As they walked to breakfast, Hermione peered at her curiously. “Are you well, Lucy?” she asked. “You look a little strange.”
Lucy fought the urge to laugh. She was strange. She was an idiot, and probably shouldn’t be let loose in public.
Good God, had she actually told Gregory Bridgerton that he was better than the rest?
She wanted to die. Or at the very least hide under a bed.
But no, she couldn’t even manage to feign illness and have a good lying-in. It hadn’t even occurred to her to try. She was so ridiculously normal and routineish that she was up and ready to depart for breakfast before she’d even managed a single coherent thought.
Aside from the pondering of her apparent madness, of course. That she had no trouble focusing upon.
“Well, you look very fine, anyway,” Hermione said as they reached the top of the staircase. “I do like your choice of the green ribbon with the blue dress. I wouldn’t have thought of it, but it’s very smart. And so lovely with your eyes.”
Lucy looked down at her clothing. She had no recollection of dressing herself. It was a miracle she did not look as if she had escaped from a Gypsy circus.
Although…
She let out a little sigh. Running off with the Gypsies sounded rather appealing just then, practical even, since she was quite certain she ought never to show her face in polite society again. Clearly she was missing an extremely important connecting vessel between her brain and her mouth, and heaven only knew what might emerge from her lips next.
Good gracious, she might as well have told Gregory Bridgerton that she thought him a god.
Which she did not. Not at all. She merely thought him a rather fine catch for Hermione. And she’d told him so. Hadn’t she?
What had she said? Precisely, what had she said?
“Lucy?”
What she said was…What she said was-
She stopped cold.
Dear God. He was going to think she wanted him.
Hermione walked another few paces before she realized Lucy was no longer in step beside her. “Lucy?”
“Do you know,” Lucy said, her voice coming out just a little bit squeaky, “I don’t believe I’m hungry after all.”
Hermione looked incredulous. “For breakfast?”
It was a bit farfetched. Lucy always ate like a sailor at breakfast.
“I…ah…I think something did not quite agree with me last night. Perhaps the salmon.” She put her hand on her belly for added effect. “I think I should lie down.”
And never get up.
“You do look a bit green,” Hermione said.
Lucy smiled wanly, making a conscious decision to be thankful for small favors.
“Would you like me to bring you something?” Hermione asked.
“Yes,” Lucy said fervently, hoping Hermione hadn’t heard the rumble of her stomach.
“Oh, but I shouldn’t,” Hermione said, placing one thoughtful finger to her lips. “You probably shouldn’t eat if you are feeling queasy. The last thing you want is to bring it all up again.”
“It’s not queasiness, exactly,” Lucy improvised.
“It’s not?”
“It’s…ah…rather difficult to explain, actually. I…” Lucy sagged against the wall. Who knew she had it in her to be such a fine actress?
Hermione rushed to her side, concern knitting her brow. “Oh dear,” she said, supporting Lucy with an arm around her back. “You look ghastly.”
Lucy blinked. Maybe she was taking ill. Even better. That would keep her sequestered for days.
“I am returning you to bed,” Hermione said, her tone brooking no argument. “And then I will summon Mother. She will know what to do.”
Lucy nodded with relief. Lady Watson’s remedy for any sort of ailment was chocolate and biscuits. Unorthodox, to be sure, but as it was what Hermione’s mother chose whenever she claimed to be ill, she couldn’t very well deny it to anyone else.
Hermione guided her back to their bedchamber, even going so far as to remove Lucy’s slippers for her before she lay atop the bed. “If I didn’t know you so well,” Hermione said, tossing the slippers carelessly into the armoire, “I would think you were faking.”
“I would never.”
“Oh, you would,” Hermione said. “You absolutely would. But you could never carry it off. You’re far too traditional.”
Traditional? What had that to do with anything?
Hermione let out a little huff of air. “I’m probably going to have to sit with that wearisome Mr. Bridgerton at breakfast now.”
“He’s not so dreadful,” Lucy said, with perhaps a bit more verve than one might expect from someone with a belly full of bad salmon.
“I suppose not,” Hermione acceded. “He’s better than most, I daresay.”
Lucy winced at the echo of her own words. So much better than the rest. So much better than the rest.
It was quite possibly the most appalling thing ever to cross her lips.
“But he is not for me,” Hermione continued, oblivious to Lucy’s distress. “He will realize it soon enough. And then he will move on to someone else.”
Lucy doubted that, but she didn’t say anything. What a coil. Hermione was in love with Mr. Edmonds, Mr. Bridgerton was in love with Hermione, and Lucy was not in love with Mr. Bridgerton.
But he thought she was.
Which was nonsense, of course. She would never allow that to happen, practically engaged as she was to Lord Haselby.
Haselby. She nearly groaned. This would all be so much easier if she could remember his face.
“Perhaps I’ll ring for breakfast,” Hermione said, her face lighting up as if she had just discovered a new continent. “Do you think they will send up a tray?”
Oh, blast. There went all her plans. Now Hermione had an excuse to remain in their chamber all day. And the next, too, if Lucy continued to feign illness.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner,” Hermione said, heading to the bellpull. “I would much rather remain here with you.”
“Don’t,” Lucy called out, her brain spinning madly.
“Why not?”
Indeed. Lucy thought quickly. “If you have them bring a tray, you might not get what you want.”
“But I know what I want. Coddled eggs and toast. Surely they can manage that.”
“But I don’t want coddled eggs and toast.” Lucy tried to keep her expression as pitiful and pathetic as she could manage. “You know my taste so well. If you go to the breakfast room, I’m sure you would find something exactly right.”
“But I thought you weren’t going to eat.”
Lucy put her hand back on her belly. “Well, I might want to eat a little.”
“Oh, very well,” Hermione said, by now sounding more impatient than anything else. “What do you want?”
“Er, perhaps some bacon?”
“With a fishy stomach?”
“I’m not sure it was the fish.”
For the longest moment, Hermione just stood there and stared at her. “Just bacon, then?” she finally asked.
“Ehm, and anything else you think I might enjoy,” Lucy said, since it would have been easy enough to ring for bacon.
Hermione let out a pent-up breath. “I shall return soon.” She regarded Lucy with a slightly suspicious expression. “Don’t overexert yourself.”
“I won’t,” Lucy promised. She smiled at the door as it closed behind Hermione. She counted to ten, then hopped out of bed and ran to the wardrobe to straighten her slippers. Once that was done to her satisfaction, she snatched up a book and crawled back in to settle down and read.
All in all, it was turning out to be a lovely morning.