Page 29 of No Match for Love (Regency Love Stories)

Lord Berkeley escorted Lydia to Lord Tarrington’s door, bowing stiffly to her when the butler opened it. “Thank you for joining us today, Miss Faraday.”

“Thank you for including me.” Almost as an aside, she added, “And do send my well-wishes to your brother. I hope his illness does not linger.”

Lord Berkeley nodded, and this time, he did not catch himself in the action.

Lydia noticed it though, and it felt as if it were a physical example of forgetting their day.

It was like when she would help air out the tenant farmers’ linens.

The dust would coat the air, making it all she could see for a time, until it settled, and it was as if it had never been there.

They had passed a pleasant day—a day she would likely remember for the rest of her life—but now that everything had settled, the small connections they had made didn’t seem to matter much in the grander scope of things.

He was still the heir to a marquessate. And she was still the poor country girl, dressing up in clothing unbefitting her background and needing to avoid marriage to gain her inheritance.

Lydia handed off her bonnet to the butler, pushing back a few of the curls Jones had artfully styled around her face. She recognized the appeal they might add, but honestly, they were more annoying than anything.

Lord Tarrington appeared in the doorway to the drawing room. “Did you display yourself with deportment?”

Lydia thought back to her fall in the boat. And her stumble on the hill. And how she’d said she resented her guardian. “Most definitely. You would have been proud of me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You are too like your father. He never took anything in his life seriously either.”

Lydia stared at him. He’d told her not to bring up her family again, but he had been the one to do so now.

But before she could push the subject, a cough racked his frame.

It was deep and clearly came from his lungs.

Lydia’s mind immediately ran through various maladies that could cause such a cough.

“Are you well?” she asked.

“Well enough,” he grunted, pulling a handkerchief from his coat and pressing it to his lips.

She took a step forward. “Do you need—”

“I do not need anything, girl,” he snapped.

She fisted the hand that had been about to reach out and pressed her lips together. “Very well.”

They watched each other, both stubbornly refusing to look away. At least, that was what Lydia was doing. She would not be cowed, regardless of how menacing her guardian looked when he glared at her in that way.

“I am going out,” Lord Tarrington said at last.

Lydia nodded.

“Colbert will be here for your ride in an hour. Be ready when he arrives.” Then he stalked past her. “And we are attending a musicale tonight.”

Lydia pressed her eyes shut, exhaustion overcoming her at the thought of another outing—more specifically, at the thought of putting off another man.

Then the thought of the letter concealed in her room took hold of her mind, and all weariness disappeared.

One hour was plenty of time to read through it.

Taking the stairs two at a time with her skirt hiked up to remain out of the way, she reached her room. Her eyes scanned the area, grateful that Jones was not inside, before she turned the lock on her door. She crossed the room, opened her trunk, and retrieved the missive.

Hands shaking a bit at the enormity of what she held, she broke the seal.

The first page was a letter.

Miss Faraday,

I must admit, I feel clandestine sending you a letter in this manner, but as you’ve insisted and I trust Lord Berkeley to see it to you, I have made allowances in this case.

Regarding your questions, I have included copies of the documents your grandfather signed, ensuring the legalities of this scenario.

In essence, you have only the one option under which you might obtain your inheritance.

You must await your twenty-fifth birthday, and should you be unwed at that time, you will gain access to your inheritance.

In that circumstance, you will not need to do anything but grow older.

On the day of your birthday, the funds will legally belong to you. I can assist you in accessing them.

There are no physical items attached to the inheritance, but I assure you that you could let a house and live comfortably upon the interest of that amount.

Lydia immediately pulled out the additional documents. Her eyes scanned them, and though she had no legal training or even much understanding in that field, they seemed to be correct and complete.

Finally, heart racing, she dropped the additional papers to her desk and stared at them in amazement.

She was an heiress.

For the first time in her life, there was hope for a future in which she had a say in what happened to her.

Collecting herself, she continued to read.

Regarding your questions of your grandfather, I will tell you all I know, though I apologize in advance that it is so very little.

I did not meet the man—the entirety of our association took place through letters.

I will also add that I know even less of your parents.

I wish I could be of more assistance to you in that regard.

Your grandfather left to pursue his work in India while your mother was attending school.

His wife had passed before this point. At school, your mother met a young man—your father—and presumably fell in love.

When letters to your grandfather apparently went unanswered, they chose to elope to Gretna Green.

By the time your grandfather heard anything, they had been married several months.

He was unhappy, but there was nothing that could be done, and his business could not be left.

He learned of your birth and growth through letters and was immensely excited to meet you, but shortly after your fifth birthday, your parents fell victim to a fever.

Your grandfather was not allowed to see you when he returned home, and not long after, he too died, leaving you the sole recipient of his fortune.

I do believe—and please know that this is conjecture on my part, not fact—that your grandfather must have blamed your mother’s death on something relating to her having married young.

Nothing points to that actually being true, though it does serve as a reason that your grandfather would like you to be older before you marry.

It is possible that your father was related to a family of status, which would account for his additional dislike of lords.

Please advise should you have more questions.

Yours,

Mr. Arthur Sperry

Solicitor

Some of the exhilaration from the first part of the letter faded as she read the final words regarding her parents’ and her grandfather’s deaths. She’d always known she was alone with no one to claim her as family, but seeing it in such neat, black words drove the point home.

She shook off the melancholy as best she could and turned to the question at hand: How was she to forgo marriage until twenty-five?

Would putting off each of her suitors be enough, or would more drastic action be required?

Perhaps she would have to embarrass her guardian enough that he allowed her to return home. But how?

The handle on the door jostled, causing Lydia to jerk up. Ruining some of the perfectly pressed lines in her haste to fold the papers, she stuffed them back into her trunk in the same moment a heavy knock sounded at the door. She pulled the door open to reveal Jones’s exasperated face.

“Why was the door locked?”

“Habit, I suppose.”

Jones pursed her lips but accepted the excuse. “Lord Tarrington indicated you would need to be freshened up before your ride with Mr. Frank Colbert. You ought to have called for me when you first returned.”

“I think I am wonderful just as I am.” Lydia turned to hide the water stain at the back of her gown. It would only help her in turning away Mr. Frank Colbert.

“Well, you are not correct on that front and— Gracious! What did you do with your dress?”

Lydia sighed, accepting her fate and allowing Jones to poke and prod her back into perfection .

***

Lydia took her ride with Mr. Frank Colbert and attended the musicale that evening, viewing everything through the lens of the knowledge held in her letter.

She kicked mud on Colbert—who was not as gracious as Lord Charles had been—attempted to slip in information about her less-than-ideal past, and did not fawn over any of his inflated stories of himself.

At the musicale, she gave up propriety altogether.

She spoke to no one and offered no musical talent to the group.

Lord Tarrington glared at her, and if he hadn’t seemed so sickly, she imagined that when the group turned to a bit of dancing, he would have forced her on to many a man.

But as it was, she simply smiled benignly back at him, and if his huff of frustration were any indication, he found that incredibly endearing.

It was as if she were the opposite of a fortune hunter, and as such, it was rather fun to sit on the side of the dancing couples and experience no anxiety over whether she would fill each of her dances.

Both Mr. Belcher and Mr. Frank Colbert were in attendance.

The former, Lord Tarrington rebuffed for Lydia, having used some criteria known only to himself to deem Mr. Belcher unworthy of pursuit.

The latter paid her kind addresses and asked her to dance, to which she claimed a sore ankle.

No matter how handsome the man was, Lydia felt nothing for him.

And with the freedom to choose, she would choose not to marry until she reached twenty-five.

Then, if she married, it would be for an all-encompassing affection, not simply appreciation of a man’s physical attributes.