Chapter Forty-One
Sunlight filled the room when Lydia opened her eyes. Her very first thought was of Edmund. For half a second, she expected to roll over and see his stunning form sprawled next to her on the bed.
Then she chuckled to cover the sob that threatened to escape her.
He was gone. Of course, he was gone.
Sitting up in the unfamiliar bed, she drew her knees toward her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Everything in her ached. Her muscles, her sex, but most of all, her heart.
Denying the sudden urge to indulge in the emotion welling inside her, Lydia rose naked from the bed and searched around for the nightgown and robe Charlotte had lent her. She doubted she’d ever be able to see the dark plum color without thinking of last night.
For a long time, she stood in the center of the room and looked around at every detail, refusing to acknowledge to herself that she was intently seeking some evidence that he’d left behind. Something she might secretly claim and keep.
But not a single trace of him remained. It looked as though he’d never been there.
Finally, she gave a harsh shake of her head.
It was for the best. Only a fool or a masochist would try to hold onto something from a past she’d have to forget. And Lydia was neither.
After a morning bath that removed the intoxicating scent of him from her skin, she managed to create a list of things she needed from her mother’s house. She also wrote a quick note to Bridget, advising of her current circumstances.
She spent the entire day anticipating some response from the marchioness to the prior evening’s events.
But there was no word or action that she knew of.
If her mother had tried to exert her control, Ralston had intercepted it.
In the afternoon, a carriage arrived with some of her clothing and other personal effects from her list, along with Independence and Rebellion.
The calicos wandered about the room, investigating and exploring, until they curled up on the bed for their late day nap.
Though Lydia was mostly relieved that her mother wasn’t going to fight her decision to stay with Ralston for the time being, she couldn’t ignore the harsh twist of regret that it had to come to this.
The regret was short-lived, however.
For the next couple of weeks, she indulged herself in attending every seminar, lecture, and luncheon she could find.
She spent hours in the British Museum and at some of the greatest libraries in London.
In all honesty, she’d never been so contented in her social life.
She met a wealth of interesting people, engaged in fascinating conversations and healthy debates.
Bridget came frequently for tea and divulged all the best news and anecdotes from the haute ton.
And no one questioned how she spent her time or demanded she perform some socially acceptable presentation of womanhood.
It was wonderful—everything she’d imagined.
For the first time ever, her future belonged solely to her. She had no doubt at all that she would be perfectly happy and fulfilled in such a life.
And if she had to pause and blink away the fierce rise of emotion when she opened her sketchbook to find the rough drawing Edmund had once done of her, well…
she supposed it was natural to feel some sense of loss after what she’d shared with him.
And if she couldn’t seem to fall asleep without him in her mind, she had to believe it was not terribly unusual since her first night in that bed had been spent in his arms. And if she developed a frustrating tendency to scan every room she entered for his roguish grin and amber stare…
she told herself the deep longing and choking sadness would eventually fade. It certainly didn’t mean anything.
Everything was wonderful. Truly.
But…she discovered it was possible for one’s life to be exactly as one wished—to find true fulfillment and satisfaction in one’s daily pursuits and yet still experience a sense of loss when it came to a particular individual.
In contemplating that dichotomy, Lydia decided it was time for her to make an appearance at a haute ton event, exactly two weeks after the Mandeville ball.
Not because she suddenly wished to revert to her prior lifestyle or become a social butterfly like Bridget, but she realized she no longer had the same need to avoid it.
As long as she wasn’t being forced to play some part she didn’t want, why couldn’t she enjoy a bit of music and revelry?
Bridget, of course, was delighted to have Lydia accompany her to the ball she was attending that night. Gratefully, Ralston and Charlotte agreed to chaperone them for the evening, so the two women gathered in Lydia’s bedroom at Ralston’s house to get ready.
If her insightful cousin noticed that Lydia did not delay her own toilet as she usually did.
Or that she’d chosen to wear her favorite gown, a striking sapphire creation.
Or that she kept looking at herself in the mirror with a furrow between her brows and her lip caught in her teeth.
Well…the other young woman didn’t say anything.
Until she did.
“What will you do if you see him?” Bridget’s question came quietly as she sat on the corner of the bed, watching Lydia lean toward the mirror for the tenth time at least, to adjust one of the curls in her coiffure.
Tensing, Lydia caught her cousin’s gaze in the mirror.
There was no need to pretend she didn’t understand.
She’d very intently avoided even the most casual discussion of the Earl of Darlington, and since her first attempt, Bridget had gotten the message that he was not to be mentioned.
But there was only so long her cousin would be put off such a topic.
Lydia’s voice was quiet and her tone hesitant as she replied, “Do you think he’ll be there?”
The other woman lifted and dropped her shoulder then offered an encouraging smile.
Turning from the mirror, a twist in her stomach, Lydia asked, “Have you seen him? At all?”
“A bit. Here and there.”
Though she was yearning for more detail—desperate to know if he was seen with anyone gorgeous and sophisticated—Lydia didn’t press.
Instead, she took a fortifying breath and spoke with no small amount of false conviction.
“I imagine, if we do encounter each other, we’ll be quite civil.
Our…association was not a typical sort of affair. We ended things…quite amicably.”
And then, because she couldn’t keep her cheeks from heating at the thought of just how amicably they’d ended things, she turned away. “We should be going. Ralston and Charlotte are likely waiting for us downstairs.”
If Bridget gave a soft grunt behind her as Lydia led the way from the bedroom to the grand staircase, she chose to ignore it. Just as she chose to ignore the rioting emotions of hope and terror that swirled in her core when she imagined seeing Edmund again.
There was no reason to assume he’d be there. Surely, his interests would lead him to other sorts of entertainments.
She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to alleviate the painful pressure behind her sternum as she imagined him laughing and flirting and charming his way from one lady’s bed to another.
The thought made her sick and hot with jealousy. She had to force it from her mind lest it push her to do something truly irrational.
She missed him. Deeply. Intensely. With a physical sort of ache that only grew as each day passed. She wasn’t certain what that said about her devoted pursuit of independence, but it was true.
“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath.
“Excuse me?”
Lydia blinked, realizing she’d reached the entry hall where Ralston and Charlotte waited and that she’d muttered the expletive out loud. Her eldest cousin eyed her with a look of sheer astonishment while Charlotte suddenly found something terribly interesting about her gloves.
Bridget, however, stepped up quickly to say, “I was just telling Lydia about the excellent duck I enjoyed at dinner last evening.”
An odd choking sound escaped from Charlotte, who immediately began coughing as she turned away. Ralston simply stared intently at his young cousins, his dark eyes intent and searching.
Lydia offered a tight smile. “Shall we go?”
With his characteristic harrumph, the marquess took his wife’s hand and led them to the carriage.
With the Season rounding toward a close, the party that evening was expected to be rather small by London standards.
Though the musicians were playing a lovely tune, the dancing hadn’t started yet as the host and hostess for the evening were still engaged in receiving their guests.
Ralston found a nice spot near the windows from which to conduct his chaperonage.
Bridget was quickly engaged in conversation with a few friendly young ladies, and though she tried to draw Lydia into the pleasant small-talk, she was unsuccessful.
Lydia’s focus was elsewhere.
As soon as the first dance began, her gaze followed the dancers moving gracefully across the floor.
She couldn’t keep herself from scanning for a familiar set of broad shoulders, tousled dark hair, and a rakish smirk.
With a deep, heavy sigh, she fully acknowledged the real reason she’d come out tonight.
As soon as she had the thought, she saw him. Standing almost directly across the dance floor from her, leaning against a pillar. His posture was casual, his chin lowered, and his stare glittered with amber sparks as he stared intently—fiercely—back at her.
Her entire being ignited with a firestorm of sensations. Every emotion he’d ever made her feel, every time he’d made her feel seen and heard, every ounce of pleasure he’d ever drawn from her body, danced through her memory and rooted themselves in her soul.
She’d tried so hard not to think of him, consider him, yearn for him. But all she’d succeeded in doing was to close it all off in a dark corner, from which it currently burst free like a raging tidal wave, churning with regret, need, the deepest desire, and an undeniable longing.
And she was drowning.