Page 3 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
“I’m so sorry, dearest,” Helena cooed, so gently it made Lydia cry all over again. “That must have been so terrible. But, you know, memories don’t leave us just because we’re no longer in the place that birthed them.”
“London is a place of possibility,” Alex nodded.
“My friends are here.”
“Do you think it impossible to make new friends?” Helena asked, brushing tears from Lydia’s cheeks. “Because I can assure you now, that is not the case.”
“Let us take you home,” Alex urged. “Things won’t seem so bad in the morning.”
Lydia looked up at him, needing the reassurance he was offering. “Do you promise?”
He nodded, steady and certain. “I promise.”
CHAPTER TWO
LONDON
The winter air stroked cool fingers across Lydia’s face as she strolled along the street. Her friend, Lady Penelope Marshall, frowned at the sudden burst of pale sunlight.
“I should have brought my parasol,” the blonde lady shuddered.
“For this? Dearest, it’s winter.” To demonstrate her point, she tilted her face back to the sky.
“You know you’ll get freckles regardless.” Penelope tugged at her arm in false exasperation. “Your complexion is too pale.”
Lydia cast a laughing glance at her friend. At two-and-twenty, she knew precisely what would happen if she spent too long in the sun. Her red hair and pale skin ensured her skin was frequently painted with freckles across the summer months. Not the handsomest feature, but they always faded in winter, and she barely had any at present.
“I hardly think a single walk will do me any danger,” she remarked, biting back her amusement. “Besides, no one will care. Lord Scunthorpe began courting me last summer when I had amultitudeof freckles.”
Penelope gusted a sigh at the sound of Lord Scunthorpe’s name. Unlike Lydia, who had seen three London Seasons now—the slightly younger girl hadn’t quite abandoned her romantic leanings. She still dreamed of a hero sweeping in on a white steed to rescue her.
Lydia had no such misconceptions.
There was no such thing as heroes. At least, none on whom she could rely to stay in her life.
“Lord Scunthorpe issucha bore,” Penelope groused.
“Don’t be cruel. He’s…” Lydia paused, trying to find a way to describe the baron in a flattering light. Perhaps he was not the most dashing or young of men, but he was perfectly kind, and she knew he would provide for her. “He is very devoted to me.”
“Is he now?” Penelope asked, arching a brow. “And what of his other wives?”
“To be sure, he has had bad luck in the past, but I hardly think you can blamehimfor the death of his wives.”
Her friend wrinkled her nose. “I think he wants someone to be the mother of his children.”
“Well, is that not also reasonable?”
“Andyouare the daughter of a viscount,” Penelope pointed out. “Imagine if you were not. Would he have the same interest in you then?”
“Well, I can’t say for certain, but he knows I won’t inherit any of Papa’s property regardless,” Lydia shrugged. “It’s all entailed away, and Papa made thatveryclear at a dinner earlier this year. And Lord Scunthorpe hasn’t retracted his suit. So whatever his motivations, it is not because he thinks, as my husband, he will be my father’s heir.”
Penelope pursed her lips. “But your father is a powerful man,” she reminded. “A union would benefit Scunthorpe far more than you. He is a baron. Twice married.”
“He is rich,” Lydia pointed out.
“Not so rich that he wouldn’t benefit from your dowry.”
Lydia said nothing.
