The Sum of All Kisses (4 page)

Like right now. She was going to die if she did not get married this year. Really.

Hugh gave his head a little shake. At least he would not have to attend
that
wedding.

He’d almost got out of this one, too. But Daniel Smythe-Smith had insisted, and when Hugh had pointed out that this wasn’t even his wedding, Daniel had leaned back in his chair and said that this was his sister’s wedding, and if they were to convince the rest of society that they had put their differences behind them, Hugh had better bloody well show up with a smile on his face.

It hadn’t been the most gracious of invitations, but Hugh didn’t care. He much preferred when people said what they meant and left it at that. But Daniel was right about one thing. In this case, appearances were important.

It had been a scandal of unimaginable proportions when the two men had dueled three and a half years earlier. Daniel had been forced to flee the country, and Hugh had spent a full year learning to walk again. Then there was another year of Hugh’s trying to convince his father to leave Daniel alone, and then another of trying to actually
find
Daniel once Hugh had finally figured out how to get his father to call off his spies and assassins and leave bloody well alone.

Spies and assassins. Had his existence truly descended that far into melodrama? That he could ponder the words
spies and assassins
and actually find them relevant?

Hugh let out a long sigh. He had subdued his father, and he had located Daniel Smythe-Smith and brought him back to Britain. Now Daniel was getting married and would live happily ever after, and all would be just as it should have been.

For everyone except Hugh.

He looked down at his leg. It was only fair. He’d been the one to start it all. He should be the one with the permanent repercussions.

But damn, it hurt today. He’d spent eleven hours in a coach the day prior, and he was still feeling the aftereffects.

He really did not understand why he needed to put in an appearance at
this
wedding. Surely his attendance at Daniel’s nuptials later in the month would be enough to convince society that the battle between Hugh and Daniel was old news.

Hugh was not too proud to admit that in this case, at least, he cared what society thought. It had not bothered him when people labeled him an eccentric, with more aptitude at cards than he had with people. Nor had he minded when he’d overheard one society matron say to another that she found him very strange, and she would not allow her daughter to consider him as a potential suitor—if her daughter were to become interested, which, the matron said emphatically, she never would.

Hugh had not minded that, but he did remember it. Word for word.

What did bother him, however, was being thought a villain. That someone might think he’d wanted to kill Daniel Smythe-Smith, or that he’d rejoiced when he’d been forced to leave the country . . . This, Hugh could not bear. And if the only way to redeem his reputation was to make sure that society knew that Daniel had forgiven him, then Hugh would attend this wedding, and whatever else Daniel deemed appropriate.

“Oh, Lord Hugh!”

Hugh paused at the sound of a familiar feminine voice. It was the bride herself, Lady Honoria Smythe-Smith, soon to be Lady Chatteris. In twenty-three hours, actually, if the ceremony began on time, which Hugh had little confidence it would. He was surprised she was out and about. Weren’t brides meant to be surrounded by their female friends and relatives, fussing about last-minute details?

“Lady Honoria,” he said, shifting his grip on his cane so that he could offer her a bow of greeting.

“I am so glad you are able to attend the wedding,” she said.

Hugh stared into her light blue eyes for a moment longer than other people might have thought necessary. He was fairly certain she was being truthful.

“Thank you,” he said. Then he lied. “I am delighted to be here.”

She smiled broadly, and it lit up her face in the way only true happiness could. Hugh did not delude himself that
he
was responsible for her joy. All he had done was utter a nicety and thus avoid doing anything to take away from her current wedding-induced bliss.

Simple maths.

“Did you enjoy your breakfast?” she asked.

He had a feeling she had not flagged him down to inquire about his morning meal, but as it must have been obvious that he had just partaken, he replied, “Very much so. I commend Lord Chatteris on his kitchens.”

“Thank you very much. This is quite the largest event to be held at Fensmore for decades; the servants are quite frantic with apprehension. And delight.” Honoria pressed her lips together sheepishly. “But mostly apprehension.”

He did not have anything to add to that, so he waited for her to continue.

She did not disappoint. “I was hoping I might ask you a favor.”

Hugh could not imagine what, but she was the bride, and if she wanted to ask him to stand on his head, it was his understanding that he was obligated to try.

“My cousin Arthur has taken ill,” she said, “and he was to sit at the head table at the wedding breakfast.”

Oh, no. No, she wasn’t asking—

“We need another gentleman, and—”

Apparently she was.

“—I was hoping it could be you. It would go a long way toward making everything, well . . .” She swallowed and her eyes flicked toward the ceiling for a moment as she tried to find the correct words. “Toward making everything right. Or at least appear to be right.”

He stared at her for a moment. It wasn’t that his heart was sinking; hearts didn’t sink so much as they did a tight panicky squeeze, and the truth was, his did neither. There was no reason to fear being forced to sit at the head table, but there was every reason to dread it.

“Not that’s it not
right,
” she said hastily. “As far as I am concerned—and my mother, too, I can say quite reliably—we hold you in great esteem. We know . . . That is to say, Daniel told us what you did.”

He stared at her intently. What, exactly, had Daniel told her?

“I know that he would not be here in England if you had not sought him out, and I am most grateful.”

Hugh thought it uncommonly gracious that she did not point out that he was the reason her brother had had to leave England in the first place.

She smiled serenely. “A very wise person once told me that it is not the mistakes we make that reveal our character but what we do to rectify them.”

“A very wise person?” he murmured.

“Very well, it was my mother,” she said with a sheepish smile, “and I will have you know that she said it to Daniel far more than to me, but I’ve come to realize—and I hope he has, too—that it is true.”

“I believe he has,” Hugh said softly.

“Well, then,” Honoria said, briskly changing both subject and mood, “what do you say? Will you join me at the main table? You will be doing me a tremendous favor.”

“I would be honored to take your cousin’s place,” he said, and he supposed it was the truth. He’d rather go swimming in snow than sit up on a dais in front of all the wedding guests, but it was an honor.

Her face lit up again, her happiness practically a beacon. Was this what weddings did to people?

“Thank you so much,” she said, with obvious relief. “If you had refused, I would have had to ask my other cousin, Rupert, and—”

“You have another cousin? One you’re passing over in favor of me?” Hugh might not have cared overmuch for the myriad rules and regulations that bound their society, but that did not mean he didn’t know what they were.

“He’s awful,” she said in a loud whisper. “Honestly, he’s just terrible, and he eats far too many onions.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Hugh murmured.

“
And,
” Honoria continued, “he and Sarah do not get on.”

Hugh always considered his words before he spoke, but even he wasn’t able to stop himself from blurting half of “
I
don’t get on with Lady Sarah” before clamping his mouth firmly shut.

“I beg your pardon?” Honoria inquired.

Hugh forced his jaw to unlock. “I don’t see why that would be a problem,” he said tightly. Dear God, he was going to have to sit with Lady Sarah Pleinsworth. How was it possible Honoria Smythe-Smith didn’t realize what a stupendously bad idea that would be?

“Oh, thank you, Lord Hugh,” Honoria said effusively. “I do appreciate your flexibility in this matter. If I sit them together—and there would be no other place to put him at the head table, trust me, I looked—heaven only knows what rows they’ll get into.”

“Lady Sarah?” Hugh murmured. “Rows?”

“I know,” Honoria agreed, completely misinterpreting his words. “It’s difficult to imagine. We never have a cross word. She has the most marvelous sense of humor.”

Hugh made no comment.

Honoria smiled grandly at him. “Thank you again. You are doing me a tremendous favor.”

“How could I possibly refuse?”

Her eyes narrowed for a hint of a moment, but she seemed not to detect sarcasm, which made sense, since Hugh himself didn’t know if he was being sarcastic.

“Well,” Honoria said, “thank you. I’ll just tell Sarah.”

“She’s in the drawing room,” he said. Honoria looked at him curiously, so he added, “I heard her speaking as I walked by.”

Honoria continued to frown, so he added, “She has a most distinctive voice.”

“I had not noticed,” Honoria murmured.

Hugh decided that this would be an excellent time for him to shut up and leave.

The bride, however, had other plans. “Well,” she declared, “if she’s right there, why don’t you come with me, and we will tell her the good news.”

It was the last thing he wanted, but then she smiled at him, and he remembered,
She’s the bride
. And he followed.

I
n fanciful novels—the sort Sarah read by the dozen and refused to apologize for—foreshadowing was painted by the bucket, not the brushstroke. The heroine clasped her hand to her forehead and said something like, “Oh, if only I could find a gentleman who will look past my illegitimate birth and vestigial toe!”

Very well, she’d yet to find an author willing to include an extra toe. But it would certainly make for a good story. There was no denying that.

But back to the foreshadowing. The heroine would make her impassioned plea, and then, as if called forth from some ancient talisman, a gentleman would appear.

Oh, if only I could find a gentleman.
And there he was.

Which was why, after Sarah had made her (admittedly ridiculous) statement about dying if she did not marry this year, she looked up to the doorway. Because really, wouldn’t that have been funny?

Unsurprisingly, no one appeared.

“Hmmph,” she hmmphed. “Even the gods of literature have despaired of me.”

“Did you say something?” Harriet asked.

“Oh, if only I could find a gentleman,” she muttered to herself, “who will make me miserable and vex me to the end of my days.”

And then.

Of course.

Lord Hugh Prentice.

God above, was there to be no end to her travails?

“Sarah!” came Honoria’s cheerful voice as the bride herself stepped into the doorway beside him. “I have good news.”

Sarah came to her feet and looked at her cousin. Then she looked at Hugh Prentice, who, it had to be said, she’d
never
liked. Then she looked back to her cousin. Honoria, her very best friend in the entire world. And she knew that Honoria (her very best friend in the entire world who really should have known better) did
not
have good news. At least not what Sarah would consider good news.

Or Hugh Prentice, if his expression was any indication.

But Honoria was still glowing like a cheerful, nearly wed lantern, and she practically floated right off her toes when she announced, “Cousin Arthur has taken ill.”

Elizabeth came immediately to attention. “That
is
good news.”

“Oh, come now,” Harriet said. “He’s not half as bad as Rupert.”

“Well, that part’s not the good news,” Honoria said quickly, with a nervous glance toward Hugh, lest he think them a completely bloodthirsty lot. “The good news is that Sarah was going to have to sit with Rupert tomorrow, but now she doesn’t.”

Frances gasped and leapt across the room. “Does that mean I might sit at the head table? Oh, please say I may take his place! I would love that above all things. Especially since you’re putting it up on a dais, aren’t you? I would actually
be
above all things.”

“Oh, Frances,” Honoria said, smiling warmly down at her, “I wish it could be so, but you know there are to be no children at the main table, and also, we need it to be a gentleman.”

“Hence Lord Hugh,” Elizabeth said.

“I am pleased to be of service,” Hugh said, even though it was clear to Sarah that he was not.

“I cannot begin to tell you how grateful we are,” Honoria said. “Especially Sarah.”

Hugh looked at Sarah.

Sarah looked at Hugh. It seemed imperative that he realize that she was not, in fact, grateful.

And then he smiled, the lout. Well, not really a smile. It wouldn’t have been called a smile on anyone else’s face, but his mien was so normally stony that the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips was the equivalent of anyone else’s jumping for joy.

“I am certain I shall be delighted to sit next to you instead of Cousin Rupert,” Sarah said. Delighted was an overstatement, but Rupert had terrible breath, so at least she’d avoid
that
with Lord Hugh at her side.

“Certain,” Lord Hugh repeated, his voice that odd mix of flatness and drawl that made Sarah feel as if her mind were about to explode. Was he mocking her? Or was he merely repeating a word for emphasis? She couldn’t tell.

Yet another trait that rendered Lord Hugh Prentice the most aggravating man in Britain. If one were being made fun of, didn’t one have the right to
know
?

“You don’t take raw onions with your tea, do you?” Sarah asked coolly.