Lady Bridgewater stuck most of her head out of the carriage window. “Why did you go back? Did you see something in the shop that you liked?”
Lucy nearly stumbled. Did she? Mr. Harrison struck a fine figure—that was for certain. Finer even than when she’d seen him last. His shoulders were broader now, and the pallor of his face had been replaced by a healthy hue. But appearances were only a small fraction of what would make a man a good husband, and she had nothing but the word of Lord and Lady Bridgewater to convince her that Mr. Harrison was a good man.
Even if he were the best of men, did that necessarily mean they would suit each other? There was one significant difference between this day and the day three years ago. Lucy was older, and not quite as naive. Marrying a stranger had seemed romantic, but now…? The thought of having a stranger in her bed in a matter of a few days, and perhaps even worse, being shackled to a person she may come to despise for the rest of her life, no longer seemed romantic. Not even a little bit. Lucy climbed the steps to the carriage and sat down next to Lady Bridgewater. “It’s hard to say. Are you feeling better?”
Lady Bridgewater waved her hand, ignoring the question about her health. “Are you going to think on it?” Lucy absentmindedly nodded to the woman. She should tell her. The woman’s son was only a few yards away from her, and yet Lucy couldn’t manage to open her mouth and say something.
Fortunately Lady Bridgewater never needed real prodding to keep talking. “This shop is so far from London. I usually find it a mistake to think about something too much. By the time you decide you want it, it is often gone. Some smarter shopper has snatched it up before you had the chance. I say ’tis better to regret a purchase now and again than to regret not having the perfect hat or gloves when you really need them. Too much thinking is never a good idea.”
Lucy’s head jerked up and she blinked.
For the first time since becoming acquainted, Lady Bridgewater had said something of value. Should she go back in there and snatch up Mr. Harrison? How would she feel if she let this moment pass her by and he never returned? Or returned, married to a shopkeeper’s assistant? Would she regret it?
Still, a husband is very different from a pair of gloves. She couldn’t discard him and find someone new if he didn’t suit her.
Lady Bridgewater might be the type to dwell on missed opportunities, but Lucy’d had three years to prepare herself to marry Mr. Harrison and she was less ready for it than on the day she’d seen him in the churchyard.
One thing had become certain, though. The would-be shelf stocker looked like he had no plans to return home. He seemed settled. He was working, for heaven’s sake, and not in a gentleman’s position. That was not the attitude of a man simply waiting for his fiancée to get a bit older before returning home and marrying her. If thathadbeen his plan, why was he still waiting? It had been three years. Helena was a grown woman now.
He wasn’t going to return home on his own.
But what could Lucy do about it?
CHAPTER 4
Lucy satat her dressing table, calmly pulling pins from her hair. She’d dismissed her maid so she could be alone with Helena. “I saw Mr. Harrison yesterday,” Lucy said in a voice that she hoped sounded as unaffected as if she were commenting on the weather.
Helena, who, up to that point, had been finding ways to burrow deeper into Lucy’s bed, froze. Lucy continued to remove her pins. She’d spent a full twenty-four hours with this secret, and she knew its worth. Still, she didn’t need toshowHelena how groundbreaking her news was.
Helena jerked herself into a sitting position. “He’s returned? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’tanyonetell me?”
“I did tell you, just now. In fact, you are the only one who knows, because no, he hasn’t returned. I found him.” Lucy paused for effect. “Accidentally.”
“Youaccidentallyfound him?” Helen strode over to Lucy and put both hands on Lucy’s shoulders, her eyes wide in the dressing table mirror. “Where?”
Lucy set down a pin and looked up at Helena through the mirror. “In a shop.” She raised an eyebrow. “Stocking shelves.”
Helena’s wide eyes blinked several times before she shook her head in confusion. “He’s a shopkeeper?”
“No, not that. He delivers goods and sundries to shops, and while he was in this particular shop, he put some of the items on the shelves.”
Helena narrowed one eye. “Bullocks.”
“Helena,language.I’m not marrying a baron so you can go around speaking like a twelve-year-old boy playing kick-pot.”
“Lucy, I’ve been your sister for a long time, and I know one of your jests when I see one. Mr. Harrison wouldn’t be caught dead owning a shop, let alone stocking one. Can you imagine Lady Bridgewater’s reaction to such a tale? She would swoon. Do you want her to swoon? Has she asked you to buy one too many pairs of gloves?”
“If my goal was Lady Bridgewater’s distress, I would be tellingherthis news instead of you.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Helena absentmindedly started working on Lucy’s hair. “So why are you springing this tall tale on me? For entertainment?”
Lucy grabbed Helena’s hand and stopped her work. “I’m telling the truth, Helena. It was him.”
Helena pursed her lips and stared at Lucy for a full two minutes. True, Lucy did enjoy a jest now and again, but was it so difficult to believe she was telling the truth now? Helena exhaled loudly and shook her head. “No, I don’t believe it.”
Apparently itwas. “I saw him. I swear it on my life.”
“Swear it onmylife. You’ve already shown us how little you value your own.”
