Kellaway, Sebastian, and Lord Castleford,” Alexander explained. “They’ll be here in time for supper.”
He preceded his father into the drawing room. They both stopped as a large portrait of Lady Rushton looked down at them from above the mantel. The image was one of cold beauty, the woman’s eyebrows arched, her mouth curved into a hard smile.
Rushton coughed. “Have Weavers remove that at once. Any others as well.”
Alexander went to convey the request to the butler. When he returned, his father was pouring two glasses of sherry at the sideboard.
“Not like her, is she?” Rushton asked without turning. “Miss Kellaway. Not like your mother.”
“God, no.” Alexander spoke before thinking. His mother had been beautiful in a cold, detached way, like a pane of stained glass against an empty wall. No warmth, no light, no illuminated colors shone through. In all his years, Alexander rarely had the sense there was more to his mother than her beauty and manners.
But with Lydia… he thought forever would not be long enough for him to discover the depths of her complexity, her inner life.
“Not like Chilton’s daughter either?” Rushton asked.
A humorless laugh stuck in Alexander’s throat. “No. She is not.”
A speculative gleam entered Rushton’s expression. That, combined with the line of questioning, caused a rustle of both anticipation and apprehension in Alexander.
“Sir Henry was a good man, if I recall,” Rushton continued.
“He was.”
“Owned no properties but was well regarded as a scholar. No scandals in the family, except for the mother…” Rushton’s voice trailed off as he shook his head. “Brackwell recalls her having been rather daft.”
At least she didn’t run off with another man.
“Mrs. Kellaway’s illness was a misfortune,” Alexander said. “Difficult for both her daughters.”
An image of Lydia and her sister came to Alexander’s mind—their almost identical smiles, the sharp intelligence in their eyes, their tangible affection. The way Jane seemed to absorb everything around her, filled with endless curiosity, whereas Lydia approached the world with caution, guarding herself against it.
Rushton reached for the decanter and refilled his glass. “What is she like?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Kellaway. Not like your mother, you say. Not like Chilton’s chit. So what—or who—is she like?”
“She’s like… like no one I’ve ever met.”
Alexander didn’t even know how to explain Lydia to himself, let alone to his father. In the past weeks, she’d slipped far beneath his skin. He couldn’t stop thinking of her haunted blue eyes, the seething frustration in her kiss, the way she’d responded to him. His need to touch her was becoming a physical ache.
And the feelings she roused in him—a maddening combination of lust, tenderness, affection, fascination, a near-overwhelming protectiveness…
He flexed his fingers, resisting with effort the urge to stand and begin pacing.
“Do you find her interesting enough to sustain a marriage?” Rushton asked.
More than that. Alexander found her interesting enough to sustain him. He’d never imagined he would find a woman he could marry for reasons beyond what was expected of him. For reasons that were his alone.
And while he knew to his bones he wanted to make Lydia his wife, he wasn’t yet prepared to confess his intentions to his father.
“What makes you think I’ve got marriage in mind?” he asked.
Rushton laughed. To Alexander, it was a foreign sound, one he’d heard little throughout his life.
“I’m getting old, Northwood,” Rushton replied, “but I’m not a fool.”
When she arrived at Floreston Manor with Talia, Sebastian, and Lord Castleford, Lydia was enraptured by the beauty of the estate and the countryside. The bright, flower-filled house and fresh air seemed to wash away the grime and noise of London. Lydia thought it might even lessen the shadows clinging to her heart.
As she stood on the terrace looking over the vast grounds, she decided that for the next three days she would enjoy herself. She wanted to walk along the riverbank, pick flowers, breathe the sweet-smelling air, feel the sun warming her face.
“Lydia!” Talia called. “Have you seen your room? Come along, I’ll show you. Sam has already brought up your things. It’s the nicest room in the house, really.”
With a lighter heart, Lydia followed the younger woman inside. Being back at Floreston Manor also brightened Talia’s entire demeanor, and she rushed around issuing orders, ensuring her guests were well situated, and conferring with the housekeeper about the weekend’s menus.
The men had the good sense to stay out of the way—Rushton disappeared into the garden, Castleford went off to check on the stables, and Sebastian took the buggy into the village.