London, April 1817
London was a different place entirely in the spring. The grass in the park was growing, baby birds were coming to life in the trees, and while the rain made for muddy ruts in the dirt roads, there was still a fresh energy to the town that was not there in the heat of the summer or the cold of winter when coal smoke clogged the air.
Christian ensconced himself in his town house on Upper Brook Street and set about making appointments with all the tradesmen Sarah had mentioned. First, he allowed his frustrated valet, Matthews, to shave him and cut his hair. The man seemed beyond pleased with his master’s sudden desire to be well-groomed again. Matthews was even allowed to cut his hair particularly short, much shorter than he normally wore it. Close-cropped: That’s what Sarah had told him was all the rage in London. “Yes, my lord, at once,” the valet replied with a gleam in his eye, no doubt from relishing his duty.
Once he was freshly shorn, Christian embarked upon a shopping trip. He made his way to Hoby’s for new boots and shoes, Weston’s for new coats, Martin’s for new shirts and cravats, and Yardley’s for new hats. One by one he checked off the list that Sarah had prepared for him, ensuring that he was the best-dressed man in the ton. Or one of them, at any rate.
He even met Owen Monroe at the stores a time or two, and the stylish man gave him advice on what precisely to order and lessons on tying not only the mathematical knot, Sarah’s favorite, but the l’Orientale and the mail coach as well. Once that tedious business was done, Christian waited for his purchases to arrive.
In the meantime, Lucy stopped by nearly every day to regale him with tales of the latest goings-on of the ton. He steadfastly refused to ask about Sarah.
“You’re going to Daphne and Rafe’s wedding next week, aren’t you? It’s to be in the country at Cass and Owen’s parents’ estate.”
“Of course,” Christian replied, reading the latest political news from the front page of The Times while Lucy sipped tea in Christian’s drawing room. “I received my invitation weeks ago. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“And Alexandra and Owen’s next month?” Lucy prodded.
“Yes, of course. I had a heavy hand in that one.” He chuckled, turning the paper’s page. “I’m greatly looking forward to it.”
“What about Sarah’s?” Lucy asked in a singsong voice.
Christian’s hand arrested halfway to the teacup he’d been about to pick up.
“Will you attend that wedding?” Lucy asked. She was trying to keep her tone nonchalant, but Christian knew he was being closely watched.
“I haven’t been invited,” he replied evenly, spreading the newspaper open in front of his face.
“That’s because it hasn’t been scheduled yet. Rumor has it the bride has been reticent to set a date,” Lucy announced.
“Is that so?” Christian asked from behind his paper.
Lucy continued in the same singsong tone of voice. “You know that Sarah will be at the events of the Season.”
Christian continued to feign interest in his paper, but he was no longer actually reading. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Lucy traced her fingertip around the edge of her teacup. “You’ll be there, too. I just thought perhaps you might want to attempt to court Sarah yourself. Change her mind about marrying Branford.”
Christian folded the paper hastily and slapped it against the tabletop. “That’s preposterous.”
“Not so preposterous,” Lucy replied, dropping two extra sugar lumps into her cup.
Christian stood and paced toward the windows. “She’s engaged to be married. The contracts have been signed. You know as well as I do that these things aren’t just called off.” Had Lucy lost her mind?
Lucy quietly stirred her tea, holding only the end of the silver spoon. “But I don’t believe Sarah’s happy with him. She ran away from him once, for heaven’s sake.”
“Women marry men they aren’t particularly happy with all of the time. It’s hardly out of the ordinary. You know that.” He didn’t stop pacing. What the hell was Lucy about, saying such outlandish things?
“Yes, but we know Sarah. She’s our friend.” Lucy’s voice was calm. Far more calm than usual. That worried him.
“That makes no difference. She’s clearly decided to go through with it.”
“But she might well be persuaded to change her mind,” Lucy replied. “I simply think—”
Christian clenched his jaw. “What in heaven’s name makes you think she’d choose me over a marquess, at any rate? She was the belle of the Season last year. I’m the most forgettable man in the kingdom.”
“You are not!”
“Oh, really? Shall I remind you of how well my other attempts at courtship have turned out?”
“That’s only because you hadn’t found the right lady yet.”
Christian stopped and braced a hand against the wall. “And you believe Sarah is the right lady?”
Another petite stir of her tea. “I think she may be.”
“A betrothed woman? You’ve really gone round the bend this time, Lucy.”
“But you’ve told me yourself. You feel comfortable with her. You don’t stutter in front of her. She likes dogs and has a dry sense of humor. Why, she even named her horse the exact same name as yours, for heaven’s sake. And it’s not a particularly common name. What more evidence do you need?”
The doorbell rang, interrupting their argument and Christian’s regret that he’d confided so much in Lucy in the past weeks and over the winter in their correspondence. He hadn’t remembered he’d told her all of that, actually.
The butler soon entered the drawing room. “Where would you like the boxes to be placed, my lord?”
Lucy arched a brow over the rim of her teacup. “Boxes?”
“The shipments from Yardley’s, Hoby’s, Weston’s, and Martin’s have arrived,” the butler explained.
“Have them all brought up to my bedchamber. Matthews will see to them,” Christian replied.
“New clothing, eh?” Lucy asked, after the butler had left the room to see to the disbursement of the goods.
“Yes, actually. An entirely new wardrobe.”
Lucy smiled at that. “I see you’ve shaved, too. You look quite handsome, Christian. The new crop of lovelies this Season will be certain to notice you.”
Christian stroked his smooth chin. “I’m happy to hear that. Because I’m going to the Hollisters’ ball tomorrow night for the beginning of the Season and I intend to find myself a wife. One who is not already betrothed to another man.”