Never Vie for a Viscount

by Regina Scott

Lydia held herself still. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

  He blew out a breath. “I’m trying to say that I still care.”

  She couldn’t believe him. “You can’t. You don’t trust me. I’m not sure you even like me.”

  “I like you quite well indeed.”

  The tone warmed her more than the words. Yet how could she accept them? “I have always liked you,” she admitted cautiously. “But I fear that wasn’t enough then and isn’t now.”

  Slowly he raised his hand, and she closed her eyes, willing his fingers to touch her cheek, to help her remember how it felt to be admired, if only for a moment.

  “My lord?”

  Lydia’s eyes popped open. Worth was frowning toward the open door, where Miss Pankhurst stood framed. Her face was reddening, as if she’d run a great distance, but she gamely held up two squares of material. “I thought perhaps felt to cushion the devices, but I feared it would be too heavy. Would you perform the calculation for me, so I know the tolerances I must not exceed?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, turning for his notebook.

  “We could use Miss Villers’s help as well,” Miss Pankhurst ventured as he scribbled. “Many hands make light work.”

  “Miss Villers is essential to my task,” he said, but he tore a sheet from the journal and offered it to the other lady. “This should provide you a range, Miss Pankhurst. If the combined weight of the fabric remains within these margins, we can accommodate it with the envelope we currently have.”

  She accepted it from him. Their fingers brushed, and she tittered. Worth didn’t appear to notice, but Miss Pankhurst shot Lydia a look of triumph.

  So she was still vying for the viscount’s attentions. Did Lydia truly wish to fight her? Worth may have been distracted from his purpose. She refused to be.

  “I’m not sure how much help I can be, my lord,” she told him. “It would be wiser if I assisted Miss Pankhurst.”

  She wasn’t sure who looked more surprised by the statement as she moved toward the door: Worth, Miss Pankhurst, or herself.

  ~~~

  Four days later, Meredith tucked a pearl-headed hairpin into her coiffure and turned from side to side to examine the effect. She still couldn’t quite conceive that Lady Lilith had invited her to the wedding. If a well-respected solicitor like Julian didn’t warrant inclusion, the owner of an employment agency, however polished and polite, should be excluded as well. Very likely her invitation had come through Lydia’s urgings.

  Scritch, scritch, scritch.

  “Miss Fortune wants out,” her maid Enid said, laying a painted-silk fan and white silk gloves on the dressing table in front of Meredith. “Again.”

  Meredith swiveled on the bench and eyed her pet. Fortune arched her back and straightened her front legs as if she hadn’t just rasped her claws against the wood of the paneled door.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Meredith said. She rubbed her nails over the edge of the walnut dressing table, and Fortune’s ears pricked to the sound. Her pet eyed her a moment over one shoulder, then faced the door again, tail twitching.

  “She likes Miss Villers better than us,” Enid said with a sniff.

  Not likely. Fortune had been her closest friend since the dark days when Meredith had been accused of murdering her previous employer. Alone in London, with no family or friends to come to her aid, Meredith had huddled in a tiny room at the back of a boardinghouse that was just this side of respectable. One day, coming home from the bakery on the corner in the pouring rain, she’d heard a mew. Fortune had appeared at her side, accompanied her home, and shared the meager loaf of soggy bread with her. The cat had never left her side since.

  True, Fortune had shown a marked preference for Lydia’s company the last few days, but then, Lydia had been unaccountably blue, and Fortune tended to gravitate toward those in need. On one occasion, when Meredith had passed the girl’s room, she was certain she’d heard crying. But Lydia’s face had been as sunny as usual when the girl had answered Meredith’s knock. The answers to Meredith’s questions, however, had been less than satisfactory.

  Yes, work was coming along well.

  Yes, her brother was in fine health, as far as she knew.

  No, she needed nothing, thank you so much for asking.

  Strange how so pretty a smile could look so wooden.

  “It’s as if she’s in mourning,” Meredith had confided to Julian when he’d called yesterday.

  Julian had stretched long legs to the fire where they once again took tea in the withdrawing room. “Worth seemed equally troubled the last time we spoke. He seemed fixed on the past.”

  Meredith raised a brow. “The past? Whose past?”

  “His and Miss Villers’s.” Julian held out his cup, and she refilled it with the lavender-scented brew. “He was very much smitten with her last Season, but it didn’t last. I’m not sure why you chose to match them again.”

  Fortune jumped up onto her lap, and Meredith slid her hand down the silky fur. “It was Fortune’s idea.”

  Julian cocked a smile. “Somehow, I thought it was.”

  “You’re humoring me,” Meredith accused, and Fortune regarded him, somber-eyed.

  Julian set down his cup and raised his hands in surrender. “Far be it from me to question your cat. Her record speaks for itself. Three clients and three marriages. Rather impressive.”

  Meredith lifted her chin. “Three clients, three successful matches in occupation. And I see no reason Lydia cannot be number four.”

  “You might if you knew Worth,” Julian said, lowering his hands. “I cannot betray client confidence, but, suffice it to say, the fellow has reason to doubt his judgement.”

  “Good,” Meredith said. “His judgement was in error last year. I want him to question it.”

  Julian laughed. “Believe me, you have succeeded.”

  He would give her no more than that, but Cowls had already related that Lord Worthington appeared to be in as dark a mood as Lydia. How was Meredith supposed to take encouragement from that?

  She rose now, shaking off her concerns. “Very well, Fortune. If you will not come to me, I will come to you.”

  “Your gown, miss,” Enid protested, reaching out as if to protect the satin she’d recently ironed.

  “Is a lovely grey chosen to compliment Fortune’s coat,” Meredith assured her. She moved to the door and picked up her pet. Normally, Fortune cuddled and purred, the perfect tonic for any ailment. Now she squirmed to be free.

  “What is it?” Meredith murmured, struggling to keep hold of her.

  Fortune twisted so her eyes met Meredith’s for a moment, then focused on the closed door.

  With a sigh of resignation, Meredith tucked her closer and opened the door.

  Lydia was standing in the corridor, shifting from foot to foot as if uncertain whether to go forward or retreat into her room. Her gown was as pink as tulips in the spring, with a white-net overskirt spangled with beads that picked up the light. Once more, Fortune squirmed.

  “I begin to see your concern,” Meredith murmured. She raised her head and marched up to her houseguest. “Ready to go so soon?”

  Lydia blinked her great green eyes as if surprised to find Meredith at her side. Then her gaze dropped to Fortune in Meredith’s arms, and her smile blossomed.

  “And how is my sweet kitty snookums?” she crooned, reaching out to caress the cat’s head.

  Meredith had never particularly appreciated the sugary tone or the words that accompanied it, but if Fortune could tolerate it, so could she. Now her pet turned her head to allow Lydia to rub behind one delicate ear.

  “You’re spoiling her,” Meredith realized.

  Lydia drew back her hand, even as Fortune regarded Meredith accusingly.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl muttered.

  “I didn’t mean you,” Meredith said. “Really, Fortune, you are becoming a bother. Is Lydia not allowed some peace?”

  Fo
rtune put her nose in the air as if she had no idea what Meredith was talking about.

  Lydia’s smile returned, soft and fond. “She is a dear friend, and so are you. I’m sorry I haven’t been better company lately.”

  “No need to apologize,” Meredith said. “I would, however, appreciate a confidence. What’s troubling you, Lydia?”

  Lydia sighed, the breath so strong it ruffled Fortune’s fur. “It’s odd, really. I’ve always been accused to trying to rise beyond my reach. It’s rather unnerving to find the accusation true.”

  Meredith set Fortune down at last, and the cat began rubbing around Lydia’s ankles. “Do you mean by attempting to better yourself? There’s no crime in that. If we have no ambition toward anything, we cease to grow.”

  “True,” Lydia allowed, gaze on the cat. “But lately, I wonder whether natural philosophy is enough.”

  Meredith frowned. “Should we look for another position, then?”

  “No, no,” she hurried to assure her with a ghost of her usual smile. “The work is so interesting. Usually. I’ve learned a great deal already, and there’s always more to know.”

  “But?” Meredith encouraged.

  Lydia sighed again. “Nothing. It’s likely a momentary aberration. It was last time, for him.” She started to bend, then hesitated. “May I?”

  Meredith nodded, and Lydia scooped Fortune into her arms, where the cat snuggled against the rose-colored velvet of the girl’s bodice. Very likely there’d be a pattern of grey hairs against the fabric when she was done, but perhaps that was all to the good. A touch of Fortune would remind Lydia that she was loved, and that might be the greatest gift of all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Why had he agreed to come? Worth tugged at his cravat as he and Charlotte sat in the church, Miss Pankhurst and Miss Janssen beside them. St. George’s Hanover Square was crowded, each paneled box pew filled from side to side. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find the galleries above teeming as well. Certainly hushed voices echoed against the vaulted ceiling. It seemed not everyone disliked Beau Villers as much as Worth did. Or perhaps they were curious as to whether the scoundrel would follow through on his promise.

  Villers wouldn’t have had much choice. Lady Lilith’s brother brooked no opposition as he led the bride down the center aisle. Worth had known Gregory, Earl of Carrolton, since they had been at Eton together. He was easily the largest, strongest fellow Worth had ever met. One of the nicest too. Even now his chest was high, his smile bright as he escorted Lilith. And only Gregory could have made his sister look petite.

  An Amazon of a woman, the raven-haired Lady Lilith’s head was an inch or two higher than her groom’s as the two stood and recited their vows at the canopied altar.

  “For better for worse, for richer for poorer…”

  Worth couldn’t help glancing to the other side of the aisle. A row ahead of them, her face in profile to him, Lydia sat, mouth trembling as if she were reciting the words as well. Once he’d been certain she could not have spoken them truthfully, that wealth and position were all that mattered to her. He knew many women, and men, felt the same. Arranged marriages had once been the norm, and even today couples on the ton were as likely to marry for advantage as for love.

  But he remembered his mother and father together, the tender care, the devoted looks. They had held hands when walking through Hyde Park, decades after they’d wed. They’d shared a bedchamber, not from financial necessity but from a desire to be close to each other. That was the kind of marriage he wanted. That was the kind of marriage he’d envisioned with Lydia.

  He’d nearly confessed as much the other day in his laboratory, might have kissed her if not for Miss Pankhurst’s timely intervention. He had decided to listen to his heart again when it came to Lydia, and she’d been the one to run from any opportunity to renew their courtship.

  Why? Surely she could see he was weakening. He’d confessed as much. Had she truly given herself over to the pursuit of knowledge? Or had he been right, and she had never harbored feelings for him and no longer needed to pretend that she did?

  The service ended, and all rose as the bride and groom walked down the aisle side by side. He had never seen Lady Lilith look so happy, face radiant, dark eyes sparkling. Her groom looked more stunned than happy, as if he couldn’t believe the matter resolved. As the sister of the groom, Lydia filed past in their wake.

  “She’s so lovely,” Charlotte said as they joined the procession out of the church to the carriages waiting to take the guests to the wedding breakfast.

  “Lady Lilith is striking,” Worth agreed, escorting his sister and their two assistants to the carriage. Bateman was leaning up against the lacquered wood with his arms crossed as if he was annoyed the ceremony had taken so long.

  Charlotte looked at Worth from the corners of her eyes. “I was speaking of Miss Villers.”

  “Everyone seems lovely in their finest,” Miss Pankhurst put in as Bateman handed her into the carriage. “That is the wonder of a wedding. I daresay we’ll all return to our senses soon.”

  Very likely.

  Until then, Worth accompanied Charlotte and the others to the breakfast and joined many of their family and friends in toasting the bride and groom. Carrolton had spared no expense for his sister’s wedding, renting a large hall with alabaster columns that had been festooned with swags of white roses intertwined with pink lilies. Other plants clustered here and there in elegant jasperware vases. The food was equally fine, with lobster cakes in a rich cream sauce, delicate slices of ham, and a massive wedding cake with so many furbelows decorating the yellow icing he wondered whether the thing was meant to be displayed rather than eaten.

  “Many considered her a spinster, you know,” Miss Pankhurst told no one in particular as they exited the hall for the antechamber following the sumptuous feast.

  “All the more reason to celebrate that she has found love,” Miss Janssen insisted.

  Lady Lilith wasn’t the only one who had met her match. As the guests milled about in congenial company, Worth had time to chat with his old friend Sir Harry Orwell, who had recently married his sweetheart, Patience Ramsey. The pretty blonde had served as companion to Carrolton’s mother before taking a turn as assistant to Harry’s aunt Augusta. Lydia had replaced Patience in that role for a time. Even Carrolton had married, to an intriguing red-haired Frenchwoman with an air of mystery about her.

  “Why, I do believe it’s an epidemic,” Charlotte teased as Carrolton and his countess turned to greet other guests.

  “Not a statistically viable one,” Worth said. “Men our age with titles are generally expected to marry and carry on the line.”

  Miss Janssen heaved a mighty sigh. Miss Pankhurst looked at him expectantly. Charlotte merely raised her brows.

  Worth laughed. “I realize I’m a statistical aberration. I have no plans to marry soon.”

  Miss Janssen slumped, and Miss Pankhurst’s bright light dimmed. Odd. Worth was about to ask what concerned them when Charlotte nodded toward the door of the hall. “Oh, look. Here comes Lydia.”

  Worth turned slowly. Lydia was indeed headed in their direction, pink skirts sweeping across the floor. Her eyes were bright, her head high, and something inside him ordered him to run and meet her. He kept his feet from moving with difficulty.

  “Lydia,” Charlotte greeted her as she drew near. “You must be so happy for your brother.”

  “I am,” Lydia assured her. “But I begin to find myself discontent.”

  Charlotte glanced between them as if waiting for Lydia or Worth to confess they longed for their own wedding. Worth clamped his mouth shut.

  Miss Pankhurst tsked. “Weddings can make any spinster discontent with her life.”

  Miss Janssen sighed again.

  “Oh, I’m not discontent with my life,” Lydia said, smiling around at them all as if to prove it. “I’m discontent at remaining. And so I have a question for you, my lord.”

  All gazes swept hi
s way. Hers was wide and encouraging, and he stood manfully before it, ready for whatever she might ask. “Yes, Miss Villers?”

  Her smiled brightened. “When can we get back to work?”

  ~~~

  They all stared at her. Truly, was it so much to ask? She’d done her best to avoid working directly with Worth the last few days before the wedding, but that didn’t mean she’d changed her mind about the work itself. Things had been rather invigorating, especially since Miss Pankhurst had taken several afternoons off as if certain she’d earned them. Lydia and Miss Janssen had watched as Bateman and several men he had recruited stood around the envelope in the walled garden and tugged it in every conceivable direction. They were as strong as he was; that was apparent by the muscles rippling under their coats. But no matter how they tugged, the envelope remained intact.

  It was a significant achievement, yet so much remained to be done, and time was growing short.

  “An excellent question,” Worth said now. “I hope to see you all at the house first thing in the morning following church services.”

  Lydia could hardly wait. Nice, orderly natural philosophy. Devices that didn’t look at you as if you might hold the key to their future. Heating calculations that didn’t ask whether you were still enamored of them. The work might at times be messy, but it was seldom emotionally taxing. That’s what she needed right now.

  She was smiling as she rapped at the door the next morning. Bateman answered and directed her to the garden. As if the others had been as eager to begin work again, Miss Pankhurst and Miss Janssen were there ahead of her, along with Charlotte and Worth. Miss Janssen’s basket sat on the gravel, ropes running from each side to stakes in the ground. Spilling over one side and trailing off on what remained of the shrubbery was Miss Pankhurst’s silk envelope. It had been threaded through a rope lattice, the ends of which were lashed to the basket. Lydia wiggled with excitement.

  Worth had been adjusting the brazier seated on the center pillar but turned as she came up to the others.

  “Good,” he said. “You’re all here. As you have probably surmised, our steps thus far have gone toward creating an advanced balloon.”