Lucien regarded him with a frosty gaze. “How fortunate that you’ve settled such a vital question. Now you can turn your prodigious mind to some other matter.”
“Aren’t you a droll one! You know many would find the event most diverting. Give the caricaturists something amusing to draw, wot?” The man gave a hearty laugh. “Lord Ignatius Pinchbeck at your service, my lady. And you are?”
“Lady Grace Elliot,” Lucien said.
Grace felt Lord Pinchbeck’s gaze sharpen.
“Ah the very miss who snatched The Elusive Viscount from beneath the other ladies’ noses. You must have cast quite a spell on my old comrade to get Everdene to dirty his gloves on street urchins.”
“His lordship was most helpful,” she said, disliking the blustering fool. “I was grateful. So were Sibby Rose and wee Darragh.”
Pinchbeck’s eyes near popped out of his head. “You know the urchins’ names? How singular! Do not be turning Everdene into a blasted Whig, now.” Good humor vanished into a scowl. “Bad enough he built that village and made tenants in three counties more discontented than before. If it weren’t for the Harcourt voting record over the years one might think?—”
“I vote as I see fit.”
“It is just hard to know what side you come down on nowadays. Making both sides angry is hardly the way to—” Pinchbeck flinched under Lucien’s hard gaze. His mask of amiability returned. “Well, those are subjects for another day. Today let me offer congratulations to your betrothed.” He turned to Grace. “I lost a large sum at Whites, betting that his lordship would not be leg shackled before he turned fifty. I hope to make up for the loss through the expertise of my new business partner. In these troubled times, one must cast a wider net to draw in profits.”
“Indeed?” Lucien said. “Then I suggest you get to it and allow us to enjoy our ices.”
Unperturbed, Pinchbeck slid into the seat across from him. “I am quite fortunate to have such an astute partner in business. No man of discernment could resist the excellent connections this gentleman has made. More wealth than one could imagine, ripe for the plucking.” He turned and called out, “Come here, my good man. There is someone you must meet!”
Grace glanced that direction as his companion turned and wove toward them through the crowd.
She froze.
“Lord Everdene,” Pinchback said, beaming. “May I introduce you to the most forward-thinking industrialist you will ever meet. The Honorable Neville Freyne.”
A hundred shards of memory burst through Grace in that moment. She stared at the man who might have been her future, recalling with chagrin that fizzy feeling of excitement, of first love, and the heartbreak of the letter that had dashed all her hopes.
Now, here he stood, familiar, yet a stranger with sun-bronze skin, and eyes so altered. They had been forthright when she loved him, but now there was an opaque quality, something harder. But then, she was much changed as well.
“Lord Everdene,” Neville said with a bow.
"And may I present Lady Grace Elliot,” Pinchbeck began.
Neville’s gaze lit on Grace. Held for a moment. “We need no introductions,” he said softly. “My dear Lady Grace!” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, holding the kiss there for a little too long.
She stared at the crown of his head, remembering what it felt like to touch those golden locks, fine and feathery soft. They were, perhaps, thinner than she remembered. Or did it onlyseem so because she had run her fingers through Lucien’s thick dark mane?
When he let loose her hand, he straightened his frockcoat that was cut in the latest fashion. “So, what do you think of your old friend, now that he’s seen the world?” he asked. “I hope you are suitably impressed with the change.”
His waistcoat dazzled, embroidered with gold and silver thread. Cufflinks and shirt studs glinted with gemstones, and a diamond stick pin shone in his cravat. Rings flashed on each hand. It was as if he wished his clothes to trumpet his importance the moment he walked into a room.
Egad, had he been but ten years older, he could have been Helen’s male twin.
She wondered how she’d ever thought herself in love with him. In truth, he’d been more a boy when she knew him. Young and freshly minted without a hint of the shallow, garish man he’d become. “You look…well,” she said.
He smiled. “I was hoping I might run into you here in London. Your father wrote to me that you would be in the city. I could hardly believe my good fortune when he confided that you are not yet wed.”
Humiliation flooded through Grace as she imagined her father’s letter, as if he were reminding a potential buyer at Tattersall’s that a mare was up at auction once more.
Lucien curved one hand over her shoulder. “Perhaps you had not heard that Lady Grace has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife.”
“I suppose I had heard something of the connection.” Neville laughed without humor, his gaze locked on Grace. “Now that I am returned home, perhaps I can persuade her to change her mind.”
“As I understood it,” Lucien replied, his voice cutting like steel, “you were the one who faltered.”
Neville eyed Lucien, then swallowed. “Beg pardon, my lord. It was meant as a jest.” He gave the slightest bow. “I have discovered that bold actions are required to succeed in life and in business. In fact, your father, the earl, was someone I always admired.”
