Chapter 3
“Stop fidgeting.”
Lydia’s fingers froze, though the rebellious side of her wished to keep absentmindedly pulling at the golden thread simply because Lord Tarrington told her not to. Instead, she pulled her hand back and cocked her head at her guardian, who was sullenly looking out the window of the carriage. His graying hair had grown sparser since she’d last seen him two years before. He’d lost weight too, if she was not mistaken, giving him the look of a man older than what she believed his age of perhaps early to midfifties might be.
How pathetic that this man had been her guardian near on twenty years, yet she did not know his age.
But his gruff demeanor she knew well—a mixture of exasperation and annoyance.
“Do you go to a great many balls?” she asked. She could recall the steps it took to reach the center of this man’s walled garden, could greet each of his tenants by name—firstandlast—and could recite just how many bedrooms remained unused in the grand estate, but she did not have any clue how he spent his leisure time. And that didn’t seem likely to change during her visit with him in London. He had hardly spoken two sentences to her since she’d arrived four days past.
That was truly not an exaggeration. One of the sentences had been “The housekeeper will show you your room,” and the other was uttered just moments before when he’d told her to stop fidgeting as they traveled to their very first ball. Perhaps he was selectively mute.
Instead of responding to her question, he grunted.
“Ah. Do you enjoy them?”
He grunted again.
Oh good, now she knew that he could grunt. That was sure to come in useful.
A smarter woman might have stopped there. But Lydia had an inquisitive side—or a side that wished to meet an early death—and she was giving it full rein just then. “Would you say balls are preferable to musicales?”
Another grunt.
“Hmm. Yes, itisa hard question. At a musicale, you could be treated to incredible music... or horrific. At a ball, you could have incredible dance partners or... well, you understand my meaning. Though, I suppose as a man you are entitled to finding your own partners. So perhaps that is preferable to—”
“Do stop.”
Could she consider it a success that he had responded?
“You are giving me a headache, and we have not even arrived.” They were up to four sentences now!
“Would you say you have a weak constitution?”
Lord Tarrington’s icy gaze swept over her from head to toe as the carriage’s slow progress stopped. Lydia met him eye for eye, her mouth turned up in a benign smile.
“Try not to speak too much,” he said, his tone dark. She opened her mouth, but he added, “And do not have any punch. It will certainly hinder your already dismal conversation skills.”
“How am I to make a fantastic match if I do not speak to the man first?” How hard could it be to make it through a couple of dances and minor conversation?
“As I said, it will be to your benefit to remain silent.” Without so much as a nod, he opened the door and exited the carriage.
Lydia pursed her lips and made to follow but froze on the step. Her eyes traveled upward, taking in the large building that was nothing like the lavish town house Lord Tarrington owned. This mansion was multiple times the size, and every window shone with light, which also spilled out the open double doors.Carriages were before and behind their own, each filled with occupants waiting to alight. Conversation and music drifted from the home as people made their way inside.
The candles in the entry hall alone would probably light Lord Tarrington’s tenant cottages for a week. Her hands grasped her dress, creating wrinkles in the pressed silk. She had been sure she would be overdressed, but she was entirely wrong. Some of these women—men too—wore such finery that they shone in the candlelight. If one stood too close, the flames may catch a passerby on fire with only the reflection of the gold thread embroidering their dress.
She did not belong here. She and her poorly bred nature, unknown origins, and lack of social skills. Good heavens, what had Lord Tarrington been thinking bringing her to London after so many years of seclusion?
Her gaze met Lord Tarrington’s disapproving one, and she wiped whatever shock she displayed from her expression.
The line to greet their hosts moved quickly, and quite suddenly, Lydia was being introduced to a “Lord Cheltenham, Lady Cheltenham, and Lord Charles.” Her guardian spoke over her, but it was just as well. For once in her life, she’d been rendered speechless, and she was finding it hard to even commit the names and faces of her hosts to memory. In his letter summoning her to town, Lord Tarrington had made it clear that he expected her to marry and marry well this Season. How could he expect such a thing? With hardly any preparation?
Lord Tarrington propelled her into the ballroom with a push of her elbow, where she was again rendered speechless by the mass of bodies, hundreds of candles, and dozens of bouquets of flowers of every size and color. His coughing at her side had her tear her gaze from the room and settle it on him.
He, however, was surveying the people with a shrewd eye. “It would be better if the Cheltenhams were not stuck speaking withguests. I should like a better introduction to Lord Charles for you than that rushed one.”
“The son of the marquess?”
