Page 6 of No Match for Love (Regency Love Stories)

The face of a broad-shouldered, light-haired man took up an embarrassing amount of time in Lydia’s daydreams. It wasn’t so much that she was daydreaming about the man, but the puzzling sensation that she knew him from somewhere would not stop tickling the back of her mind. It was incredibly frustrating.

But in terms of faces, it was not a bad one to be ruminating on.

She could easily imagine how he might look with a more cheerful countenance lightening his features—not that she’d seen such a look.

Likely she never would, being that there was no reason to see the man again.

He had seemed to find the time they spent together rather painful, and Tarrington had pointed out that he was far above her in status.

Lydia jumped to her feet from the chair beside her bed.

That was more than enough pointless daydreaming.

She needed to find something else to occupy her time.

Apparently she’d not been overly dramatic on that first day in London when she’d determined that the life of a proper lady was boring.

Outside of eating and needlepoint (which she was honestly horrid at—the needlepoint.

She found great enjoyment in eating.) there was absolutely nothing for her to do here.

At least in the country, she could assist the tenants, wander the lands surrounding the estate, or tend to a sick or injured child.

Would that Mrs. Wallersburg were nearby to tell her a story. That particular tenant was not quite a decade Lydia’s senior and possessed a knack for storytelling. While helping Mrs. Wallersburg with her chores, Lydia would supply the first line to a story and challenge the woman to finish the tale.

Stories. That was it. Lord Tarrington had a small library. How had she not considered it before? Maybe there would even be a treatise on husband-hunting somewhere on the shelves. Though honestly, her guardian probably would have lent it to her already if there were.

With recollections from the brief tour the housekeeper had given her on her first day, Lydia made for the library.

It was at the back of the house on the ground floor, so she took the stairs in the middle of the house down a level.

A maid was at the staircase, keeping her head down as she oiled the banister, though Lydia tried to catch her eye.

At the foot of the stairs, she turned left, passing Lord Tarrington’s study and stopping at the closed door of the library.

The door pushed open on well-oiled hinges, revealing a cozy room lined with dark shelves and a smattering of chairs.

She made straight for the shelves closest to her.

How might things be organized? By topic? Alphabetically?

A cough interrupted her perusing before it had hardly begun and sent her spinning toward the source of the noise. Her heart and feet jumped at the sight of her guardian and the dark look he leveled her way.

“Oh. Lord Tarrington. I did not realize the room was occupied.”

Not an inch of his lined expression of annoyance shifted. He continued glowering. “Perhaps you ought to use the eyes the Lord saw fit to give you next time you enter a room.”

“In truth, I thought I had. Has anyone ever told you there is a strong resemblance between yourself and upholstery?” She bit her lip to keep back a smile at her own jest. Poking fun at her guardian was one thing. Showing how much she enjoyed it might just send the man over the edge.

His storm cloud-like presence seemed to flash with lightning, but he said nothing, which meant he did not dismiss her.

She took a step back to the shelves, but even as her hand trailed down the spines of books, the presence of Lord Tarrington made her mind struggle to focus.

Though until this week she’d never been in this man’s London house—or in his presence, truly—there was a level of retrospection attached to this moment.

Lydia only had hazy recollections of the day her parents had passed.

She remembered a service in a small, country chapel.

And she remembered being taken from her family’s small cottage in a carriage far grander than their pony and cart and deposited at Lord Tarrington’s doorstep.

With half a glance her way, he’d told not her but the servant with her that he hadn’t the time to deal with a child.

She could not recollect seeing him again until years later, when a great to-do had been made over his returning for the summer.

She’d been excited at the time—she was but nine or ten, and the bustle around Tarrington Park had been greater than at any holiday—but she’d been severely let down when the grand Lord Tarrington had arrived and shared essentially the same sentiment as before.

He hadn’t time to spare for a child.

But... he was not unkind. He had not once raised his voice to her.

And though he did seem to look down on her with that lofty attitude and grumbled responses, he was all she had.

Lord Tarrington controlled not only her future but her knowledge of the past. No matter how many friends she found in tenant farmers and their families, they could not tell her where she came from.

They could not help bring her freedom in her future.

Did he still have no time to spare for her? He was the one who’d summoned her here, after all.

She cleared her throat, turning back around. She might regret the olive branch she intended to share. “Would you enjoy some reading?”

His dark look met hers. She smiled wide, as if that would convince him.

“I am reading.” He looked pointedly at the book in his lap. Evidently, once again, she had not used her eyes.

“Yes, I do see that...” Now, at least. “But I thought you may enjoy a... break. Perhaps a rest for your eyes?” Forget it. She ought to flee the room forthwith. After grabbing a novel or two.

“Very well.”

“Oh. Really?” That was an unexpected success. She nearly cheered.

“Yes. You will read from my book.” He held out the thick tome. It appeared to be some dissertation on canal investments. Lovely.

With a look akin to someone about to touch a snake, Lydia took the book and settled stiffly in a chair across from her guardian. He watched her movements with an unwavering stare that made Lydia self-conscious. Was this how ladies sat? Did ladies hold books a specific way?

How odd that she was now a member of a select group of individuals who might have a special way of holding a book. Except really, she was not, which was why she hadn’t a clue how to hold the thing.

“I’ve had an invitation to the Cheltenham soiree next week,” Lord Tarrington said gruffly, not commenting on her holding of the book.

Lydia’s brows rose. Perhaps she would see the star of her daydreams again after all. That elicited some flurry of activity in her chest.

“If we can secure a closer connection with that family, it would be ideal. Do not make a fool of yourself.”

How could she possibly make a fool of herself? She was able to properly hold a book now. She could take on the world.

So long as no punch was near.

She glanced down at the book in her hands. It appeared terribly dull. Could she manage to draw her guardian into conversation instead? She cleared her throat. “Do you enjoy London?”

“It is a necessary part of my title and responsibilities.” He had actually answered. She was nearly struck dumb at that, but she had to take advantage of the brief glimpse of humanity he was giving her.

“I imagine it is a heavy responsibility to be a baron.”

His eyes were particularly serious when they settled on her. They seemed to be taking her measure. “It is. Most are not capable.”

She nodded. “Do you... have any family?” Someone must have raised him to take on the role—and she’d like to give them a piece of her mind on the raising of a man with apparently no humor or happiness.

“No.”

“Did you have any siblings growing up?”

“A brother.”

She leaned back into her chair. “I’d always thought having an older brother would have been very entertaining.”

“He was younger than I and an idiot.” His voice was clipped.

“Oh.”

“Go on, then,” Lord Tarrington grumbled, pointing at the book and very clearly informing her that he was done speaking of himself.

“Yes, of course.” She opened the book and began to read but had only made it two pages before the butler opened the door to the library. Back straight, he addressed Lord Tarrington. “A Mr. Sperry to see you, my lord.”

Tarrington’s face registered confusion. “Who?”

“Mr. Sperry, my lord. A solicitor.”

“What am I to do with a solicitor?” Tarrington grumbled, coughing into his handkerchief, then raising a brow at his butler.

“Would you like me to turn him away, my lord?”

Tarrington shook his head, shifting himself to the edge of his chair, where he pushed up to a stand with effort. “No. No, I will see him. Put him in the study.”

“Very well, my lord.”

Her guardian gestured at her as he made for the door. “Mark your spot. We will finish later.” Without a backward glance, he left.

Her lips pursed at the abrupt dismissal, but it meant renewed freedom to choose her own book, which she did, finding one that looked interesting and leaving the library.

Boring as her room may be, she did not particularly want to be found in the library and forced to take back up the canal book.

She could not say she’d ever wished to learn what went into the execution, building, and use of canals.

“I am sure I do not understand, my lord. I am under strict requirements to speak only to Miss Faraday. Is she not in residence?”

Lydia stopped at the sound of her name, freezing in front of the door to Lord Tarrington’s study. She did not recognize the voice within.

“She is, but you are not at liberty to speak with her.”

Sounds of flustered exasperation met Lydia’s ears as she took half a step closer to the door. Ladies probably did not listen at doors.