Free Miss Simpkins' School: Lydia by Raven McAllan Page A

three weeks near to him, and not be shown up by my alleged lack of dancing skills? Lydia walked briskly around the edge of the ballroom—no simpering sway for her—and by dint of ignoring as many people as possible, edged her way toward Lady Tilly Hammond. To her annoyance, Tilly was talking to the one person Lydia wished to avoid.
    George Stokoe. It had to be didn’t it? Now what? She curtsied. “My lord.”
    He half smiled, with his eyelids lowered. No one ever knew what he was thinking. Lydia had long decided he cultivated his devilish, dark demeanor to avoid speculation from devoted—and eligible bachelor-hunting mamas. Each was scared he’d favor someone else’s daughter over their own. If no one could see his expression it made everything that little bit harder. His nickname of Darkness was well thought out. As a childhood friend—if one could call having your pigtails dipped in the ink well and your favorite doll’s head cut off friendly—Lydia knew him better than most. Which is why she had long decided her love for him was one-sided and would remain unrequited. Oh, he was always kind, and on occasion she surmised the way he looked at her when he assumed she was unaware held more heat than that needed for a simple friendship. But never had he shown any partiality toward her.
    As for the idiotic plan thought up between their respective mamas that they would be ideally suited; Lydia had no doubt that was all it would ever be. A plan, never to come to fruition. George, Lord Stokoe, would never see her as anything other than a pleasant, but clumsy friend. He would want an elegant, graceful wife who would shine in every circumstance. Lydia knew she could hold her own in conversation. In fact she often had to bite her tongue to stop herself showing her intelligence when in male company, but in the ballroom she was graceless and a liability. Not for the first time, she wondered why men expected their ladies to be uninterested in anything other than parties and clothes? Lydia wore what was dictated and suffered parties. She much preferred listening to music, walking across the fields of her father’s estate, or curling up in the library with a good book. She’d learned more than any well brought up young lady ever should from books and engravings. The question was, would she ever be able to put any of her learning into practical use? Reading and looking was one thing, doing was something else again. As for the affairs of the bedroom? She had no intention of suffering the mundane when she knew a mistress enjoyed the exotic.
    “Lydia, my dear.” George bowed over her hand as she straightened and glimpsed a flash of something she didn’t understand in his eyes before he masked it. “I believe you are to join Mama and me for the festivities. How, er charming.” The words were smooth, the tone held a hint of his nickname.
    “I’m so glad you think so, my lord.” Lydia spoke before she thought and Tilly smothered a cough. “I am conscious of what an honor it is of course.”
    His eyelids lifted and he stared at her for long seconds until she began to curl her toes up inside her dancing slippers, and then nodded. “Good. Ah.” The musicians had indicated the next dance. “Our waltz I believe.” He raised one dark eyebrow and gave her a look that dared her to disagree.
    Damn the man, he believes no such thing . No one ever booked a waltz with Lydia, not if they valued their toes. “I came to talk to Tilly, my lord. You need not bother.”
    He chuckled. “Oh it’s no bother, Lydia, it will be my...” He paused. “My pleasure.”
    “Liar.”
    He laughed out loud. “I think to call a peer of the realm a liar is nigh on treason, my dear. Now Tilly will chat to Mercy Benning and the Session twins, and we will dance and appease our mothers. Let them think their plan is working.” He led her onto the dance floor. As it was either let herself be led or fall flat on her face and cause a scene, Lydia gave in and