by Leah Conolly
“I did not teach you to give up so easily. Go back over there and try again.” Her mother gave her a little push in his direction. Diana wove her way through the crowd and stood a few feet away.
She fanned her face, pretending to enjoy herself. She soon struck up a conversation with a couple, glancing back at Lord Beaumont occasionally.
“Excuse me, Lady Diana.” She turned. She was shocked that her little game had worked, but there he was. Lord Beaumont bowed slightly at the waist and held out his hand. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance?”
She paused for a moment as if she were about to refuse, “Very well, Lord Beaumont.” She gave him her hand, and he led her to the dance floor, but she realized he was probably just trying to make Lady Lydia jealous. He looked at Lady Lydia throughout the whole dance rather than paying any attention to Diana.
Diana made eye contact with her mother as they danced. Her mother motioned with her fan, prodding her to make some kind of effort. Diana sighed.
“Have you been enjoying the evening, Lord Beaumont?” she asked, trying to draw his attention away from her rival. “There are so many handsome couples here, so many interesting people to meet.”
“On the contrary,” he said grumpily. “There are only a few people worth talking to in the whole of the room.”
“I hope I am among your chosen few?” she asked coyly. She doubted it, but it would have been impolite for him to say otherwise.
He looked at her, like a fox that had been caught in the chicken coop. “Of course, Lady Diana.”
She smiled her most winning smile. “I am glad to hear it.” She glanced back at Lady Lydia, but she was not paying them any attention. She inwardly rejoiced. Perhaps she would prevail over the perfect Lady Lydia after all.
Chapter 10
He's here again, Lydia thought. Lord Beaumont was following her around, it would seem. She was surprised to see him at the ball. She thought he would have been more likely to forgo a party.
She could see him looking at her from across the room, making his way towards her. Her heart began to beat faster in her chest. She wished he would stay away, but she could not blame him for coming to converse with her.
She was probably one of the few people he felt comfortable around. He had a way of pushing everyone else aside. She could not think why he had decided she was someone he could trust.
He arrived at her side and clasped his hands behind his back, awkwardly. “Greetings,” he said. He rocked back on his heels and then up onto his toes. She laughed.
“Good evening, Lord Beaumont. I trust you are well?” she asked, moving to walk away from him. She had work to do.
“I am well, thank you. And you?” he asked in return. He turned in a full circle as Lydia walked behind him, and he fell into stride beside her instead of letting her leave.
“Very well, thank you,” she said, but she was anything but well. Her stomach was churning with anxiety, her blood pounding in her ears. She loved her father, but she wished he had not asked this of her.
“Have you had an enjoyable day?” he asked. It took a moment for Lydia to comprehend what he was saying, she was so lost in thought. Lydia laughed inwardly. He really was extremely bad at making conversation.
“I have, thank you,” she said simply, hoping he would leave her alone now. She had the arduous task of securing a suitable man to court her, and he was making it difficult. She continued weaving through the crowd, trying to lose him.
“Lady Lydia.” He touched her arm, causing her to stop. His touch sent tingles up her arm. She looked down at his hand, barely brushing her skin. He looked embarrassed and took his hand away, clearing his throat.
“May I have the next dance?” he asked.
She was taken aback by his question. She had never thought of him as the dancing sort. A small part of her wished she could say yes, but she was not here to enjoy herself, she was here to find a husband. Everyone knew that Lord Beaumont was an adamant and confirmed bachelor.
“No, thank you, Lord Beaumont. I’m sorry, I have already promised the next dance to Lord Brussels,” she replied.
“Ah, Lord Brussels,” he said. She bristled at the way he said the name. So, the rumors are true then. Lady Lydia is here to find a husband, and I am beneath her notice. “I am sorry, madam, for taking up your precious time.”
“Lord Beaumont, please . . .,” Lydia said. For some reason, she could not bear the thought of him thinking ill of her. Not now.
“I am keeping you from your escort. Good evening, Lady Lydia,” he said.
She clenched her jaw, suddenly angry. “Good evening, Lord Beaumont.”
She curtsied as he bowed, then turned on her heel and left him standing alone in the middle of the ballroom floor. A pang of guilt stung her heart. It was not like her to treat someone with such contempt.
She rejoined her party, turning once more to search for Lord Beaumont. He had returned to standing in the corner of the room, watching her. She turned away from him and focused all her attention on Lord Brussels. In truth, the man was about as intelligent as a bag of rocks, but he was also one of the richest men in England.
Lydia glanced over her shoulder again, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Lord Beaumont. He was standing a few feet away from where he had been just moments before. She watched as he bowed and asked Lady Diana for a dance, and she felt a prick of jealousy. She quickly pushed the feeling down. She had no right to be jealous, especially when she had dismissed him.
Lydia did not like Lady Diana. She was pompous and arrogant, just like Lord Beaumont. They were a perfect match for each other.
Lydia glanced in their direction again, but instead of concentrating on his dance partner, Lydia felt his eyes on her the whole time. He was looking at her as if to say, “See what you are missing?” At least, that is how she read the situation.
He did not give up easily, she had to grant him that. She turned back to Lord Brussels and pretended to be interested in what he was saying.
After an hour of dancing and mingling, Lydia excused herself. She had promised her father that she would come to the ball to meet a few potential suitors.
She had fulfilled her promise, but she could stand it no longer. She needed some time to be alone. She had given Lord Brussels and Lord Filmore permission to call on her at home. They were kind and amiable young gentlemen, but not exactly what she had dreamed of. Still, she was not in a position to be fussy.
Lydia would never admit it, but she was drawn to Lord Beaumont. Watching him dance with Lady Diana had made her feel sick to her stomach. At first, she had been angry, but then she realized that she had no right to feel so. She had refused him, and he had found another dance partner. What right did she have to be so petty? Couldn’t she entertain his advances as well? He was, after all, a gentleman. And a rich gentleman at that.
But for some reason, she felt as though it would be dishonest if she allowed him to court her. He had been so kind to her sister when they had met at the park. He clearly did not approve of her “husband-hunting.” She could not lie to him, as she feared he could sense her innermost thoughts already.
She found Eleanor sitting by herself in a corner, her maid standing dutifully to the side. It broke Lydia’s heart to see Eleanor alone. Eleanor perked up when she saw her sister coming.
“Have you found anyone . . .,” Eleanor started. But Lydia cut her off.
“Not here,” she said, shaking her head. The ballroom was not where she wanted to have that conversation. Eleanor read her mood, knowing how difficult this night must be for her sister.
“Are you ready to go?” Lydia asked.
“Of course,” Eleanor replied.
Lydia permitted the maid to push her sister out of the ballroom, as her gown made it challenging to push the wheelchair. She allowed herself one last glance back, searching for Lord Beaumont's face. He was standing with Lady Diana and her mother, listening to them talk about some nonsense, judging by the look on his face.
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The coachman helped lift Eleanor into their carriage, and Lydia and their maid followed.
“Was it very awful?” Eleanor asked. Lydia tore her eyes away from staring out of the window and met her sister’s gaze. Lydia gave her a small smile.
“Yes, it was.”
Neither of them spoke again, until they were in the safety of their own home.
Their father had gone to bed long ago, as Lydia had expected. She wheeled Eleanor down the hall to her room and helped the maid lift her sister onto the bed. They helped her into her nightdress, and then Lydia dismissed the maid, so that they could have some privacy.
“Good night, my lady,” the maid said quietly and left the room, closing the door behind her. Lydia stared at the floor for a moment, feeling more tired than she had ever been in her life. It was a different kind of weariness than she had experienced before. It was a weariness of the soul. She felt her spirit being crushed under the pressure that had been placed upon it.
“Come and sit down for a moment, dear,” Eleanor said, patting the edge of the bed. Lydia smiled and sat down. She took a deep breath.
“How was your evening? I didn’t think to ask, I’m sorry.” Lydia said, trying to avoid discussing her own. She felt guilty for dismissing Lord Beaumont in such a rude way.
“It was interesting watching everyone. I could tell who was playing games. Especially that Lady Diana. Have you met her?” Eleanor asked.
“Only in passing. She was in rare form tonight,” Lydia replied, remembering the woman’s smug smile as she danced with Lord Beaumont.
“I want you to be honest with me, Lydia,” Eleanor said, calling her back to the present. “Will anyone ever want to marry me? Am I even worthy of being loved?” Tears began to stream down her face as she asked the question that had most likely been on her mind since the accident.
Lydia’s heart broke. It must have been terrible for Eleanor to be trapped on the sidelines as everyone else danced. Eleanor had loved to dance before her accident. Had Lydia been wrong in asking her to come to the ball with her?
Lydia gathered her up in her arms in a big hug. “Of course, you are, and I love you, more than you could possibly imagine. What brought this question on?” Lydia felt the anger rising in her chest. Had someone been unkind to Eleanor at the ball?
“I was watching you in the ballroom tonight, seeing how much fun you were having. I’m not jealous of you, so please don’t feel guilty. I really did enjoy myself tonight. It’s always a treat to get out of the house.” Eleanor took a steadying breath.
“But I do want to experience what it would be like to be able to dance and flirt and be the center of attention. I know I’ll never have that, so I’m glad I was able to come with you tonight, to see what it’s like from a distance."
But Lydia did feel guilty. It should have been her sitting in the wheelchair, not Eleanor. She had allowed her sister to be hurt.
“Eleanor, sometimes I wish you and I could trade places. I may have looked as if I was having fun tonight, but I feel as though I’m dying inside.”
She looked away, refusing to cry in front of her sister. Lydia had nothing to complain about. She was a healthy, vibrant young woman, while her sister was trapped—probably forever—in a wheelchair.
“You don’t have to go through with it, you know,” Eleanor said matter-of-factly. “I know Father has told you that you have to get married and save the family, but you don’t. I don't need to go back to that doctor,” she said.
“Yes, you do,” Lydia argued. They had had this conversation more times than she could count. Eleanor’s visits to the doctor were helping. Even if she was not healing as quickly as they wanted, she was making progress.
“No. I don’t,” Eleanor said emphatically. “I already know there is nothing more he can do for me. Either I’ll get up and walk out of this wheelchair one day, or I won’t. Going to an expensive doctor won’t change that.” Eleanor paused, resigned to her fate. “You should marry the man you want to marry. Not the one who has the most money. Life is too short to waste it with someone you don’t love.”
Lydia smiled. “You're quite the philosopher, aren’t you?” Eleanor always knew what to say to make her feel better.
“I can hold my own with Lord Beaumont on the subject of love and philosophy.”
“I doubt he would agree with you,” Lydia protested. She laughed good-naturedly, imagining her sister going toe to toe with Lord Beaumont. He did not stand a chance against Eleanor on the subject of love.
“Of course, he wouldn’t agree, but I don’t give a stitch about that. Lord Beaumont is too oblivious and philosophical for his own good. Don’t be too hard on him,” Eleanor replied. “Underneath that rough exterior is a man who is very kind and loyal and compassionate. You just have to dig a little bit.”
“Very well. I’ll try to be a little more understanding,” Lydia promised. She stood, thinking that she would have to dig very deep indeed to see the qualities Eleanor was talking about. “Now, it’s high time we were both in bed.”
Eleanor nodded, and Lydia planted a kiss on her sister’s forehead. She wiped a single tear from her sister’s cheek, wishing there were a way to take her pain away.
“Sleep well, Elle,” she said.
“You too, Lydia,” Eleanor answered back. She turned over on her side, and Lydia pulled the coverlet up over her shoulders.
She walked back to her room, looking forward to changing into her nightdress. Her stays were poking her in the ribs. She had not taken a deep breath all evening. On her way to her room, she heard a door open and looked back. Her father was peeking out of his doorway.
“Lydia,” he whispered. She sighed and walked back down the hall towards her father. His nightcap was tilted comically on his head. He blinked several times to bring his vision into focus, holding the candle up so the light would fall on her face.
“Yes, Father?” she asked. She hoped this would not be a long, drawn-out conversation. She was tired and wanted to go to bed and forget this night had ever happened.
“How was the ball, my dear?” he asked hopefully.
“It went well, Father. I met two gentlemen, and they have asked if they may call on me. One was Lord Brussels . . .”
“Ah, a very amiable young man. I have met him on one occasion,” her father said.
“The other was Lord Filmore. I’m sure they will come and ask your permission to court me.”
“Well done, my girl. Well done,” he said. She nodded.
“Thank you, Father. And now I will bid you goodnight. I am quite exhausted by all the excitement,” she said.
“Of course, my dear. Sleep well. We will discuss it further in the morning,” he said. He closed his door, oblivious to her pain. She turned down the hall and hurried to her room. Once inside, she went immediately to her writing desk, leaning against it for support for several long moments. Then, she quickly changed out of her clothing and fell into bed, where she cried herself to sleep.
Chapter 11
Christopher awoke the next morning already in a foul mood. Events at the ball had not gone at all the way he had hoped.
Lady Lydia had been cold and unfeeling, dismissing him without reason. Try as he might, he could not suppress the feelings of jealousy that had slowly taken hold of him throughout the evening. It was almost more than he could bear, to see her dancing and conversing with other men. Even after he asked Lady Horn to dance, Lady Lydia had still not given him the time of day. He did not understand her.
He thought back to the day they had chanced to meet in the park. He thought they had gotten along well. However, he had little knowledge of how to read what was going on in a woman's mind. Can any man ever really know what goes on in the mind of a woman? he asked himself bleakly.
He shook his head and flipped the covers off his legs. He walked over to the window and threw open the curtains, the sunlight blinding him. In his entire life, he had never met a woman more beguiling or more irritating than Lady Lydia.
“I will forget her,” he said to himself, but, even as he said the words, he knew it was going to be a near-impossible task. He raked his hand through his hair, then slammed his palm against the window frame in frustration. Why did she dislike him so? He knew that he was not perhaps as charming or gentlemanly as other men, but he was handsome. Or so he had been told. And he at least had a level head on his shoulders.
He turned around and called for his valet. He would settle this once and for all. His valet helped him dress, and he left the house without even breakfasting. Christopher walked briskly to Newton and Hughes, resolving to speak with Lady Lydia, if she was there.
