Page 65 of A Bride By Morning
Gabriel pasted on the charming facade he usually wore around theton. The feeling of his smile chafed more than usual. His time away from London had been a reprieve from the performance; he felt like he was donning an old, ill-fitting coat.
“Lady Derby,” he said, taking her hand to kiss the air above her knuckles. “Always a pleasure. My wife had an interest in seeing some of my other properties. Would you like me to have the servants prepare you a room?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Her smile was strained. “I’d like to take tea with my niece first and determine howshefares.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “Her happiness is very,veryimportant to me, you see.”
How she made such a benign statement sound like a murder threat was quite incredible.
Gabriel held his smile. “Of course.”
She pulled her hand from his. “Lydia, dear? Show me to your drawing room?”
As Gabriel watched Lydia lead Lady Derby away, Callihan said, “Fuck me, but you’re right. She is terrifying.”
30
“Would you like something to eat, aunt? You must be famished after your journey.”
Lydia fidgeted as Lady Derby scanned the sitting room with an unreadable expression. Lydia had noticed earlier that much of the furnishings, rugs, and curtains were dusty and threadbare, their color faded with age. They were relics of a bygone era—perhaps proof that the Earl of Montgomery had found it painful to return to Langdon after his wife’s death. He’d clearly never had it renovated after she passed.
“I’ve no appetite just now,” Lady Derby said, her eyes finally settling on Lydia. She took a seat on the settee across from her niece. “I hardly think I can drink tea, truth be told.”
At that declaration, Lydia motioned to the maid waiting at the door, indicating that they wouldn’t require the girl’s service. “Is something troubling you, aunt? You’ve come such a long way.”
Lady Derby’s regard was frank and assessing. Lydia became acutely aware of the imperfections in her appearance: the state of the travel dress that the maids had laundered but was still worse for wear after her journey with Gabriel; the messy coiffure Lydia had prepared herself while hurrying through her toilette, hoping to speak with Gabriel before he left the manse again. And, perhaps, her aunt sensed the unsettled state of Lydia’s thoughts. Despite her best attempts, Lydia didn’t have Gabriel’s skill at pretense. She couldn’t conceal her fear over Medvedev, her yearning for Gabriel, discontentment with the idea that their marriage might end the moment he caught the Syndicate leader. Gabriel might have taken her to Moscow the previous evening, but he had made no promises to keep her.
“Your letters have been lying to me,” Lady Derby said, pulling her shoulders back. “And I don’t like it.”
Lydia feigned a look of puzzlement. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Lady Derby made a soft noise and looked out the window, where Gabriel still conferred with Mr. Wentworth and Mr. Callihan. “My dear girl, I’ve known you and that boy since you were still small enough to sit on my knee. I know when you are lying. And I know whenheis lying.”
Lydia pressed her fingernails into her palm. She wanted to tell Lady Derby everything. A part of her wished to be a child again, when she could rest her head in her aunt’s lap and cry while Lady Derby stroked her hair. Her aunt had raised her like a daughter. She had been there all those years Lydia hurt over Gabriel’s silence. Keeping this secret from her seemed, somehow, like a betrayal of trust—a treachery.
But if Lydia informed Aunt Francis she was in danger, the other woman would insist on staying. She would put herself in harm’s way. So Lydia kept her expression carefully neutral. “Have you come all this way to see me or accuse me of making falsehoods?”
Lady Derby looked impatient. “My old bones were prepared for the journey to Meadowcroft, not to Devon. I was surprised to find that detail omitted in your letters after you so prettily described everything else.”
Lydia could hardly fault her aunt’s ire—shehadfilled her letters with insignificant details of Meadowcroft to conceal her true purpose there. In place of an explanation for her hasty marriage, she had crafted the language of a blissful honeymoon spent riding across the estate’s grounds, enjoying picnics, and traversing the paths she had enjoyed as a girl. In the absence of truth, Lydia had written entirely from her memories with Gabriel, penning a sort of young love that in hindsight seemed naive. That love, after all, had been untested by tribulation. It hardly reflected the complexity of her marriage now, when ten years of distance and personal pain had fundamentally altered their once uncomplicated relationship.
“Our trip was quite abrupt,” Lydia said, with an honest, apologetic tone. “Lord Montgomery mentioned that the late earl and countess were quite fond of this property, and I was in a mood to sightsee somewhere new. Rather like the time we went on holiday to Brighton.”
Lydia’s effort to coax a smile from her aunt with fond memories of their holiday did not work. If anything, her aunt’s face grew more severe. “Of course, you’re married now—free to have an adventure as you please. But imagine my surprise thatMr. Wentworthwas informed of your abrupt change in plans before me. He offered to escort me back to London, but I declined when he divulged that he would be journeying to Langdon Manor.”
Lydia strained to keep her emotions shuttered as her mind sought to justify her behavior. “Mr. Wentworth has been a great friend of my husband’s,” she said, aware that the explanation seemed flimsy. “They had planned to hunt together.”
“Lydia.”
“But, of course, I must apologize for my errors with you,” she continued hastily. “You should not have had to travel all this way with worry. And—”
Lady Derby reached forward to grasp her hands. “Lydia.”
Lydia was horrified to realize that her eyes were wet. That all of her attempts to suppress her feelings had failed utterly. She was not a natural liar; she could not be like Gabriel, feigning a performance. “Yes, aunt?” she whispered.
“I need to know that you are all right,” Lady Derby said, worry evident in her features. “And I won’t leave you here until I’m satisfied with your answer.”
“I don’t know,” Lydia said, blinking back more tears. She didn’t know because she loved Gabriel. Perhaps she had never stopped loving him. It was a simple fact of her life: the sun rose, the stars shifted, and she loved Gabriel St. Clair.
But she did not know if he loved her back. She did not know if this marriage was destined to end when Medvedev was dealt with. Her future with Gabriel remained as uncertain as the darkest depths of the ocean.
