He came to his feet and offered his arm, only then looking to Charlie. He had expected his brother to appear offended, but he only looked amused. Of course, Charlie nearly always looked that way. As if the world provided endless entertainment rather than endless problems. Though, if Lucas kept them there long enough, Colbert and Belcher would exhaust the amount of time implicitly allowed for a morning call, and that would give Charlie more opportunity to interact with Miss Faraday, so this could be a good move for his brother. That was a far better reason to have asked Miss Faraday to walk about the room than Lucas’s original one, and it was therefore the one he would adopt if asked.
He glanced back to the woman in question just as she came to his side. Her head tipped up to meet his eyes as she placed her hand on his arm, so he had a perfect view of how her eyebrows rose as her hand landed. He was forever grateful for the discipline he had given his expression over the last several years because now he could be certain that no amount of the feeling he experienced in that moment would show on his face.
Her smile had made his chest constrict, but her hand on his arm was something else entirely. It was as if he had been hit with a solid hook to the stomach in a round of boxing—just as jarring yet without any of the ill effects.
Dash it, what did that mean?
Chapter 7
Lydia peered at Lord Berkeleyout of the corner of her eye as they began a turn about the room, and she tried to will her arm not to feel so strange. It was as if she’d lost all feeling and then suddenly gained it all back—and then some—when it had made contact with Lord Berkeley’s arm.
Her pesky daydreams had been filled with the lingering sensation that she knew this man somehow, and with him beside her, the sensation grew. He seemed terribly familiar. It was more frustrating than an itch she could not reach to feel that the answer wasthereyet not quite retrievable.
He glanced down at her then, catching her gaze. She offered a minute smile, but he did not return it, opting to look forward at the path they were taking about the room. She squashed her disappointment.
Why had he even suggested they take this turn? She was not complaining, of course. Her mind had been racing the moment before he’d asked—grasping desperately for an engaging topic. But her brain had been utterly blank. The only thing she could seem to conjure up was the story of the time when Ginny from the closest tenant farm had thrown a picnic for the neighborhood children. Lydia had been invited—she’d been raised among the children after all, though by that time they had started looking askance at her, as if they knew something was bound to change in the future. She’d contracted a cold, though, and been required to remain home. So she’d watched the picnic from the uppermost floor of the west wing of Lord Tarrington’s home.
It had been terribly lonely.
That was not the sort of story to share with would-be suitors. She could just imagine the looks these men would give her of both pity and concern that she’d feel sadness over exclusionfrom children lower in status than her. But the memory wouldn’t budge, and so she’d been staring at her teacup begging it to give hersomethingto say, when, blessedly, Lord Berkeley had spoken.
“Thank you,” she said as they made the turn by the window, “for saving me from myself both at the ball and just now.”
He only nodded. The other three gentlemen were conversing in the middle of the room. Mr. Frank Colbert looked up then and tipped his head to her. She nodded back. The man had been here only five minutes before Mr. Belcher arrived, and Lydia had lasted another five minutes before she decided entertaining company was high on the list of things a lady must do thatsheabsolutely detested. The small talk. The lack of purpose. The sitting around. It was enough for her to wish the men to leave. Until the brothers had arrived.
And, though she hated to admit it, maybe if Mr. Frank Colbert or Mr. Belcher elicited the same reaction from her that Lord Berkeley did, she might have been more apt to entertain them.
“Your guardian was not upset with you last night?”
Lydia was surprised to hear him speak. She’d begun to assume that they would make the remainder of their walk in silence. She shook her head. “He was not impressed with my ability to douse myself with punch, but I believe he was ultimately grateful for the chance to leave a social event early... even if it did delay his plans to—” She caught herself before making a gauche comment about the baron’s desire to marry her off. “Well, he was not overly upset.”
She felt him scrutinizing her and tipped her gaze up to his.
“I am glad. I would not want you to have met with any problems.”
“Thank you. It is very kind of you to ask after my well-being.”
He nodded. That gesture seemed to make up a great deal of his conversations—at least with her. Why say something when a simple nod would suffice?
“Did you ever join the ball as your mother wished?” she asked, quietly enough that she would not be heard by the room at large.
“Yes. I had promised to make an appearance.”
“Was it as painful as you’d expected?”
He glanced down at her, catching her eyes again. His were a very nice shade of green. “Worse.”
She pressed her lips together to hold back her mirth. “How lucky I am to have escaped early.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. Just the barest amount, but it seemed to be his version of a smile.
“Your mother seems very kind,” she said.
“Indeed, she is,” he said. His words were stiff, but that didn’t seem to come from discomfort, so she pressed forward with the conversation.
“She sent a note round this morning, inviting us to a small soiree next week.”
There was the tiniest hitch of hesitation in his next step. “I hope you will accept.”
