keep the house clear of any sort of tart, no more was said on the subject.

Lucy was just glad that it was over with, and that George had quickly grasped that now was not the time for teasing. He did have moments of social awareness- though it might have had more to do with the fact that Lockwood glared at him over the sandwich platter through the whole explanation. She did discover a little stick figure drawing of a frowning girl next to what she assumed was supposed to be a tart that had been circled and crossed through on the Thinking Cloth a day later, but at least that obviously wasn’t intended to tease or insult her.

All in all, Lucy was thankful it was over. She knew telling Dr. Graham wasn’t going to be that easy.