Chapter Twelve
Lydia’s dreams were forgotten the instant she opened her eyes, but they left her with a warm sense of pleasure.
She squinted at the clock on her dresser.
Almost half past eight. Still quite early, and a sliver of sunlight sneaking through her curtains hinted at good weather.
Yawning, she rolled onto her back, arched into a brief stretch, and then folded her hands behind her head as she smiled up at the ceiling.
Was it wrong to revel in one’s own happiness?
To embrace the joy in one’s soul and the undeniable stirrings of love in one’s heart? Surely not.
Almost three weeks had passed since the enchanting, moonlit night in Ambrose’s garden.
Eighteen exhilarating days, each one spent in the company of a man who had turned Lydia’s life upside down in the sweetest way.
She dared to believe she had done the same to him.
Two unique parts that somehow fit together. Perfectly.
She smiled as she reflected on the previous evening’s dinner with Lord and Lady Eskdale at their Mayfair home.
Wonderful food, entertaining conversation, and some questionable musical distraction at the pianoforte, the latter provided by Harriet and Lydia.
The tangible sense of friendship gave Lydia a true sense of belonging.
If only her father was still here, that he might share in her happiness!
“A ride in Hyde Park this afternoon, Papa,” she whispered.
“Weather permitting, of course. I shall be renting Cleo from the livery. Ambrose has his own horse.” This would be their second outing to the park on horseback.
That being so, Lydia mused, perhaps they might not invite quite as much attention as on the first occasion.
The Earl of Pendlewood’s courting of a well-shod tradesman’s daughter continued to be a conversation piece in the Assembly rooms and private salons.
So far, they had attended the theater once and been present at two Society gatherings.
Overall, the reception to Lydia had been positive, though she remained fully aware of the whispers taking place behind gloved hands.
“Ignore them,” Ambrose had told her. “They’ll find a new bone to gnaw on before long. ”
Lydia fidgeted beneath the covers, shifted her thoughts back to the present day, and continued her quiet chat with her father.
“If it rains, Ambrose has challenged me to a game of chess at his house.” She chuckled.
“I told him I used to play chess with you, but led him to believe I’m not a terribly skilled player, so I hope he’s not a bad loser.
And this evening, we’re going to a charity event for the Foundling Hospital.
Ambrose is very philanthropic, as were you, Papa. ”
Another thought slid into Lydia’s head, but she didn’t voice it.
It was merely a suspicion at this point, one that set her heart racing.
If she wasn’t mistaken, a marriage proposal was imminent.
Not that Ambrose had said as much, but she had no doubt about his feelings for her, or her feelings for him.
The courtship was wonderful, but the thought of being married to Ambrose, of being with him day and night, made her lightheaded. It would be a dream come true.
At that moment, she heard the distant but familiar jangle of the front doorbell. A bit early for a caller. There followed a faint exchange of conversation between a man and a woman, though Lydia couldn’t make out what was being said. The man’s voice, however, sounded decidedly familiar.
“Ambrose?” Surely not at this hour. Lydia sat up, ears straining to hear more, but the conversation had ceased. Then came the sound of footsteps on the landing, followed by a knock at her door, and Doyle stepped into the room. “Lord Pendlewood is here and asking for you, Miss Lydia.”
Lydia raised her brows and slid from her bed. “At this hour?”
“Yes, he apologizes for the intrusion, but says it cannot wait. I’ve put him in your father’s study.” Doyle took Lydia’s dressing gown off the hook on the door. “Here, let me help you.”
It cannot wait? Lydia felt a touch of trepidation as she shrugged the gown over her shoulders and put on her slippers.
“His lordship asked for coffee,” Doyle said. “Will you have that as well, miss?”
“Yes, thank you, Doyle,” Lydia replied, and headed downstairs.
Ambrose turned from the window as Lydia entered the room.
Obviously, she’d only just left her bed.
The sight of her in her dressing gown, strands of loose hair floating around her face, the rest carelessly braided, cheeks flushed, stirred him instantly.
Waking up to this every morning would, he acknowledged, be an absolute delight, but the marriage proposal he’d been considering would have to wait for now.
“Ambrose?” Lydia approached, her expression one of concern. “Is everything all right?”
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, smiling as he lifted one of the loose golden strands from her cheek. “Things are all the better for seeing you. However, I’ve had some unfortunate news this morning, which means I have to leave town for several days. Our plans today, sadly, must be postponed.”
Lydia’s eyes had widened. “Bad news?”
Ambrose nodded. “My cousin, William Crossley, passed away on Monday last. The funeral is two days hence, in Nottingham. Naturally, I am obliged to attend. I’ll be leaving town later this morning.”
“Oh, Ambrose, I’m sorry,” Lydia replied. “Was it sudden?”
“Apparently. His heart, they assume. And he was only five years older than I.” Ambrose toyed with another loose strand of Lydia’s hair, deciding he’d propose as soon as he got back.
Why wait? Especially given the news he’d just received, which reminded him that life was short and unpredictable.
A special license would speed things up.
“But he’d been in poor health for some time. ”
“How sad,” Lydia said. “Was he married?”
The door opened, and Mary entered with a tray, setting it on the sideboard. “Your coffee, Lord Pendlewood, Miss Page. Shall I pour?”
“Thank you, Mary,” Lydia replied. “I’ll see to it.”
“Yes, he was married to Anne,” Ambrose continued, after Mary left. “They have three children, all boys. They’re far from destitute, so they’ll be all right.”
“Sad, all the same,” Lydia said, pouring him a coffee.
“Yes, it is.” Ambrose heaved a sigh. “You know, I was looking out of the window just now, and it occurred to me that I have never seen your garden.”
“We can take our coffee out there if you like,” Lydia said, handing it to him.
“Perhaps another time, my dear. This is just a brief visit, I’m afraid. A quick sip and then I must go.”
“You could have just sent a note, Ambrose,” Lydia said. “This is a long way to come for a quick word and a sip of coffee.”
“Thought about a note and discarded the thought.” He tasted his coffee.
“Lydia, I have seen you every day since Lord and Lady Trevelyan’s soirée and I didn’t want this day to be any different, especially given the fact that I’m not going to see you again for at least a week.
That is, I plan to be back a week Monday, but it may be a little longer than that. ”
Lydia winced. “I shall miss you dreadfully.”
“Come here.” Ambrose set his cup down and took Lydia in his arms. “I shall miss you too. Don’t get up to any mischief while I’m gone. Now, kiss me and let me go.”
Their lips met in a soft embrace, suggestive of a farewell. Ambrose pulled away first, cupping Lydia’s face as he pressed a solitary kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes. “So much.”
Lydia heaved a soft sigh. “I love you too, Ambrose. Please be careful.”
“Never fear,” he replied. “I’ll see you a week Monday.”