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“Well?”
Halsten pulled his gaze from the wall and turned to the lovely young woman seated to his left at the breakfast table. Lucille had dark hair, a petite frame, and large, round, innocent eyes that she used to great effect on most persons.
His sister scowled. “You are most unlike yourself, Hal. Did you not hear a word of what I said?”
“No,” he admitted.
He could smell the Darjeeling tea at the table. The scent reminded him of India. And Miss Herwood. He had thought of nothing else since departing Chateau Follet, though he had thought his time there would satiate and purge his need for her. He could fool himself into thinking it was because he had failed to spend that third and final night with her, but his passion for her had only grown. If anything, his shortened time had saved him from becoming irretrievably enamored.
What stayed him was the lack of reciprocity. She had a carnal attraction to him. That much he was sure. Unlike many other women, save for the unfortunate strumpets who gave of their bodies for commerce, Miss Herwood had a pragmatism that no doubt allowed her to separate corporal desire from the heart. She had given no indication that she wished for more than their business arrangement. He had given her the opportunity to have that final night together, and she had declined. She had even refused his gift of the jewelry.
“Hal, need I ask a third time?”
“Forgive me, Lucille,” he said with a concerted effort to hear what she had to say.
She narrowed her eyes. “What has become of you? Are you ill?”
“Please ask your question—for the last time.”
“Am I not to go to London this Season or will you continue your rule as tyrant?”
He smiled. “I have no qualms with being a tyrant.”
“How am I to improve my wardrobe properly? The millinery here cannot compare to what London offers.”
“Come, Lucille. We both know that your primary interest in London is a certain young soldier.”
Seeing she could not fool her brother and guardian, she relented. “You would find him a good and worthy person if you took the chance to acquaint yourself with him. But you would prefer to judge him afar, purely upon his station in life, and cast away my chance at happiness.”
“I want you well taken care of, Lucy.”
“Will you cease to be my brother when I am married? Are we—you—without means? When you describe the poverty you’ve seen in India, are we not wealthy beyond compare?”
He stared at Lucille, surprised by her articulation. Had she matured in the months since last he saw her?
“Perhaps you seek wealth or breeding for your marriage,” she continued. “I seek the happiness and love that Mother and Father had.”
“And you think this soldier can provide it?”
“Yes. Perhaps. But how will I make a better determination sitting here practicing spinsterhood?”
He almost laughed. Pouring himself a cup of the Darjeeling, he recalled his conversation with Miss Herwood. Matters of the heart are rarely rational, she had said. But Lucille had offered very rational rebuffs to him. Perhaps he could trust Lucy with making the proper judgment at the end of the day?
Miss Herwood had also urged a more gentle approach, less didactic—or tyrannical, in Lucy’s eyes. He thought of Isabella and shuddered inwardly. He dared not think L
ucy would behave in a similar manner. He found himself wanting to seek Miss Herwood’s counsel. Looking at Lucille, he wondered if the two women would get along. It was an attractive prospect.
“Very well, you may accompany me when I return to London,” he said.
Lucy squealed and knocked over her bowl of sweetmeats in her haste to embrace him. He nearly dropped his cup of tea as she threw her arms about him.
She pulled back. “And will you meet Wilson?”
“If I must.”
She tightened her embrace. He smiled to himself. At least he could make one woman happy.
“Wilson will be so excited to meet you—and nervous. He holds you in high esteem, given all that I have told him.”
