He paused his retreat.
Her brows were furrowed and her head cocked. Noise from the ongoing ball was muted here, but it still reminded him of where else his duty lay. At least a brief appearance at his mother’s ball would be required. The idea made discomfort climb up his spine.
“Have we met?” she asked. “You look terribly familiar.”
His entire being froze. “Not that I am aware of.”
“Hmm. Well, thank you again.”
He gave the woman another crisp nod and fled.
Chapter 5
The face of a broad-shouldered,light-haired man took up an embarrassing amount of time in Lydia’s daydreams. It wasn’t so much that she was daydreaming about the man, but the puzzling sensation that she knew him from somewhere would not stop tickling the back of her mind. It was incredibly frustrating.
But in terms of faces, it was not a bad one to be ruminating on. She could easily imagine how he might look with a more cheerful countenance lightening his features—not that she’d seen such a look. Likely she never would, being that there was no reason to see the man again. He had seemed to find the time they spent together rather painful, and Tarrington had pointed out that he was far above her in status.
Lydia jumped to her feet from the chair beside her bed. That was more than enough pointless daydreaming. She needed to find something else to occupy her time. Apparently she’d not been overly dramatic on that first day in London when she’d determined that the life of a proper lady was boring. Outside of eating and needlepoint (which she was honestly horrid at—the needlepoint. She found great enjoyment in eating.) there was absolutely nothing for her to do here. At least in the country, she could assist the tenants, wander the lands surrounding the estate, or tend to a sick or injured child.
Would that Mrs. Wallersburg were nearby to tell her a story. That particular tenant was not quite a decade Lydia’s senior and possessed a knack for storytelling. While helping Mrs. Wallersburg with her chores, Lydia would supply the first line to a story and challenge the woman to finish the tale.
Stories. That was it. Lord Tarrington had a small library. How had she not considered it before? Maybe there would even be a treatise on husband-hunting somewhere on the shelves. Thoughhonestly, her guardian probably would have lent it to her already if there were.
With recollections from the brief tour the housekeeper had given her on her first day, Lydia made for the library. It was at the back of the house on the ground floor, so she took the stairs in the middle of the house down a level. A maid was at the staircase, keeping her head down as she oiled the banister, though Lydia tried to catch her eye. At the foot of the stairs, she turned left, passing Lord Tarrington’s study and stopping at the closed door of the library. The door pushed open on well-oiled hinges, revealing a cozy room lined with dark shelves and a smattering of chairs. She made straight for the shelves closest to her. How might things be organized? By topic? Alphabetically?
A cough interrupted her perusing before it had hardly begun and sent her spinning toward the source of the noise. Her heart and feet jumped at the sight of her guardian and the dark look he leveled her way.
“Oh. Lord Tarrington. I did not realize the room was occupied.”
Not an inch of his lined expression of annoyance shifted. He continued glowering. “Perhaps you ought to use the eyes the Lord saw fit to give you next time you enter a room.”
“In truth, I thought I had. Has anyone ever told you there is a strong resemblance between yourself and upholstery?” She bit her lip to keep back a smile at her own jest. Poking fun at her guardian was one thing. Showing how much she enjoyed it might just send the man over the edge.
His storm cloud-like presence seemed to flash with lightning, but he said nothing, which meant he did not dismiss her. She took a step back to the shelves, but even as her hand trailed down the spines of books, the presence of Lord Tarrington made her mind struggle to focus. Though until this week she’d neverbeen in this man’s London house—or in his presence, truly—there was a level of retrospection attached to this moment.
Lydia only had hazy recollections of the day her parents had passed. She remembered a service in a small, country chapel. And she remembered being taken from her family’s small cottage in a carriage far grander than their pony and cart and deposited at Lord Tarrington’s doorstep. With half a glance her way, he’d told not her but the servant with her that he hadn’t the time to deal with a child. She could not recollect seeing him again until years later, when a great to-do had been made over his returning for the summer. She’d been excited at the time—she was but nine or ten, and the bustle around Tarrington Park had been greater than at any holiday—but she’d been severely let down when the grand Lord Tarrington had arrived and shared essentially the same sentiment as before.
He hadn’t time to spare for a child.
But... he was not unkind. He had not once raised his voice to her. And though he did seem to look down on her with that lofty attitude and grumbled responses, he was all she had. Lord Tarrington controlled not only her future but her knowledge of the past. No matter how many friends she found in tenant farmers and their families, they could not tell her where she came from. They could not help bring her freedom in her future.
Did he still have no time to spare for her? He was the one who’d summoned her here, after all.
She cleared her throat, turning back around. She might regret the olive branch she intended to share. “Would you enjoy some reading?”
His dark look met hers. She smiled wide, as if that would convince him.
“Iamreading.” He looked pointedly at the book in his lap. Evidently, once again, she had not used her eyes.
“Yes, I do see that...” Now, at least. “But I thought you may enjoy a... break. Perhaps a rest for your eyes?” Forget it. She ought to flee the room forthwith. After grabbing a novel or two.
“Very well.”
“Oh. Really?” That was an unexpected success. She nearly cheered.
“Yes. You will read from my book.” He held out the thick tome. It appeared to be some dissertation on canal investments. Lovely.
With a look akin to someone about to touch a snake, Lydia took the book and settled stiffly in a chair across from her guardian. He watched her movements with an unwavering stare that made Lydia self-conscious. Was this how ladies sat? Did ladies hold books a specific way?
