When Jeremy emerged, he was holding a bundle of…
Clothing.
“Here, why don’t you try this one?”
Lydia loosened her hold as Jeremy assisted the child out of the oversized flimsy jacket he’d been wearing and into a properly sized woolen one. He then promptly wrapped a scarf around Ollie’s little neck.
Lydia rolled her lips together, nearly overwhelmed by the urge to cry. Grateful for, and a little stunned by Jeremy’s gesture,she watched Ollie scoop his old jacket off the ground and take a step backward.
“No more slamming into ladies, understand?” Jeremy pinned his gaze on the boy, who was looking more than a little surprised by this turn of events. “And don’t go stealing from them either.”
“Aw wite, mister.” And then, eyes darting between the two of them one last time, he bolted, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.
Coachman John, driving one of the Blackheart carriages, chose that moment to pull up behind Jeremy’s less-pretentious-looking one.
“This is my ride.” She gestured, staring up at him, feeling awkward all of a sudden.
He glared back at her with cold eyes. “Go home, Lydia,” he growled. “And don’t come back alone. If I discover otherwise, you won’t see a pence of my money.”
But she found herself biting back a grin. “Thank you, Jeremy,” she said, walking backward toward the second carriage.
“Go home, Lydia.”
OPENING HEARTS
The following day, Lydia sat across the room from her aunt in the drawing room, staring down at a book but not comprehending any of it. Not for the first time, the memory of Jeremy aiding little Ollie the day before played itself over in her mind.
He had provided immediate warmth to a child in need, and she refused to believe that austerity and indifference were all that remained of his character.
True, he’d not once smiled as he helped the boy into the new coat; he’d been clenching his jaw, and his eyes had been stern the entire time.
But his action had gone beyond charity. Compassion had fueled it. Not that there was anything wrong with donating funds—the orphanage would be quite dependent upon that sort of generosity. But surely, seeing the wonder in Ollie’s eyes had to have touched him?
It was terrifying, and perhaps foolish, but she refused to give up on the man she knew he was meant to be. His actions the day before had strengthened her hope.
Hope that he could come to respect her affectionately once again, but more importantly, hope that he would thaw, thathe could appreciate that life consisted of so much more than tragedy and loss.
“A visitor for you, my lady.” Mr. Hill stood in the open doorway of her favorite drawing room. “Lord Tempest.”
Even though he’d told her he would come, her heart jumped while Aunt Emma merely nodded from where she sat knitting near the window.
“Excellent. Send him up, and could you have Mrs. Duckworth bring some tea?”
They were to discuss the plans, and then later, drive to the warehouse so that she could answer any questions he had.
A shiver of anticipation danced down her spine.
Jeremy appeared in the doorway, the plans she’d sent over rolled up in one hand, and then bowed. “Lady Lydia.” He turned to her aunt. “Lady Emma, I hope you are well.”
Aunt Emma, who was nearsighted, but not blind, and only partially deaf, held her opera glasses to her eyes. “As well as anyone my age can expect. You’ve certainly made yourself scarce. Come here, my boy, so I can get a look at you.”
Lydia bit back a smile as she watched this proud man bow over her aunt’s hand. She was secretly pleased that her aunt treated him no differently than she had all his life.
“You’ve lost weight. Worrying about your mother, no doubt. How is Lady Tempest? Dreadful business, this growing old. And do sit down. My neck’s going to get a crick looking up at you like this.” Before Jeremy could answer, she turned to Lydia. “Lydia, my dear, you and I will make it a point to visit Lady Tempest later this week. You will find time to come with me in between all this orphanage business of yours.”
Lydia nodded but watched to see if Jeremy would provide any more details than he had the day before.
“She is fragile,” he said softly as he took a seat on the opposite end of the settee where Lydia sat. Turning toward Lydia’s aunt,he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She may not recognize you. Most days, she doesn’t know me from Adam.”
