“Well, what do you think?” Edmund asked as Lord Harry disappeared into the crowd.
“I think that he is handsome and charming,” Lydia replied.
“So you like him?” Edmund leaned back, smiling proudly with his hands resting on his hips.
“No,” Lydia said. The smile fell from Edmund’s face.
“No?”
“I don’t mean this as an insult, but he reminds me of you.”
“And how am I supposed to take that if not as an insult?” Edmund furrowed his brow.
“I just mean that his manner reminds me of the way you used to speak to people in whom you held little interest. You spoke for your own amusement, acting charming because it came easily to you. The words were rehearsed, and you said similar things to many different women. There was no substance behind them.”
“I see,” Edmund said in a wary tone. “I fear you have been reading too many books, Lydia. There is such a thing as analyzing the world too deeply. He might just be a pleasant man.”
“He might, but he is not the man for me,” Lydia replied. Edmund’s lips parted. Lydia anticipated his question, sensing that he was going to ask her how she knew this for a fact. “When I meet the right man, I will know it as soon as our eyes meet. I will know it in here,” she said, pressing her finger into the middle of her chest.
Edmund stroked his chin and rolled his shoulders.
“Very well,” he sighed. “I suppose you tried at least.”
They returned to Agatha and Rose although to their surprise, Rose was sitting by herself.
“Where is Grandmother?” Edmund asked.
Rose lifted her gaze to the ceiling for a moment. “I am not sure. She said something about wanting to stretch her legs. I said she should wait for your return, but she muttered that she was too old to be told what to do. I am sorry for being unable to stop her.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Edmund said. “She is like an old mule sometimes.”
“Edmund, you shouldn’t speak about her like that,” Lydia scolded, aghast.
“Don’t pretend like the same thought hasn’t occurred to you,” Edmund said. Lydia clamped her mouth shut and did not say a word in reply. There was some truth to what Edmund said, and it brought Lydia great shame.
“How was your meeting?” Rose said.
“It was fine although he is not the one for me,” Lydia said. Edmund turned, craning his neck over the crowd to see if he could spot Agatha.
“Now where are you? I hope you’re not going to cause any trouble,” he muttered.
Rose clasped Lydia’s arm and leaned into her, whispering.
“There is no chance he could be the one?” she asked.
“No, not him.”
“Lydia… I have been patient with you, but I feel as though I must speak about a certain matter again. I fear that you want a storybook romance so fiercely that you are missing opportunities to have something real. I do not mean to lecture you, but I don’t want you to keep holding out for something that may never happen.”
“Itwillhappen,” Lydia said in a terse tone. “I know how I want to feel. I know what love will feel like. I have seen it often enough, and I thought that you would understand more than others.”
“I do Lydia, and that’s why I’m worried. I’ve seen you turn away so many appropriate suitors, and I just fear that nobody can live up to the idea of love that you have created in your mind. Stories are imagined, and that gives them a quality that cannot exist in real life.”
“It exists for you and for Charlotte. Why not for me?” Lydia challenged.
Rose softened and fell silent, unable to counter Lydia’s point. This was an argument the two of them had often. Lydia found it frustrating although she could not be angry with Rose for raising the point because she knew that hear dearest friend was only expressing her concern.
There were moments when Lydia wondered if she was going to have to exhaust every eligible man in London before she found her perfect match, but that was something she was willing to do if necessary. However, there was a nagging doubt at the back of her mind, a question that she assumed crossed her family’s mind as well.
