Anabel popped a chocolate between her small, rosebud lips. “That blue is better suited to someone with blue eyes,” she said as she chewed. “You would look better in green.”
Lucy resisted asking her if she had an old green one to offer.
“I was often told how flattering blue was for my coloring,” Anabel continued. “My new habit is sky-blue and the very latest fashion. Although I rarely ride since I married.”
“I am looking forward to meeting your husband.”
Her cousin’s mouth pulled down in a sulk. “Howe is always very busy. He’s in parliament, you know.”
“Yes. I did…”
“He’s very much respected.”
“I’m sure he is.” Lucy rose, anxious to bring this uncomfortable conversation to an end. “I must go up and change.”
“You missed luncheon. I came expecting to see you.”
“I’m sorry.” Lucy forced a smile. “I went riding with Lady Sarah Fairburn and Lord Dorchester in Rotten Row and had luncheon with them at his home.”
“How fancy,” Anabel said flatly. She stood, and ordering the skirts of her pink-and-white-striped morning gown, crossed to the mirror over the fireplace. She peered into it, wiping chocolate from her mouth with her handkerchief.
“We can talk more when I come down.” Lucy waited for an answer at the door.
Still at the mirror, Anabel said, “I doubt I’ll be here. I’m going to Bond Street to buy a new bonnet.”
Lucy smiled. “Trying on hats is fun.”
“What is Lord Dorchester like?” Anabel asked as Lucy opened the door.
Everything in a man a woman would wish for.“Kind, and generous.”
“He must be,” Anabel called after her. “To have invited you into his home.”
Rolling her eyes, Lucy shut the door and climbed the stairs, thinking how much nicer Jane was than her sister. But something was amiss with Anabel. She’d looked quite miserable when her husband’s name was mentioned.
Lucy put a hand on her chest to slow her breathing. Love made one so vulnerable and often seemed to cause heartache rather than happiness. She frowned and tried to tamp down her impossible attraction to Lord Dorchester.
*
When Hugh arrivedhome, his thoughts remained on Miss Kershaw. Her fresh, lily of the valley scent, how her curvy body had felt beneath his hands at the park when he’d assisted her onto her horse. And again while driving her home. How her eyes had gazed into his, seeking advice. That he desired her was no surprise. But the force of it was. Being close to her set his blood afire. Hugh wanted to gather her into his arms, to kiss her lush lips and chase the worry and uncertainty from her eyes. While he couldn’t do that, he did intend to make inquiries about Mr. Rattray, whom he felt sure was not as he appeared.
When he walked into the house, Sarah hovered in the hall. She smiled brightly at him. “A pleasant day, was it not?”
“Indeed.”
She followed him to the library. “I find Mr. Beaufort interesting. He has lovely manners.”
Hugh fought not to smile as he opened the library door. “He’s a genuinely decent man. Come in and have a glass of ratafia.”
Once he’d poured their drinks, he sat and turned the subject to Miss Kershaw. “You seem taken with her, Sarah.”
“I like her very much. She is not top-lofty at all for an heiress.”
“Where did you hear that bit of gossip?”
She frowned. “A woman at the ball told me. Why?”
He groaned inwardly. It appeared the gossip had spread through London. “It’s merely a rumor. I doubt it’s true, as Miss Kershaw herself denies it.”