Lydia dropped her pencil. She lifted her head to stare out the window, her heart vibrating like the strings of a violin. No equation could quantify that kind of pleasure. No theorem could explain Lord Northwood’s intent to touch her, which had been so palpable she’d felt it from clear across the room.
She pushed her papers aside and went downstairs. Her own fault, this restless trembling in her veins, the heat of memory. She pushed the longing down deep, alongside the other mistakes that lay buried beneath the crust of time.
The door to her father’s study sat half-open, and Lydia knocked before entering. Her throat constricted at the sight of Sir Henry’s cedarwood desk, the bookshelves crammed with works of Chinese history and literature. She imagined she could still detect the fragrant scent of his pipe smoke. The walls held calligraphic scrolls and Tang dynasty paintings with images of lively horses and riders, mist-covered mountaintops, graceful kingfishers.
Jane sat curled on a sofa by the window, a book on butterflies spread open on her lap. Lydia slipped into the seat beside her and drew the girl close, bending to press a kiss against Jane’s soft brown hair. The bands around her heart loosened as she breathed in the scent of Pears soap.
“You’re all right?” she asked.
“I just miss him.”
“So do I.”
The comfort of shared memories wrapped around them—Sir Henry patiently teaching them how to write Chinese characters, telling them stories of his youthful travels, playing puzzles and games together.
Throughout Lydia’s childhood, her father had spent much of his time either traveling or working, but his dedication to her, his support of her education, had never wavered. And after Jane was born, he ceased traveling in favor of teaching and studying. His placid, serious presence had been so very, very welcome after the loneliness of Lydia’s childhood and the death of Theodora Kellaway.
And Jane—to Lydia’s utter, complete gratitude—had known only Sir Henry’s unwavering love and devotion.
Jane closed the book and rested her head against Lydia’s shoulder. “Do you think Grandmama really will send me away?”
Lydia looked at her sister. “How did you find out?”
“I couldn’t sleep and came downstairs for a glass of milk. I heard you talking in the drawing room.”
“You oughtn’t have listened.”
“Wouldn’t you have listened if you overheard someone talking about you?”
Lydia chuckled and conceded the point. “I suppose.”
“Do you think she’ll do it?” Jane asked. “Do you think she’ll send me to that school in Paris?”
Lydia searched for a proper response. She could not undermine her grandmother’s authority, but neither could she lie. She opted to evade the question.
“How would you feel if she did?”
When Jane didn’t respond, Lydia’s heart sank. She wished Jane would immediately say she didn’t want to go, but of course her sister didn’t respond to anything without thinking it through.
“I don’t know,” Jane finally said. “I’d miss you, of course, and the house. But it’s not as if… I mean, it isn’t as if we ever go anywhere, d’you know?”
“That’s not entirely true. We—”
“It is true, Lydia.” Frustration edged Jane’s voice. “The only place I’ve been outside of London was that trip we took to Brighton. At least Paris would be interesting.”
“Yes, it would,” Lydia admitted, though her heart began to feel like a rock.
“And honestly, I’d like to learn piano and French.” Jane turned her head to look at Lydia’s face. “Oh, Lyddie, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.” Lydia hugged her sister. “I understand what you mean. When I was a few years older than you, I went away to school as well. To Germany.”
“Did you like it?”
Lydia’s stomach knotted. That single year was like a diamond inside her—bright, cold, and hard. In some ways it had opened her to things she could never have anticipated, and in other ways… it had destroyed both her and those closest to her.
“I liked learning new things,” she said. “Everything was different and interesting. But it wasn’t easy. I spoke little German. I didn’t make many friends. I missed home. I often felt alone.”
I was alone.
Even before Sir Henry had agreed to send her to Germany, Lydia had been alone. With her grandmother caring for her mother and her father either away or working… solitude had been Lydia’s sole companion.
Until him. The man with the cold green eyes and twisted heart. She shivered.
“What happened when you were there?” Jane asked.
“What—”
“I heard you say something to Grandmama about punishing you for something that happened. Was that in