Page 35 of The Marquess of Secrets

Lydia found herself standing before a tall man in a double-breasted black coat and white tie.

“I am Youngston, his lordship’s under-butler. Will you follow me, Miss Best?”

Harrison hadn’t informed the servants of her real name. Thank goodness. Their exchange of secrets would remain between them, and she was silently relieved.

Youngston opened the double doors, and she was immediately taken by the coziness despite the size of the room.

A fire blazed in the white marble hearth. The walls were adorned with burgundy and gold gilded wallpaper, and ornate flowered drapes covered most of one wall, the colors matching the wallpaper. A long table with high back chairs sat in the middle of the room. Overhead the chandelier blazed, washing the room in muted illumination.

The room was glorious.

Harrison stood and smiled.

“Miss Best, your lordship,” Youngston announced.

“Thank you, Youngston. You may commence serving.”

Harrison came to her side and tucked her hand through the crook of his arm.

“May I escort you to your seat?”

Goodness, the table sat at least twelve.

“Will I be sitting close enough so we can converse?”

He patted her hand. “Most assuredly.”

Harrison pulled out a chair, and she sat. He took the one next to her at the head of the table.

“Not a formal meal as you’re still recovering. Besides, I shared a rather large dinner with my brother last night.”

Lydia watched the activity of Youngston and the footmen. Not formal? When Harrison sat before her resplendent in his black formal wear and the table was adorned with crystal goblets and china plates? Even the tablecloth matched the floral pattern of the curtains.

Her fingers trailed across the sterling silver flatware. No, she was not used to this at all, and it made her uncomfortable.

Too jarring. Until last week, she’d slept in alleys.

Since awakening and finding herself in this townhouse, she felt strange, removed from reality. Surely all this could not be real, Harrison included. It could be the fever, for she still had a slight one.

Was this a fairytale dream born from her secret hopes and imaginings? Or had she died and gone to heaven?

Silly thoughts, but Lydia knew how sickness and high fever could warp reality.

A bowl of chowder with bits of carrot, celery, potato, and shrimp was placed before her. Watching to see what spoon Harrison used as there were three utensils at her setting, she did the same and daintily slurped a spoonful. The food here was beyond compare.

She supposed she should say something.

“You have a brother living nearby?”

“Yes. My middle brother, Tremain, is a few streets away at the Gransford townhouse.”

Harrison explained about his ex-vicar, war veteran, viscount brother. It was a struggle to keep up with the conversation, especially the confusing details on how he’d been made a viscount.

No, she was not recovered from this illness by any stretch. The audible rattle in her chest and the hoarseness of her voice were proof of that. And the coughing fits. Pray she did not take one during dinner.

“And you serve in the House of Lords as well? I thought those with a courtesy title were not permitted to attend.” Or are they? It was all so muddled.

“Those with a courtesy title do not, but the queen ennobled me. It allows me to attend and serve in the House of Lords. That honor will not pass on to any of my heirs. It is indeed rare for a duke and his two sons to be serving at the same time. There is no denying the queen favors our family, much to the chagrin of others. We take our responsibilities seriously and work diligently to make Great Britain the envy of the world. Though there is much work to be done concerning the poor.”