by Sahara Kelly
“Oh…er, of course.” Miles responded to Rose’s rather obvious nudge.
“Good lad.”
With a satisfied grin, Sir Ronan took his seat next to Prudence and allowed the driver to fold up the steps and close the carriage door. “Let’s be off then. After all that excitement, I find I’ve developed quite a thirst.” He leaned back comfortably, surveying Lydia and Mowbray as they sat on the opposite side. “Nice form, by the way.”
“Thank you,” nodded Mowbray.
“Silly.” Lydia dug her elbow into his side. “He meant me.”
*~~*~~*
It was good to return to Maiden Shore, realised Lydia, welcoming the charming facade and the security it offered.
The incident in Minton Barrow had caught her by surprise, as did her own reaction. Her feet had carried her to Mowbray’s side without a second thought, and she had attacked the bullies, kicking and hitting fiercely, like a mother tiger defending her cubs.
But Mowbray was definitely not a cub.
She allowed her mind to puzzle its way around the matter as she bathed and changed for dinner. This evening, since the weather held warm and clear, they were to dine alfresco, making use of the lovely terrace overlooking the ocean.
For some reason she decided to put on one of her more revealing gowns; it was quite suitable for the occasion, the green of pale leaves, and of course it needed the right earbobs, and the perfect hair.
Prudence popped her head around the door after tapping lightly. “Oh…oh you look lovely, Lydia. I came to see if you were ready. I’m still a bit hesitant to go down alone, even though we’re all friends. It seems too…too…” she struggled for the word.
“Precocious? Arrogant? Assertive?” Lydia grinned. “All of the above?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Prudence waved her hands around. “Do I look all right?”
“Of course you do.” Lydia surveyed the lilac lace gown, the tiny puffed sleeves twinkling with embroidered stars. “As a matter of fact, you look utterly perfect. So you should walk downstairs on your own because if we go together we might just blind everyone in the hall.”
She affixed a pearl aigrette into the curls on the back of her head. It was shaped like a lily of the valley and featured two green enamel leaves. Prudence sighed with envy.
“That is a truly amazing piece, Lydia. Wherever did you get it?”
“Matthew gave it to me for my last birthday.” She glanced at Prudence. “He rather likes jewellry. Odd, but I’m not complaining.”
“What a kind brother.”
The casual comment sat in Lydia’s mind for a moment. Then she reached for her light shawl, trimmed in the same colour lace as the leaves in her hair. “He is a good chap, overall. Quite reliable, too. Of course I can’t understand him choosing to summer in Scotland with his friends rather than here with us, but I suppose he’s enjoying himself.”
Prudence raised an eyebrow. “Er…Lydia? That wasn’t, by any chance, a subtle attempt at matchmaking, was it?”
“Oh. No. It did sound like it, didn’t it? No, darling. Not at all.” Lydia grimaced, wondering if that actually had been at the back of her mind.
“Good. I think Matthew is a wonderful gentleman and regard him as a true friend. Something I value highly. But…” Prudence paused.
“He doesn’t strike sparks,” finished Lydia.
“Exactly. Yes. Exactly that,” sighed Prudence in relief. “I’m so glad you understand.”
“I do,” answered Lydia. “I do indeed.”
Another tap on the door and Rose appeared. “I’m going down. Are you ready? Judith isn’t joining us; Ragnor says she’s very tired after the afternoon in the fresh air. Ivy’s probably down by now.”
“We’re ready.” Lydia stood and walked to her friends. “Let’s go and impress the gentlemen with our magnificence.”
“Hah,” chortled Rose. “It’s us. They know us. I’m not sure they can be impressed anymore.”
“We’ll see.”
Sadly, there was nobody at the foot of the stairs awaiting them except Woodleigh.
“Ladies, your appearances would put Venus herself to shame.” He bowed deeply. “The gentlemen await the pleasure of your presence on the terrace.”
Lydia smiled at him. “Woodleigh, I have frequently heard Ivy sing your praises. I now fully understand and endorse her comments.”
Woodleigh bowed again. “You are too kind, Miss Davenport.” He gestured to the large doors, open now to the terrace, and the sound of voices. “Her Grace has asked for dinner to be served within the hour.”
Lydia enjoyed the susurration of her skirts around her ankles as she stepped outside onto the flagstones. The sky was beginning to fade into twilight and there were a lot of candles ready to be lit, both on the tables and just inside the dining room.
The moment of silence as the three of them arrived on the terrace was quite satisfactory, thought Lydia in amusement.
“Ladies, you are all as beautiful as starlight.” Miles came forward, his eyes on Rose.
“Oh good God,” muttered Lydia. “Not original, Miles, I’m sorry to say.” Her grin took the sting out of her words.
“He’s got it right though,” agreed Mowbray, leaning lazily against a statue of some cavorting cherubs.
“Ladies, you outshine the…er…” Colly struggled.
“Moon? Stars? Other astronomical objects we can’t quite see but are most likely insufficient to describe beauty such as theirs?” Miles raised an eyebrow as he tried not to laugh.
Ivy sighed. “That’ll do. Yes, we’re all quite nice to look at. Subject closed.” She took the seat held out for her by her husband. “But nice try, dear. I’m very proud.”
“So I’ll not add my thoughts that the Fae must have whisked our ladies away and replaced them with changelings guaranteed to steal a man’s heart from his body, not to mention his very soul?”
Sir Ronan’s gentle Irish brogue slid through the dusk like mist over the moors of his homeland.
The respectful silence that followed was finally broken by a snicker. “Sorry, but I think you’ve just been piqued, repiqued, and capotted, Miles,” said his wife.
Miles shook his head at the laughter.
“Oh dear, Rose, you’ve been playing cards with Judith again, haven’t you,” sighed Prudence. “I tried a couple of hands. I really did. But piquet is so…complicated.”
The party seated themselves and the conversation turned to more general topics. It was comfortable, as easy as it should be when all present were on good terms with each other, and as the candles were lit and a tasty meal devoured, the moon rose to bless the party with its special silvery glow.
Lydia leaned back in her chair. “You know, somebody ought to paint us.”
“What?” Ivy blinked.
“Well look at us, for goodness’ sake. All gorgeously dressed, sitting on a moonlit terrace, surrounded by flickering candles and the silver sparkle of the ocean. Truly, I can just see the painting on the wall of some gallery.” She waved her hands around, describing a large portrait.
“She has a point,” acknowledged Sir Ronan. “But I’m not much of a hand with a paintbrush, so don’t look to me.”
The servants cleared away the debris of the meal as everyone considered their own artistic accomplishments.
“Ah well,” sighed Lydia. “It was a lovely thought.”
“And it would have been a lovely painting, my dear,” Ivy patted her hand. “If you feel like sketching or something yourself, you know there are plenty of splendid views…” She waved her hand absently at the ocean.
“No, probably not,” laughed Lydia. “I plan on becoming a bit of scientific researcher while I’m here, rather than an artist. Mowbray has promised to take me to find some more fossils.”
“Oh.” Rose nodded and chuckled. “That would be the same sort of thing as the one you’ve shown us about twelve times already?”
“Well yes,” replied Lydia, unrepentant. “But Rose, t
here are so many different ones. I discovered a book on them in your library, Colly. Not just living creatures, but plants, flowers, insects…all found their way to this part of the world, and promptly died in spots where they were preserved for us to find.”
“Decent of them,” muttered Miles.
“Convenient for us,” Lydia directed a sharp glance in his direction. “Lots of important scientific information can be gathered from those remains.”
“Plus a pretty necklace or two, I’ll be bound.” Ronan gave Lydia his sweetest smile. “Polish the thing up, drill a hole and find the right chain?”
“Oooh…what a lovely idea…” Lydia’s mind whirled and she turned to Mowbray. “Tomorrow perhaps?”
He gave her a lazy grin. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Eight
Unfortunately for Lydia, the weather did not cooperate sufficiently for her to commence her fossil hunting activities as soon as she’d planned.
The day dawned with a low fog covering almost everything, and even when it lifted, the clouds remained and threatened rain within the hour.
So she had to content herself with a morning spent in the library.
Tucked up in an oversized leather chair, a table at her side covered with books on fossils, she indulged herself in a pleasure she seldom enjoyed in London. In fact, if word of her present situation had reached the Ton, there would have been wild speculation that she was either ill, hiding from an importunate suitor, or had suffered some injury to her brain.
Apparently few realised that she had a fine grasp of many topics. Such things were frowned upon by Society, of course. What man could possibly wish to marry a woman who might outdo him when it came to thinking? Oh no. That would be disastrous.
Hence the accepted way of the world; women must be as beautiful as possible, although ugly was acceptable if offset by a fortune. Well-informed brains and logical thoughts were neither required nor desired.
She shook her head against the frustration such views always engendered and turned once again to her book. Turning the page, she found yet another illustration of a fossil, this time a perfect leaf.
It was a fairly recent volume, since the whole business of fossils had lurked in the dusty shelves and tomes of ancient libraries for centuries. It was only in the last decade that such matters had begun to receive more public attention.
The improvement of roads and the better comfort of carriages had a lot to do with it, since it was much more pleasant now to travel greater distances than it had been a generation ago.
After all, here she was far away from London, on the South coast, an area ripe with conditions that offered the very best and most prolific fossil sites. She was starting to understand the importance of limestone and how creatures were so well preserved, even after many millions of years. And she also learned that the deposits in this portion of England, the cliffs along the English Channel, the land around Lyme Regis…in fact most of the Dorset coastline…all presented a unique concatenation that brought tears of joy to the eyes of scientists and historians everywhere.
Lydia read on, frowning at some of the outrageously complex terminology, but ever-fascinated by each careful illustration of a different kind of fossil.
Colly’s library hosted many volumes that spoke directly to the history of the area, so she found herself also delving into stories linking the sea and the land, tales of pirates and privateers, revenue officers and smugglers.
The morning had almost gone when a tap on the door alerted her to the presence of a maid.
“Excuse me, miss,” the girl curtseyed. “You have a visitor. He’s in the morning room.”
Blinking, and dragging her mind back to the current year, Lydia unfolded herself from the chair and shook out her skirts. “A visitor? I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“A gentleman, miss.” The girl blushed. “Ever so handsome too, if you’ll forgive the observation.”
“Well well,” smiled Lydia. “Then I must make haste to meet my ever so handsome visitor.” She nodded at the maid who held the door for her as she walked away from the library. Not having a clue who this gentleman might be, she entered the morning room filled with curiosity.
And there, smiling, every bit as handsome as the maid had promised, was Sir Anthony Calder.
For a few moments, Lydia gaped at her unexpected guest, then she recovered enough to hold out her hand. “Uh…good day to you, Sir Anthony. This is a surprise.”
He smiled at her, all teeth and warmth and charm. “A welcome one I trust? Since honesty compels me to confess I cannot stay away from your side, dearest Lydia.”
She stared, confused. “You came all the way down from London to see me?”
“Of course. Could you doubt it? Does it not prove my constancy? The depth of my affections?” He neared her, his eyes fixed on her face.
“I thought this matter closed, Anthony,” she murmured. “After our last encounter.”
He shook his head. “Once a man has tasted your lips, dear Lydia, no other will do. You have enslaved me. I find myself thinking of you constantly.”
To her utter shock, he dropped to one knee in front of her and seized her hand. “I have to speak, dearest, to tell you of the extraordinary sensations you have aroused in my heart…”
He took a breath.
But before he could continue, there was a loud crash in the hall outside, followed by a muted shriek and a babble of voices.
Sir Anthony leapt to his feet with a frown. “What the devil…?”
Mowbray, thought Lydia. God bless you.
The man himself strolled in, straightening his cuffs and looking a bit self-conscious. “Damned rug. But I have to say that Colly’s maids have good reflexes. Only lost two sherry glasses.”
“Oh Mowbray,” she sighed, torn between relief and amusement.
“Could have been a lot worse. The decanter was half full.” He appeared to notice Sir Anthony for the first time. “Good heavens. Calder. What are you doing down this way?”
“Linfield.” Sir Anthony gave a tiny bow. “I am here to visit Miss Davenport.”
“Are you? Well, you must get out and about while you’re here. Lots of things to see, right, Lydia?” Mowbray strolled to the window. “Perhaps get in a bit of sailing? If you like, I can speak to Sir Ronan O’Malley. He’s staying here and has a delightful yacht…”
“We have quite a party,” added Lydia. “His Grace has been most kind in inviting us, and it is a glorious spot.”
“You putting up in Minton Barrow, then, Calder?”
Lydia opened her mouth, then closed it. It wasn’t like Mowbray to play the Society Buck, either in dress or attitude. But at this moment he was certainly displaying the latter.
“Actually no, I’m here at the invitation of Will Furness. He and I are old friends. The Stauntons are kindly hosting me, along with Will and some other chaps.”
“Aren’t they a lovely couple?” Lydia thought her prattle would choke her, but telling the man bluntly to get himself gone from Maiden Shore was unfortunately out of the question.
“Most charming and gracious,” Sir Anthony acknowledged.
A silence fell that grew to ten seconds away from awkward, but fortunately Ivy chose that moment to bustle in.
“Goodness. A guest. And nobody told me.” She sighed. “My apologies, sir. I am…”
“Your Grace,” Sir Anthony bowed deeply. “Your beauty needs no introduction, Ma’am.”
“That’s as may be,” she snorted. “Unfortunately yours does. Have we met before?”
Lydia saw his lips twitch and awarded him a point or two for resisting Ivy’s newly developed sharp tongue.
“I am Calder, Ma’am. Anthony Calder. And we may not have met formally, but I have been among those yearning from afar, and mourning when we learned you had been snapped up by His Grace.”
“Pshaw,” Ivy would have none of it. “Pretty talk, indeed.” She seated herself, indicating her intention of remaining. “So you are here vis
iting Lydia?”
“I was unaware Sir Anthony was in the neighbourhood, Ivy. His appearance comes as a surprise.” She gave him a slight frown.
“I must apologise to you both,” he said, conveying such sentiments with a look of repentance on his handsome face. “My desire to see Miss Davenport once again overrode my commonsense, and I presented myself here this morning without observing the civilities. But knowing she was here, I could not stay away.”
“Ah.” Ivy slipped into what Lydia was coming to call her Duchess-persona. “Well that is quite charming, I must say.”
For a young woman, not married very long, and previously content to stay well hidden in the background, Ivy was certainly maturing into an impressive member of the upper ten thousand.
Uncertain now, Sir Anthony glanced around, and saw no other course open to him. “Well if you will forgive me, your Grace, I shall take my leave.”
“Of course,” Ivy nodded. “I’m sure Lydia has been delighted to see you once more. And if, as I surmise, you are staying at the Staunton’s, we will encounter you again, without a doubt.” Her regal and polished smile would have done justice to an aged member of the Prince Regent’s august family, and it left Sir Anthony with no other option.
“Then I wish you good day, your Grace. Miss Davenport.” He bowed low. “Mr Linfield.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Mowbray give a stiff nod, and wondered at it.
But in the fuss of Calder’s leave-taking, Woodleigh arriving with his hat and the last farewells, she let the thought slide.
Until the front door closed, and she sagged back onto the nearest seat—the corner of a large sofa. “Dear Lord.”
“Lydia, what on earth…” Ivy stared at her, eyebrows raised.
“A suitor, I believe, Ivy.” Mowbray’s words were blunt. “And apparently on the verge of offering for Lydia’s hand.” He moved to the back of the sofa and rested his hand briefly on her shoulder. “I trust my arrival wasn’t…um…an annoyance?”
