“Yes, but—,” Sarah began.
“Need I mention the horse’s name?”
“Oh … that.” Sarah bit her lip.
“Yes, that.”
“Oberon,” Meg whispered, nodding. “Such an obvious sign.”
Lucy sighed. “What I don’t understand is why you two are being so pigheaded about declaring your intentions for each other.”
Sarah lifted her chin and faced her friend. “Lucy, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, truly I have, but—”
Lucy waved a dismissive hand in the air. “But you couldn’t possibly disappoint your parents and break off your engagement, et cetera, et cetera. I’ve heard such patronizing tones before, too.”
“But that’s precisely right.” Sarah folded her hands in her lap and blinked at the duchess. “I cannot possibly disappoint my parents and—”
“I told you she was going to say this, Lucy,” Meg interjected, still sipping tea.
Lucy straightened her shoulders and forced Sarah to meet her eyes. “Meg says that Alex told you the story of how Owen was supposed to be engaged to her sister.”
Sarah nodded hesitantly. Lucy obviously had decided to try a different tactic altogether. Just what was her friend getting at? “Yes, Alex told me that last night.”
“If that debacle could be called off, I daresay your parents can stand you crying off from the Marquess of Branford.”
Sarah pushed her shoe against the pattern of the rug again. “You don’t understand. The marquess is friendly with the Prince Regent, of all people, not to mention the princesses, even the queen. Father and Mother would never stand the blow to their reputation were they to insult the marquess in such a public way.”
Lucy was studying her fingernails now. “Something tells me Lord Branford’s self-regard could well withstand such a blow.”
“I’ve absolutely no doubt whatsoever,” Meg added.
Sarah rubbed her temples. “He might withstand it, but Mother and Father would never forgive me.” How could her friends not understand the horrible predicament she was in?
“But they’re forcing you into an unhappy marriage,” Lucy said.
“Unhappy marriages happen every day,” Sarah replied.
Lucy slapped her gloves against her thigh. “My goodness, your parents have conditioned you well. You’re quite obedient. But obedience doesn’t always equate to happiness, and that is what I care about at the moment. Your happiness and Berkeley’s. Can’t you see how perfect you are together? You actually care for each other. I can tell. I can see it in your eyes. And his. For example, I’ve never seen him rush off from a dance before to follow a lady out onto a patio. He’s clearly smitten with you. And if I don’t mistake my guess, you are equally smitten with him.”
“She’s smitten,” Meg said.
Sarah gave Meg a condemning glare. “He’s a dear friend.” But even as she said it, the words he’d spoken to her last night on the veranda punctured her heart. Tell me you feel absolutely nothing for me. Tell me we’re merely friends.
“Stop it.” Lucy slapped her glove against her knee this time. “I know he’s more than a friend.”
“He is,” Meg agreed.
Sarah’s voice was measured, as calm as she could make it. Ignoring Meg, she merely said, “I don’t want this to come between you and me, Your Grace.”
“Ah, enough of that ‘Your Grace’ business. I consider you a friend, Sarah, and I’ve no wish to upset you. I’m simply trying to get you to see reason. I don’t think you fully understand how miserable you will be married to a man you don’t love.”
“Thank you for your concern, Lucy, but I—”
Lucy held up a hand. “You’re one of the most stubborn chits I know. Did anyone else ever tell you that?”
“She’s stubborn all right,” Meg agreed, pushing a blond curl away from her forehead.
“Yes, both Meg and Mrs. Goatsocks like to inform me of that on a regular basis,” Sarah replied with a long-suffering sigh.
“Meg and Mrs. Goatsocks are correct.” Lucy stood and began to pull on her gloves again. “Very well, Sarah, you’ve left me little choice. We must fight this battle on another front entirely.”
Meg stood to leave, too.
Sarah watched them go, more than a bit afraid of what exactly Lucy Hunt had meant by that last statement.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lucy Hunt marched unannounced into Christian’s breakfast room the next morning, drawing off her expensive kid gloves, a decided frown on her face. “You’re not going to let Sarah marry that ninny Branford, are you?”
Christian nearly choked on the piece of melon he’d been eating. “Good morning to you, too.”
“This is serious, Christian. She’s perfectly miserable.”
I’m perfectly miserable, too. “I’m not certain how you’d expect me to have any say in the matter.”
“Ask her to marry you.”
This time, Christian nearly spit out his coffee. He set down his cup to be safe. Lucy had no idea what she was asking of him. Especially not after what had happened on the veranda with Sarah at the Rutherfords’. But he suspected his friend hadn’t seen the kissing part. Which proved there was a God as far as Christian was concerned. Still, Lucy could be adamant when she made up her mind about something. He must handle her carefully this morning, nonchalance being the order of the day.
He pretended to study his newspaper. “The last time I checked, the lady was engaged to another man. I may not have the most exquisite manners in the kingdom, but I know proposing to a betrothed woman is frowned upon.”
Lucy brandished her gloves in the air. “Oh, Christian, you’re being so thickheaded. She’s obviously miserable with him and perfect for you.”
He let the paper drop and gave her his best impression of a bored look. “What do you suggest, Lucy? That I pick her up, toss her over my shoulder, and cart her off to Scotland to elope?”
Lucy’s eyes widened. She stepped toward him. “Why, that’s an excellent idea!”
Christian rolled his eyes and turned back to the paper. “You cannot be serious. I was jesting.”
“Perhaps if we tell her we plan to cart her off … you know, so as not to unduly frighten her.” Lucy tapped a finger against her cheek, obviously contemplating the matter.
Christian refused to look up. “No, Lucy, no more schemes. She’s made up her mind.”
Lucy moved forward and braced both hands against the back of one of the chairs that sat around the table, forcing Christian’s gaze to return to her. “She doesn’t understand the consequences. She’s young and her parents are unreasonable.”
Christian pressed a palm against his right eye. “And not likely to look with favor upon a son-in-law who absconds with their daughter.”
“She’s been putting off the wedding,” Lucy said in a singsong voice.
Christian stiffened. He couldn’t help himself. “Did she tell you that? That she’s putting it off on purpose?”
“She told me some nonsense about how there are things to consider, whatever that means. But she hasn’t set a date despite her mother’s insistence as well as Lord Branford’s. What does that tell you?” Lucy stamped her foot on the wooden floor.
“It tells me it’s none of my blasted business.” Christian wasn’t about to tell Lucy how he knew that Sarah wasn’t interested in him or at least that she had no intention of calling off the wedding in favor of him. His meddling friend would just have to take his word for it this time.
“But I saw the way she looked at you the other night, Christian,” Lucy pleaded. “She’s already more than half in love with you.”
Christian stood and tossed both the paper and his napkin onto the table. “Lucy, I’ve always appreciated your penchant for matchmaking, but heretofore it’s been done between two parties who were not already attached. This time you go too far. You must stand down.”
Lucy plunked her hands on her hips. “Tell me you aren’t half in love with he
r, Christian. If you can honestly tell me that, I’ll stand down.”
Christian slammed his palm on the table. “It’s too late, Lucy. Even you can’t fix this.”
“But—”
Christian clenched his jaw. “Lucy, I’m warning you. Stay the hell out of it.” He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Lucy Hunt standing alone in his breakfast room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Later that afternoon, Cass and Jane arrived at Lucy’s doorstep for their weekly visit. The tea had been served and Jane was halfway through her second tea cake when Lucy, heaping lumps of sugar into her cup, announced, “Ladies, we must do something to help Berkeley and Sarah.”
Cass glanced up from her own cup, her pretty forehead marred by a frown. “What? Why?”
Lucy stirred in the sugar. “Because they need our help, of course. Berkeley desperately needs it. I can tell.”
Jane politely swallowed her bit of cake before speaking. “What in heaven’s name makes you think that?”
Lucy turned toward her friend. “Because he swore at me, Jane. He told me to stay the hell out of it. If those aren’t the words of someone crying out for help, I don’t know what are.”
Jane shook her head. “I can’t imagine what it’s like living inside your head, Lucy.”
Lucy flourished her spoon in the air. “I don’t know what you mean, Janie. Everything in my head makes perfect sense to me.”
“I agree with Lucy,” Cass offered. “I’ve never seen Lord Berkeley so agitated. He ended his dance with Lady Claire immediately to rush after Lady Sarah when she left the ballroom. I think he cares for her a great deal.”
“But isn’t she engaged to Lord Branford?” Jane asked, helping herself to another tea cake.
“Yes,” Lucy said, tasting her tea for the proper excessive amount of sugar.
“And?” Jane prompted.
“And that’s obviously one reason they need our help. She’s in quite a pickle,” Lucy replied, dropping in one final lump.
“Did she ask for your help?” Jane prodded.
“No,” Lucy confessed, stirring the last lump into the cup. Her spoon made little dinging noises against the china.
“Did she hint that she wanted your help?” Jane continued.
“No,” Lucy repeated, then lifted her cup and took a satisfied sip.
“Has Lord Berkeley done either of those things?” Jane prodded.
“Not in so many words.” Lucy flourished the spoon again.
Jane rubbed the spot between her eyes with two fingers. “Then why in heaven’s name would you think either of them wants your help?”
“I didn’t say they want our help,” Lucy replied. “I said they need our help. Quite different. I’m certain you’ll agree.”
Cass sipped her tea. “Let’s hear her out, Janie. What are you planning, Lucy?”
Lucy set the spoon on her saucer. “Nothing too drastic. Don’t worry.”
Cass let out a relieved breath and set down her teacup to stir in more cream.
“We simply must do something to stop the wedding, that’s all,” Lucy continued in a calm voice.
Cass’s eyes widened in alarm and her silver spoon clanked inside of the cup, abandoned.
A tea cake arrested halfway to her mouth, Jane Upton groaned. “How are we supposed to do that?”
“We must do something,” Cass replied, obviously recovering herself. She continued to stir her tea. “Lord Berkeley has helped so many of us. Now it’s our turn to help him.”
“Finally, someone else is seeing reason,” Lucy said, eyeing both her friends over the rim of her teacup, a catlike grin pinned upon her gamine face.
“What do you suggest we do, Lucy?” Cass asked. “How can we stop the wedding?”
“As usual, I want no part of this,” Jane announced, taking yet another bite of cake.
“We must procure an invitation,” Lucy said. “I’ll need your help for that, Cass.”
Cass blinked. “An invitation to what?”
“Why, an invitation for Lady Sarah to attend Daphne’s wedding, of course.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Surrey, the country house of the Earl and Countess of Moreland
Christian had been at Daphne Swift’s wedding house party for a full five hours before he became aware that he was under surveillance.
He’d been happy, damn glad, to get out of London for a few days, away from Lady Claire, who was quite grating on his nerves, and away from the hordes of young ladies who seemed intent upon stopping him to talk in the park, and on Bond Street, and at any other bloody place he went. Had he really ever wished to be sought after? Why? It was a bloody nuisance. But most of all, he was glad to be out of London so that he wouldn’t be tempted to pay a call on Sarah.
Damn Lucy and her mad schemes. She’d actually tried to convince him that if he declared himself to Sarah, something might come of it, change, be different. But that was madness. A signed marriage contract didn’t suddenly disappear, and even if Sarah herself decided to cry off, it would cause a huge scandal, which was exactly what they’d worked so diligently to avoid last winter. No. Absolutely no good could come from entertaining Lucy Hunt’s outlandish idea. Besides, Christian knew for a fact that it wouldn’t work. He’d bloody well kissed Sarah, after all, kissed her right there on the veranda at the Rutherfords’ ball. If that hadn’t been a declaration, what was? Sarah had turned right around and declared her intention to marry Branford no matter what. It was over. Done. There was nothing more to say.
But those few moments haunted him. Those few moments when she was in his arms, tasting like sunlight, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her mouth open and wanting and willing. In those few moments he’d known, he’d felt it. She wanted him. And he would never be able to forget.
He shook his head to rid it of such unhelpful thoughts. He’d come to the country to see his friends marry, but he’d also come to clear his head. Relax. Reconsider things. Get a different perspective on the whole marriage mart. The problem was that now that he was traipsing about in a country garden in the middle of the day, fresh air abounding, his head seemed less clear than ever.
First, there was Lady Claire to consider. He’d spent a good portion of the ride to Surrey considering that perhaps the girl wasn’t as annoying as he recalled. Perhaps her silliness would lessen as she aged. Perhaps she’d eventually stop using the word quite with such alarming frequency. He’d finally decided it was no use. She wasn’t his sort, no matter how interested in him she seemed to be. How was that for irony? A year ago he would have given his right arm to have a young woman as lovely and sweet as Lady Claire seemed to be hanging upon his every word. Now he just found her cloying. What the hell was wrong with him?
He scrubbed his hands through his hair. It didn’t matter. Lady Claire wasn’t the only other female in Society besides Sarah. He’d simply reevaluate the current crop upon his return to town. Simple enough. For now he was intent upon thinking about nothing other than relaxation.
“Berkeley, good, man, there you are,” his friend Garrett Upton called as he jogged out to where Christian was strolling through the garden.
“Upton, good to see you.” Christian clasped Upton’s hand as soon as the other man reached him.
“Seems Daphne and Rafe are finally getting married,” Upton said in his usual jovial voice.
“Seems to be the case by the looks of it,” Christian replied.
Upton didn’t meet his eyes. “How are your marital prospects these days?”
That was when Christian knew. He was being watched. Lucy Hunt’s web of spies extended throughout the town and into the country and was now apparent in the personage of his closest friend. In fact, Upton was the reason he’d met Lucy to begin with in Bath nearly two years ago, not long after Waterloo. He and Upton had attended school together, had known each other since they were boys. Upton had never, in all their years of friendship, asked him about his marital prospects.
Chri
stian crossed his arms over his chest and eyed his friend warily. “Lucy sent you, didn’t she?”
Upton’s crack of laughter rang through the garden. “Don’t look so alarmed. She’s worried about you. You know, I met Lady Sarah when she stayed with Jane and me briefly in Bath, and she’s quite a nice young woman. You—”
Christian’s mind filled with a hazy cloud of rage. “By God, Upton, I’m warning you—” But Christian broke off as he looked up to see Lady Sarah herself, along with her mother, following Cass’s mother, Lady Moreland, down a footpath in the garden. They were walking not twenty paces ahead down a lane at right angles to theirs, obviously receiving a tour of the grounds.
“What in the—?” Christian’s jaw fell open. All he could do was stare.
Upton glanced at him and then at Sarah and back. “Speak of the devil. Didn’t expect to see Lady Sarah here of all places. You all right, Berkeley?”
“No. I mean, yes. It’s … it’s fine. It’s nothing. What were you saying?” He tried to drag his attention back to his friend. But Christian didn’t hear a word Upton said. All he could think about was Sarah. He imagined he could smell the scent of lilies on the breeze. What was she doing here? Did she know Daphne or Rafe? Well enough to attend their wedding? She hadn’t mentioned she was coming. Had she seen him?
That question, at least, was quickly answered when Sarah glanced at him and immediately averted her eyes. Moments later she was gone, following Lady Moreland and her mother back into the house.
Christian had to go. He had to find out what she was doing here. “Excuse me a moment, won’t you, Upton?”
“Going to greet Lady Sarah?” Upton asked with a wide grin.
“No,” Christian ground out, already striding back toward the house. “I’m going to hunt down your cousin Lucy.”
* * *
Hunting down Lucy Hunt was much easier said than done. Christian spent the better part of the afternoon attempting to locate the elusive duchess. By teatime he was convinced she was avoiding him. Every time he found someone he was certain would know where she was, that person managed to have a convenient and suspicious lapse of memory.
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