Page 5 of A Bride By Morning
Memories assaulted her.
Lydia stood at the door of Gabriel’s London townhouse, hoping to be permitted entry before anyone witnessed a lady on the doorstep of a bachelor’s residence. She swallowed back a lump of apprehension as she rang the bell.
She’d heard of Gabriel’s return months ago, just after the tragic death of his father and brother. Despite her eagerness to see him—to demand to know why he had stopped answering her letters—she did not wish to intrude while he still mourned his family. So she wrote a note shortly after his return with the only sentiment she could think of:
Dear Gabriel,
I’m so sorry for your loss. Should you have need of a friend in London, I am presently two streets over in Berkeley Square.
Ever your friend,
Miss Lydia Cecil
He never replied,nor did he visit her. And she grew concerned. So there she was, standing on his doorstep, risking her minuscule reputation.
She missed her childhood companion.
The butler opened the door and appeared surprised by the presence of a lady, let alone one before breakfast had even been served. Lydia straightened her shoulders in determination. “Good morning. Will you please inform Lord Montgomery that Miss Lydia Cecil is here to see him?”
The butler’s lips tensed a fraction. “His lordship is not taking any visitors at the moment.”
Understandable. Still in mourning,she reminded herself.And the hour is early. You were too impatient.
But surely, he would make an exception for her—or inform the butler of a better time to return?
“Could you please tell him?” she asked, trying not to seem too desperate. She didn’t know how Gabriel fared since he ceased answering her letters. “He doesn’t need to see me, of course, but perhaps you could let him know of my visit and ask for a response? If he’s awake, that is.”
She knew he would be. Gabriel rose at dawn, the same as she.
Despite Lydia’s better efforts, the butler must have sensed the urgency in her voice. He gave a sigh and said, “Very well. Come inside and wait, please.”
She waited in the foyer until the butler returned. The solemn look on his face was like a hand squeezing her heart. “His lordship asked that I inform you—” He cleared his throat delicately. “He asked that I inform you that he is not accepting visitors.”
“Of course,” Lydia murmured. “Then I’ll choose a better time. Not so early—”
The butler twitched. “He added that if you return to this address again, you will be refused entry.”
Lydia’s entire foundation was crumbling. “I—oh.” Tears stung her eyes. “Did he say anything else?”Surely, he said something else. Please tell me he said something else.
“No, miss.” The butler added apologetically, “I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave, miss.”
And then he shut the door in her face.
Lydia’s body shuddered as she pressed her eyes shut. Three years had passed since the initial sting of Gabriel’s rejection, and his behavior only grew more aloof. She tried to approach him at gatherings, and he disregarded her. He turned his back and acted as though she was a stranger.
Then there was the Duchess of Hastings’ house party one year ago. Lydia was determined to obtain answers from him.
The guests assembled on the west lawn for a game of croquet. Caroline had persuaded Gabriel to join before he realized that Lydia, too, would be playing. At the sight of her, his winning smile had almost faltered. Since his return, Lydia had observed him at balls and fetes, had learned the artifice of that smile. It was gorgeous enough to conceal the emptiness behind it.
As she edged forward, his jaw tightened. When he struck the ball with the mallet, it flew off course and landed near a thorny bush.
“Bad luck, old chap,” the Marquess of Granby said with a chuckle.
“All players must stand beside their balls until their next turn,” Caroline added apologetically. Gabriel’s ball had gone far from their party.
As Gabriel flashed a grin at one of the other debutantes, Lydia saw her opportunity.
At her turn, she aimed her mallet. Years of frustration and hurt aided her precision, and her ball smacked right into Gabriel’s, sending it rolling beneath the thorn bush.
