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Mr. Bennet coolly observed: “From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced.”

—Pride and Prejudice

LYDIA COULDN’T QUITE believe it. She’d met the King of England, and he’d spoken to her. “Perhaps I shall give all Georges a second chance. For King George IV was such a gracious host that I am now convinced I can no longer hate every man named George.”

Chloe let out a trill of laughter as the footman opened the front door for them.

Thomas smiled at Lydia. “And I am greatly relieved that my parents did not name me George.”

Chloe giggled again, and Lydia threw back her head and laughed.

Her charge entered the house first, and Thomas gestured with a hand for her to go next.

Instead of walking in front of him, Lydia grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

Looking at him, her heart felt so light that her feet barely touched the ground.

“Grandmother, what are you doing here?” Chloe asked.

Instinctively, Lydia dropped Thomas’s hand, and her eyes turned to see an older woman sitting erect in an invalid chair.

Her gown was an unrelieved black, her hair a snowy white, and her face a map of grim lines.

Lydia tried to see if the woman had any resemblance to Thomas in her features but couldn’t.

Perhaps because the dowager had no kindness in her facial expressions.

The older woman hit the wheel of her invalid chair with the stick in her hand.

“That impertinent question is no way to treat an elder or your grandmother, Chloe. I should have insisted that you attend finishing school and learned proper behavior rather than staying at home and being educated by your father.”

The color drained from the young girl’s face, and she gave her grandmother a deep curtsy. “I am sorry if I offended you. Good evening, Grandmother.”

Lady Kingston snorted.

Thomas cleared his throat and put a reassuring hand on Lydia’s back. “Mrs. Wickham, may I introduce you to my mother, the dowager Viscountess Kingston? Mrs. Wickham is Chloe’s chaperone.”

Gulping, Lydia grabbed the sides of her skirt and curtsied to her. “It is a great honor to meet you, Lady Kingston.”

The older woman pointed the stick in her hand at Lydia—who couldn’t help but step back, afraid that if she was in reach of the woman, she might try to hit her with it.

Lady Kingston’s eyes narrowed, and Lydia thought that she heard the woman growling at her like an angry dog.

She nearly laughed out loud. It was strange to think that in the same night she would be treated cordially by a king and rudely by a mere dowager .

Lady Kingston moved her stick to Thomas. “Rumors have reached me in Bath of the grossest kind. That my son—a viscount—is thought to be courting a grasping, penniless widow, who has tried to get her claws into the richest man she could. Tell me that it isn’t so, Kingston?”

Lydia’s eyes went to Thomas, whose facial expression was inscrutable. He didn’t say anything. Any humor that she’d previously found in the situation was gone. She wanted him to stand up for her honor.

The dowager rounded again on Lydia, her stick still in the air.

“I have heard all about you, Mrs. Wickham. About your elopement and how your brother-in-law had to pay your late husband a fortune to marry you. That your late husband was shot in a duel of honor because of an affair with a married woman. And that you are a vulgar and silly widow, who not only is penniless but barren. I thought better of your sense, my son. A woman of her ilk is not suitable as either a chaperone to your daughter or a wife.”

Each word felt like a punch to Lydia’s stomach. Her past was mired in scandal and sadness. She’d hoped for a second chance with Thomas . . . for love . . . a family. But her late father was right: Lydia was one of the silliest girls in the country. And silly girls did not get happy endings.

LYDIA LEFT IN a whirlwind of skirts—up the stairs and out of sight.

Thomas ought to have said something instead of standing like a stupid block stuck in his thoughts.

For too long, he’d watched his life as a spectator rather than as a participator, especially in the presence of his authoritative mother.

If he did not act, Lydia might leave and take all the sunshine and happiness she’d brought with her.

“Chloe, will you please call for your grandmother’s servants? It is late and past time that she retired to her room for the evening.”

His daughter nodded and immediately left to ring the bell. Thomas took off his wig.

His mother rolled her invalid chair closer to him. “You cannot dismiss me thus, Kingston. I am not done speaking with you.”

Thomas felt his hands clenching into fists, but he held his temper. “It is my home, and you are a guest, Mother.”

“If only you had come to Bath when I summoned you, then none of this business would have happened. I would have introduced you to proper women of an appropriate age for you to marry. And perhaps Chloe could have found a suitable match as well.”

“What age is appropriate?”

“In their late twenties. The woman you marry must be young enough to still bear you children. You need a son and heir.”

Thomas ran a hand over his prickly scalp. “I have a daughter who will be my heir. And for your information, Mrs. Wickham is two and thirty. Seven years younger than myself and quite an appropriate age for me.”

“She is in no way an appropriate match for my son.”

He wondered if his mother would ever see him as an independent person or if he’d always be a child in her eyes. Thomas was saved answering her by the arrival of her two footmen who carried his mother in her invalid chair up the stairs and to the guest room.

Thomas felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the face of his tearstained daughter. “Grandmother had no right to treat Lydia like that.”

“No, she did not,” Thomas said, putting his arm around Chloe’s shoulders. “But your grandmother was right about one thing—I should like to marry Lydia if I have your permission to do so.” Wiping a tear off her cheek, Chloe said in a thick voice, “You don’t need my permission, Papa.”

“I know, but I should like it all the same. I would not wish to marry any woman who you did not like or could not love as a member of our family.”

Chloe rested her head against his shoulder. “In only one month, Lydia has become the friend and confidante that I have always wanted. And perhaps it is silly to say, but I like who I am when I am with her.”

“Me, too—I mean, I like myself better when I am with her as well.”

His daughter leaned on her tiptoes and kissed Thomas’s cheek. “Then, don’t let Lydia get away, Papa.”

Thomas walked his daughter up the stairs and to her room before sitting outside Lydia’s door—he was determined not to let her get away.

But he needed time to think and to plan.