“That’s another thing I want to discuss with you.” Francesca placed a hand on Lucia’s shoulder. “Are you really going to go through with this marriage to Dandridge? It’s not too late to cry off.”
Lucia could hardly believe what she was hearing—call off the wedding? Be labeled a jilt? Disappoint her father and mother? Never. As Francesca had just pointed out, she’d made a muddle of things in the past. No wonder her father didn’t have faith in her. But she was going to show him that she’d changed—matured into a responsible, respectable woman. And marrying Reginald was the final proof.
“Not too late?” she choked. “We’re engaged. If I cry off there will be a horrible scandal. Father will be mortified, and our family will be the latest on-dit. It might ruin Father’s chances for advancement.”
“He survived it when I broke my engagement to Roxbury.”
“You’re different, Francesca,” Lucia said. You’re perfect.
“Nonsense. Daddy wouldn’t want you to marry someone you didn’t love or at least esteem.” She paused, her gaze searching Lucia’s face. “Do you love Dandridge?”
Lucia tried not to cringe. Love Dandridge? Of course not. But she couldn’t say she didn’t love him. She compromised. “Not everyone wishes to marry for love,” she answered. “Not everyone is lucky enough to fall in love, like you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Francesca said with a smile. “I saw the way you were looking at Selbourne earlier. He was watching you, too. I’ve never seen you look at Dandridge that way.”
Lucia stiffened. Was her attraction to Selbourne really so obvious? Worse, was her dislike for Reginald so evident?
She’d always known her parents wanted a union between the Brigham and the Dandridge titles, but they’d been generous in giving her an entire Season to fall in love with some other eligible bachelor. When she had not, despite several marriage proposals from suitable men, discussions with Lord Dandridge and his dowager mother began in earnest.
Lucia was also aware that her father cultivated an alliance with the young viscount to gain the clout needed to realize his ambitions in Parliament. Eager to please him, Lucia had been more than willing to adhere to her father’s wishes, but when she’d first met Reginald she’d faltered.
He wasn’t unattractive, exactly. Lucia, if pressed, would admit that he had good . . . teeth. But he was also short and fat-faced, with a middle she thought would soon follow. Still, there was nothing wrong with him. He was polite, respectable, not clever but reasonably intelligent. He was like every other man, and she knew after only a few moments that she would never—could never—love him.
But then she had been waiting for what seemed an eternity to fall in love—to experience that earthshattering feeling of soul connecting with like-soul, as Francesca and Ethan had. She searched the ballrooms and drawing rooms of upper-class London with a thoroughness that bordered on obsession, but there were simply no men who drew her.
She had wanted to fall in love. Wanted it desperately. But deep down she knew it would never happen. Not with any of the men of her family’s acquaintance.
She wasn’t going to tell Francesca this. Did it really matter when Reginald had so much affection for her? His eyes had lit like torches upon seeing her, and he’d grinned broadly at his good fortune. His smile faltered a little when she rose, and he realized they were the same height, Lucia being tall for a woman and Reginald being short for a man, but his grin returned. And if her height bothered him, as she suspected it did because he preferred to speak to her when she was sitting and he could stand, he never mentioned it.
But he was from a respectable family, had a good title, and had a future in politics. And love wasn’t really that important. She could certainly be practical, on occasion, and Reginald’s attributes were not to be overlooked.
At least that’s what her father said.
Keeping all this firmly in mind, Lucia said, “You’re a poor matchmaker, Francesca. Should I give up a marriage offer from Reginald in hopes of soliciting a carte blanche from Selbourne or some other rake? I hardly think that would be an acceptable substitute.” She tossed a curl over her shoulder.
“Don’t toss your head at me, Lucia. I’m liable to mistake you for one of my horses. Besides,” Francesca went on, “Alex wouldn’t treat you like that.”
“This whole conversation is ridiculous,” Lucia said with an impatient wave. “There’s nothing between Selbourne and me. I certainly don’t love him. I don’t even like the man.”
“It didn’t look that way to me.”
“Francesca!”
Francesca raised her eyebrows, and Lucia was forced to admit, “Oh, all right! I admit I’m attracted to him, but that doesn’t mean anything. His looks don’t compensate for his horrid manners. I may not love Reginald, but I can’t spend my whole life waiting to fall in love. I’ll probably never fall in love. So why not marry Reginald? He’s as good as any other man. Better because our marriage will please Father.”
Francesca stared at her, and Lucia wished for the thousandth time she’d held her tongue. “Is that what this is all about?” Francesca asked. “Pleasing Daddy?”
Lucia was silent for a minute, staring at her gown and threading the material through her fingers. “I do want to please Father,” she said, looking up. “I’m not the firstborn like you or the only son like John. I don’t have your sweetness and good nature. Oh, I know I’m supposed to be ‘the beauty of the family,’ but that hasn’t compensated for all my faults, which everyone seems to enjoy pointing out at every opportunity.” She blinked back tears again. Lord, she’d been weepier in the past hour than she’d been in twenty years of life.
“Lucia, you’re too hard on yourself,” Francesca began.
“I wish I were,” she answered, finally in control of her emotions. “But I say what I think before I even stop to consider if I should. I’m impulsive and temperamental—all tolerable qualities in a son, but a daughter? Father doesn’t know what to make of me.”
“Then stop being impulsive for once, Lucia.” Francesca squeezed her sister’s hand with meaning. “Think what you’re doing. Marriage isn’t temporary. This is the rest of your life.”
“I know, Francesca. I’m not as capricious as you seem to think. I’ve thought this out, and it would be wrong of me not to marry just because I don’t love Reginald. People marry every day who can barely tolerate each other’s company, and Reginald really does try to please me.”
“I know he does, but Dandridge and his mother can be so controlling. You won’t have any freedom.”
