“Thank you.” Lydia knew her succinct answer was rude, but she refused to lie and say she reciprocated his sentiment. It was the furthest thing from a pleasure.
“Lord Oliver, would you care for tea?” Sarla offered, shocked by her daughter’s curtness. Even when Lydia had encountered people in the past for whom she didn’t care, she’d never been impolite.
“That would be lovely, Lady Abbington.” Oliver smiled at the woman, and Lydia fought not to curl her nose at his saccharine tone. To her, he sounded like a supercilious toad.
Sarla rang for tea, and it wasn’t long before a maid arrived with a tray that included a plate of biscuits. The food and drink gave Lydia an excuse for not joining the conversation. Each time she feared Oliver would speak to her, she’d take a bite. By the time they finished, she’d eaten half the plate and drunk two cups of tea. She excused herself to dress for dinner and fled.
The evening meal was uneventful; except Oliver was far too solicitous even for Will’s taste. He knew the young man attempted to ingratiate himself, but his tactic was far too much for having only met Lydia a few hours earlier. It had come as a surprise when Oliver sent a letter to Will inquiring about Lydia’s hand in marriage and requesting an opportunity to see if they might suite. He’d written that he would like to meet Lydia and get to know her before he would do anything so formal as court her. But it took only their introduction for Will to deduced the lord intended to woo Lydia from the start.
Lydia’s predicament only worsened when she discovered the Viscount would be their extended guest. It didn’t take long to realize that, unlike the other suitors her father introduced but always assured were her choice to decline, it was obvious Will expected her to choose Oliver. He wouldn’t say it outright, since he’d promised it would ultimately be her decision who she married. But she couldn’t escape the undeniable determination in her father’s expressions.
It forced her to go for daily walks on her family’s grounds. She took tea with him both in the morning and the afternoon and sat next to him at every meal. It was excessive, and by the time the second week drew to an end, Lydia was beside herself. She cried to her mother, who sided with her daughter. She beseeched her father to reconsider, but when he demanded a reason, she couldn’t share one. To all appearances, Oliver Gwyn was the model of gentility and charm. He was handsome, but he did nothing for her. Even if she hadn’t known what she did, he wouldn’t appeal to her. Not after what she and Keith had shared in his library.
Whenever she could escape, she went to the beach. She stood for ages looking out to sea, hoping to spy a ship’s mast. But one never came. Her heart ached with disappointment each time the sun forced her to return home. She excused herself early each night, claiming fatigue from their walks and the spring air. Everyone in her household knew she had a hardy constitution, but none would disagree with her once she spoke in front of Oliver. Even her father didn’t press the issue after the first three nights.
Now she sat in the music room as she played the piano. They’d been to church that morning, her family riding in the Viscount’s coach. They’d only returned five minutes earlier, but Oliver had practically demanded she entertain him.
“Lady Lydia, your talent exceeds most young ladies. It would be an honor to listen to you play. It lightens the soul to hear such melodic tones. I’m certain you will play better than ever.”
Lydia masked her disgust as she turned away. When her gaze met her father’s she glowered. It shocked him to receive such a hostile stare from his usually mild-mannered daughter. He wondered if Oliver said or did something untoward during one of their walks.
In public, he was cordial to her family and gallant to her. But when it was only a servant as her chaperone, he was demanding. He expected her attention to be fully on him when they went walking. So much so she’d stumbled more than once, wrenching her ankle badly during an afternoon stroll.
She’d dissuaded him from kissing her each time he tried, reminding him a servant watched. The maid or groom reported to her father, so it would behoove Oliver not to do anything that might anger her father. Will had made his expectation that Oliver keet his hands to himself clear, but it hadn’t convinced the young man not to try.
Lydia’s fingers froze above the keys as a forceful knock sounded at the front door. Her heart raced as she imagined it might be Keith finally returned. She wondered if the Viscount’s carriage remained in the drive. She didn’t doubt Keith would recognize it immediately. She had her answer as he burst into the music room, the butler scurrying to get ahead and announce him. Keith glared at the man a head shorter than him as he entered the chamber.
Lydia rose without realizing what she did. She stepped around the bench as Keith approached. He took her hand before she could offer it, bringing it to his lips. He pressed them against the satiny skin, propriety be damned. He wouldn’t let his cousin take what he wanted. He rued not approaching Will about Lydia before he left. He never imagined Lydia’s father would so aggressively push his daughter toward a man. Keith’s housekeeper reported she’d seen Oliver and Lydia walking every day, but she also noted she frequently spotted Lydia on the beach staring out to sea. It was all he needed to hear as he passed through his home on his way to the Abbingtons.
“Lady Lydia, you look beautiful.” Keith wouldn’t mince words. He’d seen Will and Oliver’s stunned expressions, and he sensed Oliver moving closer. But he kept his attention fully on Lydia.
“Thank you, Your Grace. The sun and fresh air suit you.” Lydia’s eyes twinkled as she met Keith’s gaze. It was a most forward comment, but she cared not. Now that she knew he’d returned, and his intentions were clear, she harbored no more fear he no longer wanted her. The heat in his gaze told her everything, even if his greeting hadn’t.
“Your Grace.” Oliver’s voice permeated the bubble into which the couple had stepped. “Cousin, I didn’t expect you.”
Keith released Lydia’s hand but wrapped her arm around his. He continued to stake his claim as he nodded to Will, then Oliver. “I returned in the past half-hour.”
“You came straight here?” Lydia whispered. Keith returned his gaze to hers.
“I couldn’t stay away, little one. I won’t stay away.” Keith kept his voice equally low. He looked at Will, ignoring Oliver. “Have you betrothed your daughter to him?”
“No. I?—”
“Then I formally request Lady Lydia’s hand in marriage.” Keith covered Lydia’s hand on his arm with his.
“Wait now, Cousin. I have been courting the lady for a fortnight. You cannot merely swoop in and take what is mine.” At Will’s throat clearing, Oliver rephrased. “What I wish to be mine.”
Sarla stepped forward, having silently watched the scene since before Keith arrived. She’d seen how uncomfortable Oliver made her daughter, but she knew not why. Lydia had been evasive, but she’d told her mother she didn’t trust Oliver and feared he would hurt her if they married. She’d warned her husband, but he’d sworn he could still protect Lydia, even after she became another man’s property in the law's eye.
She watched Keith approach Lydia and seen how her daughter blossomed as soon as they touched. She recalled being the same while Will courted her, and she recalled her father having similar objections. The maharaja had another man, an Indian man, in mind. But it hadn’t taken Surat long to realize he fought a losing battle. All three of his daughters were destined to make a life with Englishmen. Sarla saw her daughter was destined to be with Keith.
“My daughter belongs to no one but herself, my lord.” Sarla stood on the other side of Lydia, daring the viscount to disagree. Her lineage was no secret. While she’d married a man well below a viscount, her poise and confidence spoke to being a princess. The younger man might outrank her in England, but he was wise not to argue.
“My apologies, Lady Abbington.” Oliver turned to Lydia, and she watched as he nearly reached out to her but thought better of it. She knew he feared she would reject him, and she would. “Lady Lydia, I have grown fond of you over the past fortnight. I can’t help but think of you beside me.”
The edge in his voice made his words sound like a veiled command. She leaned against Keith unknowingly, but they both felt it when their shoulders brushed. It took every ounce of decorum Keith could dredge not to wrap his arm around Lydia as though she were already his wife.
“Your Grace, as you can see, Lord Sackville has already made his intentions clear. I have already considered his suit. You are too late.” Will’s stare was unwavering as he looked at Keith. The younger man couldn’t understand why, from a business perspective, Lydia’s father would choose to bring a man into the Abbington family who wasn’t aware of Will’s less-than-legal dealings. Keith was certain Oliver wasn’t a smuggler. He’d heard his cousin speak out against it. It led him to wonder what Oliver knew or had done to gain Will’s support.
