by Tessa Candle
The letter was an affront, an unforgivable piece of presumption. It was obviously just malicious gossip, but it could still hurt Miss Norwood. He must not let that happen.
How had news of the attempted abduction got around? Perhaps the servants had been gossiping. It was something to think on. It was wretchedly frustrating, but he could see no direct way of protecting her reputation. He could only hope that such rumours would be quelled by news of their marriage.
He had been planning to propose at the ball, but now that he thought of it, there was no need to wait. The ball was the following evening—surely she would be returned to town by now. Delaying in making his intentions clear had already almost cost him his opportunity.
He rang for his valet. He would go to her straight away.
Chapter 34
As Lydia and Tilly's carriage pulled up at the Norwood house, a very fine carriage and four was pulling away.
“Do you think that was Lord Aldley?” Tilly strained her sharp eyes after the equipage.
“I do not know, I admit I did not remark on the passenger. Did it look like him?”
“I thought so. It would be a shame if we missed him.”
“Indeed.” Lydia swallowed and her stomach cramped. It was strange how the prospect of being around someone that she liked so well had such an apparently adverse affect on her physiology.
When barely inside the door, they had to listen to her mother's rapid account of the visitor they had just missed, who was indeed Lord Aldley. He had waited for over two hours.
Mrs. Norwood seemed even more smitten by the earl's attention than Lydia was. And she was strangely smug, as though she knew some grand secret about the matter.
“True, it is a great shame that you were not here to receive him, Lydia. Still new bonnets are important.” Mrs. Norwood gave her daughter a knowing look.
So it was the bonnet. Floren's convenient oracle. No wonder her mother was congratulating herself. She thought she had magically pulled a noble son-in-law out of a new chapeau.
She handed her mother the hat box with a slight pang of guilt. “How do you like it, Mama?”
Mrs. Norwood opened the box and with a cursory glance declared, “Why, I believe it is the most beautiful bonnet I ever have beheld! Try it on for us, my dear.” When Lydia obliged her, she added, “Yes, it is just the thing. A perfect match, would not you say, Miss Ravelsham?”
Tilly smiled a little slyly. “I quite agree, Mrs. Norwood. I declare, it is almost as though this bonnet were destined to be yours, Lydia.” She was rewarded with smiles and vigorous agreement from Lydia's mother.
Chapter 35
Lydia experienced a strange combination of nervous energy and lulling torpor as she contemplated her future, and inhaled the sweet herbal scent of hair treatments that bloomed in the warm air wafting about her toilette.
A box of jewels sat beside the potions and powders that lined the surface of the table, and a pair of iron tongs heated on a brazier full of burning hot coals nearby.
Lydia could not help thinking that somewhere amid this paraphernalia of ritual preparation there was a metaphor for the exquisitely contrived hell of grand social gatherings.
As Miss Grey dressed Lydia's hair for the Aldley ball far too early, Lydia discussed her business plans with her. It was a welcome distraction, for otherwise Lydia would have been terribly nervous about the ball itself.
Tilly sat nearby, quietly watching the fantastic work of Miss Grey, and earnestly listening to Lydia's proposal.
“So, if I understand you, Miss,” Miss Grey set aside the tongs and took up a brush, “you are asking for the biggest share of the profits for my pomade. I reckon my work in making it, and having the recipe and all should give me about half.”
“Well, you may think about it.” Lydia had anticipated a counter offer, but she was determined to stand firm. “But recollect that you will not be making all of it by hand. Once we get established, we shall have workers. And bear in mind that I am taking on all the risk and all of the cost. If the business is not a success, you have lost nothing.”
“Except my recipe. How are we to keep these workers from stealing it and making up their own pomades to sell?”
“We can work around that by keeping the production of the most important ingredients your secret, perhaps to be shared with one or two trusted people. Workers can combine the more common ingredients with the batches of ready made secret ingredients.”
“I know you are offering me a fairer bargain than I might get elsewhere.” Miss Grey brushed out a last curl, then reshaped it using pomade. “And donnay think me blind to how much you honour me by this. Only I shall need to think on it awhile.”
“In the meantime, will you please keep our discussion secret?” The last thing Lydia needed was to be the topic of another morsel of gossip about town.
“By your leave I'll discuss it with my solicitor.” Miss Grey's face was thoughtful.
“You—” Lydia tried very hard to force the note of surprise out of her voice, “have a solicitor. Very good. Yes, that is just as it should be. Of course he will keep your confidence, but I should prefer that you do not discuss it with others.”
“Aye, I'll be silent. I donnay much care to have folk in the know about my business affairs and such. You cannay imagine how full of gossip and nosiness every household servant is when they hear of a girl—one from the north, and all—who hires out her hair dressing services to the highest bidder. But your Ole Maeb has been kind to us, and she speaks highly of you and all, Miss. I am sure that is because she cared for you while you were still a babe. But she is a sharp old soul, and I think she kens folk well.”
“Then it also speaks well of you that she has taken a liking to you.” Lydia felt this was a great confirmation. “I should like to include her in the business, if she is interested, for she knows a great deal about preparing herbs and decoctions and such.”
“Oh yes, she is famous, is Ole Maeb. When rich folk get sick they call for a doctor, but respectable poor folk that know her always go to Ole Maeb.”
Lydia's heart was lightened by the prospect of giving Ole Maeb employment, for she knew she was no longer earning a wage from Lydia's father, though she was still living in the servants' quarters, in which there were now many empty rooms. And she could trust Ole Maeb to keep quiet.
“There are few people I should trust more, with my health or otherwise. She would be an ideal assistant.”
“Only I hannay decided yet about the business plan, and you must give me my head. I always think on decisions.”
“Of course, I should not have it any other way.” It was a lie. Lydia would have preferred Miss Grey to leap at the opportunity. But then, the young woman's caution spoke well of her judgement. If they were to go into business together, it was better that she be a thoughtful person than an empty bonnet.
“And how do you like your hair, Miss?” Miss Grey smoothed a final tendril and stepped back from her work, as they both examined it in the large, gleaming mirror.
It was a little too sophisticated, Lydia thought, pulled rather high on top of her head in a mass of cascading ringlets. A bit grand, really. She was not sure that she could wear such a glistening, coiled crown with sufficient conviction, but Miss Grey had crafted the coif perfectly.
“It is beautiful work, Miss Grey. You are a talent beyond all reckoning.” Lydia smiled her approval.
Tilly broke her silence to chime in, “Stellar! You look like royalty, Lydia.”
“I am glad you are pleased, Miss. I should go to Miss Delacroix, now.”
“Indeed, do not let us delay you.” Tilly stood. “However, I had another matter I wanted to chat with you about. Might I accompany you to the Delacroix's? We can take my carriage.”
“Certainly. I should be glad of the company, Miss, thank you.”
“What, are you abandoning me to my nerves?” Lydia gave Tilly an alarmed look. “This is only the biggest social engagement of my life, after all.”
<
br /> “Of your life so far. I believe you will have much grander social engagements in your future—in your near future, in fact.” Tilly smiled knowingly.
“You see, Miss Grey,” Lydia squinted at Tilly, “she thinks she is a clairvoyant, now. But I know she is a great fraud, and bad friend for abandoning me.”
Miss Grey laughed and shook her head. “A storm in a tea kettle, Miss. You've nowt to worry on. You'll be the toast of the ball, with hair like that.”
Tilly smiled her crookedest smirk. “Say it as she shouldn't. And anyway, I shall be back soon to console you in your hour of need, you great vapourish simpleton.”
With that, Lydia was abandoned to the aggravating task of sitting up straight and minding her hair. It would be many hours before she could put on her gown. Ivory white silk. Definitely no red wine tonight.
Perhaps she should find a book. She discarded the idea, as it would involve a depressing trip to their diminished library. And she had purchased no novels since she learned of her father's losses, so she sadly lacked anything new and diverting.
She supposed she should be more curious about what Tilly wished to discuss with Miss Grey, but her friend was simply always making connections with people. It explained a lot about why she always knew someone who could do this or that, find stolen jewellery or manufacture diamond pomade pots, and only heaven knew what else.
She was probably trying to charm Miss Grey into saying yes to the proposal. Lydia doubted Tilly would have any success, because Miss Grey seemed like a very prudent, sensible young woman, who would make her own decisions based on reason.
Lydia admired Miss Grey's mind and her self-assurance. She worked hard. She had even trained herself out of most of her northern brogue, though it slipped out more when she spoke at length. And she had found a way of being the mistress of her own fate, despite her disadvantages.
That had taken courage, one might even say audacity, which many others of her class clearly resented. And although she had never been impudent, she still seemed to think herself no one's inferior. There was a sort of nobleness of mind there. Lydia looked forward to getting to know her better.
She pulled out the business plan she had drafted up with the lawyer to look at it again. If she was honest, it was actually a little more exciting to her than the prospect of the ball.
Of course the prospect of seeing the earl was terribly exciting, but the ball itself was intimidating. If only she had some of Miss Grey's audacity.
And what of the earl? He was giving a very strong indication that he had serious intentions. Her mother was certain that, had Lydia been at home when he called the day before, he would have proposed. It was very hard, with her mother, to separate the actual state of affairs from the wishful thinking.
But if Lord Aldley was on the point of proposing, should she accept? She wanted to spend more time with him, that was certain. She even thought she wanted to marry him. But would his feelings remain the same when he really knew her?
What if he knew, for example, that until very recently, she had spent a few days of every week hiding in a dirty little tree house reading novels? And what if he knew that she was the cheeky tree-climber who intervened in Miss Worth's scheme so long ago, and that she was concealing the fact from him?
How would he react if he knew that her fortune was now greatly diminished? Could she ever reveal to him her plans to start a business that would directly involve her in trade, no matter how she disguised it as an investment?
There was still a great deal to be uncertain about.
He knew so little about her. And how little did she know about him? He was, decidedly, the most attractive man she had ever seen, and extremely charming. The sound of his voice drew her in like fairy magic. And from the first day that she encountered him, while perched in a tree, she had felt an almost irresistible pull toward him.
She needed to impress him. It was almost embarrassing how much he made her care about keeping her appearance as pleasing as possible, which was an entirely new interest.
She felt, with a pang, that in some way she was betraying that wilder, younger self that hid in tree houses and ran about without a bonnet, making shortcuts out of back alleys. Was it traitorous to forsake those amusements for the greater, more adult allure of—what, exactly was it?
She had read scholarly books about amorous congress and babies, but the entire thing sounded rather unpleasant. Yet the thoughts she had, the way her body responded to him was bewildering. Not at all unpleasant, though.
Except for the wear on her nerves. No matter how ambivalent she once was about marriage, she was now in love. The thought of it amazed and thrilled her, but filled her with anxiety. Could she really afford to be in love with a man so far above her reach?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock. She quickly gathered up her papers and locked them in her drawer. “Yes?”
“There is a letter for you, Miss.”
“Thank you, Greenall.”
There was no indication of the sender on the envelope. She opened it.
Dear Miss Norwood,
I write to you because I believe you remain uninformed about the true nature of the man who has secured, or is on the point of securing, your affections.
As you may know, he is recently returned from Paris. What you may not know is that, while there, he had a tryst with an opera singer.
This affair resulted in a child, but the mother died during the birth. You should be aware that, although he abandoned this child to its fate when he returned to England, a concerned party has brought the child here to London, to prevail upon him to do what is only his duty.
If he has any character at all, he will take the child into his protection, however unpleasant that might be for a future wife.
I know you must be unaware of his true character. I am sure this must shock you, and I am sorry for it. But I believe in time you will be grateful for the intelligence.
Have a care. An alliance with such a man will not bring happiness, and will, far from elevating you, be a blow to your reputation.
Sincerely,
A concerned friend.
Her cheeks burned. Who would send her such a letter? Was a word of it to be believed when the author was too cowardly to even give a name?
And yet, was it not entirely plausible that a young man of means would seek out such an arrangement while in Paris? She was not so naive as to think Lord Aldley completely innocent, though it tore at her heart to think of him with another woman.
She did not really care about the existence of a baby, or of the scandal, but the idea that he could simply abandon his own child was abhorrent. What sort of man could do such a thing? And especially when, financially, it would be such a small matter for him to set the child up with caretakers.
Lydia felt the happiness and hope drain out of her. She had been a great fool to think that Lord Aldley could be as wonderful as he seemed. When were things ever as good as they were made to look?
Everyone was hiding some secret—Lady Aldley, certainly the Delacroixs, even her own family. The perfected veneers of society were a great collection of lies.
She shook her head. Surely she was judging the matter too hastily, for she did not know that the accusations were true, and the irregular manner of their conveyance should allow of at least a small doubt.
In fact, the letter had a certain whiff of malice about it. It was certainly not written to protect her from an imprudent match.
She chastised herself that Lord Aldley's character, as she had seen it so far, made him worthy of her faith in him. But if this letter gave her nagging suspicions, might not the ton believe such a rumour entirely?
Perhaps she should burn the letter. Foolishness. It would do nothing to prevent gossip. She could do nothing to protect him.
She had read the letter over several times by the time Tilly returned.
Her normally jovial friend sighed deeply when she read the missive. “I hope you will not let this letter give yo
u a moment's unhappiness, Lydia.”
“It has already given me several moments of unhappiness. What if it is true? And if it is not true, what if such a rumour circulates? Will that not hurt Lord Aldley?”
“I should say not,” Tilly scoffed. “Even if it were true, it would not really hurt him. He has title and means and such goings on are very common among the nobility.”
Lydia resisted the urge to scratch her head. “Surely it is not approved of.”
“It might be considered, perhaps, a little hard that even a fairly selfish nobleman should not provide for his side-slip,” Tilly conceded. “But the ton does not care one jot about such as these. It could hurt the person circulating the gossip much more than the impugned nobleman.”
Lydia could feel the truth of her words, unjust as it was. A nobleman could get away with a great many things.
“And no one,” Tilly firmly added, “would consider it a valid reason for turning down a marriage proposal from an earl, so it could not hurt your reputation, either. The very suggestion is absurdly naive. Or it is preying upon what the author knows of your quaint country prudishness.”
Lydia winced. “Am I that bad?”
“I am not much for judging people, except that sack of horse dung who tried to make off with you, of course.” Tilly's brows knit together. “Well, and a few others. But I do not think I should ever interpret an innocent mind as such a terribly bad thing.”
“I am not so innocent, really.”
“You are a curious blend of virtue, knowledge and irreverence. You seem to think social conventions quite silly, and occasionally do things which could have the appearance of evil. But actual evil, you avoid. I do not think I have ever met anyone more unsuited to London society, really. Here people rely heavily on using polished appearances to conceal actual vice. But in any case, whoever wrote this letter—and I have very strong suspicions who that was—knew something of your character.”
“You think it was Miss Delacroix.” Lydia had entertained her own suspicions on that front.
