A Study In Seduction(9)

“Well, I—”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Because you know the possible consequences. So does Lord Northwood.”

She eyed her grandmother with wariness. Mrs. Boyd’s lips pressed together, but she didn’t appear inclined to argue. Perhaps because she knew Lydia spoke the truth.

Lydia shivered and rubbed her arms, pushing aside the threatening darkness of the past. Although she lived in dread of any form of gossip, she could not resist the desire to know more about Lord Northwood.

“Is it true?” she asked. “Did his mother run away with another man?”

“Oh, such unpleasant rumors.” Mrs. Boyd waved a hand. “It’s why most people still want nothing to do with them, even though they’re quite wealthy. But yes, as far as I know, the countess, who everyone believed exceedingly proper, was caught having an affair with a young Russian soldier. She ran off with him, and the earl petitioned for a divorce. Quite rightly, I must admit. Northwood returned to London in the midst of the whole thing. Terrible, really, that he had to contend with the aftermath of such a scandal. They’ve never recovered, that family.”

“What happened to the countess?”

“She’s been banned from the estates, though I don’t think she ever tried to return. I imagine she’s still living in sin, probably in the wilds of Russia.” Curiosity narrowed her grandmother’s eyes. “So what was he like?”

“Lord Northwood?” Lydia searched for words. “Polite, I suppose. Implacable.”

Angry.

Compelling. Handsome. Tempting…

Lydia cut short the thought. She must not think of any man in that way, least of all Lord Northwood.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Boyd tapped her cane. “From what I understand, Lord Rushton’s sons have something in their blood, Cossack ancestors and all. The earl has an ancient family that extends back to the Normans, I believe, pure English lineage there. Not from their mother, though. It accounts for their roughness, that Russian blood. Even before the scandal, Lady Chilton was concerned about the prospect of her daughter marrying Lord Northwood.”

Lydia blinked. An unpleasant emotion rose in her chest, something greenish brown, the color of slimy grass beneath a layer of slush.

“Lady Chilton’s daughter is going to marry Lord Northwood?” she asked.

“Not anymore, no. They were affianced at one time, but then after Lady Rushton behaved so abominably, Lord Chilton called off the engagement. He refused to have his daughter associated with the Halls, despite their wealth.”

Lydia let out her breath, realizing that her hand was trembling slightly.

“All those brothers, and the sister, too, have spent a great deal of time in Russia,” Mrs. Boyd remarked. “It’s no wonder they’re not much in demand. I’ve heard they’re a bit uncivilized.”

Lydia bit her tongue to prevent a retort. Although she was loath to admit it, she thought her grandmother’s commentary on Alexander Hall had some merit.

Despite his impeccable appearance, something feral and turbulent gleamed in the viscount’s eyes—something that called to mind Cossack soldiers, silver sabers, and the wide plains of the Russian steppes.

Certainly Lord Northwood’s behavior had been anything but proper, though Lydia wouldn’t go quite so far as to deem it uncivilized.

Yet.


“Sophie!” Jane Kellaway whispered.

The maid turned from the stove, her eyes widening. “Miss Jane, you oughtn’t be down ’ere! Your grandmother—”

“Is there another letter? Did the boy deliver one?”

Sophie sighed and pulled a creased paper from her apron pocket. She handed it to Jane and shooed her toward the door.

“If she finds out, I’ll be sacked, you know,” Sophie hissed.

“She won’t find out.”

Clutching the letter, Jane hurried upstairs to the schoolroom. Anticipation sparked in her as she broke the seal. She unfolded the paper, which contained a block of precise handwriting that reminded her of black ants marching in a row.


Dear Jane,

Thank you for your recent discourse on fairyflies, which I find a very lovely name for what—as per your description—is quite a disagreeable little insect.

It is, however, interesting that female fairyflies fly more adroitly than males. Perhaps therein lies a lesson for us all.

Enclosed is a riddle called an acrostic. I find myself a bit disgruntled that you solved the last one with such alacrity.