Page 26 of No Match for Love (Regency Love Stories)

“But she is a favorite with Lord Tarrington’s tenant families.” Again, Lord Berkeley offered information that she would not have expected him to recall.

Lady Bowcott smiled at that. “Do you miss them?”

Lydia relaxed. Here was something she could speak of easily, and she was grateful that Lord Berkeley had managed to steer the conversation in such a way. “I do. Many of them have become like family to me.” Though Lord Tarrington would be wroth to hear her admit it.

Lady Bowcott nodded sympathetically. “I did not have many close relationships, nor do I have any siblings myself, but I always wanted them. For a time, James was like a brother growing up. We lived near each other in our youth.” She looked to her husband, who made a face.

“I hope you do not see me as a brother any longer.”

Lady Bowcott swatted at him. “I do not think you need an answer to that.”

“No, please, explain to me all the ways you do not see me as your brother now.” He folded his arms, raising a brow at her.

Color entered her cheeks. “You are incorrigible.”

He nodded. “And? Devilishly handsome?”

Her cheeks were growing even more red, but she lifted one shoulder in a sort of nonchalant manner. “I suppose you’re that too.”

“That will do for now. I expect the rest of your list when—”

She swatted at him again. “Do not finish that sentence.”

He held her gaze, but then the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “As my lady commands.”

Lady Bowcott shook her head, then, cheeks still pink, turned a flustered look to Lydia. “I apologize. I promise we are usually better company than this.”

Lord Berkeley leaned close to her and offered, in not quite a whisper, “They are always this way, actually.”

Lydia tamped down the sensation of warmth his nearness had elicited. “Have you all known each other long?” She included them all in her question, but the men remained silent, allowing Lady Bowcott to respond.

“Lord Berkeley and James have known each other since school. James and I married not quite two years past. That is when I met Lord Berkeley.” She nodded to the man. “Have you met Sir Henry yet?”

Lydia shook her head. Was she supposed to have?

“Miss Faraday has spent more time in Charlie’s company than in mine,” Lord Berkeley offered, a certain weight to his words that Lady Bowcott clearly understood as her brows rose in understanding.

Understanding of what, Lydia hadn’t a clue. Because truly, she’d spent more time with Lord Berkeley, not his brother.

“Well.” Lady Bowcott turned back to her. “Sir Henry is the third of these three friends, and more than a little... entertaining to be around. If you ever get the opportunity.”

Lydia was unsure what exactly to say. “I would love to meet him.”

The carriage came to a stop and rocked as a footman jumped to the ground before opening the door.

Lord and Lady Bowcott exited first, then Lord Berkeley, who offered his hand to Lydia.

She took it, releasing it as soon as possible.

He looked at her intently for a moment after she pulled her hand from his, but then her gaze was arrested by the scene in front of her.

A green lawn sloped downward from where their carriage had stopped.

Sun broke through the clouds to glint off the large expanse of water where the lawn ended.

“We are traveling by boat. It is a far faster way to reach Richmond Park, where we will be picnicking,” Lord Berkeley said, watching her.

The boat was of ample size, though not overly large. The front had seats in which several oarsmen already sat, and Lady and Lord Bowcott were situating themselves with another gentleman and lady. The back had a shaded portion, and the whole of it rocked as it sat in the shallow parts of the water.

Excitement warred with apprehension within her.

Lord Berkeley looked between her and the boat. “My brother planned the excursion. I assumed he had explained it to you?”

She shook her head. “He arranged it with Lord Tarrington. I’d heard nothing of it until this morning.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “He should have informed you. Do you object to the boat?”

“I have never been in a boat.” Not even a small one, as Lord Tarrington’s estate had no body of water. She turned to him. “It is safe?”

“Very much so.” He pointed out to the river.

“You see? It is a favorite travel option for picnickers and traders alike.” The river was indeed peppered with many boats, all of which were upright.

Not a single one seemed intent on dumping its passengers in the river.

And yet... it was a very large river.

Was it deep as well? It must be. She was suddenly aware of how very much she did not know about how to swim.

What would she do if she found herself deposited in the water? Did people naturally float?

“Miss Faraday? We can go by carriage if you prefer.”

She jolted herself from her fatalistic thoughts. “No. No, this will suit. I apologize for holding up the procession.” She forced one foot forward, but Lord Berkeley’s hand on her arm stopped her. She stared at his hand for several seconds before looking up.

His head was ducked down, his eyes intent on hers. “We truly can go by carriage.”

She swept aside his concern, if indeed that was what she saw a hint of in his expression. She’d never balked from a challenge yet. Perhaps by the end of the day, she would have learned, of necessity, how to swim. That would be... beneficial to her existence, would it not?

Probably not, but she was choosing to look on the positive side of things. “No, this will suit,” she said again.

His eyes kept hers for another couple heartbeats. Or several heartbeats, as hers seemed to be moving at a faster-than-normal pace. Then he nodded, straightened, and gestured to the boat.

The bank of the river was slick beneath her boots, and she was glad that Jones had suggested them, neither of them knowing exactly what activities Lydia would be engaging in that day.

Lord Berkeley held her elbow as she grasped the hand of an oarsman to gain her footing in the boat.

Floors should not move—it was not natural.

Yet the one beneath her seemed to be making it a life goal to send her onto her backside.

Lydia had barely managed to keep her feet upon the floor when Lord Berkeley stepped in beside her and the boat swayed beneath his weight. There was nothing to be done; her backside desperately wished to meet the ground, and so it did.

The air was knocked out of her as she fell between two seats.

Immediately, wetness began seeping through her dress.

A general gasp of concern came up from the back of the boat, and several oarsmen rushed to her sprawled person, but Lord Berkeley was fastest of all, stooping and grabbing both her upper arms to haul her back to her feet.

She had better be careful, or he might think her clumsy. No, he probably already did.

“Are you well?” he asked.

She tried to laugh off her discomfort. “I was worried I might fall out of the boat. I did not anticipate getting wet while in it.”

He looked down to the bottom of the boat, where a small amount of standing water remained that had not soaked into her skirt. “You still do not wish to take a carriage?”

“And attempt to get out of this death trap? No, thank you. With my luck, I will certainly fall in now.”

The corner of his mouth definitely twitched then. “Here, let me see you to a seat. Would you like to sit in the shade?”

“I think I may dry more quickly in the sun.” And gain more freckles, but she would deal with Jones’s ire over that later.

He helped her to sit then introduced her to the remaining members of their party.

“This is Lord Charleton, whom you met last night, and Lady Teresa.” Lord Berkeley gave no indication of what the relationship with the latter might be, but Lydia smiled at each in turn.

After not receiving a smile back from Lady Teresa—or, not one that appeared more sneer than pleasure— she assumed it was because there was not a particularly close one.

At least, Lydia hoped not. Because the way Lady Teresa proceeded to scrutinize her made Lydia feel more than a little unwanted.

“How long do we anticipate we will be waiting for Charlie, do you say?” Lord Charleton asked with an air of amusement.

“He is not feeling well today,” Lord Berkeley returned.

“Not feeling well? I daresay it is last night’s adventure. I swear he—” The man looked around, taking in his company, and cleared his throat. “He seemed a bit peaky then. So he will not be joining us?”

Lord Berkeley shook his head.

“Bad luck. I shall tell the oarsmen we are prepared to leave then.”

The man navigated the few rows to the men in question with far more finesse than Lydia had managed, leaving silence in his wake—for a moment, at least, until Lady Teresa inclined her body toward Lord Berkeley, evidently attempting to begin a private conversation.

Lydia looked forward, not wanting to intrude.

Well, she should not want to intrude, though in truth, that was exactly what she would like to do.

“Your mother’s ball was a massive success, as usual.”

Lord Berkeley said nothing, and Lydia’s small peek in their direction showed him nodding his head.

“I called on her the following day with my mother and was told the family was not at home.”

“Indeed. We were not.”

Lydia felt a burst of success. That day, Lord Berkeley and Lord Charles had been to visit her .

“Well... We left a card.” Lady Teresa’s proper, almost stiff, voice faltered.

“I am certain my mother will return the visit. She has been more than a little busy with engagements.”

“Yes. I imagine so. One such as herself must have no lack of social commitments.”

Lord Berkeley only nodded again.

Lord Charleton returned then, smiling broadly. “Onward we go!” he declared with gusto.

The boat pulled forward, not so much jerking as pushing Lydia gently backward. She gripped her seat with both hands nevertheless. One could not be too safe. She really did not want to end up in the water, no matter how unlikely that seemed with how high the sides of the boat were.

Lady Teresa had shifted her attention to Lord Charleton upon his return to her side, leaving Lord Berkeley and Lydia sitting in silence.

She should have asked how long the trip would be.

Maybe she ought to have sat back in the shade with Lord and Lady Bowcott.

The murmured tones of their conversation indicated that they were not lacking anything to say.

Though she was so fixated on the sensation of gliding over water far faster than she’d anticipated that she wasn’t certain she would have had much to say regardless of her conversation partner.

Lydia looked out over the water. Terrifying as the current situation was, it really was beautiful.

The water reflected the light of the sun, and buildings from small to grand peppered both sides of the river, the river that still seemed enormous and that held unknown depths and sea life.

She clenched her eyes shut against that thought.

“Are you well?” Lord Berkeley’s deep voice murmured beside her.

Her eyes flew open. “It’s very beautiful.”

A single, low chuckle reached her ears. “Yes, you must have been able to tell with your eyes wide open as they were.”

He likely did not intend it as a challenge, but she took it as such and straightened her back. “I was simply enjoying the feel.”

“It is a very different sensation.”

“Much as I imagine riding on a horse would be.”

“Have you never ridden a horse either?” Surprise laced his tone. It was minor, but she heard it.

“No.” Lord Tarrington had kept only a few, and Lydia had not been granted either permission nor instruction to ride them.

“Hmm.” He said no more, lapsing into what Lydia was now well aware to be usual silence for him.

“We are going to Richmond Park, you said?” she asked, drawing him back into conversation, as if by speaking on basic topics he would suddenly decide to share all of his mysterious secrets.

He nodded.

So, evidently, she was not actually drawing him into conversation.

“Do you often accompany your brother on such excursions?”

His eyes met hers. He shook his head. Something in that made the butterflies take wing again.

“I am sorry you have been so often dragged about as of late, then.”

His gaze did not waver. “Do not be.”

What did that mean?

She lowered her voice, trying for another strain of conversation. “How is, ah, Mr. Trenway?”

His throat worked before he answered. “In a bad way, but he will pull through.”

She was about to ask another question when she happened to look behind and see Lady Teresa watching them with hawk-like intensity.

Whatever the woman was gathering, Lydia did not want Lord Berkeley’s secrets to be part of it.

Nor did she wish to be on the wrong end of wagging tongues, so she instead joined Lord Berkeley in his preferred silence, watching as the city glided by on the banks of the Thames, replaced by more and more fields.

The swaying, pulling feeling of being on the water had a similar sensation to that of the butterflies residing in her midsection.

It was not unpleasant though. Frankly, neither were the butterflies, except in regard to the fact that their mere presence meant the promise of disappointment. For two reasons.

One: She could not marry, or else she wouldn’t receive her inheritance.

And two: Lord Berkeley was the catch of the Season.

The likelihood of him seeing potential for a romantic relationship between them was laughable.

Even if he did, she knew enough about the workings of Society to know that she would be labeled a fortune hunter, a social climber, and all other sorts of derogatory names.

Names that would then attach to her children and. ..

And ultimately, it was not worth her time to even think on it. By all accounts, a relationship with Lord Berkeley was not plausible.

It was better for her to reach for opportunities actually within her grasp.

Security for her future was more important than chasing romantic dreams. And that meant forgetting the heir to a marquessate and focusing on making her own way—with her grandfather’s inheritance and a future of her own choosing.