“Miss Jane, I’d be honored if you’d accompany me to the game booths,” Northwood said. “And there’s a display of dioramas that I think you’ll find quite fascinating.”
He extended his hand to her. Jane glanced at Lydia for permission, and for an instant Lydia didn’t want to let her go. There were too many people, too much activity…
Stop it. Northwood would never let anything happen to Jane.
She nodded. Jane gave Northwood a brilliant smile and took his hand. Trepidation slipped through Lydia as she watched them melt into the crowd.
Much to Lydia’s gratitude, Talia remained by her side as they walked around the festival and met various people, including Lord Castleford—a man whose tall, imposing appearance might have been intimidating were it not for the welcoming twinkle in his eyes and the broad smile creasing his tanned face.
“Miss Kellaway’s father was Sir Henry Kellaway,” Talia told Lord Castleford. “He was a scholar of considerable renown on the subject of Chinese history. Perhaps you knew of him?”
“Indeed. I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance several times, Miss Kellaway. His lectures were brilliant.”
Lydia smiled, warmed by the evident admiration in Lord Castleford’s voice. They spoke about her father’s work and travels as they continued through the festival grounds, before Lydia turned to see Northwood approaching with Jane.
Her heart twisted at the sight of them—her Jane, as sweet as cake even in her mourning dress, her hands gesturing as she spoke and laughed, her green eyes sparkling. Northwood walked beside her, his hand on her shoulder, his head lowered to better listen to her chatter. His smile flashed every so often, or he responded with gestures and laughter of his own.
They could not have appeared more opposite—the tall, dark-haired viscount and the pale, brown-haired girl, but somehow they looked entirely natural. Somehow they fit.
Lydia’s throat constricted. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t allow herself to feel this way about Lord Northwood. Moreover, she couldn’t let Jane become attached to a man with whom Lydia had no future.
She had no future with any man. Despite what she’d told Northwood, she knew her destiny—she was fated to live a spinster life, fulfilled by her work and her love for Jane. And while Lydia sometimes could not deny her longing for more, she had to be content with her fate. It could have been so much worse.
“Lydia, you must see the dioramas!” Jane hurried forward. “They’ve got one that shows the Aurora Borealis and another the changing seasons in Paris. It’s lovely. My favorite is the one of Africa, though, with the sun rising and the lions actually moving. Isn’t that right, Lord Northwood?”
Northwood watched Jane affectionately as the girl turned away to answer a question Talia asked. Then he glanced at Lydia.
“Have you solved the problem, my lord?” she asked in an effort to remind herself of the only thing she wanted from him.
He scowled. “I doubt Pythagoras himself could solve the blasted thing.”
Lydia suppressed a smile. “So you concede defeat?”
“Never. I’ve still over a week, yes?”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment, experiencing a small surge of admiration for his persistence. “Shall I give you a hint?”
“That will not be necessary.” He gave her a mock frown. “You don’t think I can do it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking it.” His frown eased into a smile, the corners of his eyes creasing in a manner so appealing that Lydia’s heart pattered like raindrops. “Never mind. I take great pleasure in changing people’s preconceived notions.”
He winked at her before turning to Jane. “Shall we show your sister where we can procure an ice cream?”
Jane nodded, grasping Lydia’s hand. Her heart still warm from Northwood’s gentle teasing, Lydia allowed herself to absorb the girl’s enthusiasm. There was no harm in having a bit of fun—in fact, it would do both her and Jane a world of good to enjoy the lovely day.
They spent the next couple of hours with Talia and Northwood, playing games, watching a troupe of jugglers, eating ice cream. The laughter and happy shrieks of children resounded throughout the festival grounds. Jane and Talia went to procure tissue-paper balloons from one of the booths.
Lydia smiled at the sight of Northwood—his hair in disarray from the wind, his coat wrinkled, and his fine linen shirt smudged with grass stains—joining a group of children in a game of hoops.
Which person was he—the formidable viscount who strode through the world with determined pride or this seemingly carefree man who liked ice