Chapter Three #2
She’d realized at a very young age that she would not be able to easily satisfy the expectations and demands of those around her—namely, her mother.
She’d tried. At first. But once she was old enough to understand that she would never be fully accepted for who she really was and that she’d be fighting her entire life to please the image her mother had of her in her mind, she decided she had no desire to do so.
If she were to be a constant disappointment, she may as well do it while satisfying her own desires and pursuing her own image of happiness.
Her dearest hope was that her mother would eventually give up on her and allow her to live her life as she saw fit.
It hadn’t happened yet, but she did have three brothers.
Hyatt was still quite young at barely fifteen, but the other two honestly needed to be taken in hand.
It wasn’t fair at all that her eldest brother, Jarret, was left alone to gallivant about town with a recklessness and lack of decorum that rivaled the most licentious rogue and everyone simply excused his behavior as the wildness of youth.
And Paxton, the second eldest, was following swiftly in his wake, having been suspended from university multiple times due to drunken rowdiness.
Surely, their mother could find some way to occupy her time with those two and leave her only daughter alone.
Lydia sighed, heavily and visibly, causing a passing matron to eye her with disapproval and a harsh sniff.
Doing her best not to roll her eyes at the constant censure she endured from what felt like everyone in society, Lydia swept her gaze out farther.
Surely, amongst such a crush, there was one of the few gentlemen she could name as amiable acquaintances—those she’d engaged in debates with who seemed, for the most part, to accept her as she was.
Just when she was about to declare that none of those rare men appeared to be present, she caught the eye of Mr. Bertram Renaud.
Lydia had encountered the gentleman at several seminars over the last few years and they’d engaged in a few lively conversations.
Though not conventionally handsome, the large, bear-like gentleman had dark, often tousled hair, kind eyes, and an intellect that enjoyed any discussions of the natural sciences.
Mr. Renaud was also young, at just over thirty years old, and was quite wealthy.
He didn’t typically attend balls like this, but she recalled hearing that he had made clear to society that he was ready to settle down in matrimony.
Despite his current search for a wife, Lydia had never felt as though he saw her as a potential for that role and considered him at least a pleasant acquaintance, if not a circumstantial friend.
When he saw her standing near the dance floor, Renaud gave a soft smile and a tip of his head in acknowledgement. It was a typical greeting for such acquaintances out in society, but whereas Lydia would normally nod in response, tonight, she lifted her brows in an encouraging expression.
As the gentleman approached, she swiftly began to feel the creep of discomfort.
She had no idea how to do this and wished she’d taken at least a few notes in her observations of Bridget over last season.
Her cousin was a natural in society. Balancing her manner perfectly between flirtation and propriety, Bridget had accumulated a wealth of admirers who anxiously sought her company.
“Good evening, Lady Lydia,” Renaud said with a bow. “You’re looking lovely.”
Unaccustomed to compliments of that sort, Lydia’s instinct was self-deprecation. “I’m quite certain I look as I usually do.” She added a quick smile to soften her contrary tone. “But I was wondering, Mr. Renaud, if you wouldn’t mind partnering me for the next dance?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized her mistake. And if she hadn’t, the gentleman’s shocked stare and lax jaw would have alerted her.
Ladies did not ask gentlemen to dance.
She might have blushed if not for the swift prick of irritation that pierced her over the stupidity of social rules that continually limited women’s actions and behaviors for no apparent reason other than to leave them with significantly less agency than the males of their species.
To avoid rolling her eyes, she offered a bright smile. “I apologize for the unconventional request, sir. Do forgive me. I just thought…”
She thought, what? There truly was no excuse for her forward behavior.
Luckily. Mr. Renaud’s kindness did not falter. He was the one to blush as he lowered his chin. “No need to apologize, my lady. Unfortunately, I’ve already promised the next dance to someone else.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t considered that. “Of course.”
“Perhaps another time,” he offered.
Lydia gave a smile and a nod as the gentleman bowed before stepping away.
Drat and hellfire.
Left standing alone again at the edge of the dance floor, she now had curious glances flitting over to her as those nearest witnessed her moment of embarrassment.
What would her mother do if she just left the ballroom and hailed a hackney cab to take her home?
Instinctively, she scanned for the marchioness’s formidable features and the scowl Lady Loxmarch always wore when gazing upon her only daughter.
She saw her immediately, watching from only a short distance away, no doubt fuming over Lydia’s lack of propriety in her interaction with Mr. Renaud.
The marchioness caught her fleeting glance and held it, narrowing her sharp stare in a silent communication that clearly stated quite clearly: don’t you dare.
Lydia averted her gaze with a huff of frustration.
“You look like you’re in need of rescue.” The words came from just behind her and were spoken in a low, intimate murmur.
Tingling sparks of awareness and alarm danced through Lydia’s body.
She knew that voice—had, in fact, spent the last few hours trying to get it out of her head.
No doubt, if she turned, she’d see the rakish features of Lord Darlington—his eyes at a mysterious half-mast, his carnal mouth curved in a secret smile.