His conscience whispered that the matter of marrying Lucy should come after all the rest was in order. After he could point to his successes once more.
But another part of him, his heart, the deepest center that didn’t doubt or reproach, told him that he should not waste another moment. That being apart from the one whom he’d felt connected to from the moment he’d seen her, a woman who made him wish to be the best man he could be, was folly.
Lucy wanted him. Now. Just as he was. He’d be the most unworthy of fools to deny the gift of having her in his life.
And he would do his very best to make sure she would never regret her choice.
Now they just had to convince Lord and Lady Hallston.
“If you tread on those hellebores, Mama will never forgive you.” Charlie sat in a corner of the conservatory, lounging on one of their mother’s velvet chaise lounges and intermittently reading out statistics about horses from some boring sporting magazine.
“I’m not treading on anything,” Lucy bit back at him.
“You came close.”
“I never did.”
“How would you know? You’ve been pacing aimlessly and staring off in the distance for nearly an hour.”
“Charlie, I entered the conservatory twenty minutes ago.”
“It feels like an hour.”
“You could go elsewhere.”
He scoffed with dramatic offense. “I was here first.”
“I’m nervous.”
He harrumphed at that, then sat up and tossed his magazine aside. “All right, I can see you’re dying to tell me why.”
Lucy wasn’t. Not really. She’d come into the conservatory to be alone. And, as proven by last night’s events, Charlie wasn’t a trustworthy confidant.
“Wait, why haven’t you asked me about the gentleman you met out front last night?”
“What gentleman?” He screwed up his face in genuine confusion.
“You were so soused, you don’t even remember, do you? Good grief, Charlie, you’d be the worst spy in British history.”
He shrugged. “Probably. Good thing I’ve never wanted to be a spy.”
“You’re incorrigible.” The words came out of her mouth in an irritated tone, but Lucy couldn’t help but smile.
“Oh no.” Charlie stared at her wide-eyed, a hand clapped over his mouth. “You’re going to tell me again about the man you met on the train.”
“I wasn’t, actually.”
“You’re besotted. Utterly and ridiculously.” He pointed in a zigzag pattern, up and down her body. “Don’t deny it. There’s proof in every stumbling step you take, every lost look at the wall, that almost mad gaze in your eyes.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Says the lovestruck girl.”
“I never tried to deny it.”
“My lady?” Sarah, their housemaid, had stepped into the conservatory. “Lord Hallston is asking to see you in his study.”
Lucy shot her brother a “see what you’ve done” look, to which he responded with an “it’s your own fault, really” shrug.
