Wedding Flowers—Chapter Nineteen

"Meetings all morning," Lydia was saying, reading from her leather-bound notebook. No one kept lists like Lydia. "The most important is at ten, we're closing on one of the canneries we bought, so you and I and Mr. Van Schelven and our lawyer will all have to be there. Shouldn't take long. At least, I hope it won't, because right after that we've got shareholders from that fish market in Norway coming to meet with us."

Victor only had half an ear on what she was saying. Not only was he worn out from the previous evening, he was worn out in advance of what he was sure the day would bring. From the apparent length and breadth of Lydia's list, the workday would be daunting. Particularly since his mind was bound to be elsewhere. How was it Lydia was so able to focus? Other girls would be thinking about their little sister being engaged, might even have taken the day off, it seemed to him. In all honesty he'd quite wanted to take the day off, but Lydia had given him such a deathly glare when he'd hinted at staying home, that he'd swiftly changed his mind. Adding to his worries was how Victoria had given him advance warning that Nell was bound to be on the warpath over Anne's engagement. She'd even suggested that he come home for lunch, rather than go to his parents', just until tempers cooled and settled again. Probably not a bad idea. Victor didn't enjoy being shouted at, and Nell was bound to want to do just that. Easing back in his seat, Victor swallowed a sigh.

While Lydia quickly and efficiently gave him the day's to-do list (at least she'd been kind enough not to mention that he should really know all of this already), Victor was weighing his options. He wanted to talk to her about what had happened last evening. After things had worked out so happily he'd been prepared not to bother, to let well enough alone. Yes, she'd helped Anne keep secrets, but the secret was out now. No harm done, really. But then he and Victoria had ended the evening with a lovely long chat in bed, during which she'd shared some things with him. Things that made him realize, again, how little he understood Lydia. Such as Lydia being the brains behind all of this cannery business, the acquisitions and the mergers and everything else Victor had no idea about. Such as how Lydia had been ready to throw it all away. Such as how Lydia had really been prepared to take whoever her grandmothers had picked out for her.

So now he wanted to talk to her. As her father, he should talk to her. What made it difficult, though, was the fact that the two of them, well, didn't really talk.

They'd not talked to each other, not really, for several years. From the age of thirteen or so on, Lydia had treated him more or less as a fellow boarder in their house. Moving past him with only a nod if they happened to meet on the stairs. Terse conversation on bland topics if they happened to be alone together at the breakfast table. Civil and polite, and perhaps sometimes a joke or two on a special occasion, but that was all. Not that they'd ever really been close, not like he and Anne, but at least there used to be some affection. It hurt to lose it.

What happened? Victor asked himself, studying Lydia's profile, quite not listening as she continued to read from her notebook. What happened between us?

"Is something wrong?" Lydia finally asked, looking up from her notebook and catching him staring at her. Quickly he looked away. He'd not been aware that he'd been gazing at her so intently. Clearing his throat, he pretended to be interested in the view of the muddy little river as they crossed the bridge.

"No," he replied, trying to smile. Lydia cocked an eyebrow disbelievingly before turning her attention back to her list. She held her notebook closer to her face, squinting at some note she'd made, and Victor caught a brief flash of gold in the corner of his eye. When he looked he saw it was her monogram, stamped in gold-leaf in one corner of her notebook. Very professional, very like her. Looking a bit more closely, though, he saw that it read only LVD. The E, her middle initial, was conspicuously absent. The forced smile dropped off his face even as his stomach seemed to drop an inch or two. He looked out the window again, a melancholy sweeping over him as they moved through the village gates.

Who am I kidding? Victor thought. He knew exactly what had happened between them. Emily had happened. As far as Lydia was concerned it might as well have happened yesterday, and she'd felt that way ever since she'd been thirteen and first heard the story. He'd never dreamed she'd take hearing the story the way she did—even the memory of it surprised and hurt him. He didn't like to think about it, particularly after how fondly he'd been thinking of Emily just last evening. It made him feel strangely guilty. And he didn't want to feel guilty today. Today was a happy day.

Happy, he repeated to himself. Outside the carriage window the Everglot mansion loomed into view. Victor was rather sure he caught a glimpse of Maudeline at her drawing room window, opera glasses in hand. With a sigh he leaned back in his seat again, fingers drumming on his knees.

"Everything's fine," he murmured, more to himself than to her. They both were quiet as Mr. Reed pulled the carriage up to Van Dort's Fish, swaying a bit as they lurched to a stop. Trying to put his melancholy out of mind and focus on making this a proud, father-of-the-happy-bride-to-be sort of day, Victor straightened his lapels and made to open the carriage door.

"I never said thanks," Lydia said suddenly. Victor paused with his hand on the door handle, turning toward her. Her cheeks looked a little pink, her eyes on her handbag on her lap. "Catherine and I...I mean, we talked about it, and we meant to...well, thank you. So thank you." She sounded almost embarrassed as she made a show of fussing about straightening her hat and closing her notebook. Her cheeks were even faintly pink. Victor had no idea what to say. A pleasantly warm spot was starting to grow in his chest, pushing away his melancholy and guilt.

"For what you did last night," Lydia clarified, pretending to be absorbed in securing the clasp on her handbag, unwilling to quite meet his eye. Jerkily, so clearly awkward that it was endearing, she went on, "With Grandmother and Grandmamma, with that list. It was great, it really was. And, well, for...being nice. For being happy for me when...when you thought that, you know...I was engaged. That was...it meant a lot. So thanks." Finished, Lydia swallowed and fiddled with the now very secure clasp on her bag.

Victor tilted his head to one side, sure that he was smiling a very dopey sort of smile. Had he been the hair-ruffling type, he'd have ruffled her hair. As it was he was dangerously close to saying Aw! and calling her a good girl, as though she were a puppy. That, of course, would have been suicide. So Victor curbed his impulse and settled for the dopey grin, overcome with delight and affection for his daughter. He couldn't help it. This was just about as sweet as Lydia got, and it was directed at him. It was like getting a surprise visit from her six-year-old self, a little girl who tagged along with him everywhere and could never seem to get enough of his company. A little girl who was long gone. A little girl that Victor dearly missed.

Having said her piece, she now seemed desperate for him to open the door and let her out so that they could go about their business and never speak of this moment of cuddly weakness again. Indeed, she'd pointedly shifted a bit closer to the door, and was keeping her gaze even more pointedly on the door handle. But Victor didn't want to break the spell. He wanted to hang onto this feeling as long as he could, particularly in the midst of all of the change currently going on. Here, just now, in this carriage, he and Lydia were simple again, were father and daughter again.

"You're welcome," he replied, trying to put as much feeling as he could into his words. So that she'd know. That he loved her. And, most important, that she could trust him. There was a lot more he wanted to say, but he knew Lydia wouldn't stand for too much sentimentality. So he again resisted the urge to tousle her hair or chuck her under the chin, and just nodded at her. Dearly he wished he could say more, but he knew that would only spoil it.

Lydia nodded back, once, curtly. Businesslike again. But all the same, Victor was sure he saw a tiny little ghost of a smile on her face when she finally met his eye.

All of a sudden, the day seemed happy again.