Lord Eddie?”
She tipped her head back and smiled at the absurdity. Lydia studied the adjoining door. Win over Lord Edward? Was she mad? That closed door, like the closed man, taunted her, a challenge. Most people liked her, really.
She chewed her thumbnail. Didn’t he say he’d see her at dinner? Plenty of time to poke around his room, learn a bit more about the infamous recluse…a little information hunt. Nothing harmful in that.
Lydia glanced again at the portrait over the mantel.
A woman ought to know something about the man she’s agreed to marry.
She had every right…to look at his things. At least whatever he liked to read. How else would she get to know his preferences? Her stocking feet found their way to the adjoining door, and she pressed her ear against the cold wood.
Nothing.
Really, there are worse crimes than going through a man’s personal effects. It’s looking only.
In the middle of pondering that sticky point, the doorknob turned under her hand. Just like that, the door opened. Her heart thumped as if she’d raced uphill. What was it he said in the greenhouse?
My room and my laboratory are barred to visitors.
Surveying his hodgepodge room, this was poor form; she’d just give things a quick peek, enough to quell this maddening need to know. Lydia schooled her breathing. She wouldn’t get caught—the maids had already swept through the place. The bed was made, wood was stacked high by the hearth, and a few fresh candles replaced last night’s melted stubs.
Embers glowed in the fireplace. That’s when she noticed the open cabinet holding the amber-filled decanter and glass. As she walked closer to the open door, the smudged glass looked to be the same as what the earl drank from last night. The maids must’ve missed changing the glass, which gave her a naughty idea.
“Why not sneak a dram? None would be the wiser,” she said to herself.
Lydia reached for the decanter. The heavy cut-glass carafe alone felt like a year’s worth of spending money in her hands. She lifted the stopper and sniffed the single malt’s smoky aroma.
“Mmmm.” She closed her eyes and hummed her satisfaction.
Golden liquid poured smooth and viscous into glass. Her first sip tasted of pure heaven: flavors of smoke and peat slid over her tongue, down her throat, all the way through her chest, warming her.
“Must be from the north of Scotland. And very expensive, of course.” One sip followed by another brought renewed boldness.
Daylight, however gray outside, illuminated his lordship’s reading area through bare windows. She hadn’t noticed the faldstool chair last night. The Romanesque chair sat throne-like among the books and bookstands. Journals were flipped open. Messy sketches depicted flowers and plant diagrams. Lydia settled herself in the wide-styled chair and rested the glass on her lap.
“Something of a senatorial blue blood, eh, Lord Eddie?” She smiled and took an ample swallow. Scooting to the chair’s edge, Lydia craned her neck to read the title on a book stand. “ A Discourse on the Six Planets of Our Solar System by Lord George Sanford, Earl of Greenwich.”
Her fingers traced the imprinted words drawing her in with a sense of history. “Like father, like son,” she whispered, standing in awe to examine the tome, large like an atlas.
All of England revered the late earl for his work in astronomy and his generous nature to the less fortunate. The book engrossed her with its maps of the heavens and fanciful depictions of the solar system’s six planets. Lydia pored over one page after another, setting the book on the wide table littered with maps. What was this fascination with maps?
She planted her elbows on the rough plank table, so out of place in an earl’s room, and sipped more scotch. Numerous pamphlets from the Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge, their edges curling and split, stacked this way and that in a corner. Lydia scooted the book across
She tipped her head back and smiled at the absurdity. Lydia studied the adjoining door. Win over Lord Edward? Was she mad? That closed door, like the closed man, taunted her, a challenge. Most people liked her, really.
She chewed her thumbnail. Didn’t he say he’d see her at dinner? Plenty of time to poke around his room, learn a bit more about the infamous recluse…a little information hunt. Nothing harmful in that.
Lydia glanced again at the portrait over the mantel.
A woman ought to know something about the man she’s agreed to marry.
She had every right…to look at his things. At least whatever he liked to read. How else would she get to know his preferences? Her stocking feet found their way to the adjoining door, and she pressed her ear against the cold wood.
Nothing.
Really, there are worse crimes than going through a man’s personal effects. It’s looking only.
In the middle of pondering that sticky point, the doorknob turned under her hand. Just like that, the door opened. Her heart thumped as if she’d raced uphill. What was it he said in the greenhouse?
My room and my laboratory are barred to visitors.
Surveying his hodgepodge room, this was poor form; she’d just give things a quick peek, enough to quell this maddening need to know. Lydia schooled her breathing. She wouldn’t get caught—the maids had already swept through the place. The bed was made, wood was stacked high by the hearth, and a few fresh candles replaced last night’s melted stubs.
Embers glowed in the fireplace. That’s when she noticed the open cabinet holding the amber-filled decanter and glass. As she walked closer to the open door, the smudged glass looked to be the same as what the earl drank from last night. The maids must’ve missed changing the glass, which gave her a naughty idea.
“Why not sneak a dram? None would be the wiser,” she said to herself.
Lydia reached for the decanter. The heavy cut-glass carafe alone felt like a year’s worth of spending money in her hands. She lifted the stopper and sniffed the single malt’s smoky aroma.
“Mmmm.” She closed her eyes and hummed her satisfaction.
Golden liquid poured smooth and viscous into glass. Her first sip tasted of pure heaven: flavors of smoke and peat slid over her tongue, down her throat, all the way through her chest, warming her.
“Must be from the north of Scotland. And very expensive, of course.” One sip followed by another brought renewed boldness.
Daylight, however gray outside, illuminated his lordship’s reading area through bare windows. She hadn’t noticed the faldstool chair last night. The Romanesque chair sat throne-like among the books and bookstands. Journals were flipped open. Messy sketches depicted flowers and plant diagrams. Lydia settled herself in the wide-styled chair and rested the glass on her lap.
“Something of a senatorial blue blood, eh, Lord Eddie?” She smiled and took an ample swallow. Scooting to the chair’s edge, Lydia craned her neck to read the title on a book stand. “ A Discourse on the Six Planets of Our Solar System by Lord George Sanford, Earl of Greenwich.”
Her fingers traced the imprinted words drawing her in with a sense of history. “Like father, like son,” she whispered, standing in awe to examine the tome, large like an atlas.
All of England revered the late earl for his work in astronomy and his generous nature to the less fortunate. The book engrossed her with its maps of the heavens and fanciful depictions of the solar system’s six planets. Lydia pored over one page after another, setting the book on the wide table littered with maps. What was this fascination with maps?
She planted her elbows on the rough plank table, so out of place in an earl’s room, and sipped more scotch. Numerous pamphlets from the Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge, their edges curling and split, stacked this way and that in a corner. Lydia scooted the book across