Lucia’s hand froze above her silver fork. Aha! So Ethan was here. Now she’d find out what Selbourne had been hinting at last night. What he’d meant when he’d said her family needed assistance.
“And how are the little bambinos?” Lady Brigham’s face flooded with joy. “My nipotes dolces?”
The same as they were when you saw them yesterday, Lucia thought. But with her mother’s attention diverted, Lucia relaxed, rolling her shoulders to ease the kinks in her neck and back. Slipping her shoes off and wiggling her toes, she took full advantage of the momentary reprieve from her mother’s fastidious attentions and allowed her thoughts to roam. She adored this small parlor her family used as the breakfast room and often lingered after everyone else had gone. The large window offered a perfect prospect of Berkeley Square, and she loved to pull her knees to her chest, rest her back against the cushion of her chair, and stare at the passing carriages and pedestrians through the parted voile netting.
There was something a little wicked about slouching in the snug yellow and white papered room, hidden from view and watching the rest of the world go by. Sometimes she even made up stories in her mind, speculating as to a particular lady or gentleman’s errands for the day.
Not that she had any particular gentleman in mind today. She didn’t care what plans Selbourne had made for the day, didn’t care what he was doing, where, or with whom. Though he had said he’d call this morning. And, she noted with a flash of annoyance, the morning was slipping away.
Lucia glanced at her mother again. Lady Brigham’s attention was still on Francesca, so Lucia took a chance and slumped another fraction of an inch, her shoulders grazing the cushion of the chair. She wasn’t going to think about him anymore, she decided. Thinking about him had already kept her up half the night, and she wasn’t about to allow dreams of him to dominate her waking hours as well.
Searching for a distraction, Lucia watched Francesca. Although she was already perfect, Lucia could tell her sister had taken some care with her appearance this morning. Her beige dress with its train and matching spencer were the height of fashionable elegance, and Lucia knew she would be begging Francesca to loan her the slouch straw hat before the week was done.
Francesca was still talking of her children—Colin and Sarah—and she glowed with the beauty of a doting mother. Though her own beauty was considered more conventional, Lucia had always thought Francesca prettier. Her sister was petite and well-rounded with gleaming chestnut curls, wide chocolate brown eyes, and a contagious smile. As a little girl, Lucia had sought that smile and the accompanying approval at every opportunity. Watching Francesca now, she realized not much had changed.
“Do sit up straight, Lucia!” Her mother’s sharp tone startled Lucia from her reverie. “Slouching is not dignified.” Lady Brigham shook her finger at her daughter, causing a flurry of movement from the lace at her wrist.
“Sorry, Mamma.” Lucia stiffened her spine.
Lady Brigham huffed and turned back to Francesca. “We will have to discuss the bambinos in more detail later, cara. I am due at young Lady Castlereagh’s in . . . oh, dear three-fourths of an hour!” She shot up, rattling the dishes on the table. “DoveĢ mia caro sposo? I must take my leave at once!”
“He’s in his study, Mamma,” Lucia answered, reaching out to steady her trembling teacup.
“Grazie! Grazie!” Leaving the scent of roses in her wake, Lady Brigham rushed from the room, the footman in tow.
Left alone, Lucia grinned at Francesca, wondering if her sister felt as much tension ebb out of her own straight shoulders as their mother sailed away.
“I love her, but I may have to kill her,” Francesca said, sitting back in her chair.
“At least you can please her. I don’t have two children to thrust before her when she’s unhappy with me.”
Francesca laughed. “You’ve discovered my secret. But it won’t be long before you have little ones of your own.”
Lucia nodded and smiled, but her stomach tightened, and she pushed her untouched plate of food away. “How is my brother-in-law this morning?” Lucia asked, hoping her sister knew something about Selbourne’s cryptic comments.
“Arrogant. Stubborn. Perfect.” She grinned.
Perfect, just like his wife, Lucia thought. The Marchioness of Winterbourne for the last five years, Francesca was still blissfully happy with her husband and children, and she shone with the radiance of one in love. But Lucia had never once begrudged her sister her happiness, though Francesca had always been her parents’ favorite. Francesca was so lovely, so sweet natured, she deserved all her happiness and more.
“You’ll never guess who I saw at the Pools’ last night,” Lucia said
“Lord Selbourne,” Francesca replied, sitting back. Lucia blinked. “Yes! How did you know?”
“He called at Grosvenor Square before he left for the Pools’. I didn’t remember that you and Lord Dandridge would also attend until it was too late. I hope he wasn’t . . . unpleasant. He was in a bad mood when I saw him.”
“He’s always in a bad mood,” Lucia grumbled.
“You’ve met him twice, Lucia,” Francesca said with a laugh. “He’s only in a foul mood nine times out of ten.”
“Ah, seven more to go, then, as Selbourne was quite unpleasant last night. He mentioned something about a family matter being the reason for his presence in Town but refused to explain any further.” Francesca raised a brow, and Lucia drummed her fingers on the table, keeping time with her tapping toes. “Naturally I thought he was referring to Lord Winterbourne and you, but he told me that wasn’t the case. Then he mentioned something about calling here this morning.” She scowled. “Selbourne was quite mysterious about the whole thing.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Francesca said. “He’s not exactly a stunning conversationalist.”
“Conversation? The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”
The two sat in companionable silence for a moment. Francesca stared longingly at the sweets on the sideboard while Lucia tried to decide exactly how much to confide to her sister.
Wondering what family emergency had brought Selbourne to Town had cost her a restless night, but that didn’t account for all the night’s tossing and turning. The memory of Selbourne’s hands on the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulders, had its own part in keeping her awake. Each time she’d closed her eyes, she felt his touch and saw his face, those molten pewter eyes. It was enough to startle her awake, and she’d finally gotten up and paced the room, trying to work it out. Sometime before dawn, she’d ended up asleep in her chair.
When she awoke, she’d resolved to ask Francesca about the whole situation, but now that the moment had arrived, Lucia hardly knew where to begin. “About Lord Selbourne—” she tried again.
“Aren’t you being a bit hard on Selbourne?” Francesca asked, her voice muffled as she munched on a bite of tart pilfered from her mother’s forgotten plate.
“No, in the carriage he—”
Francesca swallowed the tart in a gulp. “You and Dandridge were in Selbourne’s carriage?”
“No.” Lucia glanced down. “Dandridge wasn’t with us.” She pulled at her lip, hoping Francesca wouldn’t ask too many questions about her affianced.