Page 53 of No Match for Love (Regency Love Stories)

Lydia paced in front of the window of her borrowed bedroom, biting her thumbnail as the wan sun finally made its appearance in the sky. Was it too early to go in search of Lucas? Surely he was awake and as anxious as she to sort out everything that had happened the night before.

And then, perhaps once they’d completed that, she might sort out the mess of her future. After he’d kissed her in the carriage, certainly he meant to further their relationship. Even after what Colbert had done to her, he had still wanted her enough to kiss her with such fervor.

Memory of those stolen moments made all coherent thought flee.

She would give up a great deal for the chance of kissing Lucas Berkeley every day for the rest of her life.

Sometime in the night—amid her tossing and turning and inability to sleep despite her exhaustion—that possibility had become a reality.

The idea of forgoing her inheritance and her first-ever chance at freedom still left a twinge of panic in her midsection, but the idea of a life with Lucas was more than enough to blanket that fear with peace.

He would allow her freedom. Loving him would be freedom.

Maybe, just maybe, his parents would sanction the match and . . . and . . .

She needed to speak with him as soon as it was a decent hour to be awake. Several hundred more passes across the room should do it.

A light knock at the door paused her pacing. It would seem that someone in the household was awake. “Come in,” she called, pulling her dressing gown about herself.

A maid peeked her head in. “Apologies, miss. An urgent missive just came for you.” She held out a letter.

Lydia crossed the room to take the missive, curiosity running down her person. “Thank you.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy and left.

Lydia returned to her pacing the moment the door clicked shut, her eyes scanning the front of the letter as her feet wore a trench in the carpet.

Then she froze. Her brows furrowed. The letter was postmarked from Lord Tarrington’s estate, but it did not bear his seal.

She broke the nondescript wax, unfolding the paper.

One single sheet bore only a handful of hurriedly scratched words.

Her stomach bottomed out as she read it through twice in only half a minute.

Miss Faraday,

I regret to inform you that Lord Tarrington passed in the night. Please send word when you intend to return.

Sincerest apologies,

Richard Barrens, steward

Her hand lifted to cover her mouth. The floor beneath her seemed to disappear. Dead. Lord Tarrington was dead.

Since he’d declared a need to leave London, she’d known this would be a possibility, but somehow she thought she would have more time.

Her heart twinged with the fact that the man solely responsible for providing for the bulk of her life was now gone.

She’d had no relationship with him, yet he had been a fixture in her existence practically since she could remember.

And now he was dead.

On the heels of this confusing, upending information came the realization that now someone else held that role, someone she did not know.

Did legal guardianship continue? Did she have anyone to provide for her now?

What would happen in the coming days..

. weeks... even months? Questions she should have asked long before now.

Yet she did not even know to whom she should pose them.

Her heart crumbled a little more at the thought that, if Lucas did not return her affection, she would not have the luxury of waiting until her twenty-fifth birthday to receive her inheritance. She could be out on the streets of London tomorrow, for all she knew.

She could speak to him. If not as a man who might return her affection, she could confide in him as a friend. He would counsel her, help her. Her rapidly devolving emotions latched on to that fact. She had someone who would be by her side; she knew he would be.

Her eyes scanned the letter once more. The steward asked when she would return to the estate. Yes, of course she would be expected to. She was now in mourning, was she not?

A knock sounded at the door yet again. After a moment’s hesitation, she bid the person enter with a great deal of distraction in her voice. The same maid as before peeked her head in. “If you are available, you are wanted in my lord’s study, miss.”

Lydia blinked. Did Lord or Lady Cheltenham already hear that she was now guardian-less?

Would they throw her out? No, of course not.

They were too kind for that. Though after last night, perhaps their kindness was stretched a bit thin.

Lady Cheltenham had not been overt in stating that she knew Lydia had kissed her son, but she had implied it.

She’d not appeared upset though. She’d given Lydia an embrace and asked if she was truly well, then suggested she retire and that they could speak more in the morning.

That must be what it was. Lady Cheltenham wished to discuss Lydia’s lack of propriety where Lord Berkeley was concerned. Lydia took a bolstering breath, meeting the expectant gaze of the waiting maid. “I will be down shortly.”

The maid bobbed another curtsy. “Begging your pardon, but I am meant to bring you down immediately.”

Lydia bit her lip. There was no avoiding it then. She asked the maid to wait outside just a moment. Without calling for Jones, she slipped into a simple gown, doing it up on her own with a bit of difficulty, then exited the room after only a minute or two.

She followed the maid, feeling rather as though she were being led to her demise. Whatever awaited her in the study could not be pleasant. Not once in her stay had she ever been summoned there.

At the study door, she took a bolstering breath. The maid opened it for her then murmured a parting and departed, leaving the door wide. Lydia stepped inside.

The room was empty of all but Lord Berkeley. Her heart jumped in her chest.

He stood behind the desk, hands behind his back. His expression was as inscrutable as ever. More so, actually, because of late she’d flattered herself that she could read even his most stoic expressions.

“I apologize for dragging you from your room, but I had to speak with you before attending my father in concluding our business from last night.”

“Did you discover who was behind the attacks then?”

He nodded once, offering no more. “Please, sit.”

She did so, rather haltingly. He was acting so formally; she did not know what to make of it.

He sat, too, then met her eye. “I need to apologize for the cad-like way in which I treated you last night. I regret my actions entirely.”

Lydia fisted her hands in her lap where he could not see them. “You regret kissing me?” she managed.

He nodded, eyes still on hers but devoid of emotion.

She shifted in her chair. “And if I do not regret kissing you?”

Surprise registered in his face for the merest moment. “Then I apologize even more. I should not... I should not have treated you in that manner.”

“Treated me in what manner? As if you had...” She was flustered, and her hands came unlocked to wave in the air without purpose. “As if you had interest in me? Feelings?”

She was so absorbed in her anxiety that she could not focus to see if his expression changed at all, but his voice did. It was lower, harsher even. “Miss Faraday, whether I have feelings for you or not does not factor into this.”

Her eyes locked on his, narrowed. “Doesn’t it though? Do not our feelings factor entirely into this?”

“No. We must think logically here. What could come of a misplaced kiss in a carriage? Certainly not—”

She cut him off with a scoff. “Misplaced?” She came to her feet. He jerked to his as well.

“I apologize, perhaps that was not the best word.”

She lifted her hand. “No, enough of your apologies, Lucas.” She put emphasis on his name, though it pained her.

Weeks ago, she’d asked him to call her by her first name, but he had not.

That ought to have been her first clue that he wished for no close association with her.

His not saying a word about her willingness to forgo her inheritance for him ought to have been a very large second.

Yet she’d let her thoughts—and her heart—get so far away from her that she could hardly see them any longer.

“Tell me,”—it took every ounce of her courage to keep looking him in the eye—“do you or do you not have any plan to further our relationship?” She would not allow a miscommunication to keep her from this man, if that truly was what this was.

He swallowed, and his eyes had a hollow sort of look in them. “No.”

She took a step to the door. “Then I will not take up any more of your time.”

“Miss Faraday—”

She turned on him, feelings so far repressed that all that remained was anger.

“No. If you’ve no wish to continue our relationship, then I’ve no wish to continue this conversation.

Goodbye, Lucas.” Again, she forced herself to use his name, though the reminder of the closeness they’d had was excruciating.

She wouldn’t back down from that reminder, even if he were attempting to erase that history.

He stared at her, and as well as she knew him now, she could see that it was pain that created the hairline creases around his eyes and mouth. Good. She could only hope it was half so much pain as what was even now coursing through her.

Then he nodded. Agreeing to end their association.

She fled the room, heart racing far more from the conversation than from her speed.

Regret. Misplaced. No future.

Tears began, but she brushed them away. She had dealt with a great deal more worth crying over in her life than a broken heart.

Now, she needed to focus on her future. She was not naive enough to believe that she could quickly solve everything, but she could find the next step.

She needed to respond to the steward and return to Lord Tarrington’s estate to face whatever awaited her there.