Sounds of flustered exasperation met Lydia’s ears as she took half a step closer to the door. Ladies probably did not listen at doors.
“You see here my explicit instructions to speak with her though?”
“I do not care one whit for your instructions.”
“But her grandfather—”
“Her grandfather was a lowborn swindler, and I haven’t a care for his wishes.”
Grandfather? A blood relative? Yet she was sent to Lord Tarrington for guardianship? And she’d never heard of this grandfather before now?
She stepped even closer, more than curious. Her heart hammered in her chest, both at the subterfuge and the feeling of proximity to knowledge she’d never before had.
“Her grandfather was anything but, my lord. If you’ll only let me speak with Miss Faraday. He left her—”
“That is enough. You will go.”
There was the distinct sound of a chair pushing back on the floor. Lydia startled, jolting from the door at the same moment a second chair moved back, slower than the first.
“Very well. I bid you good day, Lord Tarrington. If you change your mind—”
“I will not.”
Rather than making for her room, she retraced her steps to the library, curiosity propelling her. This was a chance at information, at learning of her past.
The broken strains of the man’s final parting met her ears as she turned the corner. “You can find . . . at . . . Strand . . .”
Her heart had already been beating quickly, but now it seemed to shake the lace trimming her bodice. She had a grandfather? She had family? A long-repressed yearning broke somewhere deep in her chest. She hadfamily. Family that was trying to find her? She could not miss an opportunity to learn more.
As the door to Lord Tarrington’s study opened, Lydia made as if she were just exiting the library. She pulled up short, affecting surprise at the two men before her. Lord Tarrington had his usual disgruntled expression, and the short, thin man beside him had a similar look upon his face, though it was woven with a sense of anxiety or confusion. Both men looked at her.
“Oh, hello,” Lydia said, proud of how she hid her unease.
The solicitor was shuffling some papers into one arm, but he met her eyes with surprise. His mouth opened. Tarrington stepped between them.
Lydia was undeterred. She craned her neck around her guardian. “Who is our visitor?”
Lord Tarrington grunted. “None of your concern.”
She ignored him. “I am Lydia Faraday,” she said to the shorter man. “And you are?”
“Oh. Oh, I am Mr. Sperry. I—” He darted a glance at Lord Tarrington but straightened his slim shoulders with confidence. “I was hoping for a chance—”
Tarrington turned, presenting Lydia with his back. “And, as I told you, you would not have one. Now, leave my home before I am forced to remove you myself.” He coughed—a deep, racking sound that belied his pronouncement to bodily remove Mr. Sperry.
The solicitor ground his teeth, eyes flicking between Lydia and Lord Tarrington, but he nodded with a jerk. “As I said before, you can find my office on the Strand, just beside—”
“Now,” Lord Tarrington cut across the man’s words, but Lydia filed them away. If Lord Tarrington would not tell her what she needed to know, she could always go in search of the information herself.
The sound of the front door closing filtered back through the house to them. Lord Tarrington grumbled something about layabout working men then started to reenter his study. Lydia put out a hand, grabbing his wrist.
The man looked down at her hand then up at her with a lift of the eyebrow. She pulled back but did not back down. “What was the solicitor here for?”
Tarrington turned back to his study. “Nothing.”
Lydia began to follow him. “He did not seem particularly happy.”
“Good.”
