by Leah Conolly
"Do to him?" Victor laughed. "I didn't do anything to him. What a ridiculous accusation, Priscilla," he said.
Christopher shook his head. "Of course, she would have to find someone to fight with. That woman lives for drama," he whispered to himself and continued into the great hall, then to his study. He shut the door, finding the room blessedly quiet. He opened the window, so that he could hear the birds chirping, and sat down to his writing desk. Lady Lydia was like a breath of fresh air, sweeping through his cobweb-laden mind and bringing new ideas and inspiration. He dipped his quill in the inkwell and began to write.
Two young women of very little fortune . . .
***
Christopher looked up from his writing, proud of the work that he had accomplished that day. The stack of scribblings beside him would be turned into his next book, a novel this time. He stretched his back and rolled his head from side to side to get rid of the crick in his neck.
He took out a new sheet of paper and decided to write to Lydia.
My dear Lady Lydia,
I want to thank you for accompanying me to the play last night. I had a wonderful time. The last few weeks have been some of the best in my life. Since I met you and have come to know you better, I seem to have come out of a fog. I did not realize that the world around me could be so beautiful. I have started writing a book, inspired by you and your sister. Thank you for bringing meaning back into my life.
"In that book which is my memory,
On the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you,
Appear the words,
'Here begins a new life.'"—Dante
I remain yours affectionately,
Lord Christopher Beaumont
He put down the quill and allowed the ink to dry, blowing over the penned letters softly to help it along. He then folded it and sealed it. He took it to the butler to mail with the evening post. Christopher decided to take a short walk around the gardens behind their home before going into dinner. It was only then that he realized he had missed luncheon and teatime; he had been so engrossed in his writing, that he had not even noticed.
The butler cleared his throat, coming up behind him. Christopher turned. He had not even heard him coming. "What is it, Teal?" he asked, not unkindly.
"A Lady Horn is here to see you, my Lord," he replied.
"Lady Horn? Well, show her to the garden, would you?" Christopher said. He watched the butler go, while he collected his thoughts.
Perhaps he should set Lady Horn right once and for all? He did not mind if she came to visit his mother, but he did not want her coming here in the hopes that he would marry her.
He met her at the top of the portico steps and bowed. "Shall we walk?" he asked.
"Yes, please," she replied. They climbed down the stairs together and went out onto the spacious lawns.
"I hope you have been well, Lord Beaumont. I saw you at the theater last night and thought I would stop by on my way into the shops," Lady Horn explained.
"Ah, yes. How did you enjoy the play?" he asked.
"Very much. That Puck certainly got everyone into trouble, didn't he?" she smiled.
"He did indeed," Christopher said. "Lady Horn, I know my mother has told you of her hopes that you and I might marry," he began.
"Yes," she said, looking down at her feet as though embarrassed.
"I do not mean to cause you any discomfort. I only wish to say that I am going to be proposing soon and . . ."
"Christopher!" his mother called from the portico, cutting him off.
They halted as she came down the steps and approached them. "What a lovely surprise, Lady Horn. Will you join us for dinner?"
"I do not wish to inconvenience you," she said, glancing over at Christopher.
"Not at all," Christopher replied. It was time he stopped being rude to her. She did not deserve it, and now that he and Lydia were on a sound footing, he saw no reason that Lady Horn could not be friends with his mother. His mother had so few real friends to keep her company.
Lady Horn's face brightened. "Very well. I shall stay. Thank you, Lady Clarkson."
"Good. I shall go and tell the cook," she replied.
She turned and left them alone once again.
They watched her go in silence for a moment, and then Lady Horn turned back to him. "You were saying?"
Christopher looked at her, forgetting what he was talking about. "Oh, yes. I shall be proposing soon and want there to be no ill feelings between us. I apologize for being rude before. I do not like people trying to arrange my life for me, and my mother is the worst at that sort of meddling. I hope you understand."
"Of course," she said. A slight blush colored her cheeks. He was not sure why, as he did not think he had said anything to embarrass her. But then again, he did not understand women well. He decided to let it pass, as drawing attention to her embarrassment would probably make it worse.
"Shall we go inside?" he asked.
She nodded. "I had hoped to discuss one of your books with you, Lord Beaumont, if you are agreeable."
He was surprised that she had read one of his books. He would not have thought her much of a reader, no matter the subject matter. "Which one have you read?" he asked as they walked back to the house.
"All of them. They are brilliant!" she exclaimed.
He was shocked. "All of them? Why?" he asked.
She laughed. "I read your newest book and had to read the others. The way you explain philosophy makes it so easy to understand. Your theories on parallel realities were fascinating," she said.
Christopher did not know what to say to that. Had Lydia even read any of his work? He told himself it did not matter, that perhaps one day she would get around to it.
But a niggling thought tugged at the back of his mind. Why has she not at least read one of my books?
He pushed the thought away to mull over later. "Well, thank you for your kind words. A writer always likes their work to be appreciated."
They continued chatting as they made their way up the steps and went back into the house. Lady Horn became quite animated as she went on about what had interested her about his books. Perhaps she was not as bad as he had initially thought.
Chapter 24
Lydia sat behind the counter of the book shop, reading the last few pages of a book that Patricia had recommended. It had been a relatively slow day, even though she was the only one there to help customers. Patricia asked if Lydia could run the shop, while she was out running a few errands for her father.
Lydia had gladly said she could help, thinking that perhaps Lord Beaumont would call at the shop. The tiny bell above the door rang, and Lydia looked up hopefully. But her hopes were dashed when she saw Lady Horn entering.
Lydia straightened and put her book aside. "Hello, Lady Diana. How are you this morning?" she asked cordially. It was nice that she and Lady Horn were on good terms.
Lady Horn smiled in return. "I am well, thank you. All alone today?" she asked, looking around for Patricia.
"Yes, for the time being. Miss Newton is out running some errands for her father. Is there something I can help you with?"
"I came to see if there were any more books by Lord Beaumont," she replied.
Lydia went behind the counter to check. "I'm afraid not. I don't think he has come in with anything new yet. But I believe he is working on a new manuscript."
"Ah, yes. You have been spending quite a bit of time with Lord Beaumont, have you not? Then again, I know his stepfather is a friend of your family," she replied.
Lydia was caught off guard by that. How did Lady Horn know that Lord Clarkson was connected to her family?
"Ah, yes. Lord Clarkson is a kind and generous man."
"It seems odd that a lady such as yourself would have to spend her time working. Especially in a book shop. I should hate to have to work in a place like this, gathering dust like an old book," she said. Lydia's heart pricked with anger. She glanced up at Lady Horn's smug
smile and realized that her offer of friendship had not been sincere. What game was she playing at now? Lydia straightened.
"At least, Lady Horn, I am a genuine copy, not a fake—like you. You read Lord Beaumont's books to impress him, but surely, as smart as he is, he can see you for who you are," Lydia replied.
Lady Horn straightened then. Lydia could see in her eyes that she was preparing for a fight. "Lord Beaumont's interest in you is purely charitable. He pities you and your family for the position you are in."
Lydia bristled. "And how did you arrive at that conclusion?"
"It is as plain as the nose on your face, Lady Baker. He sent your father money, along with Lord Clarkson, a few weeks ago, did he not?"
Lydia was shocked. Lady Horn could not have known that unless Lord Beaumont had told her personally. He had not even mentioned it to Lydia, as it had been meant to be anonymous. She had her suspicions, of course, as to the identity of their mysterious benefactor. And now she knew he was just being kind to her because he felt sorry for her.
"How do you know that?" she asked.
"He told me, of course. I was invited to dinner as Lord Beaumont's guest just last night," Lady Horn replied.
Lydia felt her head spinning at that news. She had been so sure that he was interested in her, felt love for her even. The gossip around London was that he would be choosing a wife soon. She had thought that he cared for her. How wrong she had been!
"Good day, Lady Horn. I'm sorry I could not help you find what you were looking for," she said.
Lady Horn gave a joyless laugh. "Oh, do not blame yourself. I did not expect much from you," she said, then turned and left the shop.
Lydia stood at the counter, fighting back the tears. She drummed her fingers on the counter, willing the tears not to fall. But she was unsuccessful.
Lord Beaumont was the lowest human being on the planet, as far as she was concerned. And she had given up her other suitors for him! Now she would have to start all over again if she were to find a husband. She slammed a book down on the counter, its thud reverberating throughout the shop like a judge’s gavel.
She vowed then and there never to see Lord Beaumont again.
***
Eleanor was waiting for her in the parlor when she arrived home later that afternoon. As soon as Patricia returned to the shop, Lydia had pleaded a headache and said she must go home.
But she had not gone straight home. She found that she needed time to sort through her feelings. She was now once again in the position of becoming a husband-hunter. She felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it.
She had burned her bridges with Lord Brussels. And, of course, he was now unavailable if her suspicions were correct about his feelings for Patricia. She had dismissed her other suitor as well, but perhaps she could reach out to him again. Lydia made her way to a small park not far from her home and found a lonely bench to sit on.
Why was life so hard?
She had spent a few hours just sitting and lamenting over what had befallen her. Lord Beaumont had used her abominably ill. How could he even face himself in the mirror? She felt as though her heart was breaking.
Finally, at about half past five, she decided to return home. She would give herself a few days before telling her father or Eleanor the bad news. And then, she would have to soldier on.
She sighed, as Eleanor handed her a letter. She looked at the seal and dreaded opening it. Lord Beaumont was toying with her.
"You are so pale, Lydia. Are you alright?" Eleanor asked, lines of concern etching her forehead.
"I confess I have a bit of a headache. I think I shall lie down before dinner," she replied softly.
"Shall I have some tea brought to your room?" Eleanor asked. She picked up the bell to ring for her maid.
"No, thank you. I'm sure a short rest will put me to rights. Thank you, Elle," she said and left the room.
She leaned against the door of her bedroom as if she could bar the disappointment and grief from following. But she knew she could not escape the hurt that Lord Beaumont had inflicted upon her, no matter how far she tried to run.
The thought of him choosing Lady Horn over her was too much. Had he been courting Lady Horn all this time? If so, why had he sought out Lydia’s company so much? No doubt, he felt sorry for Eleanor and wanted to show her some kindness. Lydia had just been a tag-along. She crumpled the letter in her palm and threw it across the room.
She let the tears fall then and collapsed onto the bed.
***
"Eleanor told me that the play was a great success, Lydia," her father said at dinner a few hours later. Lydia visibly cringed.
"Oh? Why is that?" she asked, trying to sound like her usual self.
"Well, she said that you and Lord Beaumont looked very well together, and that he seemed absolutely smitten with you," he explained.
Lydia glanced up at Eleanor, sitting across from her. She turned to her father and nodded. "We had a lovely time."
Eleanor gave her a sideways glance but said nothing.
"When can we expect a proposal from the young gentleman?" her father went on.
Lydia nearly choked on the bite she had been chewing. She took a moment to compose herself before answering. "I do not know, Father. I'm sure you will know about it before I do."
Eleanor gave her a questioning glance. Lydia shook her head slightly, hoping that Eleanor caught the hint that she did not wish to discuss it with their father present.
"I suppose that is true. It is proper for a young man to ask the father's permission before mentioning it to the young lady. I suspect I shall be hearing from Lord Beaumont very soon indeed," her father beamed.
Lydia did not say another word throughout dinner, letting Eleanor carry the conversation with their father. They left their father to enjoy his glass of port alone, while they retired to the drawing room.
Lydia closed the door after she had pushed Eleanor to her regular spot near the hearth. No sooner did she turn around than Eleanor was asking her questions.
"What has happened? I know all is not well. You are upset," she began. "Has something happened between you and Lord Beaumont? Did you quarrel?"
Lydia took her time walking across the room to sit down. "No. I found out some very shocking things about him today, and I have decided not to see him anymore. I must beg you not to ask me more than that. I am too upset to talk about it presently. I would prefer to leave Lord Beaumont in the past."
"But what will Father do when he finds out?" Eleanor asked.
"I have decided not to tell him for a few days. I need some time to breathe. But then, I shall tell him that we have ended our courtship. It was never official in the first place. And then I suppose I shall have to start looking for a husband elsewhere," she replied.
Eleanor looked at her with a mixture of sadness, shock, and confusion. "So, you're just going to let him go?"
Lydia's head shot up at her sister's accusatory tone. "What would you have me do, Eleanor? He isn't interested in me, as I found out. He just feels sorry for me because of our father's financial situation. Did you know it was he and Lord Clarkson who sent Father money a few weeks ago?" Lydia said, growing defensive.
Eleanor matched her sister's tone, "What does that have to do with not seeing him anymore? He was just trying to help us," she said.
"Yes. But sending money does not mean he has feelings for me or is going to offer marriage. I must be realistic, Eleanor. I cannot afford to wait for him to make up his mind, especially if he never intended to marry me in the first place."
"How do you know his intentions? It's only been a few weeks, Lydia. Give the man some time. He loves you; I know he does!"
"No. He pities me because of Father's impending financial ruin and my crippled sister," Lydia replied.
Eleanor bit her lower lip, tears welling up in her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I did not mean to say that," Lydia said, instantly feeling guilty. It was not Eleanor's fault that her relations
hip with Lord Beaumont was in ruins.
"No, I think you did mean that. I'm sorry for holding you back. In the future, I will be sure to stay out of your way," Eleanor said.
"Please, Elle. I'm sorry."
But Eleanor would not listen. She called for her maid and had herself wheeled to her room. Lydia buried her face in her hands and began to cry softly. Everything in her life was falling to pieces. And it was all Lord Beaumont's fault.
I wish I had never met him, she thought and retired to her own room.
