But she’d known better.
Jeremy had not been heartless—not with her and not with the people he had cared for.
The fact that he’d shut them out was why she was unhappy. Her throat thickened with emotion at the thought.
“Do your brothers know you are here?” His voice skated over her senses as he trailed behind her. He hadn’t offered his arm, and he did not touch his hand to her back protectively.
“Blackheart is on the Continent, and Lucas is in Kent. Aunt Emma has taken up residence at Heart Place in Blackheart’s absence as my guardian.” She straightened her back. “But I’m not a child.”
“Ah, yes. Dear Aunt Millicent. She’s the deaf one, is she not? The one who wears obnoxiously thick spectacles.”
“She is a little hard of hearing but I’d hardly call her deaf. When did you become so cruel?” Lydia refused to look at him.
“You are not yet nine and ten, and Blackheart abandons you in London to fend for yourself? What on earth is he thinking?”
On her eighteenth birthday, less than ten months before, even though Jeremy had been in mourning for his brother, he’d taken her for a romantic stroll through the meadow that stretched between Galewick Manor and Crescent Park. He’d gently tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and the two of them had strolled to the waterfall at the tip of both estates.
He’d told her the bluebells reminded him of the color of her eyes. And he’d kissed her.
The gentle pressure of his lips on hers had sent her heart racing. The feel of his arms pulling her close had made her blood flow hot.
Now, he acted as though they were strangers.
“I did not expect to see you here,” she informed him.
“Oh, really?”
Lydia clenched her jaw.
Four months before, he’d specifically asked her to keep away from him. Against her heart’s desire, she had honored that request.
Wednesday, November Fourth.
She’d awoken believing it would be the happiest day of her life, but by the time the sun had set, was left nursing a broken heart. She would never forget the date. It was imprinted on her soul.
He’d presented himself at Crescent Park in the morning and then disappeared into the study with both of her brothers. He had come to ask for her hand and although a marriage between the two of them would be a benefit to both estates, it was also going to be a love match.
Such an alliance would have been a celebrated one—the daughter of a duke to a neighboring earl.
But there had been no celebration that day.
When he’d emerged from Blackheart’s study, Jeremy had not come to her in the drawing room, dropped onto one knee, and declared his undying love.
He had marched angrily past the drawing room, slammed the front door closed behind him, and then ridden off on his horse as though the hounds of hell had been chasing him.
Her brothers told her the meeting had not concerned her and then refused to give her any other explanation. None of it made sense, and so—even though it was snowing—she’d donned her half-boots, woolen coat, mittens, and scarf and traversed the well-worn path to Galewick Manor. What could her brothers possibly have done to offend him?
She had been concerned but not overly so. It had to have been a simple misunderstanding. She could fix this. She would talk with him, apologize for her brothers, and he could continue courting her.
She’d entered the library at Galewick Manor feeling hopeful, but that hope had faltered when he’d greeted her with cold and unwelcoming eyes. She’d seen him tired and hurt and filled with despair, but she’d never seen him angry.
He’d ordered her to cease her visits. He didn’t want to have anything to do her family ever again. And that had included her.
She’d begged him to tell her why, to make her understand, but just like her brothers, he’d failed to give her the reason why.
By the time she’d trudged home, her hope had died.
Four months had passed since he’d broken her heart. She hadn’t laid eyes on him again until today.
But for the murmuring of masculine voices from below and an occasional cheer, the two of them approached the staircase in silence. Three ladies now circulated amongst the gentlemen in the gaming area below, all of them scantily dressed in identical gowns.
From her vantage point, Lydia noticed feathers tucked into their chic but messy buns, their curled hair twisted into tall styles atop their heads.
Trailing her hand along the smooth railing, she felt unusually plain and drab as she descended to the main floor.
“Not all ladies are daughters of a duke,” Jeremy chastised, apparently misreading her lingering gaze. He gripped her elbow in case she needed steadying as they began their descent, his disdain somehow palpable even in his touch.
Lydia fidgeted with her gloves when they finally arrived at the club entrance, spotting the same large man from before.
“Mr.… Ben? Would you please have Lady Baxter’s carriage brought around?” she asked primly, aware that Jeremy was watching her, leaning casually against one of the large columns that flanked the door.
She hated that she was wearing one of the plainest gowns she owned—a brown muslin, patches on the skirt and unadorned by any embroidery or lace. She and Clarissa had both agreed it would be best not to stand out when they visited the docks.
She also hated that she wanted his good opinion and that the skin where he’d touched her still tingled.
“I won’t hold you to Lord Baxter’s suggestion. I’ll find another sponsor.” It might delay the opening of the orphanage, but as Blackheart’s sister, she wasn’t without connections.
“I’m afraid the decision isn’t mine to make.” He continued staring at her, unsmiling.
“But if you are involved, you’ll have no choice but to work with me, perhaps daily at times. And quite possibly my brothers as well. I thought you never wanted to see us Cockfields again.”
“Some things are worth the trouble.” He pushed away from the wall.
“You mean this other project Lord Baxter mentioned?”
His mouth remained set and hard. “Yes.”
Was that all she was to him now? Trouble?
Lydia rolled her lips together, wanting to ask what he’d been doing these past four months, wanting to breach this gulf between them. But also stinging from the animosity rolling off of him.
He’d once welcomed her questions. He’d once allowed her to comfort him. “How is your mother? Is she here in London?” she asked instead.
Pain flashed across his face. She only recognized it because she’d seen it so many times in the past.
“She is here but she is… recovering. She had apoplexy on boxing day.” His voice sounded unemotional and flat.
Lydia’s hand flew up to her chest. “I am so sorry. I would have visited her if—”
“She’s not taking visitors.” He refused to meet her gaze now, choosing instead to stare at the gaming tables. “Don’t come here again. This isn’t a place for ladies.”
“Oh.” That must mean he spent a good deal of his time here then. Did he flirt with the ladies when he gambled? “I didn’t know you were a member.”
“The club’s membership is private.” The ice in his voice slashed through to the core of her bones. The look in his eyes informed her that his personal life would be kept private as well.
From her.
She hugged her arms in front of her, rubbing the spot where he’d touched her elbow.
Very well. She refocused.
“If I’m going to finalize the purchase of the Tuesday Warehouse, I’ll need your answer soon, before the owner begins entertaining other offers.” If they were going to have to work together, she could at least move things along. Not because she didn’t want to know him again, but because he obviously didn’t want to know her.
If only she knew why!
“Your coat, My Lady.” Ben reappeared with the pea-green woolen cloak he’d taken ear
lier and, at the sound of a carriage outside, disappeared out the door. Holding the garment, she again wished she’d worn something prettier that day, and then immediately squashed the thought.
“Is shabby and ill-fitting the new style, then?” Jeremy asked, watching her struggle to find the openings to the sleeves. “Not your color at all.”
His behavior was not only boorish but outright rude!
“We dress this way for the docks. I wouldn’t normally—" The coat slipped away from her for the third time, and she all but growled. “Have you lost all sense of propriety? A little assistance would be appreciated!” It was his fault, of course, for making her feel so clumsy.
“What good is propriety?” He all but mocked the notion.
Lydia’s heart cracked. Was he so unhappy that he didn’t care about anything?
“You once thought it was something that mattered.” She tilted her head back in frustration, allowing the coat to hang to the floor, her left arm in the sleeve, her right arm free.
“I once thought a good many things mattered.” Despite his words, he reached out and lifted her coat for her anyway.
Even through her coat and clothing, his touch affected her. Concentrating on her buttons, she took a step away from him and tried to recenter herself again.
“Why an orphanage, Lydia?” he asked. “Why not leave something so… impossible up to one of the dowagers? I’d think organizing charity events would be more suitable for you.”
“Charity events?” she huffed. “And opening an orphanage isn’t impossible!”
“For god’s sake. You’re not up to something like this. It’s a massive undertaking.”
“Someone has to do it. If not us, then who? I never realized before how many children were without homes. There are thousands of them! After meeting Clarissa last spring, and then volunteering at one of her orphanages over the holiday, I…”
But his brandy-colored eyes looked cold and bored. She glared. “You wouldn’t understand. Why did you ask if you didn’t care to know the answer?”
“Just making conversation. I thought you wanted me to respect your all-important proprieties.” His mouth twitched, as though he’d tasted something bitter. “Regardless, you’re too young to take this on, and when you get tired of it and the varnish on your pet project fades, you’ll likely do more harm than good.”
“I’m not the fickle one.” She lifted her chin. “Once I begin something, I follow through with it.”
“In that case, perhaps you ought to reconsider your decision now. Best to get out early rather than after you’re in over your head.”
Lydia stared. Was that why he’d ended things between the two of them? Had he wanted out before things went too far?
But it was not. His reason had had something to do with the death of his brother. The thought reminded her of all that he’d been through over the past year.
“Is she expected to recover—your mother, I mean?” Lady Tempest had always seemed rigid, demanding, and even less demonstrative than Jeremy, but with both his father and brother gone, she was all he had left.
“I don’t know.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Where the devil is that carriage?”
He was anxious to be away from her.
Lucky for both of them, Clarissa and Lord Baxter had begun descending the staircase and would soon be joining them. Lydia forced a smile. “If you’ll let me know what you’ve decided after you’ve had your engineers go in, I’d rather not wait any longer than necessary to have your answer.”
“Tomorrow. You and Lady Baxter are welcome to meet me at the warehouse at noon.”
Ben’s voice, and presumably the driver’s, carried inside as the other couple joined them.
“Is everything settled?” Clarissa asked, sliding her gloves on and glancing between the two of them curiously.
“As settled as it can be without knowing if termites have eroded the damn thing,” Jeremy answered grimly.
“Ladies are present, Tempest.” Clarissa’s handsome husband shot a scowl in Jeremy’s direction.
“Pardon me. The dashed thing.”
“Yes.” Lydia bit her lip. What could have possibly occurred for him to change his opinion of her family so drastically, to change his opinion of her? Perhaps meeting him here today was fate. “We should know more tomorrow. Are you ready, Clarissa?”
Jeremy was going to have to talk with her eventually. And this time, she wouldn’t give up until he gave her some answers.
Because, truth be told, nothing was settled.
* * *
“Has Lord Tempest always been so… cynical?” Clarissa asked as their driver pulled the carriage into the road. The two ladies were seated beside one another, facing front. Clarissa’s hair was not as pristine as it had been when they’d first arrived, and a few of her buttons were askew, but as the two of them were finished with their errands for the day, Lydia refrained from commenting.
“He’s never been overly friendly, I’ll admit. But he changed last year, especially in November... What with the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death… and Naomi and Baby Amelia and my brother Lucas…” Lydia exhaled a weighty breath.
“Lord Lucas married his brother’s widow, and is now raising the man’s daughter. Oh, but the child is Tempest’s niece. How could I forget that?” Clarissa winced. “And Mason had to go and insist Tempest take part in this Tuesday Warehouse project! I know he thought he was doing what was best, but if I ask him, he can fix this.”
“Jeremy minds more than I do.” Lydia met her friend’s concerned look with a weak smile.
“Ah…” Clarissa studied her closely. “I take it he has hard feelings, then?”
That was putting it mildly. “I thought he was handling it well enough, last summer. He even attended their wedding. I thought…” Unexpected tears pricked the back of her eyes. “I thought that he and I…”
“Oh, Lydia.” Clarissa stared back at her, horrified. “Tell me you’re not in love with him?”
“I’m not!” Lydia shook her head adamantly.
“Oh, but you are. I can see it in your eyes.”
Lydia silently cursed her inability to dissemble. Her twin sister, Lucinda, was far better at it. Of course, if she were here, and not with her new husband and his family, Lucinda would see right through her as well.
“Lord Tempest is considerably older than me.” Lydia felt the need to defend something that never was and never would be. “Twelve years, actually. But I didn’t think age mattered if two people were truly in love.”
“It’s not his age that’s the problem. And you’re right, it doesn’t matter. Baxter is older than me by nine years. And even if it did, you seem far more mature than most girls your age. You are something of an old soul. But I have a hard time picturing you with him. You are so… optimistic and well-mannered and sweet, and he… is not.”
“He used to be—in his own way.” She pinched her lips together. “Our families were close, before Lucas and Naomi…”
“But that is hardly your fault.”
“I agree, believe me. But he is holding it against all of us.” His turnabout simply didn’t make sense. He’d attended the wedding; he’d given the couple his blessing. “At least, I think that’s what it is.”
“What else would it be?”
Lydia shook her head. “I wish I knew.” Perhaps it was something she had done—something she’d said. She’d even questioned that she wasn’t pretty enough—that he’d decided he wanted to marry someone who was more sophisticated. Only…that was not like him at all.
“One day, he seemed to truly care for me—more than care for me. And he kissed me—twice. And then the next… I might as well have been one of his worst enemies.”
“Did he lead you to believe he would make an offer?”
He had. Although he’d not made any promises.
“Perhaps I only saw what I wanted to see. For as long as I can remember, I have been at least a little in love with the
dark and mysterious Jeremy Gilcrest. Of all my brothers’ friends, he seemed… special. Unlike his younger brother, he wasn’t overly boastful, and he didn’t joke about ungentlemanly pursuits. My greatest fear growing up was that he would marry some other woman before I was old enough to be taken seriously. In the end, I suppose, it didn’t matter.”
“Sometimes,” Clarissa tilted her head, “these things simply need to work themselves out. I went six years without knowing where Mason was. I didn’t know if he was alive or dead—I didn’t even know his true identity! And then… there he was.” She smiled dreamily and then shrugged. “And the rest is history.”
Lydia couldn’t help but smile, knowing how happy her friend was. Even if she was a little jealous.
Clarissa tapped her gloved finger to her chin thoughtfully. “If a tragic event changed him, perhaps the opposite could change him back.”
Lydia pictured a scenario where Jeremy became very involved with the building and opening of the orphanage. A scenario where he changed children’s lives for the better. “Do you suppose that is what Lord Baxter was hoping for?”
“It didn’t occur to me before, but it seems like something he’d do. Perhaps your Lord Tempest merely needs a nudge in the right direction?”
Or perhaps he needed a weighty shove.
“I don’t want to get my hopes up.” Lydia rubbed her chest. The ache in her heart had just begun to dull.
“It can’t hurt, can it?” Clarissa asked.
“I’m not so sure about that.” She sent the other woman a weak smile. Even if Jeremy didn’t find hope again, at least she would have a chance to learn the truth. And then, perhaps she could move on, putting her love for him to rest once and for all.
“If you don’t try now, you’ll always wonder. Whereas, if you at least try, even if you fail, you’ll know you did everything you could.”
Clarissa was right. Perhaps Lydia needed to consider these circumstances an opportunity—a chance to help Jeremy find hope again.
Earl of Tempest Page 2
