by Leah Conolly
“I want the truth from you two. I have had something very private stolen from me. I wrote something in the front of this book, and now it is gone, torn away. Did either of you find and take it?” Lydia asked crossly.
They both looked at each other, then the shorter of two looked back to Lydia. She could not have been more than fifteen. “No, my lady. I swear it,” she said in a cockney accent.
“We would never, my lady,” the other said in an Irish accent.
“And that is the truth? If I find out otherwise, you will be dismissed without notice, do you understand? We do not tolerate thieves in this house,” she said.
They both denied any knowledge of what had happened to the missing page.
“Very well. Good night,” Lydia said and dismissed them all. She climbed into bed, too upset to finish her letter to Lord Beaumont. She blew out the candle, knowing that she would pass a fitful night. Who had stolen her love letter to Lord Beaumont?
Chapter 29
Lady Diana Horn rose early the next morning. She took an exceptionally long time getting ready for her visit to the Beaumont mansion. She knew that she must do her best to impress Lord Clarkson and get him on her side. She ate a scant breakfast and then left the house, her mother waving to her from the front step.
She wished that her life had been different. At least Lydia had had a mother who loved her, even if only for a short time.
When Diana arrived at the Beaumont mansion, she was received by the butler, who was surprised at her calling so early.
“Is Lord Clarkson available? It is most urgent,” she said.
The butler nodded and led her to the dining room, where Lord Clarkson was still enjoying a cup of tea. He stood when she came into the room.
“Good morning, Lady Horn. May I offer you a cup of tea? Some breakfast?” he asked in a very business-like tone.
“No, thank you, Lord Clarkson. But that is very kind of you,” she said. She licked her lips and tried to calm her pounding heart. She did not know precisely how to start.
He folded his hands and rested then atop the table, waiting for her to break the silence.
“What can I do for you, Lady Horn?” Lord Clarkson asked, as the silence stretched on uncomfortably for several minutes. “I know you did not come here to simply stand there all day?”
“No,” she said. She cleared her throat. “I have come to talk to you about Lord Beaumont’s relationship with Lady Baker. Are you aware of the lady’s financial situation?”
“I am,” he said but offered nothing more.
She shifted uneasily. “Well, then you must be aware that Lord Baker has been boasting all about town that Lord Beaumont is going to pay his debts. He spends his time in gambling houses, telling people that no matter if he loses, he will soon have a daughter rich enough to pay for the habit.”
Lord Clarkson raised an eyebrow and shifted in his chair. “Is that so?” he asked.
“Indeed. I thought you should be made aware of the situation, in case Lord Beaumont is considering marriage to the young lady. One would not want the great Clarkson name to have its reputation damaged in any way.”
Lord Clarkson stared at her for what seemed like hours. She shifted again.
“Well, thank you for bringing this to my attention. And now, if you will excuse me, I am engaged to go riding with one of my associates,” he explained. “Excuse me, I shall go and tell Lady Clarkson that you are here.”
He left the room, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was not sure that he had accepted her lies. Perhaps she had gone too far in her fabrications. But in her panic, she had forgotten everything she had rehearsed the evening before. She had had to think fast.
“Let us hope he believed it,” she said under her breath.
***
Christopher went downstairs on a mission to find his mother. He was livid. He had finally realized that his mother and Lady Horn had been in cahoots the whole time, trying to drive him and Lydia apart.
He found her sitting in the parlor, staring out of the window at nothing. When he came in, her face brightened, as though she were glad for some company.
He held up his hand in warning before she had a chance to say a word. "Have you been talking to Lady Horn about Lydia and myself?" he asked.
She stuttered but could not conceal her guilt. "I merely mentioned to Lady Horn that I suspected you had sent her money. Her father is in dire straits. . ."
"That is enough of your meddling, Mother. You may have cost me the woman I love. Now, hear me loud and clear. I am going to marry Lady Lydia Baker, and that is the end of it," he pronounced emphatically. His heart swelled at the thought of Lydia, despite the anger he felt towards his mother and Lady Horn.
His mother's face fell. "You cannot be serious, my son! Her father owes thousands of pounds. . ."
"I shall pay it," he said, his words falling like a gavel. His mother was blessedly silent for once.
She stood and tried to touch his arm. He backed away.
"You told Lady Horn that I was helping the Bakers? Why would you disclose such a personal piece of information? It was none of her business!"
His mother's face drained of color. "I was upset! See what sort of things you make me do?!"
"How did you find out?" he asked.
"Victor mentioned that you and he had sent them some money to help ease their financial burdens. I have a right to know where my husband sends our money," she said defensively.
"It does not matter now. I shall settle Lord Baker's debts, and I am going to ask for Lydia's hand. I will hear no more arguments about my decision. Is that clear?" he thundered.
She shrank back, suddenly meek as a mouse. "Yes, son. I realize now how I have hurt you through my meddling. Lydia is a nice girl, despite her family's financial difficulties," she said. He was about to lash out at his mother again, but she held up her hand this time. "You should marry who you wish, my son. You do not need it, but I give you my blessing."
She smiled at him, and his anger dissipated. But it was short-lived, for his stepfather entered just then, his face wearing a look of profound displeasure.
“Lady Horn decided to pay me a visit just now. She has revealed something quite interesting,” Victor said.
“And what is that?” Christopher asked.
“She tells me that Lord Baker has been boasting that you are going to pay his debts. And that he has been gambling all around town, giving the excuse that he will soon have a rich daughter to pay his debts for him. This is a complete and utter lie. I know Lord Baker. It is true that they are struggling, but he is not a gambler.”
“This ends now,” Christopher said, seething with anger. “Where is Lady Horn?” he asked.
“In the dining room,” Victor replied. “But what are you going to do, Son?”
What he wanted to do was stomp into the dining room and have her thrown out, embarrass her as she had embarrassed Lydia. No wonder Lydia had not written back to him.
“No, we shall have her brought here,” Victor said. The butler was summoned and instructed to retrieve the lady.
"Son, please remember to act like the gentleman I have brought you up to be,” his mother said, lifting her chin.
"Quiet, Mother. I can handle this," he said in a low voice as Lady Horn was shown into the parlor.
Christopher squared his shoulders. He had never hit a woman, and he was not going to start now. But oh, how he wanted to shake some sense into Lady Horn. She curtsied, but he did not return the courtesy with a bow.
"Lady Horn, is it true that you have been spreading lies about my future fiancée, Lady Baker, and her family?"
Chapter 30
Lady Horn looked at him with a mixture of confusion and fear. She glanced at his mother for help, but the woman kept her mouth shut, glaring at her one-time friend.
“I hear that you have been lying to Lady Baker. That you have, in fact, told her that I am about to propose to you.” Christopher crossed his arms and scowled at her.
<
br /> Lady Horn looked from one to the other of them. “I . . . you made me believe that you were going to propose. That’s what you said. . .”
“I said nothing of the sort,” Christopher argued.
“You did! Out in the garden. Don’t you remember?” she asked, her eyes scared and pleading.
Christopher suddenly realized what she was talking about. But there was no reason she should have assumed he had been speaking about her. “I was talking about proposing to Lady Baker,” he clarified. Her face turned white. “You have been meddling in my relationship with her from the beginning. Know now that I never intended to pursue you. You are a scheming little interloper, and you are no longer welcome under this roof.”
Lady Horn’s face grew red at this. “You can’t possibly think of marrying a girl with no money, no social standing. Her father is bankrupt or about to be. You should be with me!” she screamed.
“Is that so? I heard quite the contrary. Rumor has it that I finance her family simply out of pity. And now you have the nerve to spread more lies about the Bakers.”
Lady Horn closed her mouth, clenching her teeth. She looked again at his mother for help. The older woman had her hands folded in front of her, her jaw set. She would be offering no support to Lady Horn today.
His mother stepped forward. “I think you should go, Lady Horn. Good day to you,” she said.
Lady Horn let her mouth fall agape. She looked as if she might argue a little more, but then seemed to think better of it. She let out a guttural screech and then turned and stomped out of the room.
“What a charming young lady,” Christopher said sarcastically.
His mother let out a small laugh. “I am sorry, Christopher. I had no idea she was like that.”
Christopher turned, surprised by her humility. He shook his head. “It is my fault, really. I pushed you away for so many years. Lady Horn was a friend to you or, at least, pretended to be. I have not been a very good son,” he said.
She smiled. “It does my heart good to hear you say that. I know that I meddle and pry, but I do it out of love.” She let out a breath. “I shall try to do better in the future. I know you are your own man, and you have become a man of honor and courage. Your . . . your father would be proud.” She said the last sentence so quietly that he almost didn’t catch it.
Tears welled in his eyes. She rarely spoke of his father. Perhaps because it was too painful for her. But he was glad that she had said it.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said. He sniffed back the tears and then squared his shoulders.
“Will you go to Lady Baker now?” she asked.
“She has still not replied to my latest letter,” he replied. Have I ruined everything for good?
His mother nodded. “Well, perhaps she is taking some time to think the situation through. Do not lose heart. I am sure she will give you an answer first thing tomorrow,” she beamed.
He nodded. “Yes, I do hope so.”
***
Christopher sat in the moonlit library, shadows passing over the moon in intervals. He watched the stars twinkle in the scattered clear patches, wishing that this whole ordeal could be over. If only Lydia would talk to him, write to him. Something! Her silence was maddening.
"I thought I might find you here," Florence said, making him turn around. She stood in the doorway, still dressed in her work clothes.
"What are you doing up so late?" he asked. She came close and sat down next to him on the sofa. She stretched out her legs, letting out a long sigh.
"I was finishing some mending and lost track of the hour," she replied. "What are you doing up this late?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, then folded his hands in front of him, leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees.
"I cannot sleep. I am thinking of Lady Baker, wondering if she is well. I wrote to her this morning and still have not heard a word from her. I can only imagine what lies Lady Horn has told her," he confided to his old nurse.
"Would you allow me to give you one piece of advice?" she asked.
"Of course," he said. She was more like a second mother. It was fitting for her to offer him advice at such a difficult time. He sat up and looked at her familiar face, lined with age and smile lines.
"Do not wait for her to write to you. If she is like every other woman alive, and I think that she is, she will respond to a grand gesture. Go to her and sweep her off her feet!" she said, waving her hand above her head with a flourish.
He laughed. "You really are quite a romantic, aren't you, Florence?" he asked.
"I suppose so. I believe in love. Perhaps not in love at first sight, and a love born out of passion such as that of Romeo and Juliet has no foundation. The feelings we experience when we fall in love are wonderful. But you will truly learn to love when you go through the trials of life with someone. It is in those moments that you must choose to love. Because the feelings may not always be there," she said quietly.
Christopher nodded. He had never heard her talk about love like that before. He assumed there was a story behind her wisdom that she had never shared.
"Thank you," he said finally. "If I do not hear from her tomorrow morning, I shall go to her and sweep her off her feet, as you say."
"Good. You both deserve all the happiness in the world. And I mean that, Christopher," she said. She rarely called him by his first name. He had learned to pay close attention when she did.
"Thank you. You have always been a support to me and are very dear to me, Florence. I hope you know that you shall always have a home here, even when you retire." He smiled.
She laughed and stood. "What makes you think I will ever slow down enough to retire?" she asked.
"True," he said and followed her out of the room. She headed up the stairs to her room, which adjoined his mother’s, and he went down the hall to his own suite of rooms. Florence was a real blessing.
Chapter 31
Lydia awoke with a crick in her neck. She had not slept well the night before. She felt guilty for not answering Christopher. The thought gnawed at her like a rat chewing through a rope. Why was she being so stubborn? She could not really answer that, even to herself. She climbed out of bed and dressed slowly. She felt as if she did not have much to look forward to anymore.
When she came down for breakfast, she was told that Patricia was waiting for her in the drawing-room.
"So early?" she asked. The maid simply nodded and curtsied.
Lydia went straight into the parlor, thinking that something must be wrong for her friend to call at such an early hour. Patricia’s father was not young. Had something happened to him?
"Patricia," she said as she came into the drawing-room. "Is all well? What has happened?" she asked as she took her friend's hands and sat next to her on the sofa.
"Please, do not be alarmed. I am well. I came because I had a letter from my secret admirer. He wishes to meet me today, in Osterley Park," Patricia beamed.
Lydia let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, Patricia. I am so happy for you."
Patricia sighed. "I am nervous," she admitted. "Nervous and excited. I cannot sit still or think about anything else. Is this what it's like to be in love?" she gushed.
Lydia laughed. "Yes, I would say so. But remember, you have not even met the gentleman," she said. She smiled inwardly. Lord Brussels was handsome for an older man, and Lydia did not think that their age difference would be an insurmountable challenge. Patricia had just the right kind of calm temperament to compliment Lord Brussels’.
"I hope he is tall, with fair hair and green eyes," Patricia went on.
Lydia smiled. Lord Brussels was tall with fair hair, but his eyes were brown and soulful. And he had an eight-year-old daughter. She would not spoil the surprise for Patricia. But she would be interested to know how their romance would blossom if anything did come of this meeting.
"Here, I'll show you the letter that he left at the shop," Patricia said, digging into her reticule.
"Ar
e you sure? I do not wish to intrude on his private thoughts," Lydia said.
"Nonsense. You are my dearest friend. And there is nothing untoward in the letter. Here, read it. I insist," Patricia said, handing her the letter.
Lydia unfolded it and began to read to herself:
My dear Miss Newton,
I have tried to stay away, but I cannot. You have bewitched me to my core. I beg of you, will you end my torment and agree to meet me tomorrow afternoon, by the fountain at Osterley Park? There is something I would very much like to ask you. I shall be there at noon, holding a pink rose.
