Harriet’s eyes widened and her teacup halted on its way to her mouth. “What?”
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Lydia shook her head. “But it’s true.Lydia Jane. His company’s flagship. Between you and I, he hinted strongly at marriage but I made it clear my heart belonged elsewhere.”
“Might that be it, Lydia?” Harriet set her teacup down. “Might Ambrose have heard about this fellow?”
Lydia shook her head. “No, absolutely not. Ambrose was still in Nottingham at that time. No one would have heard about it, actually. It was only a brief, private visit. A couple of hours at the most.” She shrugged. “Bertie was always on the move, even as a boy, and things haven’t changed. He’s currently travelingaround the country on business and won’t be back for several weeks. In fact, I fully intend to introduce him to Ambrose.” She heaved a sigh. “Or, at least, I’dintendedto do so.”
“Oh, now, let’s not assume the worst. And we’re back on the subject again.” Harriet glanced at the window. “Have you been outside today?”
“No, not yet.” Lydia followed Harriet’s gaze. “It was raining this morning.”
“Well, it isn’t now. Fancy a walk?”
No, she didn’t. Or maybe she did. Her thoughts and emotions were all over the place. Beneath it all, however, she sensed that whatever she’d shared with Ambrose had changed. She just didn’t know why. “All right.” She drank the rest of her tea and got to her feet. “A walk would be nice. And I shall call on Ambrose in the morning.”
“Why wait till morning?” Harriet replied. “It’s only two o’clock. A walk to calm your nerves, followed by a visit to Pendlewood’s house a little later this afternoon. Have Owens get the carriage ready while we’re out.”
The notion set Lydia’s stomach churning but the constant uncertainty was torturous. She needed answers, and delaying served no purpose. “He might not be home,” she said, her mind toying with different scenarios.
“In that case, my dear,thenyou can leave a note,” Harriet suggested. “He’s obliged to respond to that.”
“Yes, of course.” Lydia nodded. “That’s what I’ll do.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Miss Page ishere, my lord,” Crabtree announced, his voice edged with a touch of wariness. “Are you available for a visit?”
The mere mention of her name caused Ambrose’s heart to skip a beat. Seated at his desk, attending to some long-overdue correspondence, he gripped his pen a little tighter and then set it down, clenching his fist to halt the sudden tremor in his hand. He drew a deep breath and then released it slowly.
“My lord?”
“Is the girl alone?” he asked, without looking up.
“She is, my lord.”
“Put her in the front parlor,” Ambrose replied. “And don’t bother to offer her anything. She’ll not be staying long.”
There followed a brief spell of silence, then, “As you wish, my lord.”
Ambrose almost fired a reprimand at his butler, whose hesitant reply implied disapproval. Instead, he faced the more crucial issue at hand. Lydia Page was here and undoubtedly looking for answers. Had her visit been prompted simply by concern for his lack of contact, or might it be due to a different circumstance? It seemed reasonable to assume word had spread about his recent appearance at the theater. He wondered if MissPage knew about it and who might have told her. Harriet, most likely.
Ambrose drew another deep breath, pushed his chair back, and went to the window, which looked out over his garden. “Damn you,” he murmured, his mind going back to that magical moonlit night several weeks before. How enchanted he had been. Utterly captivated, in fact. Would he ever be able to spend time in his beloved garden without thinking of that night? Perhaps, if he made a few changes. His jaw clenched.A few changes?He’d have to rip the entire garden out. Pave over the whole blasted thing.
“Get a grip, Pendlewood,” he muttered, and lifted his chin, resolved not to show any sign of anger or resentment. Rather, his demeanor had to be that of calm control and nonchalant superiority. Miss Page needed to be reminded of her place. It must be made clear she was an unsuitable match for someone of his societal standing. Hence his decision to end their relationship.
The mantel clock stuck four, drawing Ambrose’s attention. Miss Page could also wait, he decided, till he’d finished his correspondence. He returned to his desk and picked up his pen. Twenty minutes later, fingers cramping, he set his pen aside once more, not having written a single word. If he was to be honest with himself, he dreaded what was to come. For a moment, he considered sending a message to Miss Page, letting her know he was too busy to see her, but he shook off the temptation. The situation needed to be resolved and put behind him, so that he might continue with his future. In need of a little Dutch-courage however, he went to the sideboard, poured himself a brandy, and downed it. Then he adjusted his cravat, tugged down on his sleeves, and headed for the parlor. Pausing momentarily, he then opened the door with a flourish and strode into the room with as much presence as he could muster.
“Miss Page,” he said, as she rose to her feet. “My apologies for the wait. I have rather a full agenda today.”
The smile on her face faltered, no doubt due to his use of the formal address. Frowning, she bobbed a curtsy. “Forgive me, Ambrose. I did not mean to intrude. It’s just that I… well, I had not heard from you since you left for Nottingham and I wondered why. I only found out earlier today that you’d returned to London.”
Ambrose kept his expression impassive and searched Lydia’s face for signs of duplicity, hints of guile, but saw none. Gads, but she was lovely! And her perfume, so sweet. Her hands, however, were meshed at her waist, fingers fiddling. An indication of nervousness, perhaps due to his demeanor. She appeared to be searching his face as well, as if trying to see into his thoughts. “I have missed you,” she said, and reached out a hand.
Fearful her touch might weaken his resolve, Ambrose took a slight step back, and Lydia’s eyes widened as she dropped her hands to her side. “Have I done something wrong, Ambrose?” she asked. “Offended you somehow?”
The temptation to throw her infidelity in her face consumed him. The desire to preserve his pride overcame it. He considered correcting her use of the casual address, but decided to let it go. He just wanted this unpleasant episode over with. “No, Miss Page, not exactly,” he said, with a calmness he did not feel. He even managed an impassive smile. “I should, of course, have enlightened you before now. Been rather distracted since I got back to London, I’m afraid. In any case, the thing is, while I was away, I gave a good deal of thought to our liaison and, given our social differences, I’ve come to the conclusion that we must go our separate ways. It is for the best. I’m sure you understand.”
She inhaled sharply as her hands went back to fiddling at her waist. “Our separate ways?”
