“Will you attend that wedding?” Lucy asked. She was trying to keep her tone nonchalant, but Christian knew he was being closely watched.
“I haven’t been invited,” he replied evenly, spreading the newspaper open in front of his face.
“That’s because it hasn’t been scheduled yet. Rumor has it the bride has been reticent to set a date,” Lucy announced.
“Is that so?” Christian asked from behind his paper.
Lucy continued in the same singsong tone of voice. “You know that Sarah will be at the events of the Season.”
Christian continued to feign interest in his paper, but he was no longer actually reading. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Lucy traced her fingertip around the edge of her teacup. “You’ll be there, too. I just thought perhaps you might want to attempt to court Sarah yourself. Change her mind about marrying Branford.”
Christian folded the paper hastily and slapped it against the tabletop. “That’s preposterous.”
“Not so preposterous,” Lucy replied, dropping two extra sugar lumps into her cup.
Christian stood and paced toward the windows. “She’s engaged to be married. The contracts have been signed. You know as well as I do that these things aren’t just called off.” Had Lucy lost her mind?
Lucy quietly stirred her tea, holding only the end of the silver spoon. “But I don’t believe Sarah’s happy with him. She ran away from him once, for heaven’s sake.”
“Women marry men they aren’t particularly happy with all of the time. It’s hardly out of the ordinary. You know that.” He didn’t stop pacing. What the hell was Lucy about, saying such outlandish things?
“Yes, but weknowSarah. She’s our friend.” Lucy’s voice was calm. Far more calm than usual. That worried him.
“That makes no difference. She’s clearly decided to go through with it.”
“But she might well be persuaded to change her mind,” Lucy replied. “I simply think—”
Christian clenched his jaw. “What in heaven’s name makes you think she’d choosemeover a marquess, at any rate? She was the belle of the Season last year. I’m the most forgettable man in the kingdom.”
“You are not!”
“Oh, really? Shall I remind you of how well my other attempts at courtship have turned out?”
“That’s only because you hadn’t found the right lady yet.”
Christian stopped and braced a hand against the wall. “And you believe Sarah is the right lady?”
Another petite stir of her tea. “I think she may be.”
“A betrothed woman? You’ve really gone round the bend this time, Lucy.”
“But you’ve told me yourself. You feel comfortable with her. You don’t stutter in front of her. She likes dogs and has a dry sense of humor. Why, she even named her horse the exact same name as yours, for heaven’s sake. And it’s not a particularlycommonname. What more evidence do you need?”
The doorbell rang, interrupting their argument and Christian’s regret that he’d confided so much in Lucy in the past weeks and over the winter in their correspondence. He hadn’t remembered he’d told her all of that, actually.
The butler soon entered the drawing room. “Where would you like the boxes to be placed, my lord?”
Lucy arched a brow over the rim of her teacup. “Boxes?”
“The shipments from Yardley’s, Hoby’s, Weston’s, and Martin’s have arrived,” the butler explained.
“Have them all brought up to my bedchamber. Matthews will see to them,” Christian replied.
“New clothing, eh?” Lucy asked, after the butler had left the room to see to the disbursement of the goods.
“Yes, actually. An entirely new wardrobe.”
