woman who risked her reputation to be with him.
He had not sought responsibility, but neither had he chased trouble.
His brothers had always seen him as a boy. Even now, in his twenty-sixth year, he suspected they did not view him as quite fully grown. And so he did not ask for help. He did not place himself in any position where he might need it.
Until now.
One of his older brothers lived not very far away. Less than a quarter of a mile, certainly, maybe even closer to an eighth. Gregory could be there and back in twenty minutes, including the time it took to yank Colin from his bed.
Gregory had just rolled his shoulders back and forth, loosening up in preparation for a sprint, when he spied a chimney sweep, walking across the street. He was young-twelve, maybe thirteen-and certainly eager for a guinea.
And the promise of another, should he deliver Gregory’s message to his brother.
Gregory watched him tear around the corner, then he crossed back to the public garden. There was no place to sit, no place even to stand where he might not be immediately visible from Fennsworth House.
And so he climbed a tree. He sat on a low, thick branch, leaned against the trunk, and waited.
Someday, he told himself, he would laugh about this. Someday they would tell this tale to their grandchildren, and it would all sound very romantic and exciting.
As for now…
Romantic, yes. Exciting, not so much.
He rubbed his hands together.
Most of all, it was cold.
He shrugged, waiting for himself to stop noticing it. He never did, but he didn’t care. What were a few blue fingertips against the rest of his life?
He smiled, lifting his gaze to her window. There she was, he thought. Right there, behind that curtain. And he loved her.
He loved her.
He thought of his friends, most of them cynics, always casting a bored eye over the latest selection of debutantes, sighing that marriage was such a chore, that ladies were interchangeable, and that love was best left to the poets.
Fools, the lot of them.
Love existed.
It was right there, in the air, in the wind, in the water. One only had to wait for it.
To watch for it.
And fight for it.
And he would. As God was his witness, he would. Lucy had only to signal, and he would retrieve her.
He was a man in love.
Nothing could stop him.
“This is not, you realize, how I had intended to spend my Saturday morning.”
Gregory answered only with a nod. His brother had arrived four hours earlier, greeting him with a characteristically understated “This is interesting.”
Gregory had told Colin everything, even down to the events of the night before. He did not like telling tales of Lucy, but one really could not ask one’s brother to sit in a tree for hours without explaining why. And Gregory had found a certain comfort in unburdening himself to Colin. He had not lectured. He had not judged.
In fact, he had understood.
When Gregory had finished his tale, tersely explaining why he was waiting outside Fennsworth House, Colin had simply nodded and said, “I don’t suppose you have something to eat.”
Gregory shook his head and grinned.
It was good to have a brother.
“Rather poor planning on your part,” Colin muttered. But he was smiling, too.
They turned back to the house, which had long since begun to show signs of life. Curtains had been pulled back, candles lit and then snuffed as dawn had given way to morning.
“Shouldn’t she have come out by now?” Colin asked, squinting at the door.
Gregory frowned. He had been wondering the same thing. He had been telling himself that her absence boded well. If her uncle were going to force her to marry Haselby, wouldn’t she have left for the church by now? By his pocket watch, which admittedly wasn’t the most accurate of timepieces, the ceremony was due to begin in less than an hour.
But she had not signaled for his help, either.
And that did not sit well with him.
Suddenly Colin perked up.
“What is it?”
Colin motioned to the right with his head. “A carriage,” he said, “being brought ’round from the mews.”
Gregory’s eyes widened with horror as the front door to Fennsworth House opened. Servants spilled out, laughing and cheering as the vehicle came to a stop in front of Fennsworth House.
It was white, open, and festooned with perfectly pink flowers and wide rosy ribbons, trailing behind, fluttering in the light breeze.
It was a wedding carriage.
And no one seemed to find that odd.
Gregory’s skin began to tingle. His muscles burned.
“Not yet,” Colin said, placing a restraining hand on Gregory’s arm.
Gregory shook his head. His peripheral vision was beginning to fade from view, and all he could see was that damned carriage.
“I have to get her,” he said. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” Colin instructed. “Wait to see what happens. She might not come out. She might-”
But she did come out.
Not first. That was her brother, his new wife on his arm.
Then came an older man-her uncle, most probably-and that ancient woman Gregory had met at his sister’s ball.
And then…
Lucy.
In a wedding dress.
“Dear God,” he whispered.
She was walking freely. No one was forcing her.
Hermione said something to her, whispered in her ear.
And Lucy smiled.
She smiled.
Gregory began to gasp.
The pain was palpable. Real. It shot through his gut, squeezed at his organs until he could no longer move.
He could only stare.
And think.
“Did she tell you she wasn’t going to go through with it?” Colin whispered.
Gregory tried to say yes, but the word strangled him. He tried to recall their last conversation, every last word of it. She had said she must behave with honor. She had said she must do what was right. She had said that she loved him.
But she had never said that she would not marry Haselby.
“Oh my God,” he whispered.
His brother laid his hand over his own. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Gregory watched as Lucy stepped up into the open carriage. The servants were still cheering. Hermione was
