Page 15 of No Match for Love (Regency Love Stories)

Lydia met Lord Berkeley’s eyes for the briefest of moments before flicking back to Lord Charles, who was awaiting her answer regarding the outing.

“Certainly,” she said despite a measure of reluctance.

Her gaze traveled between the brothers in front of her.

Every sentence included the use of “we,” but Lord Berkeley did not seem to be truly interested in anything to do with his brother or her.

He had come to his feet, his expression unchanged, but something about him seemed to give off reluctance.

She studied him briefly. Perhaps it was the stiff stance, though that seemed more his personality than anything.

But the pulling of the lips to the side, that belied disagreement, and it might work in her favor.

If she truly was not to marry until twenty-five, she needed to put off any suitors, and if Lord Berkeley did not want to join his brother, that would mean he would be a safe person to be with. Wouldn’t it?

Lord Berkeley’s eye caught hers again, and this time she would swear his eyebrow rose just a fraction at her perusal.

She would have blushed, but she’d never been prone to that sort of outward embarrassment.

Instead, she simply ducked her head, and by the time she looked up again, he had moved his gaze elsewhere.

She bid the gentlemen farewell then sat in the empty room, chin in hand and thoughts whirring.

Whether Lord Berkeley was safe to be around or not wasn’t exactly the solution she needed.

If she was to get her inheritance, she would need more drastic measures than attaching herself to a man who did not desire an attachment.

After all, there were still Mr. Belcher and Mr. Frank Colbert to consider.

Plus Lord Charles and whomever Lord Tarrington saw fit to throw in her path.

No. She needed something more. She needed to be out of the marriage mart altogether.

She needed to convince her guardian to send her home.

A solution decided upon, she went in search of the man in question.

It was an abrupt decision, but she did not need to dwell on it to know that leaving London was her best course of action, so there was no point avoiding the easiest option—simply asking to go home.

If that didn’t work, she’d find another way.

She stepped from the room, head swinging to take in the stuffy, opulent entry hall.

If he was out of his bedroom, he’d likely be in the study.

Her feet padded soundlessly in that direction, the near-silent footfalls the only indication of life in the house.

It was incredibly quiet. Even the servants, of which there were more than a few, hardly made a sound.

Lord Tarrington’s estate was that way too—barren and dull.

A pang of longing for a life filled with more living shot through her.

When she had her inheritance, she would fill her home with people—servants and guests and friends—whoever could provide a bit of.

.. not entertainment, per se, but feeling.

Happiness, maybe. It was unfortunate that she would have to return to the somber atmosphere of Tarrington Park in order to achieve that future.

The silence of the townhome was broken by a loud cough and then several more in quick succession. Lydia had reached the doors to the study, but she waited until the fit of coughing within stopped before she knocked lightly on the door.

A throat cleared then her guardian’s voice rang out. “Come in.”

She stepped inside.

Lord Tarrington did not appear to have suffered from the intense coughing she had heard. His same sullen expression watched her from beneath hooded eyelids. “Yes?” he asked.

She straightened her shoulders. “Lord Tarrington, I do not think London agrees with me.”

His left brow rose infinitesimally.

“I’ve not been feeling well, and I do not think I’ve shown the best of my capabilities... Spilling the punch at my first ball, nearly missing steps in every dance...” She dug deep to find more examples. “Even just now, I could not serve tea without spilling.”

“Who were you serving tea to?” he asked, latching on to the one thing she’d not wanted to draw his attention to.

Lydia pressed her lips together, but there was nothing for it. “Lord Charles and his brother.”

Tarrington sat up straighter. “Lord Berkeley?”

Lydia sighed. “Yes.”

A gleam entered the man’s eye. “Excellent. Have they shown interest in furthering their acquaintance with you?”

“Ah... That is... Well, Lord Tarrington, I really wished to speak with you about returning home.” His mouth opened, but she spoke over him. “Perhaps with more training, I could be more—”

He waved her off. “The marquess’s family has taken an interest in you.

You cannot squander that.” He coughed but leaned forward.

“Do not be overt in your discussions of your background. You cannot risk that family learning that you are the mere daughter of an impoverished gentleman. Lean on our connection, and keep any others hidden.”

“Impoverished gentleman? My father? And who was my mother?”

“A nobody,” Tarrington spat.

Lydia sat, leaning forward. “Who was her family then? His?”

He scoffed. “They were not worth your worry. Didn’t your parents ever tell you any of this?”

Lydia tried not to scoff herself. “I was five when they passed. I do not recall much.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat then focused on the newspaper.

After several long moments of waiting, in which he seemed to hope that she would simply leave, she cleared her throat. “Do I have no other family then?”

With a heavy breath, he leveled his gaze on her. “No.”

That caused an unexpected pain to lance through her chest. That one word seemed to pierce her to her very center, and she hadn’t expected it to. She’d felt alone most of her life, but to have it so succinctly summarized in one harsh word? It hurt.

“No one? Not even a grandparent? Aunt or uncle? Distant cousin?”

“Not that I am aware of.” There was a strange hint of hesitation in his words. “Your father’s parents passed before he did, and your mother’s are gone from the world as well. If you had anyone else to claim you, your rearing would not have been left to me.”

“But why you? What connection did you have with my father?”

Like the shutting of a door, Lord Tarrington’s face became impassive. “It hardly matters. All that matters is that you have a connection to me and my barony, and that will help you marry.”

Lydia ground her teeth. “And if I do not wish to? If I wish to return home?”

“You’ve no say in the matter.”

“I cannot imagine my parents would want me to be watched over by someone not willing to give me a say in my future. Nor to tell me of my past.”

Lord Tarrington looked up, his gaze snapping with anger. Lydia nearly stepped back at the force of it. “Very well,” he said. “You wish to know about your family?” The question sounded almost threatening, but Lydia nodded regardless. She wanted nothing more.

“Your father was an idealistic second son with poorly formed ideas about the world. Your mother? Well, marrying your father was the best thing she ever did. They built a life on dreams—on wishes—and where did that get them? An early grave. They should not have been trusted with their own lives, let alone that of a child—yet here you are, and therefore it is my burden to see that you are married to someone that might manage your future better than you can. There is not much more to tell.” This time, instead of hiding behind his paper, he rose from his seat, bracing his hands on the desk to help him.

“Do not ask me about them again,” he said, passing her without a look. “And you will not leave London until you are married,” he added before leaving her behind.

She did not even turn to watch him go. She stared at the desk in front of her without really seeing it.

Somehow, without telling her hardly anything about them, Lord Tarrington had left her feeling empty.

The way he’d spoken of her family—as if they were worthless and.

.. and stupid. Well, it made her feel worthless and stupid.

But no. No.

One person’s opinion did not equate to truth, certainly not Lord Tarrington’s clearly jaded opinion. It simply meant that he was not the individual to speak to about her past. That was just as well—she had Mr. Sperry. He could tell her what she needed to know. Some of it, at least.

A fire lit within her, utilizing her pain as fuel.

She would not allow this cynical, awful man to dictate her future.

Somehow, she needed a chance to see Mr. Sperry again—soon and alone.

Not only did she want to know more about her family, but she also had to know all she needed to do to gain that inheritance and her freedom from Lord Tarrington.

She was done having her life controlled. She needed freedom.

***

Wednesday morning was dreary, with low-hanging clouds that caused the household to burn candles even during the day.

Lydia was prevented from leaving the home to see either Mr. Sperry or the children from the street by Jones, who threatened to tell Lord Tarrington of her leaving.

After the argument the day before, she thought it better not to push the issue, so she retired to her room and penned a short letter to Mr. Sperry.

But upon attempting to send it, she found no one willing to do so without Lord Tarrington’s permission.

At least in the country the servants had an affinity—a loyalty of sorts—for her and might have helped her. But not here.

The man was not even physically present, yet he was keeping a firm control on her life. It was more than aggravating.

Thursday was similarly overcast. The heavens seemed to threaten to open and soak the earth at any moment. And so, Lydia awaited the missive that would surely come from Lord Charles or Lord Berkeley to inform her that they would not be able to take their ride. But no such correspondence came.