Page 93 of Hearts of Briarwall

Lydia had always loved this room; the confection of pink and cream softened the formidable architecture, topped by a ceiling painted with clouds and a sunrise sky. A person could dream in this room.

“Are you going to return home, Lydia?” Ruby asked from her velvet wingback chair as she gazed out the window to the labyrinth garden below.

“Someday,” Lydia replied, half-serious. “I do miss Hero.”

“Hero is a darling. But you’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Florrie said from a pink-silk settee, Nibs at her feet. “It’s been marvelous having you here. And I must admit, I do like being close to the action. That visit of Andrew’s was priceless.”

“I am glad none of us missed it,” Violet said from another chair. “I don’t think anyone of us could describe the look on Andrew’s face when he realized the only way to move us out of the way was to lift us out of the way. I’d counted on his overdeveloped sense of decorum, and it paid off.”

“I despise Andrew’s overdeveloped sense of decorum,” Lydia said, lying on her stomach on a settee matching Florrie’s, her cheek resting on the back of her hand. “It’s what put me here in the first place.”

“Well, that and a—how did you phrase it? A bone-melting kiss?”

Lydia sighed. “Something like that, yes.”

The other girls sighed.

“If it had been anybody but Cyril who had come to pick me up that evening, I would’ve insisted on staying until your return,” Ruby said. “Alas, Cyril possesses some kind of sorcery that forces me to see reason. I wish I’d been there for you.”

Lydia shook her head. “No, he was right. The roads were horrid, even the next day. I missed you—all of you—but Fallon was a champ. I was in good hands.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ruby said, leaning her head against a wing of her chair.

“Would you forgive him?” Violet asked.

“Who, Andrew?”

“No.Spencer.After last night. It was quite a good show of his ... integrity.”

“It was,” Lydia agreed, thoughtful. However distant she’d kept herself, she’d paid careful attention to Spencer’s actions and words. His entire presentation had been, well,trustworthy. And she could not ignore that, though he respected her distance, the few looks he gave her were contrite, searching. Warm.

She let her hand drop toward the floor, and Nibs trotted over to lick her fingers. She stroked his neck, and he settled down. She didn’t answer Violet’s question. She couldn’t see how she could forgive Spencer and keep her brother. And forgiving Andrew wouldn’t bring Spencer back. Her connection with Spencer had been immediate, and so brief. She’d dreamt of where it would go, if only given a chance. But that chance had been broken, like a spiderweb.

A distant knock was heard at the front door. After a few moments, male voices carried up the staircase.

Florrie sat up. “I wonder who that could be.”

“It sounds like someone for your father,” Violet suggested.

Mr. Janes’s authoritative voice had joined the mix, and Florrie sat back. “Probably his solicitor. It usually is.”

Lydia closed her eyes. “Does anyone have any news that does not have to do with men, motorcars, or money?”

“I heard Mama order Empress Pudding tonight.”

“I love Empress Pudding,” Violet said.

The clock on the mantel ticked loudly.

“Good heavens,” Lydia said. “Are our lives so shallow that we cannot converse of anything other than men, motorcars, or money?”

“Don’t forget pudding,” Violet said.

“How could I forget pudding?”

Florrie huffed. “Food is a perfectly viable subject for a literary club such as ours.”

The clock persisted in its ticking.

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