Page 79 of Miss Dignified
The door opened, revealing a thin, less than spruce version of the Earl of Tremont. The boy had aged into young manhood, gangly youth giving way to a spare, muscular frame.
“Powell and…Lydia?” He retreated and left the door open. “I had hoped… Well, do come in. Can’t exactly ring for tea, but neither can we have this discussion on the stair. I was not expecting… That is to say… If you intend to rip up at me, Lydia, have at it, but please tell me first how Mama is getting on.”
Another woman might have dissolved into tears, but Lydia merely marched into the room and walked a circle around her brother, leaving Dylan to close the door. Tremont stood at attention, chin up, looking more like a resentful schoolboy than a former officer.
And not at all like a long-lost brother.
“You had more growing to do,” Lydia said. “You are taller than Papa was. I cannot… It’s good to see you, Marcus.”
Tremont nodded. “Good to see you too, Lydia. Good, but also… I had hoped to leave England without causing you and Mama further upset.”
She came to a halt before him. “Why leave England?”
“How is Mama?”
Still, she did not embrace her brother, and Tremont did not embrace her. Did not take her hand, did not in any way show evidence of sibling affection, and Dylan knew Lydia to be an affectionate woman.
“Mama is miserable. She still misses Papa, and now she frets endlessly over you and over the havoc Uncle is wreaking with Tremont. She does not want me to marry Wesley, but Tremont will need my settlements before too much longer.”
Whatever Dylan had expected of the sibling reunion, it hadn’t been this painfully awkward, cool exchange. Appreciation for his sisters tugged at him, for their blunt honesty, their patience, and their caring. He owed them an apology, at least.
And somebody owed Lydia an apology. A woman ought not to be this composed when reuniting with a brother thought lost to the battlefields. For that matter, Tremont, barely of age, coping with straitened circumstances, ought not to be so reserved either.
“You confirm Wesley’s report,” Tremont replied, “and he shares your fears regarding Uncle’s bungling. I hope you do marry him, Lydia, because Wesley has Tremont’s best interests at heart.”
Lydia looked her brother up and down. The earl might have gained height, but he was doubtless still very much Lydia’s little brother.
“Wesley just called on you. What was he doing here?”
“He’s helping me make arrangements to leave England, and he will do what he can to stay Uncle’s hand. I’m sorry, Lydia, but I am trying to do the right thing. I have always tried to do the right thing.”
And that little sermon was vintage Tremont. Reeking of pompous nobility and absolutely wrongheaded.
“The right thing is to come home,” Lydia said. “Tremont is your birthright and your duty.”
The earl sent Dylan a pleading look. “No, Lydia, it’s not. Well, it is, or it was, but it’s not my only duty. Tell Mama not to worry, tell her that I’m willing to work hard and turn my hand to any honest labor. I wasn’t worth much as an officer, but I do well enough in a humbler role. I will write if I can, though I will have to change my name.”
Lydia’s expression was absolutely composed. “You turn your back on the family who needs you, you go larking off to God knows where, and tell me you are pursuing the honorable course? Marcus, has war left you deranged?”
Finally, Tremont tried a pat to Lydia’s shoulder. “I am doing the honorable thing, Lydia. You just don’t know it. Ever since the business with the Finchly scoundrel, I have tried to do the honorable thing, and the results have been… challenging, not as I intended. But I did the only thing possible in the circumstances. Wesley was right about that. I never wanted to join up, much less leave you and Mama, but ‘nothing happens to any man that he is not formed by nature to bear,’ and I carry on. You and Mama must carry on too.”
Lydia stepped back. “You quote Aureliusnow?”
Tremont drew himself up with a curious dignity. “The philosopher has seen me through many a dark day, Lydia. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I must ask you to leave and not come back.”
Lydia stood motionless, staring at her brother as if she’d see into his soul. Her heart had to be breaking into a thousand jagged pieces, and yet, this priggish stupidity was exactly what Dylan would have expected from Tremont.
The young earl had debts, or had angered some jealous husband, and was fleeing the consequences.
“When do you sail?” she asked.
“Ten days hence. Wesley is arranging it all, and I will travel under an assumed name. Don’t try to find me, but I will write if I can.”
Dylan waited for Lydia to fly at her brother with her fists, to unleash torrents of sororal vituperation upon him, but she only curtseyed.
“Safe journey, my lord. I will miss you.”
Tremont bowed. “I’m sorry, Lydia. I did the best I could. Powell, I trust you will see my sister safely from the premises.”
