“I hope to deliver a basket. Anne said they live above the pawnbroker?”
Jones’s eyes went wide. “You cannot, miss.”
Lydia withheld a sigh. “We can discuss it at a later time.”
“Yes. In a flat above the shop,” Lord Berkeley said, ignoring the interaction between Jones and Lydia. Then, after a pause, he added, “The family is usually home in the evenings.”
“Perfect, thank you. You know, you are rather unique, Lord Berkeley. Not everyone would know street urchins by name. They are far below you in status. You’re a bit of a curiosity.” After the words left her mouth, she wished to recall them. Not because they were not true—he really did incite her curiosity—but because they could have come across as overstepping. This man was not her friend. He was hardly an acquaintance. Just because they’d had a handful of interactions did not mean they had any sort of relationship that would allow her to make such blatant observations. Her words had gotten away from her.
He glanced into the street, raising his hand in passing to a gentleman in a gig. “I assure you, I am nothing of the sort.” His tone was not rude, though it would have been his right had it been, it was simply as if he were stating a fact.
“Of course not. Forgive me, and thank you again for your assistance with the Runner. I hate to imagine what might have occurred were you not at hand.”
He bowed. It was as succinct as his nods. “I am only grateful I was.”
The sounds of the street filled the space between them. Was the conversation concluded? Should she curtsy and take her leave? Perhaps she should not have let her mind wander so when her governesses had been teaching her.
“Ah . . . We must . . .” She trailed off, unsure.
“I will leave you to your errands then. If there is not anything I can help with?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He bowed again and retreated. Her eyes could not help watching him depart, her midsection feeling all fluttery, like a cloth covering a picnic basket in the wind.
“You arenotsearching out those urchins, Miss Faraday.”
Lydia tossed her maid an annoyed look. She would certainly be searching out the children. Just perhaps not with the woman’s knowledge.
Starting down the street, Lydia expected Jones would follow. She needed a few moments to herself to collect her emotions. Which was ridiculous. Increasingly, Lord Berkeley seemed to set her heart tip-tapping, which would not do. He showed no interest in her, and she was still not even certain she wanted to marry.
What was she thinking? The man had simply been in the right—or wrong—place on a handful of occasions and been kind to her. And she was forming an attachment or even theideaof one in her mind? That was the sort of far-fetched daydreaming that Eliza, the sheep farmer’s daughter, would indulge in, not Lydia.
Still, if shehadto marry, perhaps the good Lord would see fit to send her a wealthy husband who was even half as attractive asthe broad-shouldered Lord Berkeley. Certainly that was not too much to ask?
She glanced up the street, trying to find Mr. Sperry’s office. After learning that Lord Tarrington had sequestered himself away for some reason or another, she had managed to convince Jones that they ought to go into town. Now their errand was concluded, and if she did not find the solicitor soon, she’d be forced to find another way to meet with him. Her eyes bounded down the road, taking in several signs and passersby. They passed over a solicitor’s office, then stopped and darted back. The sign read, “Mr. Sperry. Solicitor.”
Success brought a smile to her face and warmth to her stomach. She’d found him.
She decided what to do in half a second. “Jones, will you take my gloves and tell the carriage to meet us at that hat shop there? I wish to look at that bonnet in the window but would hate to delay our trip too much longer.”
Jones looked to where Lydia was pointing, at a shop beside the solicitor’s office. She sighed heavily then nodded, evidently having reached her end of willingness to fight with Lydia that day. “I will meet you there in but a moment.”
“Thank you, Jones.” Lydia smiled solicitously... then made not for the hat shop, but the office beside it. With a glance over her shoulder, she slipped inside, a little bell tinkling above the door to announce her arrival.
With the exception of several dust particles floating in the rays of sunshine piercing the room and several stacks of books and papers that concealed the top of a desk, the room was empty, but a door at the back opened almost immediately.
A bespeckled man with a slight build and graying hair appeared in the doorway, cleaning his glasses with a cloth. “I apologize for the wait. How may I help you?”
Lydia clasped her hands before her, wasting no time. “My name is Lydia Faraday, sir. I may be wrong, but I believe you wished to speak with me?”
He placed his glasses back on his nose then his eyebrows rose above them in surprise. He stepped aside and gestured to his office. “Miss Faraday! Yes, certainly. Yes, yes, please do come in. I admit, I did not think I would see you. Lord Tarrington changed his mind then?”
She walked past him into the small office beyond, and he closed the door, scuttling around the edge of the room to sit behind his desk. The man’s personal office was not as untidy as the front room, though there were nearly as many stacks of books and papers. These ones just did not seem as if they would fall over with a slight breeze.
“Not exactly,” she said.
Mr. Sperry adjusted his glasses as he peered at her. “Well, whatever the circumstance, I am happy for the opportunity. I was instructed to wait until you were in London to approach you.”
