Regency Romance: A Race Against The Lord (A Historical Romance Book) (COMPLETED)

06

Four days later, Lydia paced the length of the drawing room for what felt like the thousandth time. The ladies' drawing room in Nicholas' London home was well-appointed and luxurious, complete with a writing desk if she cared to correspond, a pianoforte if she cared to play, and a shelf of books if she wished to read. As a matter of fact, she did not care to do any of those things.

Her nerves were a frayed mess, and when the door creaked open, she was ready to pounce on the person entering for news of Nicholas or his investigation. Instead, it was only Miss Eunice Stanhope, Nicholas' great-aunt, and she was too small and frail to deal with very much pouncing at all.

Lydia had assumed that any female relative of Nicholas' would be as imposing and impressive as Nicholas himself. She supposed that if she had considered of it, she would have expected a dragon. Instead, Eunice Stanhope was shorter than Lydia and as round as plum, with cheeks that were rosy with mirth. She was close to eighty, and as she had told Lydia when they were introduced, a little forgetful at times, but there was nothing wrong with her heart at all.

Even though she was still grieving over her brother and eager to get on with the search for what had happened to him, Lydia could feel something cold in her thaw under Eunice's fluttering care. The woman didn't seem to care at all for Lydia's mission or her great-nephew's cautions. Instead, upon meeting Lydia, she tucked her arm through the younger woman's, beaming up at her with pleasure.

"Well, we certainly are going to get along, aren't we?" Eunice cooed, and for the most part, they had.

"Oh, my dear, why do you look so disappointed?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Stanhope. I hoped it might be Nicholas come to give me some news."

Eunice tutted, coming over to sit next to Lydia.

"Well, that nephew of mine is keeping himself busy out of the house for the moment, but I believe that he will be joining us for dinner. Perhaps until he comes to join us, you would care to embroider with me a little?"

There was nothing Lydia wanted to do less, but she watched as Eunice opened her sewing basket. As it turned out, the older woman left her sewing supplies in such a mess that Lydia could take the afternoon detangling all of it for her as Eunice clucked in dismay. By the end, she was as restless as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and when Eunice drifted off with a skein of black silk thread in her hand, snoring quietly, Lydia decided that enough was enough.

"Excuse me," she asked a passing footman, "but have you any idea when the duke will be at home?"

"He should be at home any moment, Lady Lydia. Would you like to have the duke directed to the drawing room?"

Lydia paused. That would be the most proper thing to do. He would come, they could have a civilized talk about her situation, what was happening, and any progress he was making.

And then he would avoid her questions about what came next, what she could be doing to help with the search, and everything else, just like Nicholas had been doing for a week.

"No," she said abruptly. "I will wait for him in his study."

The footman was far too well-trained to protest her unorthodox behavior and simply led her to the study.

Once the door closed behind her, Lydia felt a pang of doubt. She had only been in her own father's study a handful of times, and Nicholas' was far grander. It was paneled in dark wood with a thick Aubusson carpet underneath, and the desk, empty with only a few envelopes on top of it, looked like some kind of pagan altar, a place where maidens could be sacrificed to hungry gods. The light was beginning to fail already, giving the place an entirely gloomy look.