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“Rubbish-I took great care to say nothing at all. Not even in extremis.”
“You didn’t have to say a word. Great heavens, you’re twenty-six and you haven’t been living in a nu
Lydia sniffed. “That wasn’t the first time. The first time was in Barham’s library.”
Tabitha’s eyes grew round. “In Stephen Barham’s library?”
“In a courtesan’s gown.”
Tabitha’s jaw dropped. “When you decided to let your Makepeace streak loose you obviously went to town. You must tell me all.”
“I will if you’ll only help me with these damn laces!”
Tabitha narrowed her eyes, then slumped back on the bed. “No. This has obviously required a huge turnaround in Ro’s thinking-he probably could use more time to convince Mama and Papa…although, of course, given you’re twenty-six anyway, even if they dismiss his suit, I can’t see him meekly going away. Perhaps he’ll kidnap you, and you’ll elope. That would be exciting.”
“Tabitha!” Lydia stared at her turncoat sister. “What happened to gentlemen and marriage being the bane of a gentlewoman’s life? What happened to avoiding marriage with gentlemen?”
Tabitha lifted one shoulder. “That dictum isn’t for ladies like you and gentlemen like Ro-it’s for ladies like me, who will never find a gentleman we can trust.”
Lydia blew out a frustrated breath. Drew in another-and tried not to think how many persuasive arguments Ro had already brought to bear in the parlor downstairs. “Please, Tabitha-just be useful and do up these laces.”
Tabitha looked at her-stubborn against stubborn-and shook her head. “No. The longer Ro has to talk Mama and Papa around before you get there to try to scupper your own happiness, the better.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes at her sister, then nodded. “Very well-be this on your head.” Turning, she headed for the door, opened it, then, hands behind her holding her gown together as best she could, she stalked out and down the stairs.
Behind her she heard a gust of delighted laughter, and swore she would sometime in the future find some suitable way to pay back her meddlesome sister.
Reaching the ground floor, she swept down the hall to the parlor door; ignoring the interested-nay, amazed-stares of Bilt and Mrs. Bilt, wide-eyed behind their counter, she paused to draw in a deep breath, then opened the door and went in.
Inside the parlor, standing before the armchairs in which the senior Makepeaces were seated, Ro was congratulating himself on having successfully survived an interview that had unexpectedly been remarkably civil, not to say surprisingly easy, a great deal easier than he’d thought.
He hadn’t had to state the obvious-that Lydia was in love with him, something he’d had demonstrated with stu
Lydia’s father, as it happened, knew more about him-about his real self and true habits-than he’d supposed, through a mutual friend, Gideon Armistead, a fellow philanthropist. That had made matters considerably easier; he hadn’t had to try to explain, let alone prove, that his reputation had for more than six years been a smoke screen left after the fire had died.
Nor had he known that Mrs. Makepeace corresponded regularly with his mother. Although labeled by the ton as wildly eccentric, neither of the senior Makepeaces struck him as unreasonable, or lacking in wit-certainly not when it came to their daughters.
Lydia’s father had just finished giving Ro his permission to pay his addresses to Lydia, and her mother had capped that with a sweet but edged smile and reminded him that, of course, permissions aside, Lydia’s hand was her own to bestow, when the door behind him opened.
He glanced around as Lydia kicked the door shut and advanced into the room, her entrance rendered somewhat awkward by both hands being held at an odd angle behind her back, apparently holding her gown together.
Her expression, however, commanded instant attention. It was set and beyond determined.
She marched up to him, then stepped across in front of him, facing her parents, giving him her back. Turning her head, she muttered over her shoulder, “For goodness’ sake, do up my gown!”
He looked down, and obediently set his fingers to the laces.
Lydia looked at her parents, watching the proceedings with transparent interest and, being her parents, no shock whatsoever. “What has he said?” Before they could answer, she held up a hand. “No-never mind. Regardless of whatever he’s said, regardless of whatever he’s claimed, it was my decision entirely, mine alone, and I will not-”
“So you found Tab’s letter, heh?” Her father, smiling in his usual vague, scholarly way, blinked up at her through his spectacles.
She paused, drew breath. “Yes. I have it upstairs.”
“Excellent.” Her mother folded her hands in her lap. “I understand Ro helped you retrieve it.”
Lydia pressed her lips together and nodded. Her father might be vague, but her mother was not. The shrewd blue eyes she’d inherited looked steadily-calmly-back at her. She licked her lips. “We went into Barham’s house together.”
“It must have been quite an adventure.” Her mother arched one fine brow, a knowing smile curving her lips. “I have to say that, given Barham’s reputation, I’m very glad Ro was about to see you safely through it. It’s one thing to be adventurous, quite another to be witlessly reckless. But I understand all went well, which I have to say is a relief. Now Tab can calm down and stop falling into histrionics, although I daresay she’ll now complain that you had all the fun.” Her mother’s smile grew more openly amused, equally fond. “Quite a turnaround, to have you engaging in wild adventure while Tab is the one insisting on us racing to the rescue.”
Her mother’s eyes shifted to Ro, still behind Lydia, still cinching her laces. “But all has gone well, and it appears Ro has something to say to you, and I recommend you give his words due consideration.”
Lydia snapped out of the drugging web of calm her mother had wrapped her in. “No. That is”-she dragged in a breath, searched for the patience her minutes with Tabitha had eroded-“everything has ended well, and Ro might have something he wishes to say, but I’m here to explain that no matter what he’s said, no matter how things might appear, there is absolutely no reason for him to make any offer for my hand.”
Her father blinked; then, a puzzled, rather concerned look on his face, he glanced at Ro, then looked back at her. “That’s not what Ro told us, dear-perhaps you should hear him out.”
“No! I mean, yes, I will hear him out, of course-I can hardly stop him from speaking-however, I want you to know, to understand, that regardless of anything whatever, I have no intention of allowing him to be forced into marrying me.” She planted her hands on her hips and met her parents’ fond smiles-why were they smiling? what did they find so amusing in this?-with rigid determination and unbending purpose. “He may ask, but I will not-”
A hard hand clapped over her lips. Ro’s arm banded her waist.
“If you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, sir, ma’am, I believe I need to explain a few matters to your daughter.”
Her mother smiled even more. “Yes, of course, Ro dear-take however many minutes you wish.”