Page 2 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

“I wholeheartedly agree, Lady Mildred.” Andromeda plucked a chicken leg from the tray sitting on the blanket.

“Goodness, I’m starving.” She took a bite and looked over at Lucy, carelessly waving the chicken leg about.

“ You should speak to Estwood. You want to. Or you can continue to eye him as if he’s a trifle. ”

Lucy’s fingers twisted in her skirts. “I’m not.”

“Odd, isn’t it?” Andromeda continued as if she hadn’t heard. “You and Mildred have the same tastes. Both wearing blue today, though yours is far more lovely. Another of Madame Dupree’s creations, if I’m not mistaken.” There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “She is a marvel, isn’t she?”

“Undoubtedly,” Lucy murmured.

“And you both share an admiration of Harrison Estwood.”

Lucy blushed and shook her head, feeling foolish.

One of Granby’s servants arrived with lemonade. Entirely welcome, since the day was growing warm. Lucy sipped on hers, enjoying the taste and watching Mildred circle Estwood like a predatory wolf.

“Room for one more?” The Foxwoods’ spoiled, stunning daughter, Lady Beatrice, sank to the blanket, skirts billowing out like the petals of a rose.

Andromeda rolled her eyes and chewed her chicken rather aggressively.

Beatrice dismissed Lucy with a tiny flick of her chin, attention solely on Andromeda.

After a brief exchange between the pair, one in which Lucy became convinced her friend might hit Beatrice with the chicken leg, Andromeda stood and excused herself, abandoning Lucy with an apologetic look, and marched into the long grass.

Beatrice huffed. Glared. Finally deciding she wouldn’t get much amusement from Lucy, she stood and strolled away. Which left her entirely alone when Mildred returned, Estwood at her side.

“Come, Miss Waterstone,” Mildred said. “Mr. Estwood has promised to explain the finer points of this burial site. He vows it will be interesting.”

“Miss Waterstone,” Estwood bowed to her. “I did indeed make such a ridiculous promise. More of what you heard on the carriage ride here, I’m afraid. I’ll try not to bore you.” His eyes drifted over her face, lingering on Lucy’s mouth.

“Oh, I…” Lucy said in a whisper, forcing her tongue to behave. She didn’t want Estwood to hear it. The horrible lisp.

“You expressed an interest in the bits of pottery in Granby’s drawing room,” Mildred interrupted. “Don’t you want to see where it comes from? I certainly do. Come.” She waved Lucy up.

Mildred had caught her staring at Estwood , who had been studying the pottery Granby collected.

“It would be my pleasure,” he insisted politely, the rough accent only peeking through his words. He was good at hiding it. Nearly as well as Lucy hid her lisp. “Allow me.” He reached to help her up.

At the touch of his hand, Lucy’s entire form prickled, then melted into the warmth of molten chocolate. Father wouldn’t object to Lady Mildred, who was from an old, prestigious family. She’d say Mildred had begged her to go.

Lucy gave Estwood a shy smile, wrapping her slender fingers around his.

Keeping her parasol tilted to hide her features from Lady Foxwood, she followed behind as Lady Mildred and Estwood took the lead.

The path started just below the area reserved for the picnic, curving through the grass to circle the stones below.

Estwood explained the origin of the stones, or at least what scholars had discovered, speculating on what more might be excavated one day.

She listened to the rolling sound of his words while shamefully admiring his backside, his cocky swagger, and those lovely shoulders, which shifted as he walked.

“Do you suppose,” Mildred said, halting, as they were halfway around, “that I might find an artifact of some sort?” She looked at Estwood. “A bit of bronze or pottery? My father would be thrilled to have such an item as a conversation piece.”

“Entirely possible,” he assured her. “Over there, at the base of that stone, scholars found an entire cache of weapons. You might try your luck.”

“Splendid.” Mildred released his arm. “I’ll catch up in a moment.”

Once she was out of earshot, Estwood turned to her. “Finally, I have you to myself, Miss Waterstone.”

Lucy took a deep breath, feeling a blush crawling up her cheeks. She forced her tongue away from her teeth. “ Ith ”—she winced, though the lisp could barely be heard—“there really anything to be found?”

Estwood shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But human sacrifices took place in this general area a thousand years ago. And this is a burial mound. So it stands to reason there might be something of value in the grass.”

“How do you know?” She kept her voice low, barely above a whisper, and didn’t dare look Estwood in the eye.

Her heart hammered in her chest at being alone with him.

She wished desperately that her speech wasn’t so flawed, and she could converse with him.

Or that Father didn’t find him so objectionable.

Estwood made her feel…quite unlike herself.

“You mean since I didn’t attend Harrow or Eton?” He winked at her.

Lucy pressed her lips together. She hadn’t meant that at all.

“Don’t worry, Miss Waterstone. I take no offense.” He placed her hand on his arm and started walking once more. “Once I learned to read…” He paused. “What I mean to say is that I adore books. Do you like books, Miss Waterstone?”

She nodded.

“Granby introduced me to ancient Rome, which started my love of archeology. Fossils. Weaponry is of particular interest.”

Lucy smiled at him, worried her tongue might stick to her teeth if she attempted a reply. The lisp became more pronounced when she was nervous.

“I can see you wish to hear more about human sacrifice, Miss Waterstone. Even after I bored you on the carriage ride. I would never have suspected you to be so bloodthirsty.”

“Haven’t you met my father?” she said, surprising herself, the words so soft it could have been the wind.

A rich, luxurious sound came from him, one that rippled over Lucy’s skin, warming her from the inside out. Amusement.

As he guided her around the site, Mildred wandering about looking for her own artifacts, Estwood explained the purpose of the stones, the barrows, and probably a dozen other things.

But Lucy only heard the soft rolling of his voice as the patrician accent he usually affected slipped, sometimes disappearing altogether. Showing himself to her.

My heart will burst from this moment.

“I wish to thank you for your assistance,” he said finally, coming to a halt. “The dinner at Granby’s was some time ago, but I haven’t forgotten.”

“The fork,” she murmured.

“Or it may have been one of the spoons. Probably both. I was distracted and forgot my manners. I owe you a debt for rescuing me.” Estwood paused, his eyes dropping to her mouth once more. He stared so intently at her lips that Lucy had a flutter of hope he meant to kiss her.

Please, kiss me.

“I could not allow the tragedy of using the fith ”—she swallowed, hoping she spoke low enough he wouldn’t notice the lisp—“fork for the capon. The footmen might have revolted.”

That was the most she’d ever said to him.

Estwood pressed a hand to his chest. “So it wasn’t for me, only to spare Granby’s staff?” His teeth flashed as a broad smile came to his lips. “You wound me, Miss Waterstone.” He cocked his head, unwavering gaze fixed on her. “What do you think of railways?”

Lucy blinked. She had done a great deal of research for Father, though her actual opinion was rarely asked. A young lady was intelligent enough to gather information, it seemed, but little else.

“I…” She bit her lip. Focused on her thoughts. Her blasted tongue.

“You listened rather intently to the conversation over dinner that night at Granby’s, despite pretending to be far more interested in the capon languishing on your plate. And directing we heathens in the proper use of a fork. I feel certain you have an opinion, and I would like to hear it.”

“Entirely profitable,” she puffed softly, remembering how Estwood had invested heavily in raw materials. The items needed to build. “The…things,” she stuttered carefully, mindful of the way she sounded. “Metallurgy.”

“Metallurgy?” Estwood regarded Lucy with the sort of awe one usually reserved for greeting royalty, perhaps. Or a most beautiful sunrise breaking over Hyde Park.

No one had ever looked at her in such a way. As if Lucy were…fascinating. Rare. She could have assured him, had her tongue not been sticking to the back of her teeth, that she was neither of those things. Merely a flawed, exceptionally dutiful young lady with a difficult father.

She nodded. “All require…metallurgy,” she whispered. “You are enamored of it.”

Estwood cocked his head, eyes drifting over her once more, studying her mouth again, which had Lucy blushing furiously. He reached out, slowly, one finger touching a curl dangling over her ear. Wrapping it around his finger, he tugged gently.

“Metallurgy is not,” Estwood said, “the only thing I’m enamored of, Miss Waterstone. That has been true for some time. Since you showed me the proper fork.”

He was…interested in her?

“I know I am not…considered a gentleman.” He swallowed and looked away, releasing the curl from his grasp. “Nor is this entirely proper. But may I call upon you? In London?”

“I—” Father would never allow it.

“A dance, then? At Granby’s upcoming ball?”

Warmth flooded her cheeks.

“I warn you, I don’t dance well. I’ve two left feet at times, but…

” He regarded her with a great deal of intensity.

“Miss Waterstone, you…” He hesitated again, which was so unlike his usual cocky manner of speaking.

“I’m…” He lowered his voice. “I’m quite taken with you, and I…

” He paused once more. “I should like to ask your opinion on sewers.”

“I approve of them,” she murmured, heart dancing in her breast.

I might swoon. Right here. Faint away into the grass.

She angled her head towards him, bathing in all that dazzling brilliance as Estwood leaned forward, his nose brushing along her cheek. Lucy closed her eyes, parted her lips.

“I believe I’ve found something,” Lady Mildred exclaimed, huffing up the slight incline as she came into view, holding a bit of rock triumphantly in the air.

Estwood chuckled softly. “Until our dance then, Miss Waterstone.”

The three of them returned to the picnic shortly after, Lucy floating on a cloud of happiness at having, impossibly, gained the attention of the only man she’d ever had an ounce of interest in. Harry Estwood.