“One thing?”
“Of course. We must seek out Lord Spenser…um…I mean Lord Hutchinson. Surely his feelings for you haven’t changed, even though his circumstances certainly have.”
“Aunt, I don’t think a match between us is possible anymore. He’s a marquis now, and I’m still a merchant’s daughter. Our stations in life are too far apart. Society would never accept such a match.”
“Do you love him?”
“With all my heart. I will never love another man like I do him. He’s everything I could ever wish for in a husband, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I cannot have him.”
“As long as you love him, we will find a way for you to be together.”
Lydia wanted more than anything to believe her aunt, but she knew deep down that their union could never happen now that he was a marquis. But what if it were possible? Could she hold out hope that a way around this conundrum could be found? Her heart cried yes, but her logical mind said no. She would never be able to marry the man she loved.
She would have to try to garner the attention of another gentleman this Season interested in her, which could prove easier said than done. Her heart wasn’t in it, but she’d try her best to attract another suitor if it meant to save her from marrying Baron Oakley.
“What do you say we go to the British Museum today?” Agnes asked.
“Really? I thought you didn’t really like going there.”
Agnes winked. “I don’t mind it, and I’d do anything to put a smile back on your face.”
Lydia hugged her aunt. “Do you know how much I adore you?”
Agnes patted her back. “And I adore you, my darling. Now go wash your face and gather your things. We have a museum to explore.”
Chapter 3
Later that afternoon, George walkedinto the parlor to take tea with his mother, Grace. She’d taken the deaths of her husband and two oldest sons extremely hard, and it had taken months of coaxing to even draw her out of her bedchamber. He was happy to see her seated by the fireplace, although she wasn’t the same woman he’d known growing up. She’d lost a great deal of weight in her grief, and for the first time, he noticed deepening lines around her eyes and mouth. Streaks of gray now peppered her dark hair, but he took comfort in the fact that at least she was out of her bedchamber.
“Good afternoon, Mother. You’re looking well.”
“Oh, George, don’t be ridiculous. I look like a drowned cat, and you know it. Don’t attempt to flatter me with false praise,” Grace said, chastising her only surviving son.
Not once in the eight months since his father and brothers had died in the carriage accident had she called him by his title. He didn’t think she’d ever be reconciled to the fact that he was now the Marquis of Hutchinson. There was no sense arguing with her, so he inclined his head and took the other seat in front of the fireplace.
The maid soon wheeled in a tea cart. “Will there be anything else, my lord?” Eva asked.
“No, you may go.”
She curtseyed and left the room.
“You should have asked her to pour out the tea,” Grace said, a rebuke in her tone.
“Mother, I’m perfectly capable of handling tea,” he said, preparing a cup for her before making one for himself.
“You really should hire a valet. That cravat knot is too simple now that you’re a marquis.”
George’s eyes snapped to his mother. It was the first time Grace had ever referenced the fact that he now held the title. “It hasn’t been a priority, especially in light of all the other responsibilities I’ve had to handle these past months.”
“Appearances are everything, George. You shouldn’t have dismissed Woods. He always made sure your father was impeccably turned out.”
George was torn. He wanted to tell his mother the real reason he’d let his father’s valet go and not hired a new one, but he was afraid if Grace knew the state of their finances, it would send her back to the isolation of her bedchamber. As much as he hated to admit it, he would need a miracle to bail out the estate. Even his modest income hadn’t been able to make a dent in the debt. He hated to curse the dead, but his brother was responsible for this calamity. If Arthur had shown even a little restraint, circumstances might be different, and George wouldn’t be so stressed about keeping the estate afloat.
“You must wed this Season and secure an heir,” Grace said with no preamble.
He was shocked at her bluntness. “Mother, I hardly think—”
“You’re the marquis now and must secure the title for the future,” she said, interrupting him.
