Page 54 of Hearts of Briarwall

“Likewise.”

Lydia had to admit that carrying out her responsibilities had garnered Andrew’s attention in a positive light, and it had taken her mind—somewhat—off Spencer’s presence in the house, though he did not make an appearance and Andrew did not mention him nor did she ask.

After Mrs. Parks recovered from her initial shock to find Lydia in the tea cabinet, she quickly expressed her delight and gave Lydia a lesson in choosing teas and maintaining the cabinet. Freshening the flowers about the house proved quite relaxing, and by the time Lydia and Violet had finished practicing a musical piece in “the Wendy League” room, Lydia suggested taking a rest before dressing for dinner.

“It is only for a moment,” she implored Violet.

“And what happens every time you lie down before dinner?”

Violet knew very well what happened. “I fall asleep and am late for dinner.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Lie down but not fall asleep?”

“No, we are going to the drawing room to play a game of chess, and I will allow you to rest your eyes whilst I beat you soundly. Then we both shall go up to dress for dinner. You will have your rest while still appearing to be an attentive and intelligent woman.”

“Not if I nod off at dinner and awaken in my soup.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Lydia narrowed her gaze.

“You asked me to tell you what to do,” Violet challenged.

Lydia sighed deeply. “Thank you for taking on the task with such ... enthusiasm.”

Violet bowed her head. “I am your humble servant.”

“Oh, please.”

Violet laughed.

They entered the drawing room, and Lydia stopped short, grabbing Violet by the arm.

Spencer stood at the fireplace, one hand on the mantel, staring at the freshly built-up flames. It appeared as if he’d just come in from outdoors, as he still wore a long duster and his hair looked mussed by the wind. A tweed cap was bunched in his hand, likely in need of a good reshaping when released from his grip. It seemed he hadn’t heard them enter.

“Is that him?” Violet whispered.

Lydia nodded, her dratted pulse skipping.

“If he’s a bird-watcher, I’m my Great-Uncle Beauregard.”

Lydia choked on a laugh.

Spencer looked up then and immediately schooled his bright expression as if remembering something miserable. Like this morning, for example.

It was a long moment before Lydia remembered she was the one to make introductions. She squared her shoulders. “Mr. Hayes. I hope we’re not disturbing you.”

He faced them, his hands behind his back. “I was just warming myself before removing to my room. The day turned chilly after such a promising sunrise.”

She paused at his observation, wondering if the reference meant more than talk of the weather. “Yes, well, Mr. Hayes, this is a dear friend of mine, Miss Whittemore.”

“Another dear friend?” he said. He turned to Violet with a bow.

“Yes, and you must call me Violet. I’ve heard too much about you to stand on ceremony.”

“Violet,” Lydia said. “Hush.”

---