A nice compliment, though a bit exaggerated. Lucy was far from beautiful. More flawed than anything. “Thank you, my lord,” she said quietly.
Dufton asked the driver to stop along a semi-crowded path where others walked in the late morning sun. “Shall we stroll a bit, Miss Waterstone?”
Lucy nodded, wanting to stretch her legs. Today’s outing had her feeling less opposed to Dufton’s courtship because she could see how marriage to him might gain her some autonomy. She might be able to have dessert and more than a sliver of meat at dinner. Companionship, possibly. Children.
I dearly want a family.
Dufton helped her from the carriage, and she took his arm. He led her down a crowded path, pausing several times to greet an acquaintance here and there, always making sure to introduce Lucy. Word of their appearance together today would soon make the rounds. She supposed that was the point.
Yes, but why me?
“May I ask you a question, my lord?” Lucy was pleased that the lisp was barely noticeable.
“You may, Miss Waterstone.” He nodded, seemingly interested in what she had to say.
She considered how best to phrase her question. She couldn’t very well ask him why he was interested inher. But given Dufton’s overall appearance, wealth, and title, Lucy found it hard to believe he wasn’t already married. There must be a reason. “My lord,” she started.
“Ho there, Dufton.”
The rest of her question was interrupted by the arrival of two well-dressed gentlemen approaching from the opposite direction.
The taller of the two raised his hand in greeting. “What a lovely pigeon you’ve found in the park, Dufton.” His eyes flicked over Lucy.
Dufton’s lips thinned. A look passed between him and the other man. No introductions were made which, frankly, wassomewhat awkward. He cleared his throat. “Will you excuse me for a moment, Miss Waterstone? I need a word with Waxwing.” He nodded at the man who’d referred to her as a ‘pigeon’. “A small business matter. I apologize. Return to the carriage, and I’ll join you shortly.”
“My lord.” Lucy glanced once more towards the two gentlemen before turning to walk back in the direction from which they’d come.
She liked the park, especially when the air smelled of grass and something sweet. Honeysuckle, possibly. Given that she’d spent most of her life as an observer and not a participant, Lucy took note of the crowd. Ladies with their maids trailing behind. A man carrying a box of paints and an easel. A young family attempting to sail boats across the pond.
Just as she approached Dufton’s carriage, two small boys darted in front of her, one holding a ball, the other dragging along a kite. A harried looking young woman, likely their governess, spared an apology for Lucy before chasing after them. The three stopped a short distance away as the taller of the two tried to convince the governess to help him get the kite in the air.
The other boy, younger and possessing a shocking head of ginger hair, tossed his ball up to the sky, allowing it to fall to the ground and roll near the path. He glanced about, hoping someone would agree to toss the ball back to him, and when no one did, he threw the ball at the broad trunk of a tree. Running across the grass, he grinned as the ball bounced back towards him. He was rather quick. Adorable, with a spray of freckles across his cheeks. A sense of longing for children filled Lucy. As an only child, she had always wanted a large family of her own to dote on.
She glanced towards Dufton, who, along with Waxwing and the other gentleman, was strolling in the opposite direction. Marriage to the earl might give her a family. If nothing else, shewould be expected to provide an heir. Lucy had been sheltered her entire life, that much was true, but physical relations were no great secret. Servants gossiped. She’d had the misfortune of overhearing Father and Sally as she’d passed the drawing room one afternoon.
Terribly unpleasant.
And Father did breed horses.
If she wed Dufton, they would certainly share a bed for a time. But attractiveness aside, Lucy’s heart didn’t stir a bit when she looked at him. Nothing at all like—Lucy studied her slippers crunching along the path—the feeling Harry Estwood had once inspired in her. No one did.
The ball sailed past Lucy, landing on the shoulder of a man swinging his walking stick a short distance away. His back was to her, but—she had not forgotten that somewhat arrogant set of broad shoulders. Or the easy, powerful way he moved. More a swagger than a walk. As if looking for a fight.
A breath escaped her. No, itcouldn’tbe.
The man bent down and said something to the boy, who laughed. Straightening, he tossed the ball before turning slightly in Lucy’s direction.
Her knees buckled.Estwood.
Ironic, given she’d been attempting to reach him, and here he was, tossing a ball in the park. She resisted the inclination to quicken her steps in his direction and merely stood, heart beating like a drum at the sight of him. Thesensationof Estwood had not changed, not in all this time. A low, insidious hum wrapped tight around her body, making her breath catch.
Oh.
Estwood appeared larger than she remembered, all strength and muscle as he crouched in the grass to pick up the ball once more. Waving the boy over, Estwood’s big hands moved around the ball, obviously relating something important.
The boy nodded eagerly.
Estwood threw the ball at the tree, saying something to the boy, and when he tilted his head, he saw…Lucy.
