“You could disguise yourself. No one would ever have to know you met him.” Helena clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling. “Lucy, you could kiss him. Kiss him and make certain you like it before anyone needs to know you found him.”
Kiss him? Impossible. “I won’t kiss him. I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, but I don’t go around kissing men. I’m engaged to be married.”
“Yes.” Helena’s eyes were bright with confidence. “To him.”
Lucy’s fingers slid softly down Helena’s hair. Her sister knew her too well. Lucy couldn’t sit around for another year waiting for a man she knew would never show up. Not when she knew where he was. Their eyes met in the mirror and Helena’s mouth burst into a smile. “You’re going,” she said.
“Yes.” Lucy leaned forward and placed her chin on top of Helena’s head. “You’re right. The chance to get to know the man I’m engaged to without the burden of an engagement hanging over our heads is an opportunity I cannot pass up.” Helena squealed, banging her hands so loudly on the dressing table that a maid would surely come into her room at any instant. “But I’mnotgoing to kiss him. That would be going too far.”
“A few weeks?”Lady Bridgewater’s eyes flew to Lucy’s across the table where the two of them were having tea the next day. “And you won’t be back for even a visit during that time?”
“Correct.”
Lady Bridgewater sighed. “But you will be back.”
“Yes, of course, and I hope to bring you something you will be very pleased with when I return.”
“A new pair of gloves?”
Lucy shook her head and kept her smile. Perhaps leaving would be easier than she thought. Lady Bridgewater hadn’t even asked where she was going. “Even better than gloves. But I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
Lady Bridgewater clapped her hands. “Well, if we must part with you, I suppose we must.”
There were other barons out there that needed money, and if, after a few weeks of observing Mr. Harrison, Lucy discovered this one wasn’t worth waiting for, then Lady Bridgewater would soon be buying her own gloves. Either way, her son would be able to return home—as a groom, or as a free man, no longer engaged to be married. Lucy hoped that would be a better gift than a pair of gloves.
Although, with Lady Bridgewater, she couldn’t be certain.
CHAPTER 5
Matthew clickedhis tongue at Marge. She may not have the agility and speed of his matching mares in London, but for the past six months she had gotten him everywhere he needed to go.
He didn’t even miss his mares anymore. They wouldn’t have crossed his mind if he hadn’t seen Mother’s carriage last week. Curse the milliner and his beautiful hats.
But he did miss hot baths, good liquor, and boots made to fit him, rather than some man with narrow, pointed feet.
Who had such narrow feet, anyway? If he were a shoemaker, he would make his shoes wider than the average foot. After all, a shoe could be a bit wide and still be comfortable, but narrow? He shifted his feet once again inside the stiff boots, but no matter how many times he tried, there was simply no way to make them comfortable.
Maybe he should become a cobbler.
He would start small, then make a name for himself. When he had amassed enough money, he would return home and marry whomever he chose.
A bark of a laugh escaped his mouth and Marge’s ears pricked up. She wasn’t used to him making noises. Day in and day out, he rode in silence. They were good company, he andMarge. But the idea of returning home after earning a fortune was ridiculous. He could be a tradesman or a member of his family, but he could never be both. And he was no closer to a fortune than he’d been three years ago. Working daily had given him food and the type of shelter Mother would run from in anguish, but not much more than that.
He pulled up to Mr. Bennion’s home, and just like every other night that week, there was no Bridgewater carriage waiting for him.
He’d been careful the past week, always delivering to the milliner’s shop first so there would be no possible way Mother could have made it there from London. He’d eaten at the inn and listened for any news of visitors in town. There hadn’t been a sighting of his mother anywhere, and although he’d almost left town the day he saw her carriage, now that he’d made it a week without any incident, he was grateful to still be in Fenswallow. Luckily he’d trusted in what he knew about his mother. She never sawpeoplein shops—only commodities. Even if she’d been in the shop at the same time he’d been there—and he wasn’t certain she had been, since all he’d seen was her carriage—she wouldn’t have seen him, a common working man dropping off a delivery. Not when there was a shop full of hats to look at.
Now that she’d done her shopping, she wouldn’t have any reason to return to Fenswallow. His position here was better than any he’d had before. The town was quiet—a hub for small trade shops, not genteel society. There were no families of quality hosting house parties. The one social event of the year was a festival held in the town square where everyone was invited.
It was a simple town, and that simplicity had a calming effect on him.
He tied up Marge and unhitched her, bounding up the stairs to let Mr. Bennion know he was done for the day. Mr. Bennionhad been delivering goods to the shops around the village for over thirty years, but he was no longer able to lift some of the heavier items. If Matthew could afford a cart and horse, he could run a business like this on his own, but without them, all he could do was follow orders and receive his pay from Mr. Bennion.
He rapped quickly on the door, which was never barred, and slipped into the house.
A cheerful tinkle of laughter flowed from the kitchen. The bright noise stopped immediately as he set his foot inside the door.
Matthew cocked his head to one side. In the six months he had been working for Mr. Bennion, he had never—not even once—seen another person in the home. He had no children, ortheywould have taken over his business. He’d certainly never seen him with a woman, and the laugh he’d heard was as womanly as matching tea things and cut flowers on a spring day.
