A Study In Seduction(77)

“And what of my reputation?”

“You have no reputation, Lydia, not in such lofty circles. That is why Lord Northwood chose you—he doesn’t want a titled woman who fears the scandal will reflect upon her family. With you, the man has a respectable woman who is admired for her intellect and will prove a good and honorable wife.”

“I am not honorable.”

“You can be.” Her grandmother thumped her cane hard on the floor. “Idiot girl! This is your only chance to better yourself, Lydia, to better the pathetic life you lead. You don’t even have your work anymore, do you? Not the way you’d wish for it to be. Do you want to spend the next twenty years hiding, wasting away to nothing?”

“What makes you think marriage to Northwood would prevent that?”

“You’d at least have a good life, Lydia! Yes, he has difficulties, but even two months ago did you imagine you would ever be in this position? He’s a viscount! He has a fortune. Imagine what you could do if he allowed it.”

The horrible thing was, Lydia could imagine. She’d thought about little else ever since Alexander first proposed.

She imagined working with Talia on the ragged schools’ educational program, helping establish mathematical curricula for girls’ schools. She could imagine teaching governesses how best to approach mathematical instruction, funding symposiums, lectures. She could even see herself at Alexander’s side with the Society of Arts—exhibitions of inventions, award programs, judging panels.

And, of course, she could envision him—talking with him, touching him, kissing him, feeling his hands on her body, his gaze warm on her face.

Whenever she wanted. All the time. Without reservation. With him.

Imagining all that, picturing it in her future, caused a longing so deep, so sharp, that Lydia almost couldn’t breathe.

“Is this what you wanted?” Her grandmother’s voice was closer.

Lydia turned to look at her, into the blue eyes so like her own, so like her mother’s. Mrs. Boyd’s expression softened with regret. She put her hand on Lydia’s cheek.

“Did you really expect your life would turn out like this?” her grandmother asked.

Lydia swallowed past the lump in her throat, her heart squeezing painfully. “What will you do if I accept him? What about Jane?”

“Oh, Lydia.” Her grandmother’s eyes glistened with a sheen of tears. “We’ll be here. We’ll always be here. You’ll see Jane as much as you do now, if not more. And do you think Jane’s feelings for you will change one whit simply because you’re married to Lord Northwood?”

Lydia’s tears spilled over, rolling so fast that she tasted salt on her lips. She grasped her grandmother’s hand where it rested against her cheek. “How can I not tell him?”

“Because you can’t.” Such a simple response, and yet so tangled, so twisted. “It isn’t as if anyone will ever know.”

“Everything will change,” Lydia whispered.

“Only for the better.”

“I’ve already refused.” She struggled to hold on to her resolve, but she could feel it weakening, breaking, the light of a possible new future showing through the cracks. The shadows would always be there, but maybe now, finally, the brightness would overpower them.

If she allowed it to.

“Lord Northwood told me the offer stands for one more week,” Mrs. Boyd said. “He wants to marry you, Lydia. He wouldn’t have asked otherwise. You mustn’t allow this opportunity to pass. For Jane’s sake, if for no other reason. Do for her what your parents were unable to do for you.”


A thread of candlelight wove through the darkness. Lydia approached the bed where Jane lay beneath the covers, staring at the pattern of shadows across the ceiling.

Lydia paused and looked at the girl. She saw no resemblance to Theodora Kellaway in Jane’s rounded features, her soft, full mouth, her dark eyebrows. And as much as she wanted things to have been different with her mother, Lydia was glad—fiercely glad—that Jane bore no similarities to a woman whose mind had filled with darkness.

She sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hand over Jane’s. Jane tried to pull away, her body stiffening.

“Jane?”

Jane turned her head, studying Lydia with a peculiar intentness, as if she’d never seen her in this light before.

“What did Grandmama say?” Jane asked. “Did she tell you Lord Northwood came to her about the proposal?”