“I could hardly expect people to buy my guidebook if I didn’t,” he explained. “If I’m holding myself out as an authority, the least I can do is provide accurate information.”
“I quite agree. That’s exactly why I want to see all the sights I intend to write about.”
Yes, her friend Miss Chatterjee had said something like that back at the house.
“You’ve set yourself quite the task if you intend to visit everything in the time we have,” he said. “Shall we head back to the carriage and start on something else?”
Her coachman was waiting for them just past the entrance to thebridge, as they’d wanted to take the pedestrian path to examine the view at their leisure.
You should turn back home and tend to your own work.The warning crept into Lyman’s thoughts, but he couldn’t seem to summon the willpower to cut their interlude short.
Della paused for a moment and turned to look out over the water again. Her lips parted slightly, animated by an almost imperceptible movement, as if she were whispering her thoughts to herself as she struggled to memorize the skyline. The sight was so unguarded it felt almost too intimate, but Lyman didn’t turn away. Perhaps he, too, was trying to memorize the sight of something bright and lovely.
“Very well. Let’s head over to Fleet Street next. Then I can try to write up the chapter on views later today. As you say, I need to work quickly if I’m to manage everything.”
He offered an arm to each sister as they turned back toward the carriage, though Miss Annabelle declined, preferring to stride a few paces ahead of them than to walk demurely at his side. He was beginning to see what Della had meant when she’d claimed that her younger sibling wasn’t as innocent as she seemed.
They’d come some distance to reach the archway she’d identified as having the best angle on the whole city, so retracing their footsteps took several minutes. Della was uncharacteristically silent. When Lyman glanced down, he found her watching him so intently that he grew uneasy.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Only that you’re proving much more fun than I expected,” she replied with a smile.
He inclined his head. “In that case, I hope I don’t disappoint you again.”
“I realized last night that I feel as though I’ve met two of you: thestrict and proper Lord Ashton who looked down his nose at me when I wanted to put my club in his book and the fun-loving Lord Ashton who can appreciate life’s pleasures.”
“I didn’t look down my nose at you,” he protested. Her assessment made him more uncomfortable than he cared to let on. “And the strict and proper Lord Ashton sounds more like my father than myself. He used to consider me rather irresponsible.”
Della raised an eyebrow, as if she might have challenged this, but she only said, “You were young when you inherited the title, weren’t you?”
He nearly missed his step.
“Have you been asking others about me?”
“We looked you up in Debrett’s,” Annabelle volunteered helpfully. Even four paces ahead, she appeared to be listening to their every word.How lovely.
Still, the explanation brought Lyman a measure of relief. Debrett’s recorded essential facts, not rumor. “I was twenty-four. My father’s health had begun to decline the previous year, and before I knew it, he was gone and I was the new viscount.”
“I’m sorry.” Della seemed to mull over his words for a moment before she continued. “So you were a carefree youth when you went to all the places in your book, but then you inherited the title and you felt an obligation to become serious and respectable. Is that it?” She wrinkled her nose, her opinion of respectability plain.
Lyman shivered. It felt as if someone had walked over his grave.
“Something like that,” he murmured.
“It needn’t be one or the other, you know,” Della continued, oblivious to the sense of foreboding that had come over him. “You can fulfill your responsibilities and still enjoy yourself from time to time.”
“You seem to manage it very well,” he replied with a tip of his hat, “but I’m not certain I can follow your example. I find a strictprohibition easier to maintain than moderation.”
Lyman was pointedly ignoring the fact that his time with Della didn’t fit neatly in either category. He’d broken his own rules for himself when he kissed her last night, and she didn’t seem to be the sort of woman he might confine into “moderation.” She threw herself into everything with full abandon.
“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I manage it as well as it seems,” Della said with a self-conscious laugh. “Though my fault is in the opposite direction from yours. I try to do everything I wish, both in business and pleasure, but there never seems to be enough time in a day to meet all my obligations.”
“Why did you set yourself the task of writing this book then?” Lyman tried to ask the question without any judgment.
“The book isn’t the problem. I’m enjoying seeing all the sights of London again. Why, if it weren’t for the book, I would never have thought to sneak into Laurent’s with you last night or come here to take in the view this morning.” Her bright smile was all the evidence he needed that she was grateful for both. “The club is what takes most of my time,” she continued, “I feel I can scarcely keep up lately.”
“I thought you said you were a co-owner,” Lyman said, recalling their first meeting. “Who are your partners?”
