Dante hopped up when she entered the room, with Father right behind him. “Good evening, Miss Sanford. You look lovely as always.”
Lydia moved toward the two chairs and settled on the settee across from Dante’s seat. “Thank you.”
He looked as handsome and dashing as usual, with all black evening clothes, except for a white shirt and silver and
black waistcoat. When he looked at her, the tiny butterflies in her stomach did a quadrille. “Would you care for a sherry before we leave?”
So now Dante was taking over Father’s place as host?
“Yes, please.”
Quickly and efficiently, Dante walked to the sideboard, poured her a sherry, and brought it to her. Lydia glanced at her father who viewed Dante, and the two of them, with a father’s pride and happiness.
She couldn’t help wondering how fast Dante could escape the room if he knew what was going on behind Father’s cheerful countenance.
The three chatted for a few minutes about the ball that evening, and the musicale the following night. Lydia smartly refrained from mentioning the theater outing with the Ambassador on Thursday. Besides not wanting to put Dante in a foul mood, she also did not think Father would approve, either.
Honestly. Men seemed to think women could not make a decision for themselves, that as men they must always guide them and decide what was best. She was a grown woman and had every intention of guiding her own life.
Even if she were to marry.
Now there was a thought not as easily dismissed as it had once been. Before she would dwell on it more, however, Dante stood and took the empty glass from her hand. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She gathered her reticule and slid on her gloves. Dante took the shawl from her and placed it over her shoulders. The warmth from his hands resting briefly on her shoulders sent shivers down her body.
“Are you cold,” he asked, his lips close to her ear.
She shook her head. Goodness, Father was right in the room. She glanced sideways at him to see a bright smile.
Yes, trouble.
She kissed Father on his cheek, and they left the room. She swore he was humming under his breath when she kissed him.
“Your father is a cheerful sort,” Dante said as they settled into the carriage. “I knew him from the club, of course, but never really spoke much with him.”
“Yes.” She pulled the shawl tighter over her shoulders. “He is quite pleasant. He has a great deal of friends. I always wondered why he never remarried. He was certainly young enough when Mother died.”
“How long ago did your mother pass away?”
“I was five years old. She died giving birth to my brother, who died, as well.”
“So now I have to be an un-gentleman and ask you how many years ago that was which will tell me how old you are.”
Lydia grinned. She was never one to be concerned about her age. She was happily on the shelf and had been for several years. “It matters not. I am six and twenty, which means Mother passed away twenty-one years ago.” She paused for a moment. “My goodness, I hadn’t realized how long she is gone. I remember her quite clearly. Maybe because Father never did re-marry so there wasn’t another mother to take her place in my life.”
Dante shifted to rest his foot on his other knee. “I never knew my mother. Everyone knows I am the bastard son, and apparently my devoted mother had no use for me, and I was left on the earl’s doorstep when I was only a few weeks old.
“My father immediately pronounced me as his son, and insisted I be raised right along Hunt and Driscoll. Their mother, naturally, wasn’t too fond of the idea, but the earl insisted. While I can’t say Lady Huntington was mean to me, because she was not, I never got the same warm feelings from her as my brothers did.”
“Considering how many by-blows are tossed into the foundling homes, I must give Lord Huntington a great deal of credit for what he did.”
“Yes.” Dante nodded. “He was a remarkable man.” He paused for a moment. “I loved him, and miss him every day.”
Their carriage joined the queue waiting to alight at the Davidsons’ townhouse. Soon a footman opened the door and Dante stepped out and turned to help Lydia.
“I will help the young lady, my boy.” The Ambassador elbowed Dante out of the way and took Lydia’s hand. “It’s truly a pleasure to see you, Miss Sanford. As always, you are looking stunning.”
Lydia inwardly groaned. This was precisely what she’d been afraid of. She looked helplessly at Dante who glowered as though he was prepared to do a repeat performance on the Ambassador’s nose.