“That is ridiculous. And I told you not to make promises to those children.”
Lydia stared her down, but her maid was not to be swayed. Why could she not have been assigned a docile, friendly woman to attend her? What a difference that would have made. “Very well, Jones. I will not force you.”
Jones heaved a sigh. “Thank you.”
“I will just ask a footman to attend me.”
Jones’s relief turned to exasperation as she threw her hands up. “Do as you please.”
That was essentially permission, and even if it had not been, Lydia hardly cared. She was already in as bad a predicament as she could be in this household, and that knowledge gave her a bit of disregard for what would anger her maid.
In hardly any time at all, Lydia had a basket made up and was off searching for a footman. Admittedly, she might have been a bit overzealous in her packing of the food. The thing was heavierthan a laundry tub—which was perfect. It was hard to be angry when one was focused on not dropping a several-ton basket on one’s feet. She reached the entrance hall in the same moment that a footman was exiting it.
“You!” she called.
He turned, bowed, and stood waiting for her request.
She infused her next words with command, not willing to accept the fact that he might say no. “I need accompaniment on a quick errand.”
The footman’s eyes shifted to the side then snapped back to her. She lifted her chin. After another moment of hesitation, he nodded. “I will call a carriage.”
“Thank you.”
It was not long before the footman was opening the door for her. Lydia was rather surprised that it had been that easy. Even more surprising, though, was the fact that just as Lydia stepped out the front door, Jones came running into the hall. She came to an abrupt stop, looked over Lydia’s shoulder at the waiting carriage, sighed, and gestured to her to continue. Then, shockingly, she followed, harrumphing all the way and muttering about propriety and ladylike manners.
The carriage was silent within, as Jones was studiously ignoring Lydia’s eye, but before long, they arrived at the location Lydia had given the driver.
Lydia pushed the door open with a questioning look to Jones. The woman seemed torn for a minute then shook her head. “I will wait here.”
“Very well.”
She hefted the basket out, closed the door, and lifted her eyes to scan the street for the entrance to the children’s home. Storefronts faced the street, but Lydia did not see a sign for the pawnbroker. She began walking along the cobbled road, armalready growing numb from the weight of the basket. She shifted it closer, trying to put some of the heft onto her hip.
There was the sign, beside a gap in the stores. The pawnbroker’s shop—with dusty windows and a poorly swept front. Her feet sped up, and she was nearly to the alley when some called for her.
“Miss Faraday!”
Her head spun at the familiar voice. She met the caller’s eyes. “Lord Berkeley?”
He slowed from his jog—had he just run after her? Her heart tripped over itself.
“Is everything all right?” she asked when he stopped a few feet from her.
“Yes.” He was hardly breathless, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks, and his hair was windswept. “Yes, it is only that I saw you and I... I wanted to ensure you were well.”
She cocked her head. “I...” She was not, really.
When she did not answer, he added, “I heard that Charlie, ah—”
She nodded, cutting him off. “Thank you for your help in that.”
His brow furrowed a moment then he said, “It occurred to me that Lord Tarrington might not take to the information of the failed courtship well.”
“No. Indeed he did not.” She repressed a shudder at the thought.
A carriage rumbled down the road beside them, and a couple was moving up the walk their way. Lord Berkeley guided her just within the alley.
“He has declared that he will find someone else to marry me off to.”
