The maid nodded and sped off. Lydia stood and glanced down at herself as she smoothed her skirts. Heart racing, she did a quick calculation in her head. How long had it been since she’d seen him? Four, no,fiveyears, give or take a month or two. What on earth was he doing here? The thought of seeing him again stirred up a messy concoction of feelings, not all of them welcome.
The muffled tones of a man’s voice drifted into the room accompanied by an uncharacteristic giggle from Doyle. Lydia held her breath as the door opened and Bertram Truscott, the boy who had once held her heart, strode into the room. Behind him, Doyle waggled a brow at Lydia. “I’ll fetch some tea,” she said, and then backed out, closing the door after her.
Lydia opened her mouth to offer a greeting, but her voice failed her. The boy was now a man. Bertram, meanwhile, paused midway across the floor, regarding her as if disbelieving the reality of her presence. A frown flickered briefly across his brow, and his smile first faded before slowly returning, broader than ever. Though he looked much as Lydia remembered, the passing years had chiseled the masculine lines of his face and added muscle to body and limb. His rich, brown hair was, as always, immaculately groomed, his jaw clean-shaven. He’d been good-looking as a youth. As a man, he was devastatingly handsome.
“Lydia!” Still smiling, he moved forward and took her hands in his. How long had it been since she’d heard her name on his lips? Felt the touch of his hands on hers? Much to her dismay, he still possessed the ability to set her pulse racing and weaken her knees. “My darling girl, what a delight this is. It’s been too long. Far too long. Good God, look at you. More beautiful than ever. Exquisite. Absolutely exquisite.”
“Bertie!” Lydia gazed into his familiar hazel eyes and squeezed his hands lightly. “I cannot believe you’re here. When did you get back to England?”
“Docked in London yesterday, actually, but I needed a day to rest and freshen up before seeking you out.” He raised her right hand to his lips, letting his kiss linger a moment. “Oh, my sweet, sweet Lydia, it is so good to see you, but before anything else is said, please accept my condolences for the loss of your parents. A client of your father’s in the Harbor Master’s office told me about them. I’m so sorry. I wish I’d been here to help you through it all.”
“Thank you. It has been a difficult time.” Lydia swallowed over a sudden lump in her throat and gestured to the nearby settee. “Sit, please. I’m sure I need to. The shock of seeing you has turned my limbs to water. It has been, what, five years since we were last together?”
“Five years, two months, and fifteen days today,” Bertram replied, taking his seat beside her. “Though it seems longer.” The frown reappeared. “I have missed you, Lydia.”
Lydia couldn’t help but voice the single most enduring thought in her head. “You said you’d write, Bertie.”
“I did write.” He winced and scratched his head. “Did you not receive it?”
“Are you referring to that single, solitary letter?” she replied, trying not to laugh at the sorry expression on his face. “Yes, I received it. About six months after you left, I believe, and not a word since.”
“To my shame.” Another wince. “But in my defense, if you read that first letter, you’ll understand why there wasn’t a second.”
Lydia surrendered to laughter. “It was rather brief, I must say.”
“Brief?” Bertram frowned and stroked his jaw. “It was an entire paragraph, written with heart and soul. Took me ages.”
“And I kept it,” Lydia replied. “It’s tucked away in a drawer somewhere.”
“I’ve kept all of yours as well.”
“Eight of them, I believe. I stopped writing after that. Papa assured me you were still alive, if only because we hadn’t heard otherwise. Might I remind you, on the day you left, you told me you’d be back soon.”
Bertram shook his head. “My apologies. It sounds cliché, but I have been incredibly busy. Besides, I’ve never been good at putting romantic words on paper. I’d much rather say them in person. That being so, please know I have missed you dreadfully, thought about you often, wondered how you were and what you were up to. I’m hoping, now I’m here, we might catch up on the passing years. I have much to tell you.”
Lydia felt a tug on her heart, a heart which now belonged to someone else. Still, she could not deny the pleasure of seeing Bertram again. She could only hope he wasn’t seeking anything more than a renewal of friendship. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band, but then, not all men did. She asked the question that potentially held the answer. “How long will you be in England?”
“About a month.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Maybe a bit longer. It all depends.”
On what?Lydia knew the answer and felt another tug on her heart. The sooner he knew the truth the better.
The door opened and Doyle entered with a tea tray. “Shall I pour, Miss Lydia?”
“No, thank you, Doyle.” Lydia rose to her feet. “I’ll do it.”
“No milk for me,” Bertram said, after the maid had left.
“Sugar?”
“Just a sprinkle.”
Lydia nodded. “Biscuit?”
“Please.” He rose and came to her side, took his cup, helped himself to a biscuit, and sat down again. “I feared you’d be married,” he continued. “Is it wrong of me to say I’m delighted that you’re not?”
Lydia’s cup and saucer rattled as she set it down on the small table nearby. “As direct as ever,” she said, taking her place beside him.
“I don’t see the point of drawing things out.” He cocked his head. “Well? Are you promised?”
