Page 53 of Miss Dignified
“You dealt with the coachman and groom?”
“As your steward, of course I did. Put the coachy and groom up in the carriage house, and the lads and I will start unloading the trunks once we’ve had some breakfast.”
“You will stand about making a list and looking steward-ly,” Dylan said. “Mrs. Lovelace will direct the lads. She has assigned rooms and parlors and whatnot for the visiting dignitaries.” The invading horde. No matter, Lydia would have them all in hand.
“John Coachman gave me a letter for you from your sisters.” Bowen passed over a sealed epistle. “Marching orders, no doubt. Should I be looking for another post, sir?”
Dylan spied Tegan’s elegant hand on the missive. “Why would you do that?”
“If you are intent on marrying Mrs. Lovelace, she’ll want to go to housekeeping in Wales, won’t she?”
I dearly hope so.“The siege is just beginning, Brook. There are trenches to dig, artillery to bring forward, negotiations to be held. Abandon your post now, and I am sure to fail.”
“Can’t have that,” Bowen said. “Honor of the regiment, latrine duty, and so forth.”
“Precisely.” Dylan resumed his progress up the steps, feeling an unaccountable urge to laugh. Yes, he was ever so slightly vexed. The sisters were on the march, Bowen was insubordinate, Will was still missing, and the men were behaving oddly.
But Dylan was also in charity with all of creation and feeling particularly benevolent toward his newly married cousins and their spouses. He was in love with Lydia, and that reduced all annoyances, woes, and vexations to mere details.
Lydia had made an appointment with Mama’s solicitors upon first arriving in London. The firm of Sigafoose and Sigafoose had shown her every courtesy and dealt with her financial requests swiftly. She’d also, however, asked Mr. Robert Sigafoose, the elder brother, pointed questions to which he’d replied with much throat-clearing, desk-tidying, and sighing.
When Lydia had silently stared at him through that entire performance, he’d asked for time to undertake some research. Mr. Sigafoose had put her off last month with a pompous little speech about delicate matters not being rushed and inquiries having been put in train.
She needed answers now, and she needed even more desperately to clear the air with Dylan Powell. She found him in the breakfast parlor looking as neat, self-possessed, and handsome as ever—or perhaps more self-possessed and handsome than ever.
Her assessment had lost any pretensions to objectivity. “Captain, good morning.”
He rose and bowed. “Mrs. Lovelace, good day. Please do have a seat.”
He held a chair for her, as courteous as always, while Lydia felt a blush creeping up her neck. Only hours ago, she’d beennakedwith him, utterly abandoned to all propriety. She’d beeneagerfor his excruciatingly intimate caresses and had touched him in unbearably intimate ways too.
She summoned every iota of dignity she possessed, swept past him, and took a seat. “I forgot my cap again.”
Oh,thatwas an impressive way to start a difficult conversation, but since last night, she’d misplaced her wits, her common sense, and her ability to focus on anything but her next sighting of Dylan Powell. This business of being in love was not at all convenient.
Dylan poured her a cup of tea. “I spent five minutes this morning looking all about my room for Papa’s pocket watch. I never go out without it. I had aired my best army curses—which are reserved for only the most annoying of circumstances—when I caught sight of myself in the cheval mirror and happened to notice the damned thing was already affixed to its fob and mocking me from my pocket.”
He stirred cream and honey into her tea. “I also generally take a pair of reading spectacles with me when I have business calls to make. This entailed another search.” He set the toast rack and the jam pot by her plate, along with the butter dish. “My spectacles were atop my head. Need I go on?”
“I tripped on the carpet in my parlor,” Lydia said, feeling marginally less mortified. “A lady should be at all times graceful, and I also nearly walked into the kitchen table.”
Dylan began buttering a slice of toast. “I am frequently off-balance with the world. I am irritated with my cousins, impatient with the men, and otherwise out of sorts, but I could not stand to be off-balance with you, Lydia. Last night…”
He glanced at the parlor door.
“Was lovely,” Lydia said quietly. “Astonishingly lovely. One had no clue how delightful such dealings could be. One is gobsmacked with wonder.”
Dylan took inordinate care spreading the butter over the toast. “Precisely. Gobsmacked, befuddled, and grateful. Very, very grateful. Perhaps tonight you’d allow me to expound on that feeling of gratitude?”
Tonight was both eons in the future and quite soon. Lydia hauled back hard on her anticipation and forced herself to take a sip of tea.
“We have matters to discuss, Captain, and I refuse to put them off any longer.”
He added jam to the toast. “My sisters’ baggage wain has arrived, along with sealed orders. I am to convey to you a request to schedule fittings for them at the modiste of their choosing, along with a tailor—Tegan needs a new riding habit—bootmaker, and glovemaker. I am to leave my afternoons free to escort them to Gunter’s, and Bronnie is planning to dress up as a lad so I can take her around to Tatts and my clubs.”
“Is that an idle threat?”
“The clubs, yes—I hope—Tatts, no. And how I’m to do all this and also track down Will Brook, I do not know. What is this discussion we must have?”
