Page 11 of Hearts of Briarwall

All of which was to say that Lydia—an orphan—leaned on any female guidance she could procure. The Piedmonts had provided her with a nanny who had since passed on, a governess until she was eighteen, and a lady’s maid. Mrs. Parks, their housekeeper, had been with them since before their parents died.

But Florrie had learned the skills of society from her mother, and Mrs. Janes held balls at Grantmore Hill, great dinners, and weeks-long house parties. Though the Janeses were not among the peerage, they were historically genteel, and more importantly, “wealthier than Pharaoh”—as Violet so delicately put it. If Florrie had advice to give on hosting one potentially gangly ornithologist clockmaker, Lydia listened.

“Oh pooh, we’ve missed him,” Florrie said, once again looking out the window.

At the rumbling sound of gentlemen’s voices approaching, the girls turned and Nibs barked.

“Hush, Nibs.” Florrie kissed her dog’s head.

Lydia smoothed the black eyelash-lace overlay against her rose-colored silk gown and recentered the garnet-and-marcasite necklace that had been her mother’s, tapping it in place before clasping her hands behind her.

Ralston, the butler, appeared at the sitting room doors. “Mr. Wooding and Mr. Hayes, miss.”

Andrew entered, looking cheery, which was the first thing to strike Lydia as odd. Her brother more often appeared pensive. Overly concerned was another favorite of his. The second thing was the unconventionally attractive man following him. He glanced at the portraits on the wall with a faraway smile beneath a conservative blond mustache.

Florrie leaned in. “Yes, I see what you mean,” she murmured. “All that ... tall hair.”

“Hush.”

Lydia swallowed, blinking so as not to stare. His hair was no longer as tall as she remembered, but cut closely on the sides with longer dark blond waves on top, pushed back. But more than that, as he turned their way, she noted his clear hazel eyes. Intelligent, observant eyes under dark-blond brows.

“He could wind my clock anytime,” Florrie murmured appreciatively.

Lydia shot her friend a silencing look.

Florrie grinned.

“Lydia.”

Lydia jumped, throwing her shoulders back.

Andrew looked at her curiously as he approached. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek in greeting. “At ease,” he said quietly.

She let out a breath, narrowing her gaze at him.

He backed away, a rare, carefree smile on his face. He nodded a greeting at Florrie. “Miss Janes, you are still here, I see.”

“Quite observant of you, Mr. Wooding. Thank you for assessing my whereabouts,” Florrie said with a fluttering blink of her lashes. “Before your pronouncement, I’d no idea where I was.”

Her sarcasm never fazed him. “Happy to be of service. Will you be joining us for dinner?”

“I will be.”

“Glad to hear it. Ladies, I’d like you to meet Mr. Spencer Hayes. Spencer? My little sister, Lydia.”

Lydia cringed at the diminutive introduction as their guest’s eyes flitted briefly between her and Andrew.

He stepped forward and bowed. “Miss Wooding, a pleasure.”

“Mr. Hayes,” she said, regaining her breath. “I’m not certain you remember, but we’ve met before.”

His eyes flickered quickly over her person. “Yes. It was a long time ago.”

“A very long time ago. I believe the first time you came to Briarwall, I was still hiding from Nanny, hoping not to have to eat my carrots.”

A smile waited in his eyes, then he blinked and it was gone. “And the last time I visited—”

“I was still hiding from the carrots.” She grinned. She’d been on the verge of twelve then, and painfully shy.

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