“And because it would be vulgar to discuss the matter with you first,” Penelope acknowledged, ever one to observe the rules of propriety. “But he’s certainly handsome enough, with that roguish air about him that makes you wonder how he spends his evenings… or rather, where.”
“I wonder no such thing,” Lydia protested, swatting her friend playfully with her fan. “His evenings—or any other hour of the day—are not my concern until there is some sort of an agreement. Or if there is an agreement, I should say.”
“I’d venture that it’s a safe wager to say ‘when,’ as Papa has told me there has already been talk of a match between the two of you.” Penelope raised an eyebrow at Lydia, watching her to gauge her reaction.
“Now you’re only having fun at my expense. If there had been such talk, Uncle Julius would have informed me at once,” Lydia said, pretending to pout at the thought that her friend would tease her so cruelly.
Penelope, caught in her impish lie, laughed softly and then began to speak of other things. Lydia was only half-listening as she continued to watch Vincent. While there were many good qualities to commend him and in truth her feelings for him were growing more affectionate, it was somewhat unnerving to note which guests he interacted with.
Aside from the pang of jealousy she felt whenever he lingered overly long with some group of ladies, resulting in smiles and hearty laughter from whatever witty statement he’d shared, Lydia noted that the men he consorted with were many she had never met nor heard of. All around her, she realized that Vincent knew a number of characters whom Uncle Julius had avoided for her, whether by design or coincidence.
“Shall we take a turn around the room?” Penelope asked, jarring Lydia from her thoughts.
“Certainly, but let us wait a moment longer. I do not wish to appear overly eager by following so closely on the heels of Lord Lockwood. You know that would set some gossips to talking,” Lydia said, and Penelope nodded sympathetically.
“Oh, I know all too well. ‘Look how she follows after him,’ they would shriek amongst themselves. Never fear, we will bide our time here then go,” Penelope promised her.
Lydia stood with Penelope, who was already lost in the moment of entering such a festive scene, chatting and waving at those she knew and speaking to some she had not yet met. Lydia watched the people moving throughout the large room with its high ceiling, allowing the warmth from a dozen fireplaces—six to a side—to envelope the revelers before drifting to the rafters overhead. The dozens of candles in their hanging sconces flickered as people moved past them, sending shadows dancing along the cream-colored walls. On the far end of the long room, the musicians had begun to play only slightly louder in order to be heard over the din of merry conversation.
“I was told you would be here,” a man’s voice whispered at Lydia’s ear, sending a shiver up her bare neck. She jumped at the intrusion and whirled around to face the man, but nearly stumbled backward at the sight of the stranger.
“I beg your pardon, good sir, but—Matthew?” Lydia finally finished, her confusion stealing her reply.
The man beside her, dangerously close beside her now that Lydia thought about it, looked nothing like the vagabond she had argued with in the cemetery only hours ago. Gone were the scraggly beard and the seafarer’s attire. This man, clean-shaven and stylishly dressed, smiled down at her with a wicked grin.
“That I am, My Lady,” he replied, his voice still sultry and low. “I am glad to see that you were not telling lies when you spoke about your reasons for wearing a gown earlier. It is rather fetching, after all, and wholly out of place in the cemetery.”
“What I choose to wear, either to the cemetery or anywhere else, is entirely my choosing,” Lydia replied, recovering from her earlier shock and resuming the air of indifference she’d felt ever since suffering Matthew’s chastising before.
“Of course it is. I do happen to know your age, and therefore would expect that you are capable of dressing yourself,” Matthew quipped. “Well, with the help of a lady’s maid and a staff of servants to attend to you, that is.”
“And what contempt do you have for servants as of late,My Lord?” Lydia asked innocently, reminding him of those who serve in his household. “I notice that the cut of your coat is rather dashing and you’ve had a bath. Surely you didn’t sew the garment yourself or draw the water for the tub?”
Matthew paused, and Lydia felt a flash of triumph at rendering him speechless. “No, My Lady, I did not. I suppose one’s servants are vital after all. Only I am not accustomed to such luxuries, and have grown quite used to doing everything for myself.”
“Did your father really not provide you with so much as a butler, or a housekeeper? Not even a valet or manservant?” Lydia asked genuinely intrigued by how someone of Matthew’s station and business acumen would manage without at least some help.
“No, there was very little in the way of assistance from my parents,” Matthew answered in a rather clipped tone, a hint of anger that was not lost on Lydia.
You have been unkind, Lydia, she thought with a hint of remorse.Matthew wounded you greatly when he went away without so much as a word, but all must not be as it seemed on the surface.
Still, that did not excuse his rude behavior earlier in the day when they chanced upon each other in the cemetery. Lydia still smarted from the accusation that she did not care enough to write to him, and the anger with which he had spoken.
“My Lord, if you will excuse us—” she started to say in a haughty tone in order to make their excuses, but she turned to see that Matthew had already departed.
“Why, the nerve of him,” Lydia said under her breath, though Penelope heard and turned back to look at her.
“Did you say something?” her friend asked, looking around and waving at a few people she knew.
Lydia shook her head slightly. “It was nothing.” And in truth, that’s precisely what Matthew was to her now.
Chapter 5
Matthew made his escape to an adjacent room, one that afforded him a view of Lydia. Why had he thought this to be a good idea? It was only to enrage his mother that he sought to avoid the ball, then once again to goad her he changed his mind. But now, faced with Lydia in person, he did not know what to do.
He leaned around the edge of the doorway only enough to look upon her once again. She was as radiant as he had imagined her all those empty nights when he was alone in his offices, wondering why he was so far from home. Her blonde hair shone in the candlelight, creating a heavenly aura around her. Even from this distance, her green eyes shone with the sort of mischief he knew her to be capable of.
“My Lord? Lord Bronson, is it?” a rotund man of about sixty asked, scrutinizing Matthew more clearly. “I don’t know if you remember me, I have not seen you since you were only about this high.” He held out his hand near his waist, and Matthew nodded.
