And heaven knew what else.
Wrung out. That was how she felt. She’d watched the maids with the bath towels, how they twisted and twisted to wring out every last drop of water.
So it had come to this.
She was a bath towel.
“Lucy?”
It was Hermione, quietly entering their room. Lucy had already been asleep when Hermione had returned the night before, and Hermione had been asleep when Lucy had left for breakfast.
When Lucy had returned, Hermione had been gone. In many ways, Lucy had been grateful for that.
“I was with my mother,” Hermione explained. “We depart this afternoon.”
Lucy nodded. Lady Bridgerton had found her at breakfast and informed her of everyone’s plans. By the time she had returned to her bedchamber, her belongings were all packed and ready to be loaded onto a carriage.
That was it, then.
“I wanted to talk with you,” Hermione said, perching on the edge of the bed but keeping a respectful distance from Lucy. “I wanted to explain.”
Lucy’s gaze remained fixed on her trunks. “There is nothing to explain. I’m very happy that you will be marrying Richard.” She managed a weary smile. “You shall be my sister now.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“I’m tired.”
Hermione was quiet for a moment, and then, when it was apparent that Lucy was done speaking, she said, “I wanted to make sure that you knew that I was not keeping secrets from you. I would never do that. I hope you know I would never do that.”
Lucy nodded, because she did know, even if she had felt abandoned, and perhaps even a littl
e betrayed the night before.
Hermione swallowed, and then her jaw tightened, and then she took a breath. And Lucy knew in that moment that she had been rehearsing her words for hours, tossing them back and forth in her mind, looking for the exact right combination to say what she felt.
It was exactly what Lucy would have done, and yet somehow it made her want to cry.
But for all Hermione’s practice, when she spoke she was still changing her mind, choosing new words and phrases. “I really did love—No. No,” she said, talking more to herself than to Lucy. “What I mean is, I really did think I loved Mr. Edmonds. But I reckon I didn’t. Because first there was Mr. Bridgerton, and then…Richard.”
Lucy looked sharply up. “What do you mean, first there was Mr. Bridgerton?”
“I…I’m not sure, actually,” Hermione answered, flustered by the question. “When I shared breakfast with him it was as if I was awakened from a long, strange dream. Do you remember, I spoke to you about it? Oh, I didn’t hear music or any some such, and I did not even feel…Well, I don’t know how to explain it, but even though I was not in any way overcome—as I was with Mr. Edmonds—I…I wondered. About him. And whether maybe I could feel something. If I tried. And I did not see how I could possibly be in love with Mr. Edmonds if Mr. Bridgerton made me wonder.”
Lucy nodded. Gregory Bridgerton made her wonder, too. But not about whether she could. That she knew. She just wanted to know how to make herself not.
But Hermione did not see her distress. Or perhaps Lucy hid it well. Either way, Hermione just continued with her explanation. “And then…” she said, “with Richard…I’m not certain how it happened, but we were walking, and we were talking, and it all felt so pleasant. But more than pleasant,” she hastily added. “Pleasant sounds dull, and it wasn’t that. I felt…right. Like I’d come home.”
Hermione smiled, almost helplessly, as if she couldn’t quite believe her good fortune. And Lucy was glad for her. She really was. But she wondered how it was possible to feel so happy and so sad at the same time. Because she was never going to feel that way. And even if she hadn’t believed in it before, she did now. And that made it so much worse.
“I am sorry if I did not appear happy for you last night,” Lucy said softly. “I am. Very much so. It was the shock, that is all. So many changes all at one time.”
“But good changes, Lucy,” Hermione said, her eyes shining. “Good changes.”
Lucy wished she could share her confidence. She wanted to embrace Hermione’s optimism, but instead she felt overwhelmed. But she could not say that to her friend. Not now, when she was glowing with happiness.
So Lucy smiled and said, “You will have a good life with Richard.” And she meant it, too.
Hermione grasped her hand with both of her own, squeezing tightly with all the friendship and excitement inside of her. “Oh, Lucy, I know it. I have known him for so long, and he’s your brother, so he has always made me feel safe. Comfortable, really. I don’t have to worry about what he thinks of me. You’ve surely already told him everything, good and bad, and he still believes I’m rather fine.”