Charlotte let out a breath. “Fine.LordKazrian.” She turned to Lucie. “LordKazrian is back in Bloomhaven because Lady Rivenna summoned him to fix all that magical nonsense you keep complaining about at The Honeycomb.”
Lucie frowned. “I do notcomplain. I merely … relate unfortunate events.”
“Well, in any case, did you see him at The Honeycomb? Rosavyn said he was headed there this morning. I know the two of you always got along well.”
Lucie’s hands were steady. Her face was carefully neutral. “He was there, yes.”
“And? How did he look?”
Lucie paused. The question was simple enough. The answers that presented themselves, however, were numerous and almost uniformly unsuitable for a family kitchen. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then settled on: “Tall.”
Charlotte laughed. “Well, that is nothing new. He has always been tall.”
Lucie decided this was a perfectly adequate place to leave the subject. She glanced about for anything else that might need carrying to the table.
Charlotte shifted in her chair, crossing one ankle over the other. “Speaking of tall men—I encountered another one this afternoon.”
Here it comes, Lucie thought.
“One Henry Stratton. He was coming from the direction of Highgrove Street. Looking very well.” Charlotte’s eyebrows rose meaningfully. “Verywell, Lucie.”
Lucie laughed, because there was nothing else to be done with it. Henry’s interest in her was hardly a secret in the Fields household. Charlotte had taken it on as a personal project, and subtlety had never been among her sister’s gifts. “I am glad to hear Henry is in good health.”
“He asked after you.”
“How kind of him.”
Charlotte leaned forward. “Did he call on you again today?”
Lucie’s laugh this time was somewhat less composed. She had a brief, vivid image of Henry appearing at the kitchen door while she and Kazrian stood far too close with a tray of caramels between them, and the sound that came out of her was closer to a cough.
“He does notcall on me,” she corrected. “He visits the shop to see Georgiana, and Georgiana was not there today as the shop was not open, so no, I did not see Henry today.”
“He is sohandsome, is he not?” Charlotte batted her eyelashes meaningfully at Lucie.
Something flickered at the edge of Lucie’s mind—gray eyes, a jaw that had lost its boyish softness—and she pushed it firmly aside. “Does Theo know you hold such opinions about a man who is not your husband?"
“Foryou, silly girl,” Charlotte said with a laugh. “You are well aware of that. Why not permit his interest? It is not a crime to let a man court you properly.”
“I am not opposed to courtship in principle,” Lucie said pleasantly. “I am simply occupied at present. The launch is in a matter of weeks.”
“She has been occupied,” Charlotte informed their mother, “since she was fourteen. Do we imagine she will stop being occupied at some point? Is there a date?”
“I think your sister knows her own mind,” their mother said diplomatically. Then added, “Though a young man of good character who has built his own prospects and asks nothing of anyone—well. One could do a great deal worse than that, Lucie. He may very well be everything we ever hoped for you.”
Lucie nodded. She murmured something agreeable—yes, he was a good man, yes, she was aware of that—and felt the warmth climb her cheeks, which was maddening, because it had nothing whatsoever to do with Henry Stratton. It had to do with a pair of careful hands that had always moved as though they knew exactly what they were doing, even when the rest of him did not, and shoulders that had decidedly filled out in the time he’d been gone, and a jaw that Lucie wanted to trace her fingers along?—
The sound of heavy footsteps in the back passage interrupted her traitorous thoughts, and Lucie inhaled deeply as she turned to see her father appearing in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his hands together to brush the last of the sawdust from his fingers.
“Charlotte,” he said, unsurprised.
“Father. I have a message from Theo.” She slid the folded note across the table. “Something about the dimensions of the display case.”
Their father nodded, then crossed to the basin and washed his hands. He dried them, kissed his wife on the temple as he passed her, and settled into his chair at the head of the table. After looking at the note, he folded it again and set it down. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Is everything all right?” Charlotte asked as Lucie peered over their mother’s shoulder at the stew.
“Yes, yes. It is only … the lathe has been playing up again.”
