“No,” Rowan said, jaw tightening slightly. “I can think about it, I can wonder, but nothing is certain until she confirms it herself.”
Valentine leaned back on his saddle, whistling softly. “So, if that is the issue… if you think she might feel the same way about you, then shouldn’t that be a good thing? You’re on the same page, and she wants to marry you.”
Rowan said nothing in response.
He ran his fingers through his hair and turned to face the water then. Even though it felt good to imagine things and convince himself that Lucy might be on the same page that he was, he figured he could not allow himself to imagine too much. He knew better.
The only thing that would settle his troubled thoughts was if Lucy confirmed it herself. He would need to hear it from her, from her own words, before his mind wandered any further.
Yet, the possibility that she might feel as he did filled him with a happiness so sharp it unsettled him. It was hope, long denied, and he did not yet know how to carry it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Cream, without question,” Selina declared, sweeping into the drawing room ahead of Lucy. “The blue was charming, but cream will soften you beautifully, and you must think of how it will look by candlelight. A wedding is nothing if not a performance of light.”
Lucy closed the door behind them and remained where she was.
“Oh, and the lace,” Selina continued, setting her reticule down and immediately opening it again, almost as if something else might yet be discovered inside. “Italian, I believe. Or Belgian. I forget which, but it matters less than how it falls. You will want it light, not stiff. Stiffness has no place on a bride.”
Lucy nodded, merely to pretend like she was listening, even though she barely heard a word that Selina said.
Selina crossed the room, already rearranging the parcels that had been delivered before them. “We did exceedingly welltoday, Lucy. Far better than I expected, given the notice. Once word spreads, of course, it will be impossible to move without encountering opinion, but for now, we are safely ahead of it. That alone is a comfort.”
Lucy sank into the edge of the sofa, letting out a loud sigh. The day had been exhausting... shops, fittings, endless measuring and trying on gowns, and Selina flitting from one boutique to another as if the world depended on finding the perfect dress. Lucy’s head was heavy with ribbons and lace, her arms sore from carrying parcels, her mind swimming with the details of a wedding she could hardly believe was actually happening.
Selina, of course, was unaffected by fatigue. She perched on the arm of a chair, spreading the packages across the room like a queen surveying her treasures.
“We shall need to think of shoes next,” Selina went on. “Something sensible but not dull. You will be standing for quite some time, and happiness is difficult to maintain when one’s feet are in revolt. Trust me, I know.”
Lucy’s gaze drifted to the window. She heard every word, yet it all seemed to pass around her rather than through her, as though the day had left her hollowed out, an observer to her own life.
Marriage. Dresses. Candlelight. A duke.
The words sounded unreal. Seemingly belonging to someone else entirely.
“Lucy!” Anthony’s voice rang as the door to the drawing room pushed open, and he came running inside. Brook was right behind him, bouncing on his heels. “We heard! We heard from Father!”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “Anthony, Brook, what have I told you about running in the halls?” she chastised them.
“You’re going to marry Father!” Brook said loudly, stopping in front of her, practically vibrating with excitement. “Is it true? Is it really true?”
Anthony leaned closer, eyes wide. “We want to know everything! Where will the wedding be? What will your dress look like? Can we help? Will it happen here?”
Lucy blinked at them, strangely puzzled by their excitement. “You’re not upset that I did not find you a mother? You both realize that if I marry your father…”
Anthony frowned at her at once, like she had missed something obvious. “But you did,” he said simply.
Brook nodded, earnest. “You found one.”
Lucy’s breath caught. “That is not what I meant.”
Anthony shifted closer, lowering his voice. “You were trying to find us a mother. That was the agreement, and you have been doing it all along.”
Brook tilted his head. “You just did not notice. You already look after us. You treat us nicely, and you actually listen to us, even when we complain. You do not tell us we are in the way.”
Anthony nodded firmly. “You sit with us. You remember things. You scold us when we deserve it, but you laugh after. You make sure Brook finishes his lessons, and you remember that I do not like raisins in my pudding. Mothers do that sort of thing.”
Lucy swallowed then smiled faintly. “So, you think that already makes me a mother to you?”
