“Not that I am aware of.” There was a strange hint of hesitation in his words. “Your father’s parents passed before he did, and your mother’s are gone from the world as well. If you had anyone else to claim you, your rearing would not have been left to me.”
“But why you? What connection did you have with my father?”
Like the shutting of a door, Lord Tarrington’s face became impassive. “It hardly matters. All that matters is that you have a connection to me and my barony, and that will help you marry.”
Lydia ground her teeth. “And if I do not wish to? If I wish to return home?”
“You’ve no say in the matter.”
“I cannot imagine my parents would want me to be watched over by someone not willing to give me a say in my future. Nor to tell me of my past.”
Lord Tarrington looked up, his gaze snapping with anger. Lydia nearly stepped back at the force of it. “Very well,” he said. “You wish to know about your family?” The question sounded almost threatening, but Lydia nodded regardless. She wanted nothing more.
“Your father was an idealistic second son with poorly formed ideas about the world. Your mother? Well, marrying your fatherwas the best thing she ever did. They built a life on dreams—on wishes—and where did that get them? An early grave. They should not have been trusted with their own lives, let alone that of a child—yet here you are, and therefore it is my burden to see that you are married to someone that might manage your future better than you can. There is not much more to tell.” This time, instead of hiding behind his paper, he rose from his seat, bracing his hands on the desk to help him.
“Do not ask me about them again,” he said, passing her without a look. “And you will not leave London until you are married,” he added before leaving her behind.
She did not even turn to watch him go. She stared at the desk in front of her without really seeing it. Somehow, without telling her hardly anything about them, Lord Tarrington had left her feeling empty. The way he’d spoken of her family—as if they were worthless and... and stupid. Well, it madeherfeel worthless and stupid.
But no. No.
One person’s opinion did not equate to truth, certainly not Lord Tarrington’s clearly jaded opinion. It simply meant that he was not the individual to speak to about her past. That was just as well—she had Mr. Sperry. He could tell her what she needed to know. Some of it, at least.
A fire lit within her, utilizing her pain as fuel. She would not allow this cynical, awful man to dictate her future. Somehow, she needed a chance to see Mr. Sperry again—soonandalone. Not only did she want to know more about her family, but she also had to know all she needed to do to gain that inheritance and her freedom from Lord Tarrington.
She was done having her life controlled. She needed freedom.
***
Wednesday morning was dreary, with low-hanging clouds that caused the household to burn candles even during the day. Lydia was prevented from leaving the home to see either Mr. Sperry or the children from the street by Jones, who threatened to tell Lord Tarrington of her leaving. After the argument the day before, she thought it better not to push the issue, so she retired to her room and penned a short letter to Mr. Sperry. But upon attempting to send it, she found no one willing to do so without Lord Tarrington’s permission. At least in the country the servants had an affinity—a loyalty of sorts—for her and might have helped her. But not here.
The man was not even physically present, yet he was keeping a firm control on her life. It was more than aggravating.
Thursday was similarly overcast. The heavens seemed to threaten to open and soak the earth at any moment. And so, Lydia awaited the missive that would surely come from Lord Charles or Lord Berkeley to inform her that they would not be able to take their ride. But no such correspondence came.
Instead, at nearly half past twelve, a low phaeton pulled to a stop in front of Lord Tarrington’s townhome.
Her guardian, who had been sitting at the back of the drawing room with a newspaper—as he perfected the art of ignoring his ward—looked up at the telltale sounds of a carriage. “And who is that?”
Ah yes, Lydia had yet to tell him. Was it pointless to hope that he might forbid the outing? “It is Lord Berkeley and Lord Charles.”
He set his paper aside, that same gleam from days before entering his eyes. “Excellent. You be on your best behavior.”
She would do anything but, at least when Lord Tarrington was not watching her.
“Remember. Do not speak of your past. This is a chance at a match far beyond what you could hope for. Do not squander it.”
The butler announced Lord Charles, who entered the room beaming. His smile did not fall as it took in her guardian; in fact, it grew larger. “Lord Tarrington,” he said, “thank you for letting us borrow Miss Faraday today.”
Lord Tarrington nodded. “In the future, you will send all invitations to me.”
Lord Charles did not seem to find anything amiss in this, though it made Lydia clench her teeth a little more. “Certainly.” He turned to Lydia, who was attempting to withhold a scowl aimed at her guardian. “Are you ready to depart?”
“Indeed.” Anything to escape this home. She started toward him as he held out his arm. There was no sizzling sensation when she placed her hand on his jacket. No unruly butterflies taking flight in her stomach. She did not feel uncomfortable, to be sure, but she did not feel much of anything at all, which was a good thing—she would be better able to put the man off if she was not clouded by feeling.
Together, they exited the house. Lord Berkeley stood stiffly beside the phaeton, watching their approach. The butterflies took flight. When her gaze met his, he nodded a greeting. She could not help scanning his face for some amount of emotion, but there was none.
Lord Charles helped Lydia onto the front seat, and Lydia purposefully kicked at some mud as she pushed from the ground, splattering Lord Charles’s trousers.
