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

17

The London streets were already lively when Lydia arrived at the Royal Mail station. She had spent a sleepless night in bed, and just as the first streaks of dawn came across the sky, she got up, dressed in the most modest gown she could find in the wardrobe, and crept into the street. The dress was far finer than the black she had brought with her, but there was no helping it. Perhaps she could send it back to London when she returned home.

Home.

Lydia could not understand how Carmody looked so dismal now. Before, it was home. Now it was just a place that seemed empty and dull, rendered colorless without Nicholas and Eunice.

She wanted to say goodbye to Eunice, but there was simply too great a chance that Eunice would find a way to stop her. It was cowardly in the extreme, but she decided to let Nicholas handle telling Eunice that she had returned home to the country.

Even thinking of Nicholas made Lydia ache. The more she dwelt on the memories she had of him, the worse it got. He had known about her brother from the beginning, and he had kept it from her. Somehow, somehow, that was the greater crime than being present at her brother's death.

Lydia had decided that she did not blame Nicholas for her brother's death. She had wrestled with it into the wee hours of the morning, but she found that she didn't. It all sounded too plausible. Even she knew how woefully treacherous guns could be, and her brother was no great shot.

More than once in the night, she had wanted to go to Nicholas, to pound on his bedroom door, and demand over and over again that he tell her why he had hid it all from her. She couldn't, instead choosing to stay in bed and stare at the ceiling until she got up and began to pack.

It was a curiously empty coach that she found that morning. She supposed that the coaches to London were usually fuller than the ones leaving. It meant she had the box to herself, at least. The driver and guard seemed courteous, and she braced herself as the coach swung into motion. After a few moments, she drew the shade to shut out the sight of London. She'd had her greatest heartbreak here, and she didn't know when she would ever want to see it again.

Somehow, Lydia fell asleep. Despite the guard and the driver calling back and forth to each other, despite the rough rocking of the coach, and the clatter of the horses' hooves, she fell into a doze born more of heartache than exhaustion.

Lydia dreamed she was sitting across from her brother, and in her dream, Benjamin was so hale and hearty, she couldn't imagine that she had believed he was dead.

"Oh, Benjamin, I've been having a terrible time."

"I know you have, Lydia, but look, I need to tell you; you are making a terrible mistake."

Before he could tell her what that mistake was, however, the coach lurched, jolting Lydia awake. There was shouting from outside, the guard and the driver and a third voice as well, and then the coach juddered to a stop.

Oh, my goodness, can it be another bandit? This close to London?

She didn't have any perfume on her this time, and she looked around frantically for something else she could use as a weapon. All that came to hand was her reticule, which she supposed she could swing at someone's face if worse came to worst. She sat in the dimness of the coach as the men outside conversed, their angry voices slowly quieting down, and then the door was pulled open.

Lydia shouted as loudly as she could, flailing the reticule by its drawstrings. She had the satisfaction of landing a solid blow on the man's face, and then she froze when she heard his voice.

"Dear God in Heaven, Lydia, why don't people disarm you?"

"Nicholas?"

He looked at her wryly. He looked as bad as she probably did, his eyes red and his clothes rumpled as if he had put them on in a hurry.

"Yes. You could have said goodbye, you know."

"Nicholas, we have nothing to say to each other."

"That's not true. Move over."

"What?"

"I bought late passage, move over."

"Nicholas, you can't!"

"I can. I'm riding all the way to Carmody with you if need be, though hopefully, I can talk some sense into you before that."

"Nicholas, I have made up my mind. I am not returning to London."

"You're not angry at me. You're angry at yourself."

"No, I believe I am quite angry at you, as a matter of fact," Lydia said indignantly.

"All right. You are angry at me, but I think you would have gotten over that. I might have had to beg and grovel and abase myself, but you would have. No, you're leaving because you are angry that you are forgetting your brother."

"What are you talking about?" Lydia demanded, but she had a sinking feeling that he was right.

"You kept saying it, and I suppose I never listened. Every moment of happiness I have seen you have, every bit of pleasure, is followed by a panic that you are forgetting your brother. Lydia, it's all right. We are not meant to grieve forever."

"I loved my brother!"

"I know you did. And he would not want you to grieve forever either. Everything you've done, it's for honor, but it is also to keep him close. Lydia, I promise you, you will always remember him. Some days, you will do nothing but. But do not let it blot out the rest of your life. Do not stop it from letting you be happy."

Lydia started to reply, but to her shock, she sobbed instead. This time, she did not stop Nicholas from putting his arms around her. He felt so good, so warm and safe. She loved him so much.

"I am so sorry for what I did," he said quietly. "I should have told you as soon as I knew who you were and what you were doing in London. I was a fool. At first, I was putting off the inevitable, and then, I hoped that when you did find out, you would love me as much as I loved you, care for me in the same way."

She felt his heart beat under her ear, fast and strong. It occurred to her that he was afraid that she would turn away from him. He must have ridden his poor horse into the ground to find her on the coach, she realized.

"I want to do this right," he continued. "If you want to go to Carmody, I will follow you there. If you don't want to see me, I will wait until you do. And when you want me, when you are willing to let me see you and speak with you, I will tell you how very much I love you, how I need you. I will tell you anything you want, and there will never be another lie between us. All I am asking for is a chance, Lydia."

She took a deep breath.

"Tell me now."

"Lydia?"

"Tell me how much you love me now."

She could hear the smile in his voice, the rumble in his chest as he started to speak.

"I love you. I love you better than I love the sun at dawn or at sunset. I love you better than a horse in a full gallop or the feeling of winning a fortune at the gaming tables. I love you better than I love to eat, or to breathe, and I do believe I could live off the very sight of you alone."

"You love me a great deal," Lydia said, tilting her face up to look at him.

"I will continue if you wish."

"No, I want to tell you that I love you as well. I love you so very much there is no room for anything else in my heart. Not anger, not even grief. Not right now."

It seemed a poor confession in return for his, but Nicholas looked as if the sun had finally come out for him. He pulled her close, his lips seeking hers. His kiss was soft and gentle, and somehow, Lydia could swear she could feel his love in it as well as the future they were going to share together.