She took a black ribbon from her things and twined it around the upper arm of the dress. It wasn't much, but it was better, and with a stone in her belly, she went down to breakfast.
She wasn't sure whether she was relieved or anxious that Nicholas was not there.
"Oh, Nicholas is meeting with some other lords to speak of naval reforms today," Eunice chirped. She spoke as if her grand-nephew was doing nothing more serious than taking the air in his phaeton. "He says it will be quite done, and he'll be joining us for dinner, so that is a treat. And my dear, you look so lovely in lilac! I am so pleased that you came out of mourning!"
"I'm afraid I cannot feel the same way, Eunice. I would not be wearing this at all if my clothes were not being washed. It feels disrespectful to my brother's memory."
She had expected a tactful silence from the woman or perhaps even some murmured consolation, but instead, Eunice pursed her lips and waved her hand.
"One thing that I have learned in this life, my dear, is that mourning is only useful for a short time. You will never forget your brother, no matter what you fear, and indeed that memory will be more vivid than you like sometimes. When you want to leave the grief behind, when you want to be yourself, it is time to do so, and no silly rules should dictate it."
She continued talking about what a good breakfast Cook had prepared, but Lydia sat stunned at her words. That was how she felt. Since coming to London, since meeting Nicholas and now Eunice, she felt more like herself than she had in a great while.
She started eating her breakfast, and with some surprise, she realized that the eggs tasted better than she could remember them tasting in a very long time.
* * *
The day passed a bit of a haze. Lydia considered slipping out to track down the address she had found on the card and the elusive Marilee, but she remembered Nicholas’ cold fury. She didn't think he would make good on his threat to have her locked in the gaol, but she didn't feel like risking it.
He appeared at dinner, but there was something dark about his mood that made her hold her tongue. He barely looked at her, and when he did, there was something dire in his gaze.
Eunice was the only one who seemed immune to Nicholas’ bad mood, talking about seasons long past and the fashions of the day, if the day was 1790. By the end of the meal, Lydia was on pins and needles, and it was anticlimactic when Nicholas appeared at the door of the drawing-room afterward.
"Great-aunt Eunice, I just wanted to give you this."
Eunice beamed at the small package of silk thread he handed her.
"Oh, what a thoughtful boy you are! I'll just totter off and add these to my box, shall I?"
"Clever," Lydia observed after Eunice had departed.
Nicholas gave her a grim smile.
"I hid her sewing box; she should be gone a while."
"Do you need so very long to deal with me, then?"
Nicholas narrowed his eyes and crossed the floor between them in two strides. She noticed belatedly that there was a hit of reddish-brown in his eyes; she had believed they were black, but the red shone through like cherry amber. Then she forgot all about his eyes as he seized her wrist.
"Deal with you, you don't even know what I could… What's the matter with you?"
Nicholas had managed to grab the very same wrist that was so bruised, and though she had intended to stay stoic about it, Lydia couldn't stop a harsh gasp from escaping her gritted teeth and tears from coming to her eyes. He let her go immediately, a look of concern replacing his anger, and somehow, that was worse.
"No, it's fine, it's fine—"
"It most certainly is not. Give me your hand."
He removed the wrap, revealing the bruised skin underneath, and Lydia had to admit that it looked worse now than it had than when she'd gone to bed. It was a dark purple bruise, livid against her pale skin, and it was easy to see where the constable's fingers had dug in too hard.
Nicholas swore so venomously that she looked at him in shock.
"I should have gotten his name and had him flogged," Nicholas growled. "Come with me."
It occurred to Lydia that though Nicholas might bow to the niceties of propriety, he really had no problem with dragging a young woman off after him with no chaperone at all. He took her to his study and sat her down in his own chair before opening his desk drawers.
It took him a few moments to find what he was looking for, and Lydia looked at the small jar with curiosity. He opened it to reveal an opaque white substance inside. It looked like tallow to her, or a wax, perhaps, but a strong herbal scent rose up from it.
"What's that?"
"A balm I had made for me when I was doing more riding and taking more falls. It contains arnica, a few other things, but it heals up bruises faster than a wink."
She had assumed that he would merely hand her the salve, but instead, he scooped out two fingerfuls of the salve and started rubbing it into her sore wrist. She flinched at first, expecting pain, but he was completely gentle with her, working the soft salve in with a small rubbing motion.
Lydia sighed, relaxing a little at the cool tingling that replaced the hot ache.
"That feels amazing."
"Good. I find that as much as you might deserve it, I don't like seeing you in pain."
Lydia raised an eyebrow.
"So all that talk about turning me over your knee?"
"I'll admit it was just talk. After seeing you dispatch a bandit and now two constables, I think I would be rather too afraid of you to try it."
He looked up at her, and Lydia realized that she was relieved to see a slight grin at the corner of his mouth.
"Have you stopped being quite so angry at me then?"
"I find it’s the hardest thing in the world to stay angry with you," he said, standing up and capping the jar. "I considered it throughout the day, and just when I was working myself up to some kind of decent rage, I remembered that you loved your brother and that I had been keeping things from you."
"Are you ready to say you are sorry for trying to send me home yet?"
He pointed at her in warning.
"I said I was having a hard time staying angry. Don't push me."
Lydia laughed a little, shaking her head.
"All right, I won't. But in all fairness, I'm still angry at you for trying to send me away without mentioning it to me."
She assumed for a moment that they would simply have another fight as they had had the day before, but instead, Nicholas looked at her thoughtfully.
"I am sorry about that," he said. "I wasn't thinking, or at least, I wasn't thinking about the person that you are. I should never have tried to ship you off back to the country without at least letting you know what was going on."
"Oh, dear."
Lydia was taken aback. She hadn't expected him to apologize to her like that at all. "I mean. I certainly accept your apology, it was just a shock, I suppose."
Nicholas leveled a serious look at her, and she could tell that she was not going to like what came next.
"Then please listen to what I have to say now. I would like to send you back to Carmody."
"Nicholas, I won't—"
"Listen, please. I promise you that I will do what I can to help you understand what happened to your brother. I promise you that I will use everything I have at my disposal to help you learn about his death. I cannot do that if I am worried you are going to go haring off across London the moment I take my eyes off you."
Lydia's eyes narrowed.
"You are speaking as if I am some young idiot who needs to be looked after. I assure you, I am not. I am capable, and I can help you—"
"Help me what? Talk to the men who were dealing with your brother? Venture into the gentlemen's clubs where he might have frequented? What if your brother ended up in the stews, where the boxing matches take place?"
"My brother was an honorable man! He would not be going to places like that!"
Nicholas’ laugh was short and bitte
r.
"Lydia, I have known many honorable men and men of character who have no problems sneaking off to the slums for all sorts of dark doings."
"Whereas you, sir, merely fly your colors as dark and rakish as you please?"
"You see very clearly, Lydia. I am simply saying that your brother might have been doing some things that you don't want to know about."
"I want to know about them. I don't care what he was doing. I owe it to him to find out, and if necessary, to bring this Baron Farring to justice."
Nicholas gave her a frustrated look.
"Are you sure you are really a marquess’ daughter? I am beginning to be afraid that you are a fighting dog with a fierce grip and a pretty face."
"Unkind, Nicholas," she chided him, but there was a smile on her face. She didn't mind the analogy at all.
"I am simply looking out for myself. But you must listen to me. You should go home."
"And what did you find when you tried to let my father know about my whereabouts?"
"You know as well as I do that I received no response."
"Nor will you. My father does not care about my whereabouts, Nicholas. He didn't care when Benjamin went to London; he does not care that I am here now. There's no one to care for Benjamin's memory or to find justice for him if I forfeit the duty."
There was a hot tightness in her chest as she said those words. They were a burden she had been carrying for some time, and it was with a mixture of grief and fury that Nicholas didn't seem to agree.
"It's not a duty for a young girl."
"It doesn't matter if I'm a young girl, or a fighting dog, or a weed growing out of the pavement, Nicholas! The duty is mine, and if I do not take it up, then no one will. I will not allow my brother to go forgotten! He deserves better than that!"
"And you deserve better than to drag yourself all over London trying to track down a young man who—"
Nicholas cut himself off abruptly, and Lydia stared at him.
"A young man who…? Who what, Nicholas? What have you found out?"
He shook his head, his face stone.
"It doesn't matter, Lydia. You are going home as soon as I can make the arrangements. That is final."
Lydia sprang out of his chair, flying across the room toward him.
"How dare you! It is not for you to say whether I may stay or go!"
She was so close to him she could see that peculiar shade of maroon in his eyes, so close she could smell the spruce scent of his cologne.
"I beg your pardon, Lydia, but it is entirely my right—”
It looked like he was going to say more, but then he leaned in closer. They both became acutely aware of how close they were to one another, and the compulsion that drew them together whenever they were too close blotted out their argument.
"We shouldn't," Lydia managed to get out, and she saw Nicholas nod in agreement even as he reached out to trace her cheek with one gentle finger.
"By God, but you can destroy a man's good sense."
She would have replied, but he leaned in close, his lips moving over hers with a barely held restraint. Behind the restraint was something darkly passionate, something that would take no prisoners if it was loosed. By all rights, she should have been frightened, but instead, all she wanted to do was to embrace that sensual darkness.
There was something different about this kiss, something darker and more longing. There was no telling where it might have gone if there wasn't a knock on the door.
Nicholas stepped back from her, and to her surprise, he straightened her gown and smoothed back her hair before turning to the door.
He's had some experience kissing ladies in odd corners. This idea did not please her in the least.
"Come in."
The butler appeared, and if he thought the duke and his guest looked a little too flushed for propriety, he did not say.
"Your grace, there is a message for you."
Nicholas took the small shabby note card with a frown. As Lydia watched him read it, she saw his face darken like a thundercloud moving over a fair blue sky. To her surprise, he swiftly took the note to his desk, where he withdrew a match and set the note ablaze.
Lydia cried out with shock, and then Nicholas cast the burning note into a nearby decorative silver bowl, where it blackened and grayed to ash.
"Get my horse ready," he said to the butler, "and send a boy along to Featherby. He'll be as put out as I am to be stirred from his dinner, but this is what I pay him for."
"Nicholas, what is going on?"
He looked down at her, and Lydia saw a number of things pass over his face. Anger and frustration, but it was the shame that puzzled her. It was startling seeing shame on the face of a man who was purported to be as much a rake as Nicholas was.
"Nothing that you should concern yourself with. Stay home. Help my aunt with her sewing. I'll be back in a few hours."
He strode out of the study, the butler on his heels, and Lydia was left with two realizations.
The first was that there would be a few hours when Nicholas was not at home and therefore could not keep her caged.
The second was that he was certainly lying to her about whether this matter concerned her.
* * *
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* * *
* * *
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CHAPTER NINE
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Lydia jumped when the driver thumped on the carriage roof.
"This is the address you indicated, miss."
"Thank you," she said as he opened the door to let her out. "Will you stay while I conduct my business?"
The hired carriage driver snorted at her.
"Sorry, miss. If I stand too still, they're going to have me dragged off to the gaol as a beggar, here."
She looked around in surprise and realized he was right. The girl who dressed Lydia in the morning had procured a cab that was discreet and within reach of Lydia's meager savings. In this surprisingly wealthy neighborhood, the carriage, with its poorly painted sides and lathe-thin horses, looked dramatically out of place.
"I suppose I see your point," she said reluctantly, remembering her own run-in with the constables just the night before. "But will you return for me in, say, an hour's time?"
"I will do my best, miss, but if there are other fares to be taken, I got to take them, you see?"
"I do. Thank you for your help."
The neighborhood, as she looked closer, was well-kept, but it was livelier than she would have believed it should be for past the dinner hour. Even as she watched, two very well-dressed young women strolled down the street arm in arm, while a coach with silver chasings stopped to let an ethereally gorgeous woman disembark.
Lydia checked the address in her hand, made sure she was at the right place, and took a deep breath. She wouldn't be accused of skulking around the place this time. She would simply walk up and ring the bell.
When she did so, she could hear a sweetly musical chime ring behind the door, and then it opened to reveal a scowling butler.
"You're not meant to be at the front," he snapped. "Run around back, and Alyse will let you in."
He slammed the door in her face, leaving Lydia more than a little affronted. What kind of place was this that her brother had frequented? It must have been one of those gentlemen-only clubs that Nicholas had mentioned, and she hurried around the back.
This time, her knock was answered by a rather motherly-looking woman with an odd sadness to her, who nodded and brought her in at once.
"Excuse me, but I just have a few questions."
“I know you do, dear, but I'm not the one to be answering them. Unless you are here to cook and clean, I suppose?"
"No!" said Lydia in surprise.
"No, I imagine not, dressed up so neatly as you are. Well, come along. Madame Zephyr will answer all of your questions."
Lydia knew that she should stop the proceedings rig
ht then and there, but the idea of being taken to a woman who might give her answers about her brother's last days was too enticing. She allowed herself to be led along a set of twisting hallways and then after a quick rap to a door, allowed into a small room.
The room startled her; every surface was lined with ledgers, and the room smelled strongly of smoke. The cause was obvious; the older woman behind the desk had a cigarillo clenched between her teeth, and she eyed Lydia up and down as Alyse left quietly.
"Well, you're pretty enough, I suppose, and the dress is good. Do you have any others like it?"
Lydia blinked. Did the woman think she was some kind of odd salesgirl?
"No, I do not. Please, Madame, I am here to speak of—"
"Shush now. Don't talk while I am, I cannot bear it."
Lydia fell silent with surprise, and the woman came around the desk.
She's eyeing me as if I am a prize heifer. Lydia was growing increasingly uncomfortable with all of this.
"Well, the clothes are a shame. We can give you a loan toward a full set, taken out of your pay, to begin with. Our clients are a particular sort of gent, and they won't be wanting to see girls in the same dress day in and day out, you understand."
Lydia froze.
"What kind of place is this?"
The woman gave her a cynical look.
"It's a place where gentlemen come to enjoy themselves and to enjoy beautiful women," she said flatly. "You are pretty enough, and that innocent attitude will sell very well, my dear, but believe me when I tell you that you will not get very far trying to pull the wool over my eyes. I am a strict mistress, and girls who lie and speak out of turn are punished."
Dear God, Benjamin, what in the world were you doing here?
"I am not here for a job being enjoyed by men! I am here to find out what happened to my brother!"
Christin's Splendid Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 26