Page 54 of Miss Dignified
Dylan passed over the toast, a symbol of all the careful rules and boundaries Lydia had put in place with him and how those rules no longer applied.
“I have not been completely honest with you.”
She expected him to poker up, as only he could, but instead, he merely regarded her. “Are you married?”
“I am not.”
“Is there a child, Lydia? Did one foray past the bounds of paragonhood result in a permanent reminder of the occasion?”
His tone was gently curious, not a hint of judgment in his words. If Lydia weren’t already in love with him, she would be smitten by the patience and understanding in his gaze.
“Nothing like that, thank God. It’s about the family situation that inspired me to take a post in London.”
“Eat your toast. You will need your strength.”
She took a bite because she was in good appetite, not because he’d given her an order. The jam was excellent, and Dylan hadn’t skimped on the butter. “I will need my strength because your sisters are soon to arrive?”
He swept her a look that should have sent the curtains up in flames. “That too. Tell me of this family situation.”
“Finish your eggs, Captain. We will both need our strength.”
He gave Lydia a smile that inspired her first serious case of the female flutters—for the day—and then dutifully tucked into his eggs.
“I am trying to sort out a matter of inheritance.” Lydia had come upon that gratifyingly brisk opening gambit while braiding her hair. Not the most direct approach to the topic, but factually accurate. “An heir has gone missing several branches over on the family tree, and the logical parties are trying to have him declared dead. I believe they are being hasty and self-interested, and my mother has asked me to consult with the lawyers and ask what questions I can.”
“Questions of whom?”
“The lawyers, first, both to ensure Mama’s funds are thriving and to inquire regarding this other matter.” Horse Guards thereafter, and then Mama had had no more ideas other than,You are clever, Lydia. I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of this in no time.
“This is the distant maternal relation you mentioned? Lord Tremont? Why not send his brother, uncle, or male cousins to make those inquiries?” Dylan’s question was more puzzled than accusatory.
“His lordship has no brothers, and his uncle and male cousin—note the singular—both stand to benefit from his disappearance.”
“If you suspect foul play, Lydia, then investigating the situation could be dangerous for you.”
“I do not suspect foul play,” she said slowly, except that on some unspoken, unacknowledged level, she had. Why else make a secret of her remove to London? Why else the elaborate pretense with Aunt Chloe? Uncle Reginald was draining Tremont’s coffers, and that had started shortly after Marcus had bought his colors.
Uncle Reginaldof all peoplewould not want Marcus to come home and demand explanations.
Dylan set aside his empty plate. “You did not discuss with your mother the possibility of foul play because you were loath to upset her, but you have made little progress with your inquiries. London is an incomprehensibly big place, and you are but a housekeeper trying to investigate the disappearnace of a peer. The longer you think on the matter and the longer you get nowhere with the solicitors, the more worried you become.”
A reconnaissance officer would excel at grasping fundamentals quickly. “I am off to meet with the lawyers in part because I want to assure myself—in detail—that Mama and I will not suffer should the earl be declared dead. I am of age, and my mother is widowed, but the law does not respect women generally, and Mama is too sweet for her own good. She relied on Tremont as the head of the extended family to safeguard her interests.”
A silence bloomed, one that begged to be filled with further truths.The missing peer is my brother, and you dislike him intensely, almost as intensely as you dislike liars…
“Your prodigal earl might have fallen prey to nothing more nefarious than rotten luck, Lydia. Anybody can come to harm merely crossing London’s streets. I had a passing acquaintance with Tremont when we both reported to Dunacre. Lieutenant Lord Tremont was forever spouting Latin, and he could get lost between the mess hall and the armory. He bungled everything from direct orders to shaving himself, and I once saw him fall off a horse that was moving at a sedate trot. London would finish off a man like that in less than a week. If the street gangs didn’t get him, the card sharps or dysentery would.”
Lydia choked on her last bite of toast, which resulted in Dylan thumping her gently on the back.
“Have a sip of tea.” He obligingly held her cup to her lips, and Lydia sipped, but she wanted to dash the cup away.
Marcus rode like a demon. Yes, he spouted Latin—he was much taken with the Stoics—but he was neither clumsy nor dimwitted.
“Could Lord Tremont have suffered a blow to the head?”
Dylan set down her tea cup. “I would not necessrily know of such an injury. Nobody knew many details where he was concerned, except that he’d come into his title in adolescence and bought himself a commission despite having no heir of the body. I admired his willingness to serve, but not much else about him.”
Lydia’s throat still ached from where the toast had got stuck. “You speak of him in the past tense. Did he fall in battle?”
