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Gregory made a mental note to give Kate an extremely ordinary gift for her next birthday. Rocks, maybe.
“It’s only one more day,” Kate said with a winning smile.
It was at that moment that Lady Lucinda and Miss Watson entered the room, the former in a morning dress of lightish blue and the latter in the same green frock she’d worn to breakfast. Lord Fennsworth took one look at the duo (more at one than the other, and suffice it to say that blood was not thicker than unrequited love), and he murmured, “Friday it is.”
“Delightful,” Kate said, clasping her hands together. “I shall have a room readied for you straightaway.”
“Richard?” Lady Lucinda queried. “Why are you here?” She paused in the doorway and looked from person to person, apparently confused by Kate’s and Gregory’s presence.
“Lucy,” her brother said. “It has been an age.”
“Four months,” she said, almost unthinkingly, as if some little part of her brain required absolute accuracy, even when it hardly mattered.
“Heavens, that is a long time,” Kate said. “We will leave you now, Lord Fennsworth. I am sure you and your sister wish to have a few moments of privacy.”
“There is no rush,” Fennsworth said, his eyes flicking briefly to Miss Watson. “I would not wish to be rude, and I haven’t yet had the opportunity to thank you for your hospitality.”
“It wouldn’t be rude at all,” Gregory put in, anticipating a swift departure from the salon with Miss Watson on his arm.
Lord Fennsworth turned and blinked, as if he’d forgotten Gregory’s presence. Not terribly surprising, as Gregory had remained uncharacteristically silent through the exchange.
“Pray do not trouble yourself,” the earl said. “Lucy and I will have our conversation later.”
“Richard,” Lucy said, looking somewhat concerned, “are you certain? I was not expecting you, and if there is anything amiss . . .”
But her brother shook his head. “Nothing that cannot wait. Uncle Robert wishes to speak with you. He asked me to bring you home.”
“Now?”
“He did not specify,” Fennsworth replied, “but Lady Bridgerton has very graciously asked us to remain until Friday, and I agreed. That is”—he cleared his throat—“assuming you wish to remain.”
“Of course,” Lucy replied, looking confused and adrift. “But I—well . . . Uncle Robert . . .”
“We should leave,” Miss Watson said firmly. “Lucy, you should have a moment with your brother.”
Lucy looked at her brother, but he had taken advantage of Miss Watson’s entry into the conversation by looking at her, and he said, “And how are you, Hermione? It has been far too long.”
“Four months,” Lucy said.
Miss Watson laughed and smiled warmly at the earl. “I am well, thank you. And Lucy is correct, as always. We last spoke in January, when you visited us at school.”
Fennsworth dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “How could I have forgotten? It was such a pleasant few days.”
Gregory would have bet his right arm that Fennsworth had known down to the minute how long it had been since he had last laid eyes on Miss Watson. But the lady in question was clearly oblivious to the infatuation, because she just smiled and said, “It was, wasn’t it? It was so sweet of you to take us ice skating. You are always such good company.”
Good God, how could she be so oblivious? There was no way she would have been so encouraging had she realized the n
ature of the earl’s feelings for her. Gregory was certain of it.
But while it was obvious that Miss Watson was extremely fond of Lord Fennsworth, there was no indication that she held him in any sort of romantic esteem. Gregory consoled himself with the knowledge that the two had certainly known each other for years, and naturally she would be friendly with Fennsworth, given how close she was to Lady Lucinda.
Practically brother and sister, really.
And speaking of Lady Lucinda—Gregory turned in her direction and was not surprised to find that she was frowning. Her brother, who had traveled at least a day to reach her side, now seemed in no hurry whatsoever to speak with her.
And indeed, everyone else had fallen silent, as well. Gregory watched the awkward tableau with interest. Everyone seemed to be glancing about, waiting to see who might speak next. Even Lady Lucinda, whom no one would call shy, seemed not to know what to say.
“Lord Fennsworth,” Kate said, thankfully breaking the silence, “you must be famished. Will you have some breakfast?”
