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 dothat?”
“We must dosomething,” 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 wasquitegrating 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 wordquitewith 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 areyourmarital 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 hismarital prospects.
Christian 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.
