Page 66 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

So he didn't argue when Kit said, "You are absolutely staring. It's getting rather painful to witness, to be honest."

"Kit," Clarissa scolded, but her tone was teasing.

John turned to face them and found two expressions of delight aimed in his direction. Kit had the grin of a man who was thoroughly enjoying himself at someone else's expense. Clarissa looked as though she might burst with joy.

But then Arabella and Lucy began to question the merits of naming a chess piece “Bishop” and Kit chuckled. "Oh, you are going to have your hands full with those two, aren't you?"

Clarissa giggled and John was absolutely certain his answering grin gave him away, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," Kit murmured.

Clarissa leaned forward. "John, we are so happy for you."

"There is nothing to be happy about. Nothing has—" He stopped, because lying to his sister while her husband smirked at him seemed an exercise in futility. Instead, he changed tack. "I notice you are not remotely sorry about today."

"Today?" Clarissa's eyes went wide with an innocence so theatrical it would have made any opera singer proud. "Whatever do you mean?"

"The walk?" he said. "The sudden need for ribbons. Kit escorting Thea to the lending library." He looked between them. "You staged the whole thing."

Kit raised his glass. "You're welcome."

Clarissa grinned. "You needed time alone together. You've been circling each other for days and it was excruciating to watch."

He frowned. "We were not⁠—"

"You were," Kit confirmed. "Even Thea noticed. Thea, John."

"Anyway, you needed help," Clarissa finished. "And we were all too happy to assist."

John looked at the two of them. His sister, glowing with conspiratorial pride, and her husband, who looked as though orchestrating John's love life had been the highlight of his week.

He found he could not be irritated. He should be, perhaps. They had meddled and schemed, and yet⁠—

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Clarissa reached over and squeezed his hand.

A burst of laughter drew his attention back across the room. Lucy had arranged all the chess pieces into what appeared to be a battle formation of her own design, and was explaining the rules of her version of chess to a horrified Thea, while Arabella supplied tactical suggestions with an absolutely straight face.

He watched them. His daughter, bright and laughing, and the woman beside her who spoke to her like an equal and who had, without trying, become the person Lucy sought out first in every room.

A week ago, that attachment had worried him. The inevitability of Lucy being hurt when Arabella left had been a very real concern. But now…

After the rain and the gazebo and the way she had kissed him back so sweetly—he was almost certain she felt it too.

He couldn't tell Lucy yet, of course. He couldn't even ask for Arabella's hand, or make promises, or say any of the things that were taking shape in his mind. Not yet.

Not until it was settled. Once Pierce was dealt with and the duchess had done what she intended to do…

But a fortnight was not so very long.

He settled back in his chair and let himself watch them, his daughter and the woman he was going to marry, if she'd have him.

Just a fortnight to go.

22

The pastry shop had become a ritual.