Page 41 of Hearts of Briarwall

For a moment, Lydia and Spencer blinked at one another, then refocused on their cake.

With Andrew gone, Lydia searched her mental list of evening entertainment for their guest, crossing off items that would be inappropriate or impossible without the presence of her brother at hand. Even a musical performance for Spencer alone seemed too intimate. She felt herself blush at the idea. The evening had already grown late.

“Will you be joining me for port after dinner, Miss Wooding?”

She started at the question. “What?”

He gestured to the glassware on the table. “Are we to hold to tradition and part ways—you to the sitting room while I drink alone?”

“Is that what you wish?”

“Not at all.”

She calmed a girlish thrill that he’d all but admitted he wanted her company. “Then let’s not. I’ve always thought it a silly tradition. Not that I want my own port. I don’t care for it at all. I simply don’t see why men and women can’t enjoy after-dinner conversation together. If a separate conversation needs to be had, then have it when we are not in company for the evening, for heaven’s sake. Being sent out of the dining room makes me feel as if I’m a child who is in trouble. And I am certainly not a child.”

He watched her, amused. “I quite agree.”

“Do you? Will you help me convince my brother of it?”

His gaze intensified, and she noted color rising from his neck to his ears. He cleared his throat and focused on swirling the remaining bit of wine in his dinner glass as the servants cleared the table of the main dishes. At the same time, she realized what she’d asked of him and the various ways in which that convincing might be played out, and she wanted to sink under the table. She glanced around in search of a change of subject as if one would be written on the nearest napkin.

“Oh! How did the investment proposal go?” she asked, overloud and overbright.

He pressed his lips together, his eyes growing round. “Oh that. Yes. Well.” He nodded at the footman who offered him port. “It went well.” Then he sighed. “And it didn’t. I’m not sure how things will proceed without your brother’s vested interest.”

“Andrew isn’t in favor of it?” she asked, surprised. Her brother had seemed to look forward to Spencer’s ideas, whatever they would be. “He thinks so highly of you.”

He smiled crookedly at her, leaning on his elbows. “Perhaps not as highly as you assumed.”

She frowned, truly confused. “Was the idea so outrageous?” The question came out before she realized she might offend Spencer with it.

He seemed to take it in stride. “Do you remember the last bit of advice you gave me this morning before we parted ways?”

Lydia thought back over their conversation in the corridor. It had been so late, and she’d been so tired, and he’d looked so adorably disheveled. He’d asked her opinion on talking to Andrew. “I told you to be honest—and then—” She stopped, her eyes wide. “Oh dear.”

“Oh dear.”

She leaned forward, looking about her and whispering. “You mean to tell me your proposal concernsmotorcars?”

He leaned forward and whispered back. “Fully, wholly, and completely.”

She slumped back in her chair, biting her lip. Then she pushed herself forward again. “You must know that if I’d hadanyidea, I would’ve been far less flippant in my answer.”

“That doesn’t do me any good now, but I thank you all the same.”

They still whispered fervently, and with Spencer leaning forward as he was, she could see the chandelier light playing through his clear hazel eyes in the otherwise dim room.

“Was he terribly upset?” She cocked her head to the side. “He didn’t seem put out with you. And your bags aren’t packed and waiting on the landing. Curious.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Is that what you would expect, normally?”

Her eyes drifted to that full mouth as she nodded. His accent had been grinding its way out as they spoke, and hearing it did funny things to her insides.

“I cannot even ask him to teach me to drive. I do not tell him how often I ride in Mr. Janes’s motorcar. Andrew hasn’t taken me for a ride in the Singer, even when he first brought it home. We take the brougham everywhere. I’ve heard him insist in company, darkly, that automobiles are a flash in the pan. That the horse is more reliable, much steadier, and definitely safer.”

Spencer closed his eyes a brief second and exhaled. “Of course.” He leaned even closer, bringing his cedar scent with him. “Because of your parents.”

She nodded, meeting his soft gaze, his deep voice like a bow across strings. She watched his eyes roam her face, and the room grew very warm, making it difficult to breathe.

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