office only. But my uncle died last year, so I was graciously allowed to come home and have decided to spend this Season in London.” He reminded himself to make himself sound as much like an English family patriarch as possible. “I have two younger sisters who will reach the age for their come-out next spring, and another sister who has resisted a Season thus far, but should no longer.”
“Laying the groundwork for their success.” Lady Bainbridge’s smile was approving. “What a good brother.”
“And thinking of setting up your nursery?” Lady Jersey gave him a slanted smile.
“With the will of le bon dieu .”
If God honored men who had made a career of lies enough to provide a wife.
His gaze strayed across the drawing room to Lady Gale. She stood by the door, talking with a lovely young woman with the same dark hair and eyes, and a young man who gazed at the second lady as though she were a treasure for which he’d sought all his life. Christien flicked his gaze back to Lady Gale and wondered if his expression resembled that of the younger man.
“From all I hear,” Lady Jersey said in an undertone that would reach no ears but his, “you’ll catch cold in that direction. Lydia Bainbridge Gale is little more than a recluse with no interest in a second husband.”
“A pity. She’s beautiful.” Christien glanced at the mother. She too watched her eldest daughter. Her face reflected sorrow.
“How did you meet Lydia?”
“I was able to perform some service for her husband many years ago.” Christien’s fingers curled into a fist before he could stop them. “Monsieur Lang and I, that is. I did not know his wife was such a beauty.”
“I have been blessed with exceptional daughters.” Lady Bainbridge began to rise.
Christien offered her his hand. She leaned on him for support, and he realized how frail she appeared, her skin translucent, her hand thin enough to show all the veins, her bones as fragile as a bird’s wing. Quite a contrast to her robust eldest daughter.
“You do not object if I take your daughter for a drive in the park?” he asked.
“I’ll wager she doesn’t go.” Lady Jersey trilled a laugh.
Lady Bainbridge clucked in disapproval. “No wagering in my household, Sally. And no, of course I don’t object. But it’s Lydia whom you will have to convince. She isn’t inclined to allow herself to be courted in any way.”
“I’ll convince her.” Christien smiled, bowed to the ladies, and wended his way through tables, sofas, and chairs to the door and Lydia.
Yes, she was Lydia. He’d thought of her as Lydia since reading her letters. He had to force himself to call her Lady Gale. Calling her Lydia would insult her. She was a lady, poised and elegant in her city finery. Poised and elegant in the shabby gown she’d worn to the prison. Both attested to breeding and manners.
He counted on those to get an opportunity to be alone with her.
“Are you departing so soon, monsieur?” she asked him at the door.
“Not unless you agree to join me.” He smiled at her.
Her sister giggled. “Lydia, you didn’t tell us you have a suitor.”
“I don’t.” Lydia’s knuckles whitened around her fan. “Monsieur le comte de Meuse, Cassandra, Whittaker.”
A curtsy and bows were exchanged.
“Are you truly French?” Miss Bainbridge asked. “I would love to talk to you about life during the Terror. One day I want to write a history of the French Revolution and . . .” She trailed off, her face reddening. “I beg your pardon. Perhaps you do not wish to speak of it.”
“I would not mind, but I was but a child at the time and my recollections may be corrupt. Perhaps one day you can meet my maman and get a better perspective. She is une Americaine and had revolutionary ideas, though married to my papa. I expect her to come to London next year.”
“And we’ll be in Lancashire.” She gazed up at the young man beside her. “We’re getting married in
“Laying the groundwork for their success.” Lady Bainbridge’s smile was approving. “What a good brother.”
“And thinking of setting up your nursery?” Lady Jersey gave him a slanted smile.
“With the will of le bon dieu .”
If God honored men who had made a career of lies enough to provide a wife.
His gaze strayed across the drawing room to Lady Gale. She stood by the door, talking with a lovely young woman with the same dark hair and eyes, and a young man who gazed at the second lady as though she were a treasure for which he’d sought all his life. Christien flicked his gaze back to Lady Gale and wondered if his expression resembled that of the younger man.
“From all I hear,” Lady Jersey said in an undertone that would reach no ears but his, “you’ll catch cold in that direction. Lydia Bainbridge Gale is little more than a recluse with no interest in a second husband.”
“A pity. She’s beautiful.” Christien glanced at the mother. She too watched her eldest daughter. Her face reflected sorrow.
“How did you meet Lydia?”
“I was able to perform some service for her husband many years ago.” Christien’s fingers curled into a fist before he could stop them. “Monsieur Lang and I, that is. I did not know his wife was such a beauty.”
“I have been blessed with exceptional daughters.” Lady Bainbridge began to rise.
Christien offered her his hand. She leaned on him for support, and he realized how frail she appeared, her skin translucent, her hand thin enough to show all the veins, her bones as fragile as a bird’s wing. Quite a contrast to her robust eldest daughter.
“You do not object if I take your daughter for a drive in the park?” he asked.
“I’ll wager she doesn’t go.” Lady Jersey trilled a laugh.
Lady Bainbridge clucked in disapproval. “No wagering in my household, Sally. And no, of course I don’t object. But it’s Lydia whom you will have to convince. She isn’t inclined to allow herself to be courted in any way.”
“I’ll convince her.” Christien smiled, bowed to the ladies, and wended his way through tables, sofas, and chairs to the door and Lydia.
Yes, she was Lydia. He’d thought of her as Lydia since reading her letters. He had to force himself to call her Lady Gale. Calling her Lydia would insult her. She was a lady, poised and elegant in her city finery. Poised and elegant in the shabby gown she’d worn to the prison. Both attested to breeding and manners.
He counted on those to get an opportunity to be alone with her.
“Are you departing so soon, monsieur?” she asked him at the door.
“Not unless you agree to join me.” He smiled at her.
Her sister giggled. “Lydia, you didn’t tell us you have a suitor.”
“I don’t.” Lydia’s knuckles whitened around her fan. “Monsieur le comte de Meuse, Cassandra, Whittaker.”
A curtsy and bows were exchanged.
“Are you truly French?” Miss Bainbridge asked. “I would love to talk to you about life during the Terror. One day I want to write a history of the French Revolution and . . .” She trailed off, her face reddening. “I beg your pardon. Perhaps you do not wish to speak of it.”
“I would not mind, but I was but a child at the time and my recollections may be corrupt. Perhaps one day you can meet my maman and get a better perspective. She is une Americaine and had revolutionary ideas, though married to my papa. I expect her to come to London next year.”
“And we’ll be in Lancashire.” She gazed up at the young man beside her. “We’re getting married in
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