On the Way to the Wedding (41 page)

“I shall ruin her,” Hyacinth continued.

“No,” Gregory said in a low voice, “you won’t.”

The rest of his family fell silent, and Gregory suspected that they had not, until the moment he’d spoken, realized that he had not been taking part in the conversation.

“You will leave her alone,” he said.

Hyacinth ground her teeth together.

He brought his eyes to hers, hard and steely with purpose.

“And if your paths should ever cross,” he continued, “you shall be all that is amiable and kind. Do you understand me?”

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Hyacinth said nothing.

“Do you understand me?” he roared.

His family stared at him in shock. He never lost his tem -

per. Never.

And then Hyacinth, who’d never possessed a highly developed sense of tact, said, “No, as a matter of fact.”

“I beg your pardon?” Gregory, said, his voice dripping ice at the very moment Colin turned to her and hissed, “Shut up. ”

“I don’t understand you,” Hyacinth continued, jamming her elbow into Colin’s ribs. “How can you possibly possess sympathy for her? If this had happened to me, wouldn’t you—”

“This didn’t happen to you,” Gregory bit off. “And you do not know her. You do not know the reasons for her actions.”

“Do you?” Hyacinth demanded.

He didn’t. And it was killing him.

“Turn the other cheek, Hyacinth,” her mother said softly.

Hyacinth sat back, her bearing tense with anger, but she held her tongue.

“Perhaps you could stay with Benedict and Sophie in Wiltshire,” Violet suggested. “I believe Anthony and Kate are expected in town soon, so you cannot go to Aubrey Hall, although I am sure they would not mind if you resided there in their absence.”

Gregory just stared out the window. He did not wish to go to the country.

“You could travel,” Colin said. “Italy is particularly pleasant this time of year. And you haven’t been, have you?”

Gregory shook his head, only half listening. He did not wish to go to Italy.

Because I had to, she’d said.

Not because she wished it. Not because it was sensible.

Because she had to.

What did that mean?

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Had she been forced? Was she being blackmailed?

What could she have possibly done to warrant blackmail?

“It would have been very difficult for her not to go through with it,” Violet suddenly said, placing a sympathetic hand on his arm. “Lord Davenport is not a man anyone would wish as an enemy. And really, right there in the church, with everyone looking on . . . Well,” she said with a resigned sigh, “one would have to be extremely brave. And resilient.”

She paused, shaking her head. “And prepared.”

“Prepared?” Colin queried.

“For what came next,” Violet clarified. “It would have been a huge scandal.”

“It already is a huge scandal,” Gregory muttered.

“Yes, but not as much as if she’d said yes,” his mother said.

“Not that I am glad for the outcome. You know I wish you nothing but your heart’s happiness. But she will be looked upon approvingly for her choice. She will be viewed as a sensible girl.”

Gregory felt one corner of his mouth lift into a wry smile.

“And I, a lovesick fool.”

No one contradicted him.

After a moment his mother said, “You are taking this rather well, I must say.”

Indeed.

“I would have thought—” She broke off. “Well, it matters not what I would have thought, merely what actually is.”

“No,” Gregory said, turning sharply to look at her. “What would you have thought? How should I be acting?”

“It is not a question of should, ” his mother said, clearly flustered by the sudden questions. “Merely that I would have thought you would seem . . . angrier.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then turned back to the window. They were traveling along Piccadilly, heading west toward Hyde Park. Why wasn’t he angrier? Why wasn’t he putting his fist through the wall? He’d had to be dragged On the Way to the Wedding

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from the church and forcibly stuffed into the carriage, but once that had been done, he had been overcome by a bizarre, almost preternatural calm.

And then something his mother had said echoed in his mind.

You know I wish you nothing but your heart’s happiness.

His heart’s happiness.

Lucy loved him. He was certain of it. He had seen it in her eyes, even in the moment she’d refused him. He knew it because she had told him so, and she did not lie about such things. He had felt it in the way she had kissed him, and in the warmth of her embrace.

She loved him. And whatever had made her go ahead with her marriage to Haselby, it was bigger than she was.

Stronger.

She needed his help.

“Gregory?” his mother said softly.

He turned. Blinked.

“You started in your seat,” she said.

Had he? He hadn’t even noticed. But his senses had sharpened, and when he looked down, he saw that he was fl exing his fi ngers.

“Stop the carriage.”

Everyone turned to face him. Even Hyacinth, who had been determinedly glaring out the window.

“Stop the carriage,” he said again.

“Why?” his mother asked, clearly suspicious.

“I need air,” he replied, and it wasn’t even a lie.

Colin knocked on the wall. “I’ll walk with you.”

“No. I prefer to be alone.”

His mother’s eyes widened. “Gregory . . . You don’t plan to . . .”

“Storm the church?” he fi nished for her. He leaned back, giving her a casually lopsided smile. “I believe I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day, wouldn’t you think?”

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“They’ll have said their vows by now, anyway,” Hyacinth put in.

Gregory fought the urge to glare at his sister, who never seemed to miss an opportunity to poke, prod, or twist. “Precisely,” he replied.

“I would feel better if you weren’t alone,” Violet said, her blue eyes still filled with concern.

“Let him go,” Colin said softly.

Gregory turned to his older brother in surprise. He had not expected to be championed by him.

“He is a man,” Colin added. “He can make his own deci-sions.”

Even Hyacinth did not attempt to contradict.

The carriage had already come to a halt, and the driver was waiting outside the door. At Colin’s nod, he opened it.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Violet said.

Gregory kissed her cheek. “I need air,” he said. “That is all.”

He hopped down, but before he could shut the door, Colin leaned out.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Colin said quietly.

“Nothing foolish,” Gregory promised him, “only what is necessary.”

He took stock of his location, and then, as his mother’s carriage had not moved, deliberately set off to the south.

Away from St. George’s.

But once he reached the next street he doubled around.

Running.

$

Twenty-three

In which Our Hero risks everything. Again.

In the ten years since her uncle had become her guardian, Lucy had never known him to host a party. He was not one to smile upon any sort of unnecessary expense—in truth, he was not one to smile at all. So it was with some suspicion that she approached the lavish fête being thrown in her honor at Fennsworth House following the wedding ceremony.

Lord Davenport had surely insisted upon it. Uncle Robert would have been content to serve tea cakes at the church and be done with it.

But no, the wedding must be an event, in the most extravagant sense of the word, and so as soon as the ceremony was over, Lucy was whisked to her soon-to-be-former home and given just enough time in her soon-to-be-former bedchamber to splash some cool water on her face before she was summoned to greet her guests below.

It was remarkable, she thought as she nodded and received 3

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the well wishes of the attendees, just how good the ton was at pretending nothing had happened.

Oh, they would be speaking of nothing else tomorrow, and she could probably look forward to being the main topic of conversation for the next few months, even. And certainly for the next year no one would say her name without appending, “You know the one. With the wedding. ”

Which would surely be followed by, “Ohhhhhhhh. She’s the one.”

But for now, to her face, there was nothing but “Such a happy occasion,” and “You make a beautiful bride.” And of course, for the sly and daring—“Lovely ceremony, Lady Haselby.”

Lady Haselby.

She tested it out in her mind. She was Lady Haselby now.

She could have been Mrs. Bridgerton.

Lady Lucinda Bridgerton, she supposed, as she was not required to surrender her honorific upon marriage to a commoner. It was a nice name—not as lofty as Lady Haselby, perhaps, and certainly nothing compared to the Countess of Davenport, but—

She swallowed, somehow managing not to dislodge the smile she’d affixed to her face five minutes earlier.

She would have liked to have been Lady Lucinda Bridgerton.

She liked Lady Lucinda Bridgerton. She was a happy sort, with a ready smile and a life that was full and complete. She had a dog, maybe two, and several children. Her house was warm and cozy, she drank tea with her friends, and she laughed.

Lady Lucinda Bridgerton laughed.

But she would never be that woman. She had married Lord Haselby, and now she was his wife, and try as she might, she could not picture where her life might lead. She did not know what it meant to be Lady Haselby.

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The party hummed along, and Lucy danced her obligatory dance with her new husband, who was, she was relieved to note, quite accomplished. Then she danced with her brother, which nearly made her cry, and then her uncle, because it was expected.

“You did the right thing, Lucy,” he said.

She said nothing. She didn’t trust herself to do so.

“I am proud of you.”

She almost laughed. “You have never been proud of me before.”

“I am now.”

It did not escape her notice that this was not a contradic-tion.

Her uncle returned her to the side of the ballroom fl oor, and then—dear God—she had to dance with Lord Davenport.

Which she did, because she knew her duty. On this day, especially, she knew her duty.

At least she did not have to speak. Lord Davenport was at his most effusive, and more than carried the conversation for the both of them. He was delighted with Lucy. She was a magnificent asset to the family.

And so on and so forth until Lucy realized that she had managed to endear herself to him in the most indelible manner possible. She had not simply agreed to marry his dubiously reputationed son; she had affirmed the decision in front of the entire ton in a scene worthy of Drury Lane.

Lucy moved her head discreetly to the side. When Lord Davenport was excited, spittle tended to fly from his mouth with alarming speed and accuracy. Truly, she wasn’t sure which was worse—Lord Davenport’s disdain or his everlasting gratitude.

But Lucy managed to avoid her new father-in-law for most of the festivities, thank heavens. She managed to avoid most everyone, which was surprisingly undifficult, given that she was the bride. She didn’t want to see Lord Davenport, 3

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because she detested him, and she didn’t want to see her uncle, because she rather suspected she detested him, as well.

She didn’t want to see Lord Haselby, because that would only lead to thoughts of her upcoming wedding night, and she didn’t want to see Hermione, because she would ask questions, and then Lucy would cry.

And she didn’t want to see her brother, because he was sure to be with Hermione, and besides that, she was feeling rather bitter, alternating with feeling rather guilty for feeling bitter. It wasn’t Richard’s fault that he was deliriously happy and she was not.

But all the same, she’d rather not have to see him.

Which left the guests, most of whom she did not know.

And none of whom she wished to meet.

So she found a spot in the corner, and after a couple of hours, everyone had drunk so much that no one seemed to notice that the bride was sitting by herself.