An older gentleman Lydia recognized as Lord Ludlow stepped forward, and as the music began, Lord Ludlow clasped the hand of the Duchess and together, they took a step forward. A collective gasp resonated around the room. It was as if the bosom of the Duchess was pressed against the chest of Lord Ludlow! Then, with their hands still clasped together, they took a step back. Once they were apart, they stepped in once again, coming obscenely close together just as they had before.
All around her, people shook their heads in shock and stormed from the room as others, much like Lydia, watched on in amusement.
“What a beautiful dance,” she said under her breath. “It is like poetry coming to life.” She imagined William dancing with her in such an intimate manner and could not help but smile.
Mrs. Ridge stalked up to Lydia. “We must leave at once,” she demanded. “I will not have your innocence ruined by watching such depravity.” Lydia wanted to argue, but she knew it would do no good. If Mrs. Ridge demanded, Lydia was obliged to listen.
“Will you call over this week?” she asked William.
“Yes. I will send a card with the day and time.”
Mrs. Ridge grabbed Lydia’s elbow and led her away, but Lydia took another glance at the couple dancing in the middle of the room. Several of the couples that had remained had joined in, and Lydia smiled as she realized what she needed to do to finally break free from the curse that had been set upon her.
Chapter Sixteen
Lydia’s father returned in great spirits from his trip, but he had little time to spend with Lydia.
“I have an extraordinary amount of preparation, my dear,” he had said as he walked straight to his office after giving her a quick embrace. “I know you will understand.” The last he shouted over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.
That had been the day before, and the only time she saw her father was when he came to supper, yet he brought with him a stack of papers he perused the entire meal. It was like this when he was caught up in some new scheme, so Lydia took it with stride. At least she had Helen with whom she could spend time.
Sitting in the drawing room, Lydia sipped at her morning tea as Helen lectured her on men. As if the fact she had been married for those few years gave her some sort of expertise on the matter.
“They do not understand structure,” Helen was saying. “A lady must lead by example. Of course, they will always take credit for your work, but that is the joy in it.”
“I do not think William is like that,” Lydia said, probably more stubbornly than she had intended. “He is kind to others and thinks of them before himself.”
Helen smiled and set her cup down on the table. “It is only when we are in love that we see no fault in the one we love.”
Lydia glared at her aunt. “I did not say I love him,” she said as she studied her teacup. She did not mention her slip of the tongue during the party at the home of the Dowager Duchess. “I only care for him, but I cannot say that it is stronger than that.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, I cannot lie. I do think what I feel is greater than simple admiration. I find that I have developed deeper feelings for him, to the point I believe I have a great affection for him. Is it happening too quickly?”
Helen shook her head. “Love is not restrained by time nor by any rules,” she said as she placed a hand on Lydia’s. “For some, it may take years, and others, it is the first time they meet.” The woman sighed and took on a faraway look. If Lydia were to hazard a guess, she would have said her aunt was thinking about her husband and their short time together. That guess was proved when Helen added, “Forgive me. It is still difficult with Miles gone.”
Lydia shook her head. “There is nothing to forgive,” she said. “Your wisdom is always cherished just like our friendship.”
Helen replied with a smile.
The door to the room opened and Wallace entered. “A letter for you, Miss Lydia.”
“Thank you,” she said as she took the card off the tray, her hand shaking such that she thought she would toss the tray from his hand. She glanced down at the closing and gasped in shock. “It is from Lady Matilda Buchanan,” she said. “She is inviting me personally to her party in ten days! This is the first time I have received a personal invitation to any gathering. Usually invitations to such functions come by way of Father. But my own invitation? How exciting!” She could not believe her luck; perhaps the curse that had been placed on her would soon break.
Filled with excitement she stood. “I have a wonderful idea!”
Helen arched an eyebrow. “And what would that be?” she asked.
“Lady Matilda admires anything and everything the Dowager Duchess says and does. I have no doubt her party will have a special dance…”
“The waltz?” Helen asked, gaping. When Lydia nodded in affirmation, the woman gasped. “You cannot be serious!” Despite the soberness of her tone, a smile played at the corner of her lips. When Lydia had told the woman about what she had seen at the party, Helen had seemed both amused and appalled. “I must admit, from what you told me, that dance breaks every rule of maintaining boundaries I have ever known.”
Lydia giggled. “I’m sure it does, but it is a dance I must learn.”
Helen shook her head. “I have always been one to cheer anyone willing to stretch the rules from time to time, but I worry this may be something you should not do.”
“May I ask why?”
“It could bring greater shame upon you. You know how rumors can be; you have been the subject of more than one yourself. However, this may bring on cruel stares and perhaps even cause the gossip-mongers to rumble.”
Lydia grasped her aunt’s hands. “That is exactly why I must do it!” A sense of awe, and something akin to relief, washed over her as she thought about it. “Do you not see? My entire life has been cursed, or at least I believe it has been. The ton has called me a wallflower because I am too timid and because of my interests. I fear that one day I may become a spinster. With this dance, I will show them that I do not care what they think or say, for as long as I am on the arm of William, nothing can ever hurt me.”
She stared with shock when a tear ran down Helen’s face. “That is the most wonderful, tenacious monologue I have ever heard from you,” her aunt said. Then she smiled. “You will dance the greatest dance of your life.”
“Yes,” Lydia replied, imagining the beauty of it. “And that is when I shall inform William of my true feelings for him.”
***
The London Season was meant to be a time of leisure, a time to attend parties, dance, drink, eat, and make merry, and this Season had been no exception. That is, until three days ago when William found himself buried in work. It was the same for him every year; he would procrastinate his duties until it got to the point where he could no longer ignore what needed to be done. Then he would work late into the night attempting to complete everything he had failed to complete beforehand. Thus was how he found himself working in his office by the light of the stubs of candles as his eyes watered from the need to sleep.
Sighing, he pushed the papers away and smiled at the invitation he had received from Lady Matilda. He had no doubt that her second party of the year—or perhaps her first since the party before had been hosted by her father—would be an imitation of the festivities at the home of the Dowager Duchess. It was no secret that she held the Duchess in such high esteem that it was rumored that both women had been involved with late-night rendezvous with several men of title.
Letting out a laugh, he shook his head. He of all people should know that rumors were just that: rumors. How much gossip had been contrived about him in order to place a shadow over his reputation? Most involved him being a rogue with half a dozen bastard children scattered throughout the country, their mothers receiving a small stipend every year in order to feed them.
Then there were the ridiculous tales of Lydia and her trysts on St. James Street. How could he have believed such nonsense?
Jus
t thinking about the woman brought about memories of the last time they spoke. Lydia was right; the Dowager Duchess was free from societal norms because she chose to be, and he admired her as much as Lydia did. However, it was through the careful insight of the woman that he had come to such a realization, for he had been no better than any of the others who listened to the loose tongues of the gossipmongers.
He glanced at his diary. Friday, which was the night before Lady Matilda’s party, he would join his old friend Alice for dinner, and he looked forward to meeting her fiancé. He had no doubt that, if the man had won Alice’s heart, William and this Charles would get along handsomely, for any man who could love a woman such as Alice would always be a friend of his.
A smile crept on his lips as he remembered Lydia uttering the word ‘love’. He knew she had not meant to say it aloud, for she had blushed profusely after saying it. However, that single word had broken open any doubt in his mind and heart as to how he felt. He had developed strong feelings for her, as well. If he were truthful with himself, he would admit that he had fallen in love with her the first time he had overheard her speaking. It was a wonderful emotion to experience, and excitement washed over him as he considered telling her how he felt.
Yet, how does a man say such a thing? Was it appropriate to speak in such intimate terms at a party? He considered taking her to St. James Park again but dismissed it immediately. Too many people frequented the park and therefore it would be the same problem as speaking his mind at the party. The circus would not be any more appropriate. That idea was the most absurd. How could one speak of his love as people around them cheered a rider on a horse? It was the least romantic place to do such a thing.
“Your Grace?” Hughes said from the door, making William jump. “My apologies. I did not mean to startle you.”
“No, I was lost in thought. What is it?”
“Lords…”
Before he could finish the announcement, Clancy came bounding into the room. “William, I must have your help,” he said, his face filled with concern and his eyes wide.
Behind him, Barnard entered, shaking his head.
“Sit,” William said, guiding his friend to a chair. “What is wrong?”
“I am near completion with my agreement with Lord Bennett,” Clancy said as he wrung his hands in front of him.
“That is good news,” William replied with a laugh. “Why are you in such a state if things are going so well?”
“I’m now wondering if it is worth it. I know nothing of sheep, and my bravado may cost me a fortune. I do not want to look the fool.”
William sighed. “Here, let me get you a drink. Barnard?”
“I never turn down an offer for a good port.”
Returning to the pair and urging Clancy to drink, William sat down in a nearby chair and waited. Clancy had always been one for the dramatic, and given time, he would calm down. Until then, anything William said would be lost amidst the panicked thoughts Clancy held in his head. The man was notorious for bragging of his great business ventures and for also losing great amounts of money in most of them. At one point, he had invested in a theater that was to be built by a man who had taken the money only to run off to France and never be heard from again. Another time, Clancy had invested in a millinery that specialized in hats of the latest fashions for ladies. That would have been a wonderful investment if not for the fact that the shop was located in a village so remote, not one lady who could afford such extravagances lived within fifty miles of the place.
“Much better,” Clancy said after a few moments, and a few sips of port. “I need your help.”
William chuckled. “I assumed as much. Of course, I will do what I can. Just ask.”
“I am to travel today to Bedford. Will you accompany me? I need someone there for support.”
“Bedford?” William whispered. “That is a day’s journey and then some. I have a dinner engagement Friday, and then I am invited to a party hosted by Lady Matilda afterwards.”
“We can be back by Friday morning,” Clancy replied. “You will not miss either. Please, William, I am begging you. I’m afraid that if I lose money again, Father will disown me.”
William considered his friend’s words. Though Baron Brogan would never disown his son, William was well aware of the ire the man would have if, indeed, Clancy made another bad investment. However, it was Clancy about whom William worried. He was a child in a man’s body, lacking confidence in business. Most of all, William considered Clancy a friend—a good friend, and friends helped one another in times of need.
He glanced at Barnard. “And why do you not accompany him? You have as much business sense as I.”
Barnard snorted. “You know me,” the man replied. “I would only make matters worse. I might kill Clancy before we even arrive at the meeting.”
Clancy shot Barnard a glare. “That’s a very unpleasant thing to say!”
“But you know it is true. You have not forgotten that journey you and I took last year to Newcastle, have you? No, if you and I spend any amount of time alone together in a carriage again it will be too soon.”
“Very well,” William said with a sigh. “I must write a letter to Lydia before we go, but will you send for Hughes while I do that?”
To his surprise, Clancy jumped from his chair and pulled William into an embrace. “You have no idea how much this means to me!” he said. “Thank you so much!”
“I am happy to help,” William gasped, finding breathing difficult with how tightly Clancy held him.
When his friend finally released him, Clancy and Barnard headed out so Clancy could ready a bag for the journey, and William went to his desk to prepare a letter for Lydia. There was so much to say, but he had little time to compose the poetic prose he had originally planned. Keeping his words simple, he apologized for not being able to see her this week due to business commitments, but he would call over Saturday morning before the party.
That should be sufficient, he thought as he sealed the letter and set it aside for Hughes to see to later. He then bounded up the stairs to ready himself, for the sooner they were on their way, the sooner he would return to London.
Chapter Seventeen
It stood to reason that if Lydia was to confess her love to William during a dance—that is, confess it deliberately and not with the slip of the tongue as she had before—that a new dress would be required. Her father had been pleased upon learning of her courtship with William, and when she asked for extra funds for the dress, the man did not hesitate to hand over the money. Now, with Mrs. Ridge by her side, Lydia stood in the most prestigious drapers in London: Clark and Debenham.
“Miss Fortescue,” Mrs. Baxter said in a sing-song voice, “how nice to see you again. And what might we do for you today?”
Lydia held up a swatch of ivory muslin. “I am looking to have a gown made, but I’m afraid that I may have come too late to have it done in time.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Baxter said. “When will you need your gown finished?”
“By Saturday morning, the afternoon at the very latest.”
Mrs. Baxter tapped her chin. “That is a very short amount of time, indeed, but perhaps I can set my two best girls on it as soon as possible. Have you decided on a style?”
Lydia smiled. “I am thinking something with a sweeping neckline, an empire waist, and flowing skirts. Oh, and puffed sleeves, if possible. I believe a silver sash and silver ribbons would be very nice, as well.”
The woman thought for a moment and then walked over to a book of sketches, turning the thick plates until she came to one in particular. “Yes, what do you think of this?”
The dress displayed on the plate was beautiful and exactly what Lydia had envisioned. “It seems very intricate. Will you be able to have it done in time?”
The woman clicked her tongue. “We may not be able to add all the frippery to it I’m afraid, but if we simplify the design a bit, I believe we can produce a lovely piece for you on time
.”
“Mrs. Ridge?” Lydia said, turning to the older woman. “What do you think?”
For the first time since Mrs. Ridge had accepted the position of chaperon, the old woman heard Lydia without asking her to repeat herself, though she also seemed a bit distracted. “Very lovely, my dear,” she said. “Oh, look, there is Mrs. Donaldston.” And with that, the woman was off across the room where she stopped to speak to a woman around the same age as her.
“So, you can have the dress ready in time?” Lydia asked the dressmaker.
“As I said, yes, I believe I can. Now, would you like to choose the trimmings? You said you would like silver ribbon? I have a very nice selection that would look lovely on that muslin…”
Lydia followed the woman to a rack of ribbons. They were lovely! “You have certainly seen my vision,” Lydia said with a laugh as Mrs. Baxter held out a satin ribbon. “This will be perfect.”
“You always have had a good eye,” Mrs. Baxter said, though Lydia doubted the woman’s sincerity; Lydia had never been known for her expertise—or even knowledge—of fashion. If anything, the ladies of the ton ridiculed her in secret for her choice of dresses. More than likely Mrs. Baxter was trying to use flattery to encourage Lydia’s return. Regardless, Lydia enjoyed feeling special, even if it was a fabrication.
“Thank you, Mrs. Baxter. Can you have the gown delivered to my house?”
“Certainly,” the woman replied with a smile. “Will there be anything else?”
Lydia replied that there would not be, and the woman was off to see to other clients. Turning to search for Mrs. Ridge, Lydia was reluctant to intervene, as the older woman seemed to be enjoying her conversation with her friend.
Therefore, Lydia turned to the nearest book of sketches to browse through the various dresses and was surprised to see that it was a collection of wedding samples. How wonderful it would be if William asked for her hand in marriage! Gazing at the lovely gowns, she pictured her wedding day, which would be a grand affair. The banns would be read and when the day arrived, her family and closest friends would join her and William as they said their vows. They would have the most lavish of breakfasts, and then she and William would ride away in a carriage bound for Brighton or Bath, where they would share in the most wondrous of days.
Waltz 0f The Wallflower (Delicate Hearts Book 1) Page 11
