“Indeed. We were not.”
Lydia felt a burst of success. That day, Lord Berkeley and Lord Charles had been to visither.
“Well... We left a card.” Lady Teresa’s proper, almost stiff, voice faltered.
“I am certain my mother will return the visit. She has been more than a little busy with engagements.”
“Yes. I imagine so. One such as herself must have no lack of social commitments.”
Lord Berkeley only nodded again.
Lord Charleton returned then, smiling broadly. “Onward we go!” he declared with gusto.
The boat pulled forward, not so much jerking as pushing Lydia gently backward. She gripped her seat with both hands nevertheless. One could not be too safe. She really did not want to end up in the water, no matter how unlikely that seemed with how high the sides of the boat were.
Lady Teresa had shifted her attention to Lord Charleton upon his return to her side, leaving Lord Berkeley and Lydia sitting in silence. She should have asked how long the trip would be. Maybe she ought to have sat back in the shade with Lord and Lady Bowcott. The murmured tones of their conversation indicated that they were not lacking anything to say. Though she was so fixated on the sensation of gliding over water far faster than she’d anticipated that she wasn’t certain she would have had much to say regardless of her conversation partner.
Lydia looked out over the water. Terrifying as the current situation was, it really was beautiful. The water reflected the light of the sun, and buildings from small to grand peppered both sides of the river, the river that still seemed enormous and that held unknown depths and sea life. She clenched her eyes shut against that thought.
“Are you well?” Lord Berkeley’s deep voice murmured beside her.
Her eyes flew open. “It’s very beautiful.”
A single, low chuckle reached her ears. “Yes, you must have been able to tell with your eyes wide open as they were.”
He likely did not intend it as a challenge, but she took it as such and straightened her back. “I was simply enjoying the feel.”
“It is a very different sensation.”
“Much as I imagine riding on a horse would be.”
“Have you never ridden a horse either?” Surprise laced his tone. It was minor, but she heard it.
“No.” Lord Tarrington had kept only a few, and Lydia had not been granted either permission nor instruction to ride them.
“Hmm.” He said no more, lapsing into what Lydia was now well aware to be usual silence for him.
“We are going to Richmond Park, you said?” she asked, drawing him back into conversation, as if by speaking on basic topics he would suddenly decide to share all of his mysterious secrets.
He nodded.
So, evidently, she was not actually drawing him into conversation.
“Do you often accompany your brother on such excursions?”
His eyes met hers. He shook his head. Something in that made the butterflies take wing again.
“I am sorry you have been so often dragged about as of late, then.”
His gaze did not waver. “Do not be.”
What did that mean?
She lowered her voice, trying for another strain of conversation. “How is, ah, Mr. Trenway?”
His throat worked before he answered. “In a bad way, but he will pull through.”
She was about to ask another question when she happened to look behind and see Lady Teresa watching them with hawk-like intensity. Whatever the woman was gathering, Lydia did not want Lord Berkeley’s secrets to be part of it. Nor did she wish to be on the wrong end of wagging tongues, so she insteadjoined Lord Berkeley in his preferred silence, watching as the city glided by on the banks of the Thames, replaced by more and more fields. The swaying, pulling feeling of being on the water had a similar sensation to that of the butterflies residing in her midsection. It was not unpleasant though. Frankly, neither were the butterflies, except in regard to the fact that their mere presence meant the promise of disappointment. For two reasons.
