Chapter Nine
Lydia held her breath as she walked away, forcing a casual pace.
By the time she’d traversed the many chambers and hallways to the front entrance of the museum, her entire body was subtly trembling and her mind was racing with conjecture.
What in hell had just happened?
She didn’t trust for a second that the earl had just chanced upon her. Not after last night.
But why would a man like that intentionally seek her out?
Her reputation as a borderline contemptuous bluestocking had been carefully cultivated.
Her disdain and disinterest in all things society deemed beneficial to the grace and betterment of young women was intentionally made clear for all to see.
It helped to ensure that only those interested in discussing those topics in which she harbored an interest had the courage to approach her.
The strategy helped her to avoid exactly the kind of interactions she’d just experienced.
So, why was the notorious Earl of Darlington ignoring all of it?
He wanted something from her. She just couldn’t fathom what that might be.
Time for some research.
Immediately upon leaving the museum, she instructed her driver to take her to Lindley House.
As the head of the Fairchild family, Eleanor’s father, the duke, had the most extensive library including the latest publication of Debrett’s Peerage.
Though she was advised upon arrival that none of the family was home, the butler did not refuse her entry.
She’d been coming and going from Lindley House since childhood, and as the London family seat, it was open to anyone in the family with proper cause.
The duke’s library was as familiar to her as her own. She quickly found the volume she was seeking, published just two years ago, and sat on the floor before the fire to peruse its contents. The section on the Darlington earldom was easy enough to find.
She skimmed through its history to the latest update.
The current earl, Edmund Holt, inherited the title when a tragic house fire took the lives of the previous earl, his countess and their three children.
Since that gentleman had no brothers or uncles, the title and entailed estate was passed through a more distant branch of the family where it came to rest upon Edmund Holt, listed only as a young man of modest means.
There was no reference to the Holt family’s legacy other than to trace the source of their lineage back to the prior earl’s great-great-grandfather and to note that they were residents of London.
It was oddly vague and told her absolutely nothing of why the man would have developed a strange and sudden interest in her.
With a sigh, she set the book back on its shelf and collected the sketchbook she’d set aside. As she did so, a loose piece of paper fell to the floor. Realizing it was Darlington’s drawing, she huffed with annoyance and bent to pick it up.
The image he’d sketched gave her pause.
The man obviously had no training and barely any natural skill, but it was clear at a glance that his subject had not been the Egyptian statue. It was her.
A tremor rolled through her as she studied the sketch of her profile. He’d drawn her as she sat on the bench, her face tipped up to view her own subject as her hand rested atop the book in her lap. In bold sweeps and hasty shading of the charcoal, he’d created a passable likeness.
But it wasn’t admiration of his drawing ability that caused her sudden discomfort, it was the fact that he’d decided to draw her in the first place. He’d had to make a conscious decision to assess her in a way that she’d very carefully avoided for the last few years.
She did not like that at all.
With another short sound of displeasure, she tucked the drawing back into her book and left Lindley House. She only had an hour before her next scheduled engagement, and she didn’t wish to be late.
The luncheon was a weekly event hosted by the Countess Raleigh; a woman Lydia admired beyond most. A bluestocking of the prior century, Lady Raleigh had spent decades cultivating a loyal circle containing some of the country’s greatest minds.
Philosophers, poets, political innovators, scientific explorers, and social visionaries.
Best of all, all of them—each and every one—were women.
Lydia had met Lady Raleigh nearly two months ago at a dinner hosted by one of her father’s political allies.
Despite their significant difference in age, the two women quickly became friends via a discussion of the latest publication by poet and authoress Hannah Moore.
By the end of the evening, Lady Raleigh had invited Lydia to her next luncheon.
Having known the lady’s reputation, Lydia had been ecstatic and the luncheon had been everything she could have hoped it would be as she spent that first afternoon in a lively debate with a French philosopher and a young novelist who wrote and published wildly popular books that thinly veiled critical commentary on high society.
She’d been a regular attendee ever since. And Lady Raleigh’s luncheons continually possessed a rare society of like-minded women where Lydia felt she could be only and utterly herself. It was something she’d only ever experienced before with her cousins.
However, whereas Bridget and Eleanor had never made her feel judged or insisted she be anyone but herself, the three women did not share many of the same interests and often sought out their own entertainments and activities separate from each other.
Because of that, when there happened to be an occasion that engaged them all in equal delight, it was something they celebrated.
The next evening was such an occasion.
The theater was enjoyed by each of them in different ways. Eleanor loved the emotion and the drama. Bridget adored the social spectacle. And Lydia engaged deeply with the storytelling.
It was opening night for a new rendition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
It was not Lydia’s favorite Shakespearean play, but she was open to experiencing a fresh interpretation.
And since their escort for the evening was Eleanor’s witty and charming fiancé, she was looking forward to a diverting night out without her mother’s constantly critical presence.
As was common, the three ladies convened in Eleanor’s rooms of Lindley House to dress for the evening ahead.
Eleanor’s maid was accustomed to helping each of the ladies with their gowns and hairstyles and accessories.
As was also common, Lydia was last to finish her toilette.
She preferred to lounge about in her comfortable underclothes and robe as long as possible before being cinched into her stays as pins were lodged against her scalp.
Bridget was ready first and paced excitedly about the room while Eleanor sat at her vanity, patiently still as her thick black hair was twisted and curled into the current style.
“I’ve heard that Robert Tremaine is outright scandalous as Puck,” Bridget noted with mischief sparkling in her brown-gold eyes.
“How could you have heard that?” Eleanor queried. “Tonight is the first public performance.”
Bridget flashed a smile and gave a shrug. “I’ve got my sources. You may not realize it,” she added cheekily, “but regular socializing tends to result in acquiring a wide variety of acquaintances.”
Eleanor visibly cringed at the other woman’s facetious teasing. “I’m quite aware,” she replied tersely.
Bridget laughed at her cousin’s obvious distaste before inquiring in earnest. “How on earth are you going to fare while traveling about the world? Just think of all the people you’ll be forced to meet.”
“Yes,” Eleanor replied, “but it won’t be under the pressure of expectation and judgment that plagues me in London’s haute ton.”
“Good point,” Bridget admitted. “And just think, not too much longer before you’re finally free.”
“I know,” Eleanor sighed.
Lydia shook her head. “I still can’t believe that in four days you are going to be a married woman. The Countess Waring.” Pushing herself up from the armchair where she’d been reclining, Lydia eyed her cousin. “Are you still certain you wish to go through with it?”
“Lydia!” Bridget exclaimed.
But Eleanor returned her pointed stare with a steady gaze. “Quite certain, dear cousin. Phin is… He’s…” A blush pinkened her golden skin as she failed to come up with proper words.
Lydia shared a quick look with a grinning Bridget before giving a gentle roll of her eyes.
“Yes, I know, your man does seem to be an exceptional example of the gender,” she pressed gently, “but have you thought of all the things that will change once you’ve promised your life to a husband?”
Eleanor nodded. “I have. I understand your concerns and…fears for the possible difficulties marriage often causes women, but I assure you, I’ve no doubts about my future with Phin.”
Lydia could see it was true, and though she struggled to understand why anyone would wish to put their entire life into someone else’s hands, she smiled and nodded for her cousin’s sake.
“Well, since this is likely the last time the three of us will be able to enjoy a night out together before the wedding, let us make the absolute most of it,” Bridget said as she gave Lydia a gentle shove toward the bed where her gown was still laid out and waiting.
“Now, hurry up and ready yourself or we’ll miss the entire first act. ”
“This Tremaine fellow had better be as entertaining as you promise.”
“He will be,” Bridget assured with a wink.