Chapter Fifteen #2
“Aunt Beatrice,” she said slowly, “I wasn’t aware Miss Allendale would be joining us.”
“Well, now you are,” their aunt replied brightly from the settee, teacup in hand. “Isn’t it delightful to gather old friends?”
Delightful, Nicholas thought grimly, watching Lydia’s expression shift—cool as frost on glass.
Victoria turned back to Lydia with a breathless laugh.
“Once upon a time, Nicholas and I were nearly engaged. Did he ever mention that?”
A beat of silence.
Lydia didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. But something sharpened in her jawline, an invisible blade rising behind the eyes.
“No,” she said evenly. “He didn’t.”
“Oh, it was all terribly youthful,” Victoria continued airily. “But you know how these noble attachments go. So many complications.”
“Yes,” Lydia said. “I’ve become quite familiar.”
Nicholas felt something sour bloom in his throat.
He stepped forward. “Lydia—”
But she was already moving toward the door.
“Shall we dine?” she asked, voice smooth as silk. “I believe Cook was warned not to delay.”
Beatrice rose, clearly pleased with herself. “Indeed. I do so love a table full of history.”
Sebastian shot Nicholas a look as they followed the group out.
Charlotte lingered beside him for a breath.
“You didn’t tell her,” she whispered.
“I didn’t have time.”
“You never do,” she said quietly, then moved ahead.
Nicholas trailed after them all, the back of his neck prickling. Lydia walked ahead of him, her posture flawless. But he could feel the cold distance radiating off her like frost.
And dinner hasn’t even begun, he thought to himself.
As Nicholas predicted, dinner was agony. He had never wished for one of his aunt’s fabricated headaches more than he did now.
Victoria had been seated, deliberately, at his left. Lydia, across from him. Charlotte, beside her. Sebastian, opposite Beatrice, sipping his wine like it was theatre night.
The first course arrived with the soft clink of porcelain and silver. Potted hare with toasted bread rounds and crisped sage.
Nicholas would have preferred silence with his supper.
Instead, he got Miss Victoria Allendale, seated to his right, laughing too brightly at a story she had already told twice before.
“And then—oh, you’ll love this, Your Grace—I tripped directly into the pond. Skirt soaked, bonnet ruined, and Nicholas here still had the gall to offer me his handkerchief, as if that would solve the humiliation.”
Nicholas gave a tight-lipped smile, gripping his wine glass a little harder than necessary.
“You were seventeen. And the pond was shallow.”
“And freezing,” she added, her eyes sparkling as they flitted toward him. “But he was such a gentleman. Even then.”
Across the table, Lydia’s expression didn’t change. But he could see it, the stillness in her shoulders, the rigid way her fingers clutched the edge of her napkin, folding it twice, then again.
She hadn’t touched the hare.
Beside her, Charlotte stared down at her plate, pushing food with her fork like it might rearrange the conversation. Her eyes flicked between Lydia and Victoria, wide with apology.
“Of course, Nicholas and I were practically inseparable that summer,” Victoria went on, tilting her head. “Lady Beatrice always said we were meant to be—didn’t you?”
Beatrice smiled but said nothing as Nicholas stabbed a piece of toast and bit it with more force than elegance.
“Well, I find that time,” said Sebastian, who was seated next to Lydia, “is usually best left where it lies. Buried and unmourned.”
“Oh, but we had such fun,” Victoria insisted. “The garden parties. The midnight rides. That time I tried to sneak brandy into the opera—do you remember, Nicholas?”
“Vaguely,” he said, his voice like a stone skipping over cold water.
The footmen cleared the first course.
The next came in a whisper of roasted duck, sliced table-side, the knife gliding through the meat with deliberate, practiced elegance.
Nicholas watched Lydia’s gaze follow the carving knife.
“Do you enjoy opera, Your Grace?” Victoria asked sweetly.
“I enjoy silence,” Lydia said, not looking up.
Charlotte choked softly on her wine.
Sebastian smirked.
“Oh, she’s clever. I do like her,” Victoria said with a chuckle that held too much satisfaction. “But surely Nicholas has told you about our shared love of music. We used to practice duets. I played piano.”
“You attempted piano,” Nicholas muttered.
“And you sang,” Victoria said, turning toward him with a knowing smile. “Baritone. Very dramatic.”
“What a tragedy the ton was deprived of such a career,” Sebastian said, lifting his glass.
“I suppose that’s what wives are for,” Victoria added lightly, looking toward Lydia. “To uncover their husband’s hidden talents.”
Nicholas turned, finally, to face Lydia directly. She was pale beneath the candlelight, but her chin was lifted high, her lips pressed into a polite, unreadable line. The knife beside her plate was still untouched.
He hated this.
He hated all of it—the charade, the cold air twisting between them, the way his aunt was practically gleaming with satisfaction across the table.
“Nicholas has many talents,” Lydia said coolly, finally speaking. “Some more hidden than others.”
“Ooh, how mysterious,” Victoria said, sipping her wine. “I do hope they aren’t all hidden.”
Charlotte dropped her fork.
Sebastian coughed into his napkin.
Lydia rose.
“Excuse me,” she said, with quiet precision. Her hands folded neatly, chin lifted, voice perfectly even. “But I have suddenly come on with the most frightful headache.”
“Oh dear—” Victoria began.
But before she could finish, Lydia turned and left the room.
Nicholas followed moments later, abandoning his brandy glass.
He caught sight of her just past the corridor, walking with sharp, purposeful strides.
“Lydia,” he called softly.
She turned.
Her expression was unreadable.
He stepped forward, not sure what he intended to say. He wanted to explain, to apologize, and to tell her that Victoria’s claws were sharp, but meaningless.
But he never got the chance.
“Nicholas,” came Victoria’s voice behind him. “May I steal a moment of your time?”
He turned his head.
She stood framed in the doorway like a spectre from a past he’d long since buried. Still elegant. Still smiling. Still expecting the world to rotate for her.
He looked back at Lydia.
Her eyes flicked between them, fast, cool, and dismissive.
“Don’t keep her waiting, Your Grace,” she said.
She didn’t look at him again. Instead, she just turned and walked away.
He stood there, useless, fury coiled in his chest. Not at Lydia, but at the rest of it.
At his Aunt’s manoeuvring. At Victoria’s smugness. At the fact that for all his title and pride, he had somehow managed to hurt the only woman in the room who mattered.
And he didn’t know how to fix it.