Page 32 of No Match for Love (Regency Love Stories)

Lydia rehearsed her speech in her mind as she stood outside the darkly stained door to Lord Tarrington’s study. For the first time in days, when she’d asked the housekeeper, she’d been informed that he could be found out of his room. Which meant it was time to make good on her plan.

She lifted her hand and rapped twice on the door before she could change her mind. This was the right choice.

“Come in,” her guardian called, his voice sounding scratchy.

She pushed the door open.

He flicked a glance at her then continued flipping through some papers. “Yes?”

She did not sit, but he did not stand. Clearly, he did not respect her enough to even come to his feet for her. No matter. That may help her in her endeavors, even.

“I would like to reiterate my request to return to Tarrington Park.”

“No.” His eyes ran down one page then he grabbed another. “You are well on your way to a match with Lord Charles. I will not send you home now.”

“Lord Charles told me in no uncertain terms that he does not wish to court me.”

Lord Tarrington’s hands stilled, but this time when he looked up, his brows were pulled down in anger. “And you did not tell me this?”

“It was just yesterday.”

“I should have been informed immediately.” He dropped the papers. “What did you do to alienate him? Thunderation, this ruins everything!”

Lydia lifted her chin at his outburst. “I did everything you asked me to. He does not wish to marry now.”

Lord Tarrington opened and closed his hands above the desktop as if looking for something to grab. Lydia took another step back. She’d never seen him this way. Almost crazed. “I apologize. I did all I was supposed to.”

His eyes locked on hers. A vein was pulsing in his forehead. Then his anger broke. “You did nothing! You’ve ruined everything! You—” He cursed, pushing from his seat and pointing to the door. “Go! I’ll find another suitor, I’ll fix—” A cough cut him off, but he managed a second, “Go!”

She turned from the man with alacrity, not bothering to close the door behind her.

She nearly ran to the stairs and up them.

Her hands shook as she glanced back over her shoulder, half certain he would follow to continue his diatribe.

He’d never spoken to her like that—never spoken to anyone like that, at least as far as she’d heard.

Her steps felt uneven, as if the shaking from her hands was moving through the rest of her, making her incapable of basic movements. She forced herself to slow, taking even breaths in an attempt to steady herself.

Now, not only was she stuck in London even still, but she seemed to have pushed Lord Tarrington even deeper into his plans to marry her off. Why was her marriage so important that he would risk his health? Why could he not give her even an ounce of freedom?

Her heart rate slowed, but anger was filling the space where fear had resided.

Why could this man not give her even a hint at his reasoning?

She was a grown woman. She’d been taking care of herself perfectly well without him for years, but he expected her to be happy with his sudden interest in her marriage and no explanation as to why?

It was beyond aggravating—it was disparaging.

She needed an escape. She needed to do something, go somewhere, fix her circumstances.

But she hadn’t a clue what she could even do.

Her first thought was of Lord Berkeley. Surely he would help her—unless he had washed his hands of her now that Lord Charles had ended their relationship.

If help was not to be had, perhaps she could help someone else. That was certain to calm her, to help her think straight.

The children. Fanny, George, and Anne. She’d never been able to see them personally, and helping them could only help her forget her own ridiculous circumstances.

She burst into her room, startling Jones. “I should like to see the children from the street. Can you lay out my walking dress?”

Jones crossed her arms. “No, and I will not accompany you.”

Lydia watched Jones with exasperation. Even her own maid was always bent on bossing her around. “It is a quick errand.”

“Lord Tarrington would not approve.”

“Lord Tarrington does not care where I go or what I do.” He’d just told her to go, after all. She was just taking him literally.

“That is ridiculous. And I told you not to make promises to those children.”

Lydia stared her down, but her maid was not to be swayed. Why could she not have been assigned a docile, friendly woman to attend her? What a difference that would have made. “Very well, Jones. I will not force you.”

Jones heaved a sigh. “Thank you.”

“I will just ask a footman to attend me.”

Jones’s relief turned to exasperation as she threw her hands up. “Do as you please.”

That was essentially permission, and even if it had not been, Lydia hardly cared. She was already in as bad a predicament as she could be in this household, and that knowledge gave her a bit of disregard for what would anger her maid.

In hardly any time at all, Lydia had a basket made up and was off searching for a footman.

Admittedly, she might have been a bit overzealous in her packing of the food.

The thing was heavier than a laundry tub—which was perfect.

It was hard to be angry when one was focused on not dropping a several-ton basket on one’s feet.

She reached the entrance hall in the same moment that a footman was exiting it.

“You!” she called.

He turned, bowed, and stood waiting for her request.

She infused her next words with command, not willing to accept the fact that he might say no. “I need accompaniment on a quick errand.”

The footman’s eyes shifted to the side then snapped back to her. She lifted her chin. After another moment of hesitation, he nodded. “I will call a carriage.”

“Thank you.”

It was not long before the footman was opening the door for her.

Lydia was rather surprised that it had been that easy.

Even more surprising, though, was the fact that just as Lydia stepped out the front door, Jones came running into the hall.

She came to an abrupt stop, looked over Lydia’s shoulder at the waiting carriage, sighed, and gestured to her to continue.

Then, shockingly, she followed, harrumphing all the way and muttering about propriety and ladylike manners.

The carriage was silent within, as Jones was studiously ignoring Lydia’s eye, but before long, they arrived at the location Lydia had given the driver.

Lydia pushed the door open with a questioning look to Jones. The woman seemed torn for a minute then shook her head. “I will wait here.”

“Very well.”

She hefted the basket out, closed the door, and lifted her eyes to scan the street for the entrance to the children’s home.

Storefronts faced the street, but Lydia did not see a sign for the pawnbroker.

She began walking along the cobbled road, arm already growing numb from the weight of the basket.

She shifted it closer, trying to put some of the heft onto her hip.

There was the sign, beside a gap in the stores. The pawnbroker’s shop—with dusty windows and a poorly swept front. Her feet sped up, and she was nearly to the alley when some called for her.

“Miss Faraday!”

Her head spun at the familiar voice. She met the caller’s eyes. “Lord Berkeley?”

He slowed from his jog—had he just run after her? Her heart tripped over itself.

“Is everything all right?” she asked when he stopped a few feet from her.

“Yes.” He was hardly breathless, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks, and his hair was windswept. “Yes, it is only that I saw you and I... I wanted to ensure you were well.”

She cocked her head. “I...” She was not, really.

When she did not answer, he added, “I heard that Charlie, ah—”

She nodded, cutting him off. “Thank you for your help in that.”

His brow furrowed a moment then he said, “It occurred to me that Lord Tarrington might not take to the information of the failed courtship well.”

“No. Indeed he did not.” She repressed a shudder at the thought.

A carriage rumbled down the road beside them, and a couple was moving up the walk their way. Lord Berkeley guided her just within the alley.

“He has declared that he will find someone else to marry me off to.”

Lord Berkeley’s mouth turned into a grimace. “That is not ideal.”

Lydia laughed at the understatement. “Not in the least. I will figure something out though. I keep attempting to convince him to leave London, but he will not see reason.”

An unidentifiable expression crossed his face. He looked around all of a sudden.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to keep you from your errands.”

She lifted the basket she was carrying. “I am only delivering a basket to the children. I was hoping to focus on someone besides myself today.”

“Fanny and her siblings? Might I join you?”

Her brows rose. Despite the end of their association through Lord Charles, he still wanted to spend time with her? The thought made her chest expand, pushing aside some of the hollowness that had filled her since her conversation with Lord Tarrington.

“Yes. Of course.”

He led the way down the small alley, fishing for something in his pockets. He held out a few candy sticks.

“Ah,” she said, “so that is how you’ve earned their love?”

Half his mouth lifted in a smile—sending her heart into an uproar—before he stopped in front of a door and knocked twice.