Page 59 of No Match for Love (Regency Love Stories)

As it would turn out, not all ladies lived a horribly tedious experience. Some even enjoyed their newfound titles.

Especially when they came with a husband who allowed her to sleep with her head in his lap while he mindlessly brushed hairs from her face.

“Lydia, dear, we are nearly there.”

She blinked up at Lucas, trying to clear her vision. The carriage hit a bump, and his hand closed protectively over her waist to keep her from falling off the bench.

She yawned and began to sit up.

His hand tightened around her waist, holding her in place. “I said nearly . You do not need to get up just yet. I am enjoying the view.”

“You are a flirt, Lord Berkeley.”

“I am your flirt, Lady Berkeley.”

She smiled at him, relaxing back down. “Your many great attributes, both physical and otherwise, made me fall in love with you, but can I tell you how delighted I was to learn you could flirt? Imagine if the extent of your romancing was one of your iconic nods.” She gave a shudder, appreciating the way his mouth easily curved into a smile with her teasing.

They’d been married a month, and every day, he seemed less burdened.

The grief would never be gone entirely—a loved one’s loss is always felt—but Lucas did not carry the same weight of guilt, and it showed in his quick smiles and teasing flirtations.

It made her very heart lift every time she saw one of them.

“You love my nodding, and you know it,” he countered.

“It is true. I cannot deny it.”

He looked out the carriage window. “I see it.”

Lydia braced herself.

“Hey,” Lucas said, brushing tender fingers down her jawline. “You can do this.”

She swallowed. “I know, but it is so very strange. Do you think they will accept me?” The anxiety welled in her.

This would be the first time they’d visited Tarrington’s—no, her , estate—since they’d learned it belonged to her.

What if the tenants did not accept her in her new position?

Or the household staff? What if they disapproved of her choice to put off her mourning long enough to marry Lucas?

“I do not think you need to worry about that.”

She took a steadying breath. She could do this.

And anytime she might falter, she would have Lucas at her side to lend her strength.

He had been by her side constantly for the last six weeks.

He had visited a surprised, but pleased, Mr. Sperry.

He had faced down the London gossips when Mr. Frank Colbert had attempted to blacken her reputation.

He had even helped her pick out the cloth for her wedding dress—though they all knew it was really Lady Cheltenham who picked it.

She just let the rest of them think they had a part in it.

“Lydia,” he murmured. “Look.” He was watching out the window, so she pulled herself up and peered out.

“Oh, my… Is that . . .”

“Your estate.”

Tears welled at the view. It was not the stony edifice that had her emotional though; it was the crowd in front of it.

It was customary for most households to await their returning master or mistress, but it seemed as if not only the entire household staff awaited her, but every tenant family as well.

The carriage slowed, and like a rush, it hit her.

She was surrounded by family. All her life she’d sought freedom when what she’d really desired was security and love—a family that accepted and wanted her.

And she had it. In Lucas and his family.

In the servants and tenants who had helped raise her.

Lucas leaned close behind her, his breath tickling the hairs at the nape of her neck as he spoke in her ear. “Welcome home, love.”

She leaned back into him. Home.