Chapter Seven
The next morning, Lydia and Bridget joined their cousin Eleanor in her private sitting room at the Duke of Lindley’s grand London home.
The duke was Lydia’s mother’s younger brother by one year and the head of the Fairchild family.
As such, the duke always had important matters to attend to in politics and on his many estates and holdings.
Since his wife accompanied him everywhere—and with Ralston, his only son and heir, having taken up a bachelor’s residence several years ago—Eleanor was most often the only resident beyond the servants in the enormous ducal mansion.
Lydia and Bridget knew that though their cousin detested socializing due to a deep-seated shyness and troubling insecurity, she had often been quite lonely in the past years.
Hating the judgement of society was not the same thing as hating company, so Bridget and Lydia visited Eleanor whenever possible.
Prior to Eleanor’s engagement, the three young ladies often got ready for social events together in these very rooms.
Today, however, they were gathering to go over the final details of Eleanor’s wedding to the Viscount Waring, which was to take place the following Saturday.
The tea table in Eleanor’s sitting room was covered with guest lists, menus, sheets of music, lists of vendors, and a thousand scattered notes jotted on small bits of paper.
Typically, a bride’s mother would take the reins on such an endeavor.
The duchess, however, was a somewhat meek and retiring creature who preferred to remain at her husband’s side than take over any social duties.
She chose to leave that to her only daughter.
“I do hope Mother and Father return to town in time,” Eleanor noted as she eyed the seating arrangement for the wedding breakfast.
Lydia and Bridget shared a quick look, requiring no words for the message contained therein.
Though Eleanor had never complained about the neglectful, absent attitudes of her parents, the other two women had addressed the topic more than once over the years.
They believed the duke and duchess’s lack of personal attention to their daughter had contributed a great deal to Eleanor’s social distress and fear of judgement.
Not that they’d ever said as much to their cousin. Eleanor would’ve loyally defended her parents and downplayed the effect their frequent absences had on her.
Fortunately, very soon Eleanor would be wed to the viscount. And Phineas Coulter had proven from the very beginning that his deepest interest and highest regard were reserved for Eleanor. The man was head-over-heels in love. As was their cousin.
It was a concept Lydia often struggled to understand.
Not so Bridget, who had declared from the start that the viscount was lost for Eleanor the moment he’d met her.
“Of course, they wouldn’t miss their daughter’s wedding,” Lydia assured.
“Indeed,” Bridget added, “such a thing would cause a wicked scandal. The duke would never allow that.”
Giving Bridget a quick warning glance not to take her disdain too far, Lydia noted that Eleanor hadn’t even seemed to hear their responses. Her expression had gone tense and a furrow had formed between her brows.
“What is it?” Lydia asked, resting a hand on the other woman’s arm.
Eleanor blinked and lifted her head to give a soft smile. “I just wish my grandmother could be here.”
Knowing how much Eleanor still felt the loss of her maternal grandmother nearly two years after the lady’s passing, Lydia offered a smile. “I suspect she will be. In spirit.”
There was a moment of quiet before Bridget asked, “Have you and Waring decided where you’re going for your honeymoon, yet?”
Eleanor’s eyes brightened and her smile widened. “I managed to narrow it down to two choices. Phin is going to decide between them and surprise me.”
“What are the two options?”
“Morocco or Egypt.”
Bridget laughed. “Of course, you two couldn’t go with something more traditional, like Paris or Venice.”
Eleanor snorted. “How dull.” A dreamy look sparkled in her eyes. “I want adventure, and Phin has promised to show me the world.”
The three women grinned at each other. If anyone could pull off such a vow, it was Phineas Coulter, renowned adventurer and explorer.
“I’m surprised India isn’t being considered,” Lydia noted, knowing how much Eleanor wished to visit her grandmother’s homeland.
“Oh, we plan to take a longer trip to India, probably next year. There is far too much I wish to explore and too many places to visit. It doesn’t seem a suitable focus for a honeymoon,” she added with a telltale blush rising to her cheeks.
Lydia barely resisted an eyeroll. Ever since her cousin met the charming viscount, she’d been blushing far more than she ever had in the past. She’d also displayed more joy and liberty than ever before. A change of which Lydia greatly approved.
“Exactly right!” Bridget agreed. Her stern tone was utterly contradicted by the gleam of mischief in her eyes. “A honeymoon is for exploring each other. If you spend more than a couple hours outside your bedroom each day, I will be terribly disappointed.”
Eleanor’s cheeks took on a darker rosy hue, but she smiled with no insignificant bit of wickedness. “You won’t need to worry about that,” she replied with a mix of prim propriety and brazenness that should have been incongruent, but somehow wasn’t.
Lydia hid her smile.
Yes, Viscount Waring had been a good influence in breaking her cousin from the gilded cage she’d spent most of her life within. And Lydia couldn’t wait to see what Eleanor accomplished with such a supportive, encouraging man at her side.
As the conversation turned back to the details of the wedding, Lydia allowed her thoughts to wander.
Since she truly had no opinion on the appropriateness of white roses over pink dahlias or what was the earliest time appropriate for the bride and groom to slip away from the festivities to a private celebration, she left such things in Bridget’s capable hands.
Unfortunately, an unoccupied mind often led to unfortunate thoughts. And it proved so today as her thoughts instantly drifted toward the odd occurrences of the prior evening.
She’d known as soon as her mother was confirmed as the chaperone of the season that she would have a challenge in front of her. The marchioness had never been shy in her criticisms of Lydia’s interest in pursuits of the mind over those considered more suitable by society’s standards.
No, her mother’s behavior was not unexpected.
The Earl of Darlington’s, however, certainly was.
Lydia could allow that his unfortunate arrival in the sewing room was totally unintentional. Clearly, he’d been in search of a place to conduct a private rendezvous with the unknown lady who’d arrived after him. Such behavior fit perfectly with what she knew of the infamous womanizer.
What bothered her today was the fact that—in discovering her presence—he did not immediately move along. In fact, he seemed rather content to engage in an admittedly risqué conversation and may have continued to do so if not for the interruption of his lady-friend.
Even more than that was the fact that he approached her again in the ballroom.
She tried very hard to chalk that up to a coincidence, but even if he’d seen her or just happened to find himself standing beside her, there was no reason at all that he should have chosen to speak with her, let alone ask her to dance.
Lydia didn’t trust it.
She didn’t trust him.
And though she could excuse her suspicion as a general distrust of what he represented as a rakehell and hedonist. She had the oddest feeling it went deeper.
And that made her very uncomfortable.