Waltz 0f The Wallflower (Delicate Hearts Book 1)

by Catherine Mayfair

  “Miss Lydia, did you have something you wanted to add?”

  “I…” Lydia had meant to respond with some sort of excuse so she would not have to answer, but she clenched her fist and fought down the timidity that had run her life for so long. “I have come to understand more about true love today than I thought I would ever know.” Every eye was on her, and Mr. Lancing offered her a kind smile, so she ventured on. “I learned that at times, when we love someone, that love is not returned. We may even convince ourselves that the other person shares in those feelings.” Tears laced her lashes as she thought of she and William attending the circus. Then came the memory of how he had faced mortal danger in order to save her and Helen. However, it was the final image that kept the words strong—the image of William holding another woman. “What I find odd is that, even in heartbreak, one can continue to love the one who has hurt them.”

  “Yes,” Miss Beatrice said in a voice so quiet, Lydia had to strain to hear her words. “I understand quite well, for I loved a man once, though he never loved me. I had revealed my heart to him, and he rejected me for it.” A few of the men responded with a nervous cough and the women with a warm smile.

  Taking a breath to steady her voice, Lydia continued. “I have no shame in saying that the man I love has broken my heart. In all honesty, I can thank the man, for it is because of him that I was able to break my curse. Though, now I am left wondering one thing. Was I meant to have that curse broken?”

  She retook her seat, and Helen patted her hand.

  “Well, curses can certainly be the topic of discussion for another night,” Mr. Lancing said, bringing about laughter that lifted the heaviness in the air. Lydia had not meant to bring about such weight to the atmosphere. “Thank you, Miss Lydia, for sharing with us.” He slapped his hands on his legs. “Well, another evening comes to a close,” he continued. “I believe we all have much to think on before we meet again. I hope you will return to our next meeting.”

  The group began to disperse, and Lydia was more than ready to leave. As she and Helen walked toward the door where Mr. Lancing stood in his usual place after dismissing everyone, the man smiled. “May I say one thing, Miss Lydia?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Lydia replied. “If it is concerning my words tonight, I apologize.”

  “There is no need for apologies here,” he said kindly. “Might I offer some encouragement in your dark hour?”

  Lydia found she could not reply with more than a nod.

  “You spoke of a curse lifted from you by love?”

  “Indeed. I have become a new woman because of it.”

  “I have seen it,” the man said. “And love guided you to it. But you must know, I have no doubt it was already within you beforehand. Do not forget the strength that is all your own; it will serve you better than any supposed strength given to you by someone else.”

  Lydia smiled. She had been very fortunate to have made the acquaintance of such a wonderful man, for he only spoke the truth to her at every turn. “Mrs. Lancing is a lucky woman,” she said. “And thank you for your words. I shall see you in a fortnight.” Then she and Helen walked out into the night, avoiding the shortcut in the alley after what had taken place after the previous meeting. As they walked, the stars above them twinkled in contrast to the aching in her heart, and Lydia could not help but think of William.

  ***

  The sun shone brightly in the Saturday morning sky as the carriage ambled along the street. William had awoken in good spirits, for he would see the woman he loved once again. Although the dinner with Alice and her new fiancé had been a pleasant time, he had found himself wishing that Lydia was beside him so she could also know Alice.

  Alice will like her, he thought as he smiled at the thought of the two women becoming close friends.

  Charles had, indeed, been a very pleasant man, and William was certain they would become close friends over time. William had admired the manner in which Charles had interacted with Timothy, for any man who could accept the child of another as his own showed a great character. If this first encounter was any indication of what lay ahead for the couple, then they had a wondrous life to come. William could only hope the affection he felt for Lydia was as pronounced in his eyes as it had been in those of Charles as he gazed at Alice when she spoke.

  Filled with eagerness to see Lydia once again, William was surprised when the butler, Wallace, greeted him not with his usual cordialness, but rather with a barely suppressed scowl. The day might have been sunny and the sky never so blue, but the man who opened the door to him was brooding like a winter storm.

  “Wallace, how are you this fine day?” William asked in his most cheerful tone. Perhaps the man was simply having a difficult morning.

  The old man pursed his lips and then mumbled “Follow me, Your Grace” without responding to William’s question. The old man remained stiff and his lip twitched as if to keep from frowning outright. As a matter of fact, as William walked through the house, he felt an ice-cold ambiance, much like when his father had died. Had there been a sudden death of which he had not heard as of yet?

  How strange, William thought. He had never experienced a servant so brusque, and he considered speaking to Lord Fortescue about the man. Even if some sort of troubles had befallen the family, the domestics never forgot their place. Not without subsequently losing his or her position.

  At the bottom of the stairs stood Lydia’s aunt. William raised a hand in greeting, but the woman crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at him.

  “Has there been some tragedy?” William asked Wallace as they arrived at the drawing room.

  The butler opened the door and then turned to William. “Yes, Your Grace. A Greek one.”

  William stared at the man. A Greek one? He wanted to ask what the man meant by his words, but when he turned and saw Lydia standing beside the window in a simple white dress, he decided the best person from whom he could learn what had transpired was not the butler.

  “Lydia?” he asked, hurrying to her side when he saw the tears streaking her cheeks. “Are you well? Has something happened to your father?”

  Lydia raised a hand indicating he was to stop before he could embrace her. “Do not come near me,” she snapped, her voice clear and strong. “I do not wish to see you any longer.”

  The words caused him to take a step back. “What have I done?”

  In her hand she held a handkerchief, which she used to dab her eyes. “You have destroyed me,” she said in a near whisper. “Your cruelty knows no bounds.”

  “I…I do not understand. Tell me my wrongdoings, and I shall make them right.”

  Lydia walked over to what appeared to be an untouched breakfast. She poured herself a glass of water and took a sip, her eyes closed as if collecting her thoughts. When she replaced the glass on the tray, she turned back to him with a new confidence in her stance.

  “Where were you last night?” she demanded. “Dealing in ‘business’?”

  “Last night?” Had they agreed to meet and he forgot? He was sure he had told her he could not meet with her until Saturday morning, but a chance existed he was mistaken.

  Lydia gave a derisive sniff. “Your silence speaks of your guilt,” she said heatedly. “Leave my home and never return.”

  “Allow me to explain,” William said. He had never begged for anything in his life, and yet he found himself unable to do anything else at the moment. “I was with a friend. A very dear friend…”

  “A woman?” Lydia asked. “Am I right in saying so?”

  William was shocked. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “How I know does not matter. It appears you care for her.” Her voice broke while uttering the last, and William wished only to pull her into his arms and explain. “You have misunderstood my feelings for Alice. If you will allow me to explain, I can…”

  “Helen, Wallace,” she called out before William could finish. Her aunt and butler must have been standing just outside the doo
r with how quickly they entered. “Please see His Grace to the door.”

  The butler stepped forward. “I believe you have other duties to which you must attend, Your Grace,” he said as he put out his hand to indicate the door. “I will, of course, show you the way.”

  William felt panic rise. “Alice is my friend and nothing more. I swear on everything good that I care not for her as I do you.”

  “Take care of your son,” Lydia said, clearly ignoring his words.

  His son? What did she mean by such a statement? Before he had time to consider her words further, Wallace cleared his throat expectantly. William had no other choice than to follow the man to the front door.

  William was outside the closed door when he realized of whom Lydia had been speaking. She believed Timothy to be his child? It was no wonder she suspected him of having an affair with Alice. Yet, where had she learned of either of them? And how had she known that he had visited Alice at all? The two women did not socialize in the same circles, so there was no reason for her to have suspected let alone learned William had been invited to dinner the previous night.

  The slam of the door did not go unnoticed, and William rubbed his temples as he tried to think. Very few people knew of the close friendship he had with Alice, including Clancy and Barnard.

  He paused. “Barnard!” he said as anger came over him. Of course. Who else could it have been? The man had been disgruntled with the announcement Alice had made the last time William had spoken with him, and the man had left in a huff. There was no other explanation for this situation; only Barnard could have been so unscrupulous to have gone to Lydia and concoct another lie. William had made the mistake of forgiving the man before, and doing so had allowed the man to find a way to destroy what William had with Lydia.

  “Then I will destroy him,” William murmured.

  “Will you be going to your estate, Your Grace?” the driver asked as William approached.

  “No,” William replied curtly. “Take me to Lord Egerton’s home. And hurry. It is important that I speak to him as soon as possible.”

  “As you say, Your Grace,” the man said as he gave William a deep bow.

  William ignored the diffidence of the man. He had more important matters to which he needed to attend, and he had little time to plan his words.

  ***

  William banged on the door to Barnard’s stately home.

  “Your Grace?” the butler called after him as he stormed past the man and headed down the hallway with long, angry strides. “Would you like me to…?”

  William ignored the man. He knew where Barnard would be, for he could hear the cur laughing in the parlor.

  He pushed open the doors, one banging against a wall from the force that had been used.

  “William?” Barnard asked as he pulled himself from the chair. The look of concern the man wore had to be contrived, or so thought William. “I did not expect you today. I thought you would be preparing for the party this evening.”

  William walked over and stood in front of Barnard. “I will give you one chance to confess. Do it now, or so help me, I shall give you a drubbing you will never forget.”

  “Confess?” Barnard appeared taken aback. “I have no idea of what you speak.”

  “Lydia! Admit that you spoke to her about Alice, or so help me…” William raised his fist and put it under Barnard’s nose.

  “I have not spoken to her…”

  Before the man could finish his lie, William pulled his arm back and shot it forward again, hearing a crunch when his fist made contact with the man’s nose. “You are a liar!” William shouted as he grabbed the Marquess by the shirt and pushed him back into one of the chairs. Blood ran from Barnard’s nose in a heavy stream. “You have destroyed her again!”

  “I did no such thing!” Barnard screamed as he stood and tried to stanch the flow of blood. “I swear, I have not seen nor spoken to her, not about Alice nor anything else.”

  William threw another punch, but Barnard ducked out of the way, causing William to strike air and come close to falling.

  “You have gone mad!” Barnard said. “There is no other explanation. Clancy, tell him!”

  “You lie!” William replied. His anger was such that all he could see was Barnard; anything beyond the man was a haze. Only this man was important at the moment: this man and William’s revenge on him. “She knows about Alice. And Timothy. How would she know of them if not for you and your propensity to cause trouble?”

  He went to strike Barnard again, but Clancy positioned himself between him and the object of his anger. “Barnard has done no such thing,” he said, pushing against William’s chest. “I can attest that he has changed.”

  William stopped at the two men he had called friends and realized that neither could be thought as such any longer. Though it pained him no end, he made a decision; it was time to cut the ties that bound them. “You are in on this folly with him,” he said, shocked that Clancy would lower himself to such a level. His gaze fell to Barnard who held a cloth to his nose. “And you. I forgave you, tried to help you. Your jealousy over Alice has ruined me twice, but it will never again.” He turned and stalked toward the front door.

  “Oh, come now,” Barnard called out after him in a stifled voice. “We have been friends too long to allow a little misunderstanding to get in the way.”

  “Yes, William,” Clancy said, “no matter what, we have always come through for one another.”

  He stopped at the door and opened it. “We are no longer friends,” he said without turning. Slamming the door behind him, he went to his carriage that still remained outside and flung himself into the seat. His stomach was a knot of red-hot anger. Not only had he lost the love of his life, but he also lost two dear friends, as well. Feeling sick, he closed his eyes, wondering if anything in his life could be recovered and realizing that the chances of reconciliation with anyone was slim.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lydia looked at her reflection and struggled to keep the sadness at bay. The gown she had commissioned, that she had carefully chosen as the one she would wear when she and William danced, somehow did not seem as glorious as it had before. Not that the dressmaker had not given Lydia what she wanted, for it was exactly as she ordered; however, what it lacked came from Lydia herself and not the clothing she wore. With her pair pinned and new gloves she purchased to match the gown, Lydia appeared a woman in love. That was what caused her the most difficulty—knowing she was still in love despite all that had occurred.

  “You are as beautiful as your mother,” Helen said as she added a flower to Lydia’s hair.

  Lydia sighed. “My mother was not a wallflower,” she said as tears brimmed her eyes. “She was also not a spinster, which is what I will become now that I have learned the truth about William.” She hung her head as shame washed over her. For years, she had feared such would be the case, but she had always held out hope. Now, that had all been taken from her.

  “Does Lady Matilda Buchanan entertain wallflowers?” Helen asked.

  “No,” Lydia replied, finding the question odd. “She surrounds herself with ladies of class and beauty.”

  Helen smiled. “Oh, then she has gone blind?”

  Lydia shook her head. Everyone around her had gone mad! “I do not understand.” Then it was as if a fog lifted from her mind. “Oh, I see.” She would have laughed at the absurdity of her previous words if she did not feel so melancholy.

  “You will have a wonderful evening,” her aunt said as she patted Lydia’s cheek. “He cannot take that away from you.”

  Though Lydia voiced agreement to the words her aunt had spoken, she found she could not agree inside. She had tried to make excuses for staying in rather than attending the party, but Helen had been insistent.

  “Staying home will only increase this pain from which you suffer,” the older woman had said. “You must show that man that he does not have any hold over you.”

  Nothing Lydia said seemed to co
nvince Helen she should not attend, and in the end, Lydia had accepted defeat.

  “What if I see him and…” Lydia asked in one last attempt to convince the woman it would be best if she stayed home.

  A knock at the door had both women turn. “Come in,” Lydia called.

  Young Anne gave a curtsy. “Miss Lydia, a man is here to see you. He’s in the drawing room with Mrs. Ridge.”

  “Thank you, Anne,” Lydia replied. “I will be there in a moment.” When the girl was gone, she turned to Helen. “That must be William. What do I say?”

  “I can go speak with him first, if you would like,” her aunt said.

  “No,” Lydia said with a heavy sigh. “I will go with you.”

  When they arrived at the drawing room door, Lydia stopped. “Would you wait for me here? I would like to speak to him alone.” Even with Mrs. Ridge there, she and William would be quite alone, at least to speak to one another. If Lydia had not been so distraught, she would have giggled.

  “I will be here,” Helen replied. Then she placed a hand on Lydia’s arm. “Remain strong.”

  Lydia responded with a nod, straightened her back, and opened the door. She would tell William straight out that his courtship was no longer wanted or required and that he was free to follow his other pursuits.

  However, when Lydia entered the room, it was not William who stood waiting for her, but rather Lord Egerton.

  “Oh, Lydia,” Mrs. Ridge said, “you did not tell me your friend would be calling. Did you forget to tell me?”

  “I did not forget,” Lydia replied, not looking at Mrs. Ridge but at the man who was as cruel as William. What she wanted to do was have the man removed from her home, but something in his eyes stayed her tongue from giving the order. “Lord Egerton,” Lydia said, pulling calmness from deep inside her, “what may I do for you?” She took a seat beside Mrs. Ridge without offering one to the man before her. As far as she was concerned, the man could stand.

  “I have come to speak to you about William. If you spare me but a few moments, I believe I can clarify a grave misunderstanding.”