It would be difficult. It would be frightening.
But it would be worth it.
“I will speak with my uncle,” she said, the words firm and sure. “Tomorrow.”
Gregory pulled her against him for one last kiss, quick and passionate with promise. “Shall I accompany you?” he asked. “Call upon him so that I might reassure him of my intentions?”
The new Lucy, the daring and bold Lucy, asked, “And what are your intentions?”
Gregory’s eyes widened with surprise, then approval, and then his hands took hers.
She felt what he was doing before she realized it by sight. His hands seemed to slide along hers as he descended . . .
Until he was on one knee, looking up at her as if there could be no more beautiful woman in all creation.
Her hand flew to her mouth, and she realized she was shaking.
“Lady Lucinda Abernathy,” he said, his voice fervent and sure, “will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
She tried to speak. She tried to nod.
“Marry me, Lucy,” he said. “Marry me.”
And this time she did. “Yes.” And then, “Yes! Oh, yes!”
“I will make you happy,” he said, standing to embrace her. “I promise you.”
“There is no need to promise.” She shook her head, blinking back the tears. “There is no way you could not.”
He opened his mouth, presumably to say more, but he was cut off by a knock at the door, soft but quick.
Hyacinth.
“Go,” Gregory said. “Let Hyacinth take you back to the ballroom. I will follow later.”
Lucy nodded, tugging at her gown until everything was back in its proper place. “My hair,” she whispered, her eyes flying to his.
“It’s lovely,” he assured her. “You look perfect.”
She hurried to the door. “Are you certain?”
I love you, he mouthed. And his eyes said the same.
Lucy pulled open the door, and Hyacinth rushed in. “Good heavens, the two of you are slow,” she said. “We need to be getting back. Now.”
She strode to the door to the corridor, then stopped, looking first at Lucy, then at her brother. Her gaze settled on Lucy, and she lifted one brow in question.
Lucy held herself tall. “You did not misjudge me,” she said quietly.
Hyacinth’s eyes widened, and then her lips curved. “Good.”
And it was, Lucy realized. It was very good, indeed.
Eighteen
In which Our Heroine makes a terrible discovery.
She could do this.