Page 51 of Hearts of Briarwall

Fallon dipped a small curtsy. “Not at all, miss.”

“Thank you, Fallon. That will be all.”

Fallon turned to leave, but before she reached the door, she turned back. “I said it wasn’t my place to share my opinion, but I will say ... they’d be right pleased with you, miss. I know that as I know my own self.”

A warmth bloomed within Lydia, and she welcomed that hope. “Thank you, Fallon.”

The woman nodded. “If you’re wanting to know more of your parents, might I suggest you ask Mr. Hayes? I know he thought highly of them, and they of him.”

Lydia did not miss the maid’s attempt to hide the gleam in her gray eyes. “That will be all, Fallon.”

Suppressing a grin, Fallon curtsied.

Her chocolate arrived just as Fallon left, and Lydia no longer regretted the request. She took a cup to the window seat overlooking the lawn stretching before the temple. A lone figure slowly walked a bicycle toward the house, a basket strapped to the back. Lydia’s flush renewed. Her anger kindled, but not near to what it had been. What had he said that had been so wrong? Indeed, he had been right about everything, and that, she realized, was what had angered her most.

Investing that sum of money in the motor supply shops without Andrew’s blessing would upset him greatly, and potentially make matters worse—and extremely awkward—for Spencer, let alone Lydia. Andrew might even see it as a betrayal, though he’d never say so.

. . . discussing happenings and articles as though they were great colleagues ...

Lydia had wished that exact thing for her and Spencer today on the hill, but didn’t she wish that, too, for her and Andrew?

Spencer disappeared from view as he headed toward the kitchen to return the basket.

If only he hadn’t made her feel like a child. She did not want to give up on her idea, but the thought of approaching him again over the subject upended her nerves. She closed her eyes and took a long swallow of the chocolate, letting it warm her. Cook always added sugar and cream just the way she liked it. Her shoulders settled.

She’d send word downstairs that upon Violet’s arrival that afternoon she was to be sent directly to Lydia’s room while Violet’s clothes for dinner should be sent to the second guest room. For now, Lydia need only to hide in her room for the remainder of the morning until her lingering humiliation subsided. Besides, she’d need to fortify herself against the Piedmonts’ impending company at dinner.

She sighed and picked up the miniature of her young mother from the small table beside her, searching for a connection to the blonde, blue-eyed beauty in her high Victorian ringlets and lilac ruffled neckline.

Hadshestruggled so with her guests at Briarwall? Lydia glanced at her door then back to the portrait. “Mother,” she whispered, “I am trying, but hostessing guests isnotfor the faint of heart.”

Aside from a brief visit from Mrs. Parks to review the menu for the remainder of the week and the delivery of the post, the morning passed without incident. Lydia was deep intoThe Hound of the Baskervilleswhen the secret knock sounded on her door. She tossed the book aside and leaped to open it.

Violet startled as Lydia grabbed her arm, pulled her into the room, and closed the door behind her. She turned and pressed her back against it, her hand still gripping the door handle.

“Lydia,” Violet said, pressing her hand to her chest. An amber and onyx bumblebee nestled above a flounce on her blouse. Her gaze suddenly narrowed. “What has happened?”

Lydia took her hand and led her to the window seat. “You must tell me what to do.”

Her friend’s eyes widened as they sat, then she leaned forward, pressing a hand to Lydia’s forehead. “Are you feeling well?” She took both of Lydia’s wrists and looked her in the eyes. “You just suggested I tell you what to do.”

“Oh, stop that.” She pushed Violet’s hands away and folded her arms across her middle as Violet grinned. “It so happens I amnotfeeling well. I’ve been hiding in here since this morning, and I still haven’t worked out how to show my face again to certain members of this household.”

“What happened?”

Lydia put a hand over her eyes and groaned. “I had such high hopes. I was to do this grand thing, and it all just went—” She sighed. “It fell like a soufflé.” She slapped her hand on the seat cushion between them.

“Was it something with Andrew? Florrie said he was most patronizing when she was here last.”

“If only.” Lydia gazed out the window. “With Andrew I know what to expect, and I put up my shield in advance. He has the added benefit of being my brother, and so I must love him and he me. But with Spencer—” She swallowed. “Mr. Hayes, I mean. With him I expected—I don’t know what I expected—something different, I suppose. He seems such a forward-thinking man. But now, after I made the offer to invest in his proposal, and it seemed as though he might even—but then he nearly stepped in the fire and we fell over the log and—” Her cheeks warmed. “It turns out I’m not as powerful as I think I am, and it was absolutely humiliating.” She let her head fall against the window with a thunk.

Violet’s wide eyes did nothing to ease Lydia’s concern. “I wish to help you sort through this, but before I can, you must answer some questions.”

“Yes. Anything. I imagine I’m not making much sense.”

“Not a dot.” Violet studied her. “Have you fallen in love with Mr. Hayes?”

An unladylike guffaw fell from her mouth. She stood. “No! Absolutely not! How on earth did you get that impression?” She began to pace in front of the fireplace, unable to remain still. “Being inloveis not soagitatingas this certainly is.” She pressed a hand to her thumping heart, attempting to calm it. “Am I right?” she added.

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