Page 95 of Miss Dignified
Not by a relaxation of her shoulders or a shift in breathing did anything of at-ease creep into Lydia’s bearing, but her gaze softened.
“I will be safe with the captain,” she said, “and you, Mama, will be safe with the Dornings. Mr. Dorning, my thanks for all your assistance. My regards to your wife.”
Dorning passed Dylan his hat. “You are welcome. Until morning, Powell.”
Dylan bowed. “Until morning, and my thanks as well.”
“Take Lady Lydia over to the club for a decent meal,” Dorning said, “and I’ll have the coach sent around back. Ann and Jeanette will expect a full report tomorrow, and you should anticipate a call from MacKay and his lady as well.”
Dylan wasn’t sure what that was all about, nor did he care. Lydia was safe, he was herdear friend,and she was coming home with him for at least one night.
Chapter Eighteen
After four days in a post-chaise, Lydia had developed the habit of letting her mind drift for hours on end, and for many of those hours, her thoughts had drifted to Dylan Powell.
She loved him, but she loved others as well, as did he. She most assuredly did not love Wesley Glover, though she did love Marcus. Mama loved Marcus, too, and Lydia desperately hoped that tender sentiment was reciprocated.
For the duration of a scrumptious meal in Colonel Goddard’s office at the Coventry, Lydia and Dylan spoke little.
“Excellent ham.”
“I believe these potatoes are mashed with both cheddar and sour cream.”
“More Riesling?”
She was famished and exhausted, but not too tired to notice that Dylan was regarding her differently. His gaze, always so keen, had taken on a sweeter quality, as if he were preparing for a farewell. Soldiers became inured to farewells. Lydia hadn’t acquired the knack.
“I might fall asleep on you in the coach,” she said as she rose from an empty plate. “I never before grasped how sheer boredom saps the energy.”
“You traveled from London to Tremont and back again in four days, Lydia?” Dylan draped Lydia’s cloak around her shoulders, his touch merely polite.
Well, what had she expected? She loved him, but where had recent revelations left his regard for her?
“I thought if anybody could talk Marcus out of his plans to leave England, Mama could. When I compared notes with Mama, though, I realized that Marcus’s entire situation is my fault.”
Dylan escorted her down a hallway, then past a loud, hot, busy kitchen and into the cool night air.
“I missed the stars,” Lydia said. “I had not even realized how much I missed the stars. London in winter has no stars at night. In Shropshire…”
A coach horse in the alley stomped a hoof.
“Outside of London,” Dylan said, “you can breathe. You have true quiet and true silence. You don’t move along at a near run, hoping to avoid footpads and pickpockets lurking in every doorway. Rambling along the country lanes, you know everybody you meet and they know you.”
Dylan had apparently done some thinking, too, though to what end, Lydia did not know. He assisted her into the coach and took the place beside her on the forward-facing seat. A small, though encouraging, familiarity.
The coach pulled away, and Lydia’s eyes nearly closed from sheer force of habit.
“You are not to blame for your brother’s situation, Lydia.”
She opened her eyes, prepared to defend her only sibling with the last of her energy. “Marcus was young, he was trying to be the head of the family, and he thought my honor needed defending. He engaged in a duel, killed—or badly wounded—his opponent, and galloped off to buy his colors in an effort to avoid scandal.”
“You figured that out on your journey to Shropshire?”
“Mama puzzled through the general contours of the problem.” And had kept silent about the whole of it until Lydia had taken the time tolistento her.
“There’s more to it than that.”
The coach turned a corner, and Lydia swayed into Dylan’s side. She wanted to burrow against him and let sleep overtake her, but this discussion mattered.
