A Study In Seduction

by Rowan Nina

  “A pleasure, Miss Kellaway. Lord Northwood.”

  He responded in kind, stepping forward to greet her.

  My God, Lydia thought—or rather, mon Dieu. What if the two women had walked in fifteen minutes prior?

  A bubble of laughter worked its way up her throat. “Yes… yes, and you as well, Lady Montague.”

  “Jane is still at the church with Mrs. Keene, but Lady Montague was kind enough to agree to come and meet you,” Mrs. Boyd explained. “Please tell Mrs. Driscoll we’re here, and then you can join us for tea.” She frowned. “What is so amusing?”

  “Nothing. I…” Lydia pressed her lips together.

  “You’re welcome to join us of course, my lord.”

  “I was just leaving, Mrs. Boyd,” Northwood said. “Miss Kellaway and I had several accounting matters to discuss. And I wished to invite her to visit my father’s estate next weekend.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Boyd glanced at Lydia. Anticipation sparked in her eyes—though Lydia knew quite well it had nothing to do with the proposal and everything to do with the fact that Viscount Northwood had extended her an invitation.

  “You’re welcome to join us, Mrs. Boyd,” Northwood added. “Jane as well.”

  “Oh, thank you, my lord, most generous. But I must decline. Jane will be starting dance lessons, and I’ve several charities of my own I must attend to. But Lydia would be delighted to accept, wouldn’t you, my dear?”

  “Delighted.”

  “Delighted,” Mrs. Boyd echoed. She flashed a brilliant smile at Northwood. “Thank you, Lord Northwood. We are much obliged. You know, Mrs. Keene has spoken quite highly of you and the good works in which you are engaged.”

  “Oh, yes,” Lydia agreed. “Lord Northwood is very generous with his endowments, which are indeed considerable.”

  Northwood laughed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dear Jane,

  Another excellent riddle. I am still working on my response.

  I did not know that worms have the ability to replace lost segments of their bodies. What an odd characteristic, though certainly a convenient one.

  Here is a word problem for you, since it appears your cleverness exceeds the complexity of my own riddles:

  Find an odd number with 3 digits such that all the digits are different and add up to 15. The difference between the first two digits equals the difference between the last two digits. The hundreds digit is greater than the sum of the tens and ones digits.

  Perhaps you might ask your sister for help. If necessary, of course.

  Sincerely,

  C

  The door clicked open. Jane pushed the letter between the pages of sheet music and turned to greet Mr. Hall. Except that it wasn’t Mr. Hall who entered the fancy drawing room, but Lord Northwood.

  “My lord.” She smiled as she pushed herself up from the piano bench and gave a little curtsy. “I was waiting for Mr. Hall. Mrs. Driscoll’s just gone for tea.”

  “Hello, Jane.” With an answering smile, Lord Northwood closed the door behind him and approached the piano. He paused beside her, running one finger across the pristine keys. An F-sharp sounded.

  “Sebastian had this specially made by a piano manufacturer in Germany,” he said. “Cost a fortune. The man who made it accompanied the delivery himself to ensure it was intact and properly tuned when it arrived.”

  “We just… we have a little cottage piano at home,” Jane explained. “I think my mother used to play it when she was alive. But no one plays it anymore. Well, I do now sometimes for practice. We had it recently tuned.”

  “Do you like piano lessons?” Lord Northwood asked.

  Jane hesitated, her flush deepening. She liked Lord Northwood a great deal and didn’t wish to lie to him. But neither did she want to sound as if she didn’t appreciate Mr. Hall’s lessons.

  “I like Mr. Hall,” she finally said. “He’s quite a good teacher. And he’s kind. But I just don’t think I’ve much talent for music.”

  He continued looking at her, his fingers still idly playing with the keys.

  Jane glanced at his hands. “Do you play, sir?”

  His mouth quirked. “No. I know I don’t have talent for music, though I do still recall one tune.”

  He sat down, flexing his hands and fingers in an exaggerated imitation of the exercises his brother did before playing. Jane giggled and edged a little closer to the piano. Lord Northwood plucked out a tentative version of “Greensleeves” before stopping and turning back to her with a grimace.

  “That’s all I remember,” he confessed. “I had lessons for a time as a child, but it appears my brother hoarded all natural musical ability for himself. Always thought that was a bit unfair.”

  Jane smiled again. A strange sense of relief flowed through her, though she didn’t quite know why. “It’s funny, isn’t it, sir? That some people are so effortlessly good at something that’s not at all easy for others.”

  “Mmm. Very odd, that. Though you’ve got your encyclopedic knowledge of insects.”

  “That’s not exactly a talent, though. Anyone can learn about insects. Not everyone can learn to play the piano the way Mr. Hall does. Or solve algebra problems the way Lydia does. Not everyone has something… inside them to offer.”

  Lord Northwood looked down at his hands resting on the keys. “Everyone has something to offer, Miss Jane.”

  “I don’t.” She winced, worried she sounded self-pitying when she meant to merely state a fact. But Lord Northwood only gave her a considering look.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t have something like Mr. Hall or Lydia. Or my father. He had such an instinct about his translations. Few people could do what he did.”

  “Someday you might study insects in depth. Write books. Give lectures. Discover things about entomology that no one has learned before.”

  Jane had never considered such a thing. A little tingle of excitement went through her at the idea of discovering something that no one else in the world knew—and at the idea that Lord Northwood believed she could.

  “Well.” Jane gave him a wry smile. “Quite difficult to discover things when one is busy learning to dance and hold a fork properly. Not at the same time, of course.”

  Lord Northwood laughed. He had a wonderful laugh, deep and booming, his face creasing and eyes twinkling.

  “Ah, Alexander, you’ve finally consented to let me teach you a thing or two.” Mr. Hall stepped into the room. “Rather than the other way around.”

  Lord Northwood rolled his eyes conspiratorially at Jane. She grinned at the mischievous look.

  “On the contrary, Bastian, you’ve got a lovely young woman to instruct about the fine art of piano.” Lord Northwood pushed himself to his feet. “See you don’t bore her to tears.”

  He picked up a coat that lay over the back of a chair near the piano. As he shook out the creases, a thump sounded on the carpet, the glint of metal flashing.

  Jane bent at the same time as the viscount to retrieve the item. He reached it first, scooping the object into his hand, but not before Jane recognized the fenghuang engraving on the silver locket.

  She straightened, confusion filling her chest. Lord Northwood and Mr. Hall exchanged glances, Mr. Hall clearing his throat with an awkward sound.

  Jane scratched her head, the sudden tension in the air adding to her bewilderment. She knew the locket had belonged to her mother, that Papa had had it specially made as a wedding present. After Theodora Kellaway died, the locket was tucked away in a box with several other pieces of jewelry. As far as Jane knew, it hadn’t been taken from the box in years.

  So the fact that the necklace was in Lord Northwood’s pocket was utterly baffling.

  The viscount stepped toward her and extended his hand. The locket looked delicate and small against his big, rough palm.

  Jane took it from him and rubbed her thumb over the engraving. She’d only seen the locket, held it, once or twice. Her chest hurt a little. />
  “It was my mother’s,” she finally said.

  “I know.” Lord Northwood’s deep voice sounded tight. “Your sister told me.”

  “Did she give it to you?”

  “No. I’d never intended to keep it.”

  “But why do you have it at all?” Jane asked.

  “Through a rather odd set of circumstances that are perhaps best left unexplained. I have every intention of returning it to your sister.”

  “I see,” Jane said, though she didn’t really.

  She stared at the dragon engraving on the back. Something was happening between Lydia and the viscount. Jane sensed it now more than ever. Something ominous yet inevitable, like the darkening of a sea before a storm, long shadows of dusk spilling over the streets, flower buds closing to the night. A dragon spreading its wings.

  She twisted the chain around her fingers and opened the locket. She stared at the picture of her lovely, smiling mother, and Papa, his expression serious, his face so dear, so familiar. Tears stung Jane’s eyes.

  The voices of Lord Northwood and his brother created a deep hum. Jane glanced up to find they had stepped away from her to speak in lowered tones.

  She started to close the locket, then noticed that the casing seemed oddly thick—too thick to house mere paper images. She closed the compartment and examined the edges.

  The case hinging appeared thick as well, almost as if it were holding together a double seam. Jane pulled the case open again to reveal the pictures, then turned it to look at the seam. She wiggled her fingernail into the edge again, blinking with surprise when the casing popped open to reveal a second compartment hidden behind the first. An object dropped from the case to the floor.

  Her gaze flew to the brothers, who remained half turned away from her in conversation. Jane bent to peer at the carpet, running her hand over the thick pattern. Her fingers brushed against a small piece of cold metal. She picked it up and laid it flat in her palm.

  A tiny brass key. She’d never seen anything like it before. Smaller than the length of her little finger, the key had a scrolled end and a rectangular bit pierced with decorative holes. It looked like something a mouse might use.

  The thought made her smile to herself.

  “Miss Jane.”

  Starting at the viscount’s voice, Jane looked up, her fist closing around the key.

  “I’d be very much obliged if you would return the locket to your sister,” Lord Northwood said. “Though I must warn you she might not be entirely pleased.”

  Jane thought the warning had something to do with the circumstances best left unexplained of which he’d spoken.

  “Sir, if Lydia knows you have the locket, it’s not my place to return it to her.” She moved forward and held out the necklace. “And I’d rather not have her displeased with me.”

  After a long hesitation, Lord Northwood allowed her to drop the locket into his palm. Jane started to return the little key as well, then stopped. Her fingers tightened around it, the thin edges digging into her hand.

  “Right.” Mr. Hall clapped his hands together and moved to the piano. “We’d best begin our lesson, Miss Jane. I thought you might like to learn a little song called ‘Pretty Bee.’ ”

  Lord Northwood gave Jane a bow, the locket still enclosed in his fist. “We’ll meet again soon.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She watched him walk to the door, her nerves stretching as she tried to make herself call him back. The key made an imprint against her palm. Lord Northwood left, the door closing behind him.

  Jane’s heart thumped as if struggling to push blood through her veins. She turned to Mr. Hall, who was riffling through the sheet music.

  “Come and start the scales, please, Miss Jane.”

  Jane approached the piano. She dropped the key into her pocket, where it burned through her skirts for the entirety of the lesson.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Floreston Manor sat nestled among the hills of Devon, the grounds spreading out from the house like a vast green ocean. The ivy-covered brick-and-stone house appeared well suited to the landscape, as if the two were a married couple living out their years in peace and happiness. Spring blossoms perfumed the air.

  Alexander breathed in the clean, fresh scent as he followed his father from the carriage onto the circular drive.

  “Is the girl coming along? Jane?”

  Alexander looked at Rushton in surprise. “No, she’s staying in London with her grandmother.”

  The earl made a noise that sounded like displeasure.

  “How do you know Jane?” Alexander asked.

  “Met her when she came for a lesson with your brother. Pleasant girl. Bit interfering, but clever enough.”

  “One might say the same of her sister.”

  He and Rushton exchanged glances; then they both chuckled. A knot loosened at the base of Alexander’s neck as they walked toward the manor, where a line of staff stood waiting to greet them. The place was ready and gleaming for their arrival.

  “Isn’t Lady Talia to have come as well?” the housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, asked with a worried air.

  “She’s arriving on a later train with Miss Kellaway, Sebastian, and Lord Castleford,” Alexander explained. “They’ll be here in time for supper.”

  He preceded his father into the drawing room. They both stopped as a large portrait of Lady Rushton looked down at them from above the mantel. The image was one of cold beauty, the woman’s eyebrows arched, her mouth curved into a hard smile.

  Rushton coughed. “Have Weavers remove that at once. Any others as well.”

  Alexander went to convey the request to the butler. When he returned, his father was pouring two glasses of sherry at the sideboard.

  “Not like her, is she?” Rushton asked without turning. “Miss Kellaway. Not like your mother.”

  “God, no.” Alexander spoke before thinking. His mother had been beautiful in a cold, detached way, like a pane of stained glass against an empty wall. No warmth, no light, no illuminated colors shone through. In all his years, Alexander rarely had the sense there was more to his mother than her beauty and manners.

  But with Lydia… he thought forever would not be long enough for him to discover the depths of her complexity, her inner life.

  “Not like Chilton’s daughter either?” Rushton asked.

  A humorless laugh stuck in Alexander’s throat. “No. She is not.”

  A speculative gleam entered Rushton’s expression. That, combined with the line of questioning, caused a rustle of both anticipation and apprehension in Alexander.

  “Sir Henry was a good man, if I recall,” Rushton continued.

  “He was.”

  “Owned no properties but was well regarded as a scholar. No scandals in the family, except for the mother…” Rushton’s voice trailed off as he shook his head. “Brackwell recalls her having been rather daft.”

  At least she didn’t run off with another man.

  “Mrs. Kellaway’s illness was a misfortune,” Alexander said. “Difficult for both her daughters.”

  An image of Lydia and her sister came to Alexander’s mind—their almost identical smiles, the sharp intelligence in their eyes, their tangible affection. The way Jane seemed to absorb everything around her, filled with endless curiosity, whereas Lydia approached the world with caution, guarding herself against it.

  Rushton reached for the decanter and refilled his glass. “What is she like?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Miss Kellaway. Not like your mother, you say. Not like Chilton’s chit. So what—or who—is she like?”

  “She’s like… like no one I’ve ever met.”

  Alexander didn’t even know how to explain Lydia to himself, let alone to his father. In the past weeks, she’d slipped far beneath his skin. He couldn’t stop thinking of her haunted blue eyes, the seething frustration in her kiss, the way she’d responded to him. His need to touch her was becoming a physical ache.

/>   And the feelings she roused in him—a maddening combination of lust, tenderness, affection, fascination, a near-overwhelming protectiveness…

  He flexed his fingers, resisting with effort the urge to stand and begin pacing.

  “Do you find her interesting enough to sustain a marriage?” Rushton asked.

  More than that. Alexander found her interesting enough to sustain him. He’d never imagined he would find a woman he could marry for reasons beyond what was expected of him. For reasons that were his alone.

  And while he knew to his bones he wanted to make Lydia his wife, he wasn’t yet prepared to confess his intentions to his father.

  “What makes you think I’ve got marriage in mind?” he asked.

  Rushton laughed. To Alexander, it was a foreign sound, one he’d heard little throughout his life.

  “I’m getting old, Northwood,” Rushton replied, “but I’m not a fool.”

  When she arrived at Floreston Manor with Talia, Sebastian, and Lord Castleford, Lydia was enraptured by the beauty of the estate and the countryside. The bright, flower-filled house and fresh air seemed to wash away the grime and noise of London. Lydia thought it might even lessen the shadows clinging to her heart.

  As she stood on the terrace looking over the vast grounds, she decided that for the next three days she would enjoy herself. She wanted to walk along the riverbank, pick flowers, breathe the sweet-smelling air, feel the sun warming her face.

  “Lydia!” Talia called. “Have you seen your room? Come along, I’ll show you. Sam has already brought up your things. It’s the nicest room in the house, really.”

  With a lighter heart, Lydia followed the younger woman inside. Being back at Floreston Manor also brightened Talia’s entire demeanor, and she rushed around issuing orders, ensuring her guests were well situated, and conferring with the housekeeper about the weekend’s menus.

  The men had the good sense to stay out of the way—Rushton disappeared into the garden, Castleford went off to check on the stables, and Sebastian took the buggy into the village.

  After Talia declined her offer of assistance, Lydia sat on the sofa in the upstairs study, her head down as she wrote in her notebook.