Lucy’s back straightened. “Whyever not?”
“Yes, Hattie,” Jeffrey echoed. “Whyever not?”
She set her gaze on the ceiling to avoid sending her brother a glare. “Well, I have made a promise not to disturb Mr. Warren’s host, and I think that if I tell you of Mr. Warren’s whereabouts, you shall cause me to break my word.”
“The duke!” Lucy clapped her hands together, her face radiating joy. “Mr. Warren is a cousin of the duke, isn’t he?”
“How in heaven’s name did you figure that out?” Jeffrey asked, looking impressed.
Lucy lifted one dainty shoulder in a minuscule shrug. “Hattie is overly concerned with not bothering the duke. It stands to reason that he would be the only thing keeping her from such a handsome, eligible bachelor.” She sucked in a breath, looking to Hattie with shock written on her features, her mouth hung open and eyes wide. “You mean to tell me that Mr. Warren has been just across the woods this entire week, and you’ve done nothing about it?”
“Yes,” Hattie said proudly. “You know I do not approve of your methods for obtaining husbands.”
“Then don’t employ my methods,” Lucy said. “But you can still do something.”
Jeffrey looked confused. Again. “What is this? I do not understand.”
“What exactly am I meant to do?” Hattie asked, ignoring her brother. She had a feeling he would not appreciate Lucy’s methods either, or how his wife had run through the duke’s woods in an effort to meet the man for Hattie’s benefit. “I cannot call on him, nor can I write him a letter without inciting a scandal should I be discovered. He did not come to church, and I have not seen him riding about. For all we know, Mr. Warren has already left Graton altogether.”
Lucy stilled. “That is true. What could you do?”
Fear crept into her stomach, tightening it against the expression on her sister-in-law’s face. “Whatever it is, I will do it, Lucy. Is that understood? Not anyone else, just me. I cannot condone bothering the duke. I’ve expressly promised him I would do no such thing.”
“Yes, yes of course.” Lucy flapped her hand at Hattie as though warding off an irritable insect.
“Do I have your word?”
“Hmm?” Lucy asked, quite clearly distracted. The woman was concocting a scheme, and Hattie did not have the mental capacity to withstand this conversation any longer. Her temples throbbed, the cloying floral scent emanating from the sofa enough to swirl her stomach.
“Lucy,” she repeated. “Do I have your word?”
Jeffrey stood. “Hattie, you look unwell.”
“It is just a headache. Your word, Lucy?”
“Very well, you have my word!” Lucy’s fair eyebrows pulled together. “But I must agree with Jeffrey. You look unwell.”
She was. Rising, she warded off Jeffrey’s advance with a lifted hand, the other resting against her nauseated stomach. “I think I shall go lie down.”
“Would you like dinner sent up?” Jeffrey asked.
She gave her thoughtful brother a sweet smile. “I’m going to send my maid for a headache tonic. She can fetch me dinner when I’m ready for it.”
He nodded, and Hattie took her leave of the room, noting Lucy’s distracted farewell. Climbing the stairs toward her room, she could not fully stem the rising panic within her. Lucy was up to something, make no mistake. And Hattie was going to have to find a way to stop her.