A Lover for Lydia (The Wednesday Club Book 4)

by Sahara Kelly

  Miles nodded. “I can’t argue with her on that…” He looked around the table. “Anyone got any suggestions?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Lydia touched her napkin to her lips, catching the last bit of jam from the scone she’d finished. “Why not set up a bathing area just for ladies? Somewhere we can go and change without having to call out a horse and carriage. Very private, of course, perhaps with a tent or something that is easy to assemble? If it was easier for us to reach the ocean I think we’d all like to share in the fun?”

  Murmurs of assent and nods of agreement greeted her statement.

  Colly looked thoughtful. “Let me mull that over, Lydia.”

  Ragnor pursed his lips. “I’m doubtful it would fly, Colly. This is a quiet corner of England. What we might get away with in some of the more forward-thinking areas of London may not go down so well with the locals…”

  “Good point,” said Miles. “But then again, the lad’s a duke, Ragnor. They’re allowed to be outrageous, as I understand it.”

  “We are?” Colly quirked an eyebrow. “That’s nice to know.”

  Ivy reached over and patted his hand. “Not today, dear.”

  “Ahem.” Mowbray cleared his throat. “How about we do a survey of the cliffs and the landscape hereabouts? If you have a map of your property lines, Colly, that would help. Perhaps there might be a small chine or something that could be put to such use…?”

  Silence fell for a moment, then Prudence raised her hand. “Excuse me, but what’s a chine?”

  “It’s a kind of valley. I think.” Miles frowned. “Mowbray?”

  “You’re almost right. Look, Prudence, let me show you.”

  He pulled a plate close and put a soft scone on one side of it, tearing off the top to expose the light and fluffy interior. “Imagine this is the land hereabouts. And this…” He trimmed off one side to make it vertical and flat. “This is the cliff edge here.”

  “All right. I understand so far…”

  “Good. Over time…” He reached for the teapot. “Rain falls here on the top of the cliff and there’s a tiny stream flowing from the bottom. Now, depending on what kind of rocks make up the cliffs, it will have varying effects. Because, as we all know, water is one of the most common methods of erosion there is.”

  He glanced around the table as his audience nodded.

  “So here, on the south coast, there’s a lot of limestone, which is soft, relatively speaking, and as the rain falls…” he began to dribble tea down into the scone, “the land is worn away and the little river finds itself in a valley.”

  Prudence smiled. “Oh look. Yes. It’s making a dip right there.” The tea spread out onto the plate.

  “It is indeed.” Mowbray smiled back. “But if you’ll notice, it’s a very sharp valley, as if the water is cutting through the ground rather than wearing it away slowly like it would normally. This explains the shape of a chine. It’s quite deep with very steep sides. And it moves.”

  “What?” Lydia blinked. “It moves?”

  He bit back a chuckle, but his eyes were amused as he flashed her a grin. “It does indeed. Not that we’d notice it, but if you visited a chine this year—and there are quite a few across the Solent on the Isle of Wight—and then came back in five years’ time, then yes, you’d probably see that the chine had changed, moved inland a bit and perhaps widened out at the opening where it travels on to the sea.”

  Letting the tea dribble as he explained the process, Mowbray’s focus was on Prudence and Lydia, not on the “sea” which was now flooding the plate.

  Someone else however noticed the imminent disaster.

  “Mr Linfield,” boomed Woodleigh as he entered the room and observed the proceedings. “While I appreciate your interest in educating everyone as to the science behind whatever it is you’re trying to explain, may I point out that your ocean has just overflowed onto the second best Maidenbrooke damask tablecloth.”

  “Oh dear.” Mowbray hastily replaced the teapot on its tray and attempted to dab up the puddle with his napkin, while Prudence stifled a giggle and Lydia shook her head.

  “Sir.” Woodleigh sighed. “May I suggest you leave it?” He glanced at the Duke. “You asked me to inform you if there were any yachts racing, your Grace. I believe there are some about to do just that.”

  Colly’s eyebrows rose. “Oh wonderful. Yes, that’s a sight to see. Come on, everyone. We’ll use the telescope in the morning room if we want a closeup look at the sailors and their craft.”

  “Oh, the telescope.” Lydia’s voice was smooth as cream. “Yes. What a lovely way to see things…close up.”

  Judith coughed, Prudence held her napkin to her face, and Rose bit her lip. Ivy, as controlled as Lydia, stood and smiled at everyone. “It sounds like such fun. One never knows what a telescope can reveal. Is it a powerful one?” She glanced innocently at her husband.

  Who narrowed his eyes as he caught her expression. “It is, my dear. Quite powerful.”

  “Then by all means let’s go and take a look at the yachts. Are we all finished?”

  “I bloody well hope so.”

  Woodleigh’s muttered prayer went unnoticed beneath the sound of chairs drawing back, plates and cutlery being moved around and the snatches of conversation as the party left the room.

  He sighed at the ruined tablecloth.

  “Never mind, Woodleigh.” Lydia had paused in the doorway. “A bit of baking soda should do the trick.”

  He bowed. “Thank you, Miss. I believe you’re correct.” And then his lips twitched in a very un-Woodleigh-ish way. “Do enjoy his Grace’s telescope.”

  She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, but ignored it. Obviously the old saying that butlers knew everything was true. She lifted her chin and grinned at him. “Oh, I can assure you we shall take full advantage of all the possibilities it offers.”

  Lydia followed the noise to the morning room, shaking her head a little at the brilliance that was Woodleigh. It was easy to see why Ivy worshipped him.

  The sky was almost cloudless, the sun bright, and she could make out the pale sails on the water, even without the telescope. Everyone had gathered to watch, although to her eyes there didn’t seem to be a beginning or an end to the race that was apparently underway.

  “So where’s the finish line?” she asked Miles, who stood next to the window.

  He pointed to his left. “Over that way, I think. They’re all headed in that direction, anyway.”

  “You know no more about this than I do,” she muttered in his ear. “Confess.”

  He shot her a quick look of amusement. “I’m a landlubber, dear girl. Boats and ships and so on are all very well, but I don’t want one. Although I’m enjoying this trip, don’t mistake me.” He gazed around. “It is good to see open air and smell the salt tang on the breeze. But that doesn’t mean I want to buy a yacht and go bouncing around on water that’s damn cold most of the time.”

  “So if Sir Ronan offered you a ride on his boat?” She leaned toward the glass. “I wonder if he’s racing out there…”

  “Not a clue.” Miles peered around Ragnor. “Anyone know if O’Malley’s boat is out there?”

  A whisper of interest had everyone leaning forward, and Judith—who had the telescope at that moment—muttered to herself. “I can’t make out the sailors,” she complained. “And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d recognise him.”

  “I might,” said Prudence. “May I look?”

  She took over from Judith and moved the telescope around a little. “I don’t see…” She tried a different position. “This is most frustrating…no, wait…no, that’s not him,” she sighed. “Doesn’t anyone know what Sir Ronan’s boat looks like?”

  “You could ask its owner, lass.”

  *~~*~~*

  The sound of that soft Irish accent speaking in a tone filled with humour caught everyone’s attention, and there were gasps of surprise as Sir Ronan himself strolled in. It was the kind of moment
he enjoyed, and although his steps took him to the Duke and Duchess, his focus was on the slip of a girl at the telescope.

  “Your Grace, Ma’am,” he bowed. “Forgive the informality of my arrival. I told the footman I’d find my own way to you all.” He favoured them with a smile.

  Finding their voices, everyone welcomed him, and since he was known to them all, he found himself answering at least a dozen questions all at once.

  He gave up, laughed and moved to Prudence, who had remained near the telescope. “Now then, Miss Prudence. You’re wantin’ to see my yacht, I understand.”

  “Well, yes. I mean, we all did…” She took a breath. “We heard you were to be sailing down, sir, and wondered if perhaps you were in the race…” She waved her hand at the sails scudding along in the breeze. “But obviously not, since you’re here.”

  “Correct,” he chuckled. “But to satisfy your curiosity,” he turned the telescope away from the sea and focused it down the shoreline. “There. If you look there, you can just see the Staunton pier. Lady Susan and Lord Francis have been kind enough to allow me to tie up there.” He stepped back as Prudence moved to peer through the eyepiece.

  “See it? The Maeve?”

  “I do. What a lovely vessel and a lovely name.”

  “Thank you. I like her.”

  “It’s a yacht, yes? And named for a fairy if memory serves me correctly,” Prudence remained bent to the telescope.

  “Yes indeed. The Queen of the Fae. She’ll do a handy few knots if the wind’s right, and I can easily cross the Irish Sea in good weather.”

  That brought Prudence’s head up. “Oh, you go home in her?”

  “Now and again. Saves waiting on some other captain and the breeze is free for anyone with a sail…” He looked out over the water. “‘Tis good to see so many yachts. I’m thinking the Prince Regent’s interest has helped fuel the business.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Colly, coming to his side and joining him as he stared through the window. “It must have been, what, six or seven years ago he held that regatta at Cowes? Now it’s becoming a yearly event.”

  “And that’s Cowes across there, yes?” Miles tipped his head toward the Isle of Wight.

  “Yes,” answered Mowbray. “Right where the river forms a small estuary. Handy for shipping and so on.”

  Lydia shook her head. “Mowbray, the walking encyclopaedia.”

  He turned and looked at her with a rueful smile. “It’s the way my mind works. Sorry.”

  “Never apologise, old lad.” Miles clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Your brain is outstanding. Who else would I turn to for logical and clear thinking?”

  “Good point,” endorsed Rose. “We rely on you, Mowbray. Don’t disparage your knowledge.”

  Sir Ronan observed the byplay, noting Lydia’s slight frown.

  “I didn’t mean to be rude, Mowbray,” she said.

  “I know you didn’t,” he smiled. “Don’t think another moment on it.” Turning to Sir Ronan, he tilted his head to one side. “So you have a yacht and you clearly love to sail her. Any chance of a ride while you’re here?”

  “And how long are you here for?” Ivy chimed in. “I know you’re tied up at the Staunton’s, but are you staying there? Or on your yacht? We have room here, if you’d like to join us…”

  Ronan held up his hands. “Whoa, your Grace. Thank you. I just arrived last night, slept on the Maeve, and came straight here. The Stauntons were out paying morning calls, so I hoped you’d all be forgiving of my coming over to visit. I haven’t made any more plans than that yet.”

  “In that case, it’s settled,” said Colly. “Bring your bags over, Ronan. This is a time for informality and relaxation. Share the house with us, and if you’ll give some of these people a trip on your yacht, I’d be very grateful to get some of them out of my hair.” He looked around with a laugh.

  “I’d be happy to,” answered Sir Ronan. “But I’ll not be taking anyone out today. There’ll be rough water later on, I’m thinking. Best save that sail for a time when the sea is calmer.”

  Prudence frowned. “How do you know…”

  “That the weather will be rough? Well, now, let me show you…” He moved to the window, and was followed by most of the assembled throng.

  As he began to explain the importance of watching the skies, and pointed out the slight touch of white on the western horizon, Sir Ronan O’Malley couldn’t help being aware of Miss Prudence Hartsmere-Drake listening intently.

  She was as lovely as springtime, fresh and tender, and not even twenty years old yet, but already as beautiful as the mystical Irish faerie queen he’d named his yacht after.

  He had no business thinking the thoughts that plagued him. No business at all. And yet there was that itch, that sometimes savage bolt of lust so strong it shocked the breath out of his lungs.

  It would be a battle, he foresaw. His instincts would be fighting with his desires. At this particular moment, he had no clue which would win out.

  But for a second or two he remembered the sweet taste of her lips against his when last they’d met, and he had seized a moment of madness to kiss her.

  He knew, without a doubt, he would have to do it again.

  Chapter Six

  Lydia admitted to herself that the addition of Sir Ronan had brought the numbers into a comfortable, even arrangement, and although there were four single people there, it was never made into any kind of issue. Within a day or so, any rigidity of behaviour had vanished and informality was the order of the moment.

  Colly wandered the gardens with Ragnor, as easily as Prudence and Rose shared a bit of music time with a piano and a lute. Mowbray and Miles stared at each other across a chessboard and Ronan chatted with Judith in the shade of an ancient chestnut tree.

  Ivy was happy to stroll with Lydia, and the stroll turned into a solid walk as the cliff tops beckoned.

  “This is so refreshing.” Ivy faced the wind and let it blow her hair every which way. “Not having to worry about a bonnet, or appearances. What a huge relief.” She grinned at Lydia, who was doing much the same thing.

  “And no concerns about somebody seeing us and then suddenly being the centre of the evening’s gossip.” She glanced at her friend. “Why on earth do we do it, Ivy? Subject ourselves to that kind of scrutiny and all those almost impossible expectations?”

  Ivy closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. “I honestly can’t answer that. Other than to say that if we hadn’t done all those things, we probably wouldn’t be here.” She opened her eyes and grinned. “So I suppose I cannot find a valid argument against them.”

  “True.” Lydia moved forward, found a handy tuft of thick grass and sat down, ignoring the unseemly position and crossing her legs at the ankles, tucking them beneath her skirts.

  “Oh good idea.” Ivy followed suit. “We should have brought our bonnets though. We’ll end up with red noses from the sunshine.”

  “That’s what powder’s for,” giggled Lydia.

  The two women were quiet for a little while, listening to the cries of the seagulls, overlying the whispers made by the waves on the beach below.

  “I would imagine this is a risky spot to be in a storm,” observed Lydia, leaning forward to look further along the shore. “These cliffs are most irregular, so I have to suppose there’s a danger of them giving way…”

  “Probably,” yawned Ivy. “You’ll have to ask Mowbray.”

  “I will. He’s such an amazing repository of useful things, isn’t he?”

  “He is. A lovely gentleman.” Ivy lifted an eyebrow. “Are you…”

  “Oh goodness no.” Lydia laughed and waved her hand. “Just because we’re both single, don’t place more importance on that than it deserves. Sir Ronan and Prudence are single too, but we’re not matching them up, are we.” She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes.

  Ivy was quiet for a minute or two. “Between you and me, Lydia, I have a suspicion that Sir Ronan might
have more than just a friendly interest in our Prudence.”

  “You do?” Lydia’s eyebrows rose.

  Ivy nodded. “Just something…I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  Lydia took a breath. “He kissed her after her birthday party. I happened to see them.”

  “Oh?” Ivy frowned. “She didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Really? Did you expect her to? Put yourself in her shoes. Would you have said anything to anyone?”

  “Well now you come to mention it, no.” Ivy’s lips quirked into a smile. “But that’s different.”

  Lydia managed a stern glare in her friend’s direction.

  “All right,” sighed Ivy. “Well ‘tis done. And I have nothing against Sir Ronan at all, providing he doesn’t break her heart.”

  “He is older…” cautioned Lydia.

  “Yes, but then again, Prudence may not have the years, but she has the brain. She can hold her own with Mowbray, I swear. She has managed to conceal it very well, and I doubt the London matriarchs would have any notion that she has more than the two thoughts expected of young women her age. Clothes and gentlemen.”

  “In that case,” said Lydia carefully. “I would suppose you and Colly wouldn’t object to a match?”

  Ivy stared at the ocean. “I don’t know. And that’s an honest answer. He’s a charming man. One would assume he’s well to do, and Prudence comes with a good dowry. But he’s a man of the world. Would he be satisfied with a young woman like Prudence?”

  “You worry about mistresses?”

  “It’s not an outrageous thought…”

  Before Lydia could answer, they were hailed from somewhere lower on the path.

  “Up here, Colly.” Ivy struggled to her feet and waved as two heads appeared. “We’ve been enjoying the view.”

  Lydia scrambled too; cursing beneath her breath as a gust of wind blew her skirts high enough to show most of her legs as she rose. “Dratted ocean breezes.”

  “Something we gentlemen don’t have to worry about,” Mowbray held out his hand and pulled her the rest of the way up. “Colly got a bit worried when we couldn’t find Ivy and nobody knew where you were.”