Hart’s eyes went wide with alarm. He searched Meg’s face. “What is it? Is Sarah all right?”
“Yes. Yes. Of course.” Meg nodded, clutching the coat around her shoulders and rubbing her cheek against the expensive fabric. “She’s fine. I mean to say, she will be fine. I hope. It’s just… Lord Branford. She doesn’t love him. She cannot marry him. She loves Lord Berkeley. I know it.”
Hart continued to stroke Meg’s arms, which was ever so distracting, even with the fabric of the coat between them. He sighed and looked at the ground. His jaw was tight. “I agree with you, but—”
Meg forced herself to forget the scent of Hart’s coat enveloping her and to concentrate on why she’d come. “I think Sarah is ruining her life to make your parents happy.”
Hart nodded. “I agree.”
“She’s going to be miserable,” Meg continued.
Hart’s jaw was tight, as if set in stone. “I agree.”
It faintly pierced Meg’s consciousness that Hart was agreeing with her, but he didn’t appear ready to spring into action. “What are we going to do?” she asked, searching his face.
Hart’s hands dropped from her shoulders. He clenched his long fingers into fists and put them on his hips. “Absolutely nothing.”
Meg shook her head. She must have heard him incorrectly. “Nothing?”
“That’s right.” He stood there in the moonlight, his feet braced apart, a determined look on his handsome face.
Meg started toward him and then forced herself to stop. “What? Why? You just agreed with me.”
Hart nodded slowly. “And I’ll continue to agree with you, but I’ve already spoken to Sarah and her mind is made up.”
“Oh.” Meg bit her lip. “But don’t you think, if we both—”
“No.” His voice was calm, resolute, echoing through the still night air.
“Why?” she asked quietly. She had to ask. It hadn’t occurred to her that Hart wouldn’t want to interfere.
Hart paced away from her and slid his hands inside his pockets. He looked out across the hedgerows behind them. “Because I know my sister and you do, too. She’s stubborn. I think she’s less likely to listen to us if we push harder.”
Meg shivered and nodded. He had a point. “You told her what you thought?”
“Yes, and I suspect you already have, too.”
“Yes,” Meg admitted. Hart was right. Sarah didn’t like to be told what to do. The more they tried to convince her she was wrong, the more stubborn she would become.
Hart turned back to face her. “Don’t you see? That’s all we can do. All that’s left is to hope for the best.”
“Do you really think so?” Meg shamelessly wanted to prolong her time in his company.
“I know so,” Hart replied. “Now let me get you home.”
Hart had escorted her back to the ivy-covered wooden door that led from the park to her father’s property, and while they’d shared an awkward moment in Hart’s father’s coach the next day after Sarah had fled her wedding, they’d managed to avoid each other for months.
Meg finished recounting the entire tale.
“Hmm,” Lucy said. “Now that is something. I’d say it’s entirely promising.”
Meg blinked. “How is it promising?”
“Mostly the part about him avoiding you afterward,” Lucy replied brightly, pouring herself another cup of tea and reaching for the sugar bowl.
Meg’s brow remained tightly furrowed. “I don’t see howthat’spromising.”
Lucy stirred the small silver spoon around and around the cup. “Of course it’s promising. If it hadn’t affected him, he wouldn’t have cared one way or the other.”
