“Oh, we missedyoujust as greatly. Come now, Lucas, we are going to start some card games.”
Lucas followed behind them, not certain where exactly his emotions stood. He felt strung between several feelings at once. Lingering happiness, stress, concern, even confusion all muddled together. He definitely would not be winning any card games with his mind like this. Perhaps he could escape early and get to the club. He needed to do so as soon as possible.
His eyes followed Miss Faraday as she joined a card table then turned back and beckoned him to join her.
Or perhaps he would stay a little longer.
Chapter 17
Lydia groaned as she slungher arm over her eyes to block out the sun filtering through her bedroom curtains. She had slept horribly. Her mind had kept her tossing and turning with questions and emotions and general discomfort.
How was Patrick Trenway—the man who had been hurt? How was he connected to Lord Berkeley? And why did every moment spent with Lord Berkeley leave her wanting more? She should not feel that way. Falling for Lord Berkeley was destined to lead to unhappiness—either in heartbreak or in not receiving her inheritance and her freedom.
Jones entered, striding across the room and flinging the curtains aside. Lydia winced.
The woman turned, hands on hips. “If you don’t get up, you’ll be late for your outing.”
Lydia groaned. “What outing?”
“Lord Tarrington says you’ve been invited on an outing with Lord Charles.”
Her brow furrowed. Why had Lord Charles not said anything the night before? How long ago had the invitation even been issued?
Would Lord Berkeley be there?
Slowly, she pulled herself from bed, and in a longer amount of time than usual, she was turned out for the day and settled in the drawing room. It felt strange that life continued on as normal. The upper class had their balls and outings and breakfasts in bed while less fortunate men such as Mr. Trenway were set upon by thugs in the night on the way home from an honest day’s work. She did not like the dichotomy—struggled to make sense of it. Back home, the upper and lower classes were mixed—likely because she was not really one of the upper class. She merelypretended to be as Tarrington’s ward—if what he said about her family was true.
A knock sounded upon the door, and Lydia straightened, pulling herself from her reverie.
“Lord Berkeley,” the butler announced, and before Lydia could even reconcile herself to the fact that, instead of Lord Charles, she would be getting his older brother, Lord Berkeley entered.
His person took up much of the doorway, and she could not help the way her eyes lingered a moment on his shoulders. Much as she should not be, she was fascinated by the breadth of them. No wonder he was such an adept fighter. The man was built like a naval ship.
“My brother has caught a cold,” Lord Berkeley announced stiffly. For some reason, that stiffness made her relax. Perhaps because she knew that there was more to the man than his perfect posture and lack of words. She’d heard him make a dry joke and had even made him laugh. She knew he secretly boxed far from the proper gentlemen’s clubs of London and knew urchin children far below him in status. He was like her in that way, she supposed—crossing the gap between high and low society.
“Poor Lord Charles.” Lydia grasped her hands in front of her. “I hope he recovers quickly.” Despite a measure of disappointment that her time with Lord Berkeley was to be short today, this was the best news because it meant less time to become entangled in Lord Berkeley’s stares.
Well, it was the best news aside from Lord Charles being sick, of course. What malady did he have? Perhaps she could offer instructions for a tisane. Though he was likely being doctored by the best London had to offer; it would be silly for her to even suggest anything.
“Our party is waiting in the carriage,” Lord Berkeley added, though he made no move to leave.
“I will not keep you then.” Lydia curtsied.
Lord Berkeley looked at her curiously. “We would welcome your company.”
Lydia froze mid-curtsy. Her legs did not thank her. “Oh, you needn’t... You do not have to...”
“It is no imposition. My brother extended the invitation, and I do not intend to rescind it.” He glanced at the slightly ajar door then stepped closer. “I also have a letter for you”—he murmured—“from Mr. Sperry.”
Her eyes widened, her hands lifting to take the letter immediately, though he hadn’t yet offered it. He drew it from within his coat and handed it over. The sachet of papers was thick, far thicker than she’d expected. Could it possibly hold answers to all her questions? Every inch of her wished to sit down at that exact moment and read through it.
She was about to decline to go on the outing so she could do just that when Lord Tarrington entered the room with no announcement. Lydia tucked the letter between folds of her skirt and watched him with surprise, but he paid her no heed. His greeting to Lord Berkeley was hardly more than a dip of the head. “You have come to collect Miss Faraday?” he asked.
“Yes,” Lord Berkeley said, but then he looked to her. “If Miss Faraday wishes it.”
“Of course she does,” her guardian announced. Then, with a stifled cough, he leaned against the back of the chair, raising his brow at Lydia. “Have her back by three, though. Mr. Frank Colbert has requested a ride.”
Lydia managed a semblance of a smile when all she wished was to groan. She pressed the letter farther into the folds of her dress, but it seemed to be burning a hole into her palm.
