“Don’t be. She was a prisoner of her own mind for so long that it almost seemed as if she were finally free. But of course it nearly destroyed my grandmother. To lose a child, a daughter, even one as ill as my mother had been…”
She eased her arm from his hold, sensing his mind working, furrowing through all she’d told him. She turned away and began walking toward Jane.
“Lydia.”
She stopped. The sound of her name in his baritone voice thudded right up against the walls of her heart.
“Where were you when your mother was in France?” Northwood asked.
She didn’t look at him. “Not with her.”
Alexander Hall. Viscount Northwood.
Lydia was indeed moving up in society. The question was whether she was merely the man’s whore or if she aspired to be something more.
Did it matter?
Joseph watched as the girl Jane climbed back into the viscount’s carriage, Lydia close behind her.
Yes, it did matter. Now that Sir Henry was dead, perhaps Lydia was no longer concerned with the consequences of her actions, the possible damage to her character.
In which case, his plan might not work.
If, on the other hand, Lydia was pursuing Lord Northwood for more than money… well, that would be of benefit to all involved.
Especially himself.
Chapter Seven
Jane swung her leg back and forth, staring at the dramatic oil painting that hung above the fireplace. A hunting scene with a tiger as the quarry. She didn’t like it at all. An arrow protruded from the tiger’s side, blood dripping over its fur, its face twisted into a snarl.
She swung her other leg and wondered if the delivery boy had given Sophie another letter this morning. Lydia had been rushing Jane around getting ready, so she hadn’t had a chance to speak to the maid privately.
Lydia’s hand came to rest on Jane’s leg, stilling her nervous movement. Jane let out a breath and reached for another slice of tea cake. Mr. Hall’s piano, black and so shiny she could probably see her reflection if she got up close, stood in a corner of the vast drawing room. What if she left smudges on the keys?
She rubbed her hands over her skirt. First she got to ride in a viscount’s carriage, and now she was sitting in an earl’s drawing room about to have her first piano lesson with his son.
Quite a bit to have happened in the past week.
She glanced at Lydia. “Where did you find it?”
“What?”
Jane gestured to the notebook resting on Lydia’s lap. “I thought you’d lost… er, misplaced it.”
“I found it in… well, I’d left it somewhere and it was returned to me. Fortunately.”
“Terribly sorry for the delay.” The door flew open and a man strode in, his dark hair messy and cravat askew. He hurried to them, extending his hand. “Sebastian Hall, Miss Kellaway. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not at all. We arrived early. This is my sister, Jane.”
“Miss Jane, a pleasure.” Mr. Hall gave her an easy smile. She liked the fact that he wasn’t all staid and proper. “Have you had piano lessons before?”
“No, sir.” She shifted a little, suddenly not certain she wanted piano lessons anymore. Mr. Hall seemed very nice, but this room was too big, too fancy. And she didn’t like that painting at all.
“I hope you’ll find them enjoyable,” Mr. Hall said. “If we could review the program and schedule, we’ll get started right away.” He looked at Lydia, who nodded and followed him to the piano.
Jane trailed after them as Mr. Hall opened a book and began explaining his theory of music and what Jane could expect to learn in the first few weeks.
She glanced at the painting again and thought of all the animals they’d seen at the zoological gardens. Why would anyone want to kill a tiger?
A bank of windows lined the wall on the other side of the room, sunlight streaming through them. Jane wondered if they overlooked the garden.
When Lydia and Mr. Hall started discussing which books to procure, Jane crossed the room. An alcove was next to the windows with a door presumably leading outside. Metal trays sat on several tables, filled with dirt and sprouting green seedlings. She stepped closer, peering at the little shoots.
The door opened and a tall, big-shouldered man entered, his black hair sprinkled with gray like a coating of frost. He was fiddling with an apparatus in his hands, his head bent. He looked up at Jane and frowned.