Page 55 of Miss Dignified
“I have no idea. He was still answering to Dunacre as we prepared to meet Bonaparte at Waterloo, but I was detailed elsewhere on the day of battle. I haven’t seen or heard of Tremont since, which is to the good for all concerned. His lorsdhip was the worst sort of sycophant, and toadying only encourages a tyrant to believe his own lies. Shall I accompany you to the solicitors’ office, Lydia? I will lurk at your elbow looking capable of violence toward any who disrespect you.”
“You are capable of violence.” Was he capable of violence toward Marcus?
Dylan finished her tea. “We all are, if driven too hard for too long. I don’t like to think of you having to humor a lot of unctuous lawyers who take your money and do nothing to further your interests.”
Lydia sat very still, trying again to gather the courage to reveal the last, most damning fact to a man who professed protectiveness toward her.I am not who and what you think I am.
“Beg pardon, Captain, missus.” Bowen Brook stood in the doorway. “Colonel Goddard and Captain MacKay have come to call. I put them in the family parlor.”
Lydia rose. “Please have Betty send up a tray.” The hour was ungodly early for a social call and the timing ungodly inconvenient. Something had to be amiss. Bowen hustled off, though it wasn’t a steward’s place to give orders to the kitchen maid.
Dylan was on his feet as well. “We will chat more later,” he said. “If you could see to setting up my sisters’ requested appointments, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.” Lydia could send off the requisite notes before leaving on her legal errand. “Captain?”
“Dylan, when we are private.”
“The door is open,Captain,and your cousins are on the premises.I have more to tell you, and you won’t like it.”
His gaze held humor and blatant affection. “Have you concocted a lecture for me, Lydia? A little homily about decorum, proper behavior, and mistakes that must be put firmly behind us? If so, please be informed that I’ve been mentally rehearsing a proposal of marriage since the moment I left your bed.”
Lydia frankly gaped. “Marriage?To me?” He’d utterly flummoxed her, left her befuddled and baffled.
“Men do marry their housekeepers, Lydia. You needn’t goggle at me so. I’m merely gentry, and you seem to be as well, for all your despair over missing caps.”
Worse and worse. “Why would you think me gentry?”
“You sing in French. Your embroidery is exquisite. You have a portion in the keeping of family solicitors. You had a mare of your own growing up. Your extended family boasts a missing earl, and the working folk of this world do not trouble themselves over missing earls. Don’t look so panicked, my dear. I aspire to be your intended, and your secrets are safe with me.”
“Powell.” A large Scotsman whom Lydia knew to be Major MacKay appeared in the doorway. “Stop whingeing at a busy woman who knows better than to listen to your nonsense. Goddard and I need a moment. Mrs. Lovelace, good day. My Dorcas sends her regards.”
Dylan bowed to Lydia. “The press gang has arrived. Until this evening, Mrs. Lovelace.” He marched out, and Lydia sank into the chair he’d vacated, unwilling to trust her knees to fulfill the office of keeping her upright.
“‘I aspire to be your intended, and your secrets are safe with me.’” MacKay quoted Dylan’s intent word for word, but he also laid on a Scottish burr rife with incredulity.
Goddard turned from the parlor window to regard Dylan with brooding censure. “Yousaidthat? To Mrs. Lovelace?”
“And what’s this about a missing earl?” MacKay added, closing the parlor door. “You’d best tell us, because even Dorcas would concede that beating the answers out of you would be allowable in the circumstances.”
Dylan’s cousins were worried for him. He was touched at their concern, also annoyed. “Eavesdropping is beneath you, MacKay.”
“All but proposing in the breakfast parlor with the door wide open and to a woman who did not look enraptured with your maundering, is not only beneath you, Powell, it’sstupid. You have sisters. Is that how you want their dashing swains to court them? Pass the butter, and shall we be married?”
Nobody conveyed ire as well as a fretful Scotsman. “Speaking of those sisters,” Dylan replied, “their luggage has arrived.”
“Don’t even try your diversionary tactics.” MacKay paced the confines of the room. “What are these secrets you have offered to guard for your housekeeper?”
Marriage had made MacKay more like his old self, which was to say, a rubbishing nosy pain in the arse. A relief, that, to see him back on his mettle.
Also a nuisance. “Mrs. Lovelace’s personal matters are none of your concern,” Dylan said. “Her family situation is a bit delicate, and the lawyers might get involved.”
Goddard took a seat on the sofa and crossed his long legs at the ankle. “Housekeepers are not typically embroiled in litigation, Powell.”
“I gather Lydia is investigating matters on behalf of her mother…” Though Goddard, damn him to eternal latrine duty, had a point.
Goddard and MacKay glowered at him as one. “Lydia,” they said in unison, making a perfectly lovely name into an accusation.
Goddard took up the verbal lash. “Since when did your position as honorary guardian angel of the regiment expand to include resolution of legal matters that do not concern you and about which you know almost nothing?”
