Lucy sighed. Two royal visits in one day. What she wouldn’t do for that man.
When Garrett’s coach pulled up in front of Carlton House, Lucy was shaking with nerves.
“Are you quite certain you don’t want me to come with you?” Garrett asked. Her cousin was such a dear. He’d insisted upon accompanying her.
“I must do this myself.”
“Very well, but I shall wait here for you.”
Lucy nodded. A backup plan. Yes. Good.
The royal butler eyed her up and down but appeared to take her word for the fact that she was indeed named Lady Lucy Upton and had urgent business to discuss with the Duke of Claringdon. She was soon ushered into the dinner party.
Lucy had heard tales of the prince regent’s infamous dinner parties, but of course she’d never been invited to one. The reality was beyond her imagination.
An enormous table had been set with the finest of china, linens, and crystals. The table was lined with huge platters of meats and cheeses, sweets and puddings, vegetables and birds, and roasts, and gravies. All sorts of wines and chocolates. Everywhere she looked there was something more delectable than the last. The prince himself was perched in the center of the ostentatious display; two gorgeous ladies sat on either side of him. Next to one of them was Derek.
Without taking her eyes from him, Lucy slowly made her way into the center of the room. She knew the moment Derek spotted her. His gaze focused on her and he stopped talking to his dinner companions.
Lucy continued on trembling legs. She stopped on the other side of the table from Derek and called out in a clear, sure voice, “Your Grace?”
All conversation ceased. The clatter of utensils, the laughing, the music. Complete silence descended upon the room as all eyes riveted on her.
“And who might you be?” the prince regent asked, guzzling a cup of wine.
Lucy answered him without taking her eyes from Derek. “I’m Lady Lucy Upton,” she said. “And I’ve come to see the Duke of Claringdon.”
The prince set down his cup and wiped his bulbous lips with his napkin. “Ah, your future wife, eh, Claringdon?”
Derek’s jaw was tight, but his eyes remained locked with hers. “I’m not certain, Your Majesty. She said no the last time I asked.”
“Does anyone have a pack of cards?” Lucy called out.
The prince regent scoffed. “Do I have a pack of cards? Surely you are jesting.” He clapped his hands and a footman materialized with the cards within seconds. The servant handed them to Lucy.
Derek watched her carefully. “Lucy, what are you doing?”
She stepped forward until she stood in front of Derek. She held out the cards to him. “Pick a card, Your Grace. Just one.”
He swallowed. “What for?”
“As you said, you asked me to marry you once and I said no. But I’m here tonight to change that, to fix it.”
“What do you mean?” Derek’s eyes were hooded.
“The number on the card shall represent the number of better responses than ‘No’ to the question ‘Will you marry me?’”
“Lucy, you don’t have to—”
“Pick,” she murmured achingly.
Derek’s gaze dropped to the cards. He pulled out one and flipped it over.
“Ten of clubs,” the prince announced, rubbing his chubby little hands together with glee.
Lucy raised her voice loud enough to be heard by the entire room. If she was going to humiliate herself in front of thetontoday, she might as well make a real show of it.
“‘Yes, because you lived through the war,’” she said.
