He set his fork down.
“Anthony and Benedict and Colin—they are all right in a row. Like ducks, I’ve always thought, although I’m not so foolish to say so. And then—hmmm. How many years between you and Colin?”
“Ten.”
“Is that all?” Kate looked surprised, which he wasn’t sure he found particularly complimentary.
“It’s a full six years from Colin to Anthony,” she continued, pressing one finger against her chin as if that were to indicate deep thought. “A bit more than that, actually. But I suppose they are more commonly lumped together, what with Benedict in the middle.”
He waited.
“Well, no matter,” she said briskly. “Everyone finds his place in life, after all. Now then—”
He stared at her in amazement. How could she change the subject like that? Before he had any idea what she was talking about.
“—I suppose I should inform you of the remainder of the events of last night. After you left.” Kate sighed—groaned really—shaking her head. “Lady Watson was a bit put out that her daughter had not been closely supervised, although really, whose fault is that? And then she was put out that Miss Watson’s London season was over before she had a chance to spend money on a new wardrobe. Because, after all, it is not as if she will make a debut now.”
Kate paused, waiting for Gregory to say something. He lifted his brows in the tiniest of shrugs, just enough to say that he had nothing to add to the conversation.
Kate gave him one more second, then continued with: “Lady Watson did come about rather quickly when it was pointed out that Fennsworth is an earl, however young.”
She paused, twisting her lips. “He is rather young, isn’t he?”
“Not so much younger than I am,” Gregory said, even though he’d thought Fennsworth the veriest infant the night before.
Kate appeared to give that some thought. “No,” she said slowly, “there’s a difference. He’s not…Well, I don’t know. Anyway—”
Why did she keep changing the subject just when she started to say something he actually wanted to hear?
“—the betrothal is done,” she continued, picking up speed with that, “and I believe that all parties involved are content.”
Gregory supposed he did not count as an involved party. But then again, he felt more irritation than anything else. He did not like being beaten. At anything.
Well, except for shooting. He’d long since given up on that.
How was it that it never occurred to him, not even once, that he might not win Miss Watson in the end? He had accepted that it would not be easy, but to him, it was a fait accompli. Predestined.
He’d actually been making progress with her. She had laughed with him, by gad. Laughed. Surely that had to have meant something.
“They are leaving today,” Kate said. “All of them. Separately, of course. Lady and Miss Watson are off to prepare for the wedding, and Lord Fennsworth is taking his sister home. It’s why he came, after all.”
Lucy. He had to see Lucy.
He’d been trying not to think about her.
With mixed results.
But she was there, all the time, hovering at the back of his mind, even while he was stewing over the loss of Miss Watson.
Lucy. It was impossible now to think of her as Lady Lucinda. Even if he hadn’t kissed her, she would be Lucy. It was who she was. It fit her perfectly.
But he had kissed her. And it had been magnificent.
But most of all, unexpected.
Everything about it had surprised him, even the very fact that he’d done it. It was Lucy. He wasn’t supposed to kiss Lucy.
But she’d been holding his arm. And her eyes—what was it about her eyes? She’d been looking up at him, searching for something.