“Please do. I would hate for anything to affect theton’sassumptions of us,” Lydia said.
At that moment, there was a rapid knock on the door. Georgia came in, holding a calm and content John.
“I apologize for interrupting your breakfast, Your Graces, but I thought that you might want John now that he’s calmed down. He drank well today, and there was no troubling winding him either. I think he’s getting quite used to it now.”
Lydia opened her arms and welcome John, settling him on her lap.
“One day you will be sitting at this table and eating everything. I wonder what you’ll like,” she said and proceeded to point out everything on the table. Victor watched her, and a strange feeling came over him.
At that moment, it felt as though John was going to remain with them and grow up. He was sitting on Lydia’s lap, but in time hewould sit on a chair by himself, his legs dangling. As the years passed, his feet would reach the floor, and he would only keep growing, until he became a man himself. Lydia and Victor would be sitting at the table as well, getting older and perhaps a little wiser.
There was something comforting about the notion, something that anchored Victor to the future. With this vision the future was not entirely unknown, and so it did not hold as much trepidation. However, it was not going to happen like that. He would find the boy’s mother, and everything would be put right.
There was something sad about not seeing John grow up, however, although Victor did not express this of course.
“I’m sure he’ll have a healthy appetite, Your Grace,” Georgia said.
“By the way Georgia, we are going to London in a few days’ time. I would like to take John with us, so we require your presence.”
“London?” Georgia’s eyes shone brightly. “Oh, yes, thank you very much. I shall look forward to that. I’m sure we’ll all have a grand time, especially the young master. I’m sure he’ll like seeing the world go by,” Georgia said.
Victor finished breakfast and bowed as he left the table. He turned when he reached the door, glancing back at Lydia. Her attention was entirely focused on John. Her expression was tender, but there was something about the way she looked that brought about a sense of recognition within him. There wassomething in the back of his mind that was familiar. He itched his cheek and ran his fingers across his lips, frowning and shaking his head, trying to dispel the notion because it seemed ridiculous.
But he could not stop thinking about the angel who had visited him during the night, and he wondered…
Chapter Twenty-One
Lydia was in the sitting room waiting for the arrival of the modiste. A book lay open in her lap although she had not turned a page in quite some time. Her thoughts lingered on Victor. Just when she thought they were forming a connection, he acted obtuse and didn’t even acknowledge the tenderness that had passed between them through the night.
Lydia was forced to wonder whether it had happened at all or if it was just a piece of magic that had occurred during the night. She’d hinted, she’d stared, she’d given him many opportunities to speak about the brief kiss, and yet he had said nothing.
“I’m not about to humiliate myself,” she muttered, angrily flicking a page. Perhaps that’s what he wanted, for her to act all starry-eyed, as though this kiss was all she had dreamed of and was the crowning moment of her life. It would certainly marry with the arrogance he displayed when he declared that he would choose her gown.
Did he think that she was a child who could not select an appropriate outfit?
He hardly seemed to know her at all, and at every turn, there was a reminder of his insufferable nature.
“Oh, this is a marvelous house, just marvelous! I’ve passed it quite a few times, and I’ve always wondered what it looks like inside. You’re doing a stand-up job, my good man. I haven’t noticed a speck of dust. Not a speck!” A lilting voice was audile. Lydia put the book away and smoothed out her dress, forming a smile on her face.
The modiste came into the room like a burst of sunshine. She had radiant golden hair that fell past her shoulders in thick curls. A broad smile rested upon her face, and her eyes twinkled like sapphires. She was short and stocky. With her stature and her demeanor,
she seemed to fill the room.
She was joined by an unsettlingly tall, stoic man whose pallor was dull, as though he had not seen the sun for some years. The contrast was more striking because of the differences between them. The man moved rigidly as he opened a chest and began pulling out dresses.
“Your Grace, it’s such an honor to meet you. I am Melody Chambers, the best modiste outside of London, if you will permit me a moment to boast. And this is my loyal assistant, Hom.”
“Miss. Chambers, Mr. Hom,” Lydia said, nodding to them both.
Melody held up a finger. “NotMisterHom, just Hom. He comes from a remote European land and doesn’t speak a word of English, but somehow, he always knows what I’m thinking.” She flashed a smile to Hom. Hom merely dipped his head and made a guttural sound.
“Now then…” Melody clapped her hands together. “I believe you are to attend a ball, and I was told that you need something elegant and striking but traditional as well.”
“We are representing the household, and it’s important that everything should be proper,” Lydia said, echoing Victor’s sentiments.
“Indeed, indeed, well, I always value tradition. Too many people are eager to shock with their dresses, and I think that’s a cheap trick. There’s a grace in tradition, and I always feel that we should respect what came before.” Melody then leaned towards Hom and spoke out of the corner of her mouth.
“Leave those ones,” she whispered, waving a hand through the air.
