Ethan swore again, but Francesca was watching her closely. “Are you in love with him?”
“What does that—” Ethan began, sounding annoyed. Francesca shot him an exasperated look, silencing him.
“Are you?” Francesca asked again.
“Yes,” Lucia answered, gripping Francesca’s hands. “I keep trying not to be, but it’s no use. I think about him all the time.”
“Oh, Lucia! I told you one day you’d fall in love! And you see! Here it’s happened.”
Across the room, Ethan made what sounded like an exasperated comment under his breath. Francesca glared at him, then turned back to Lucia. “Are you—” She cleared her throat. “Is there anything we should be anticipating?”
Lucia’s hands went rigid, and she glanced quickly down. “No,” she whispered.
“Thank God,” Ethan mumbled, but Francesca was frowning.
“I don’t see why you’re so pleased,” Francesca retorted. “It might not have been such a bad thing. It would have given them a connection . . .”
Lucia stared at her. She knew her sister had a romantic streak, wanted everyone she loved to be blissfully happy, but this was going too far. Francesca must have seen the look because she quickly added, “Of course, you don’t want him if he doesn’t love you.” She paused and stubbed her toe into the carpet. “It’s just I can’t believe Alex doesn’t love you, Lucia.”
Lucia shook her head. “Well, he doesn’t. He made his feelings—or lack thereof—clear.”
Francesca tapped her slipper. “But I saw the way he looked at you that morning in Berkeley Square and then the night of our dinner party—”
“None of this matters,” Ethan interrupted. “He’s made his decision, and you’re not going to change it.”
“Sounds familiar,” Francesca muttered.
“He told you to marry Dandridge,” Ethan said, ignoring his wife. “I suggest you do so.”
“No,” Lucia said.
Francesca scowled at Ethan. “Lucia, you shouldn’t hold out hope that Alex will return with a marriage proposal.”
Lucia stared at her. “Francesca, you love Ethan. The two of you know what real passion is. Could you settle for less now, knowing what you’d be giving up?”
Francesca looked down. “No.” She gave Lucia a look full of sympathy. “Tomorrow morning we’ll write to Dandridge and call off the engagement. I think that is the best way. You can stay here tonight. You’ll need your rest before you face Mamma and Father with the news.”
Lord and Lady Brigham decided, after several days of drama and bellowing, that Lucia should spend the remainder of the Season at their country estate. A few months away would give the talk of her break with Dandridge time to quiet down. Consequently, three days later, Lucia was directing Jane about which hats to pack for Tanglewilde when there was a tap on the door, and John opened it, peering inside.
“May I come in?” He shot a look at her maid.
“Of, course,” Lucia answered. “Jane, would you see if Lady Brigham needs any assistance?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jane murmured and left.
Lucia looked at her brother. “What’s wrong?”
“Dandridge is here.”
“Already?”
He nodded. “Want me to tell him to leave?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll have to deal with it sooner or later.”
John surveyed the wreck of her room, the dozens of pelisses, hats, and gloves strewn about. “You’re not wasting any time leaving London,” he said.
“Why should I?”
