by Sahara Kelly
He wanted to make a home with her, to laugh through the years, to hold one another through tears and difficulties and celebrate the triumphs.
He wanted to ask her to be his wife.
Such a straightforward question, but his thoughts were troubled as he watched her.
“Mowbray. Charades. You’re on my team,” laughed Prudence, interrupting his internal conversation.
He blinked, then nodded. “Oh dear. You’ll regret it,” he winced.
“Not at all. I’m sure you’ll be outstanding,” she replied.
He wasn’t, of course, but it passed the time. With such a friendly and close-knit group, there was no chance of catching Lydia alone and the evening wound down far too slowly for his liking. He finally bid the others goodnight, torn between a mixture of frustration, anger and nerves.
Not the best state of mind for what he planned, but he simply couldn’t wait any longer. He couldn’t lie with her, take her into his arms, make love to her, without settling matters between them.
“Lydia, a moment please?” He touched her arm as the others left.
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Can we take the air? It is quite stuffy in here.” He led her to the French windows and opened one, letting her pass through ahead of him.
“It’s not very much better out here,” she said on a sigh. “The air seems very thick and heavy this evening. Ronan’s storm is coming, I suppose.”
“Probably.” He did not want to review the weather or the predictions of an Irishman.
“Lydia,” he began. “There’s something I need to ask you. Matters we need to discuss.”
She turned to him. “Hmm. Let me hazard a guess as to these matters.”
He blinked.
“I know you for a gentleman possessed of a high degree of honour. Thus I will assume that your conscience is troubling you, is it not? Let me reassure you. I enjoy our nights together, and I know you are well aware of that fact. But I have no claims on you, no matter our relationship.”
“Of course you have claims on me,” he said, frowning. “We have been intimate. That circumstance establishes a different set of behaviours.”
It was her turn to frown. “Why?”
“Because…” He struggled. “Because we have shared a bed, Lydia.” He leaned closer. “Because you gave me your virginity, dammit.” His voice was a low whisper.
“Yes, and that was my decision. I chose to do so, Mowbray.” She lifted her chin. “I shared that with you, and I shall never regret it. But that act does not change our friendship or who we are.”
“I understand that.” He took a breath. “But I’ve heard there is gossip. Stonewood has apparently been stirring the pot with whispers about us and it has reached London.”
She raised her chin. “That was quick.”
He nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t care about it...”
“Neither do I,” she interrupted. “We are who we are. What we do is nobody’s business. I am still me and you are still you.”
“Well yes. Of course. No wait…you’re not making any sense.”
“Yes I am. We are lovers. I am happy this is so. I hope you are as well. But to talk of claims, or different behaviours, no. We are both free to do as we please. I am free to do as I please with you and of course the same applies to you, regardless of what narrow minded busybodies have to say about it.”
Mowbray walked away, trying to understand and fight the temper that was beginning to burn inside him. Didn’t she care?
He turned back. “Lydia, being lovers is no trivial thing. You know full well that it is scandalous in our world, and would shock everyone should they find out the truth, not to mention ruin your reputation. I would not have you suffer those indignities. You would be shunned, and you know it. So the best thing for you to do is marry me and be done with it.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he had just committed a massive blunder.
Her face blanked. He could detect no expression whatsoever in the dim light, but what he could see in her eyes chilled him to the bone.
“A valid point, Mowbray. So in order to save my reputation and avoid shocking the Ton, you wish to marry me.”
“No. Yes. No, that’s not what I—”
“You would be saving me from disgrace should word of our affair become common knowledge rather than whispered rumours. Very gentlemanly and self-sacrificing of you to offer.” She moved to the door and put her hand on the jamb. “You seem to have forgotten, however, that I do not subscribe to the usual category of unwed women. I am, as I said many weeks ago to Lady Susan, free to choose the man I will wed. I will not become a wife simply because I chose to bed him, and now he thinks marriage my only recourse. I will not give up that freedom of choice, Mowbray.”
Speechless, terrified down to his very soul, he stared at her.
She stepped back inside and gave him a last pitying look. “There’s one other thing you’ve not mentioned at all.” She shook her head. “‘Tis a shame, for it would have changed everything.”
“But…” He stuttered. “You haven’t given me chance…Lydia…”
It was too late. She’d hurried across the room and vanished from his sight while he was still struggling to grasp her words.
Half of him wanted to rush after her, grab her and make her understand how much he loved her. How desperate he was to marry her and spend the rest of his days with her.
Why the hell hadn’t he said any of that? Why had one sentence turned her into a frozen block of ice, refusing to hear him explain himself? And why had he let her go without demanding she listen?
Where had it all gone so terribly wrong?
Maybe he should go to her. Pound on her door and demand she let him in so they could settle matters between them.
He dismissed that idea out of hand, since it would result in exactly what she didn’t want. A necessary engagement and marriage occasioned by the rest of the Maiden Shore household turning out to see him make a fool of himself in front of her bedroom.
And what the devil was all that talk about freedom? About choice? When had he ever interfered with either as far as she was concerned? She had made her own choice to take him as a lover, and he’d enthusiastically agreed because of his feelings for her. But was a casual affair all it was to her?
His heart sank.
Perhaps he’d been a diversion. A summer adventure that introduced her to the pleasures of lovemaking, only to be set aside at the end of the holiday. He couldn’t believe she was that callous, but her words could be interpreted that way.
He groaned and leaned against the edge of the terrace, staring out into the darkness. He’d made a serious blunder. Not tripping or breaking anything this time, but possibly ruining his relationship with the only woman he would ever love.
Finally he returned to the room and locked the window, striding out into the hall and heading for the stairs.
“Goodnight, Mr Linfield.” Woodleigh dipped his head as he snuffed candles.
“Goodnight,” lied Mowbray.
This was not a good night. Not a good night at all.
*~~*~~*
Lydia awoke with a headache.
She guessed it was the result of the hearty bout of tears she’d indulged in, which had lasted several hours and left her exhausted and miserable.
The man she had fallen so much in love with, didn’t love her back. He had offered to marry her to save her reputation. And it hadn’t even been an offer, just a declaration of what had to be done under the circumstances.
As if she were some hapless heroine in a Fanny Burney novel, desperate for redemption.
God, how stupid had she been?
She had truly believed there might be something in his eyes when he touched her, some warmth, some deeper affection. But the look in his eyes when he’d told her he had something to discuss with her…well, she’d seen such seriousness there, such intense emotions.
She’d controll
ed her own sentiments, knowing that he would most likely tell her they could not continue to sleep together. He might be as engaged as she, but his honour was doubtless sticking pins in him the minute they parted.
The surprisingly heated erotic nature of their passions had seduced them both, and she had come to him with a heart already engaged, open, willing. He’d climbed inside it and made himself comfortable.
But it appeared that he was ready to wed her for one simple reason only. He was an honourable gentleman and knew an offer of marriage would have to be forthcoming after their lovemaking.
That thought crippled her, and she turned over, pulling the quilt up around her ears, trying not to start crying all over again. She didn’t care about marriage. She cared about love.
Usually, Lydia was a practical woman. On that level, she couldn’t argue with him. Yes, she had shared his bed, a circumstance which was indeed violating all the rules of Society for an unwed lady of rank. But she had neither mentioned nor sought an offer of marriage.
She had looked for his love and thought she’d found it. Instead, she’d found his honour and his sense of responsibility. Neither were to be dismissed lightly, but they weren’t what she wanted.
What she needed.
Trying to shake herself out of the megrims, she pushed back the covers and stood. The day would have to be faced and damned if she’d do it growing in useless tears.
At that moment the maid tapped on the door, and with a cup of tea and her nurturing attentions, Lydia managed to be dressed and ready quite early.
She glanced from the window. The sky was gloomy, clouds wrestling with each other, and a sea that looked like molten steel.
It wasn’t raining though, so perhaps the storm had missed Maiden Shore.
Wryly, Lydia wished her own personal storm hadn’t hit so hard last night.
She sighed. It would be difficult to face Mowbray this morning. Difficult to face any of her friends when it came right down to it. She caught sight of her canvas bag in the corner of her room. The one that held her chisel and hammer and other odds and ends for fossil hunting.
Why not?
Why not take the bag, put on her sturdy boots and a cloak, and walk to the cove? She was fairly confident she could access it now, thanks to the cliff fall…and it might be her only chance.
Better a good solid walk and some time finding a fossil, than moping around the house trying to avoid Mowbray and everyone else.
Pretending to be her usual cheerful self seemed like an impossible task at this moment, and that thought decided her.
Slipping out of the soft shoes her maid had put out for her, she crossed to her cupboard and dragged out the muddy boots she’d used for long walks, and put them on. Her gown was plain, and in the casual style she preferred for comfort and for the warmer weather.
In the back of the cupboard was her cloak. It was lightweight, but a tight wool weave, and should there be rain, it would give her a measure of protection.
An old bonnet completed her toilette and she threw the cloak over her arm after knotting the ribbons of her bonnet under her chin.
This was such a good idea. It was exactly what she needed to take her mind off Mowbray and might help to assuage some of the pain that darted through her whenever she thought of him.
Heading downstairs, Woodleigh looked up in surprise.
“Good morning, Miss Davenport. You’re up early, and planning a little jaunt, I see?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Good morning, Woodleigh. Indeed, yes. I am bound and determined to retrieve the other half of my fossil, and I think today’s the day to do it.” She managed a warm smile.
“Are you sure? The weather may turn, you know…”
“Oh it’s not that far,” she waved a hand airily. “And I’m sure I’ll be back before it rains. Don’t worry, Woodleigh.”
“I can’t help it, Miss. Butlers have to worry, since oftentimes those who should don’t.” He shot her a pointed glance.
She nodded. “I understand. I shall be very careful, I assure you.”
He sighed. “That will have to do, I suppose. Unless I can talk you out of this expedition, or at least have you wait until someone can accompany you? A footman perhaps?”
“You are so kind, but I won’t hear of it. I’ll be quite happy with my brisk walk and my fossil, when I find it.”
He took her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Very well, then. We shall look forward to seeing this treasure of yours.”
“I’ll make sure you do.”
And Lydia walked away from Maiden Shore into a rather murky morning, hoping she’d left most of her troubles behind her for at least an hour or two.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Someone else awoke with a headache an hour or two later than Lydia.
However, Mowbray’s pain didn’t come from a night spent in tears, but from the rather large amounts of brandy he’d indulged in when he reached his room.
Knowing sleep would be denied him, he did something he rarely did, and rang the bell, asking the footman who arrived for a decanter.
It arrived in moments, and from then on, Mowbray sat on one of the comfortable chairs he’d pulled near the window and proceeded to get quite drunk.
Not that it took more than a couple of glasses, since he was not known for having what might be called a hard head when it came to liquor, but he had enough to make him drowsy and dull the ache in his heart.
And more than enough for him to sleep.
To his surprise it was at least two hours past breakfast time when he cocked a sleepy eyelid at the clock on the bureau.
After preparing himself for the day, he walked carefully downstairs, hoping the headache was only temporary.
He wasn’t surprised to find the others almost at the end of their morning meal.
“Well, another sleepyhead,” chided Ivy. “I hope you’re not too hungry, Mowbray, since my husband polished off the bacon single handedly.”
Colly managed a look of contrition. “It was very good bacon,” he answered apologetically.
“No, no,” Mowbray waved his hand and took a breath as his stomach moved unpleasantly. “Really. A cup of tea is just the thing.”
Miles stared at his brother. “A little bird tells me you indulged in a decanter last night, lad. You’ve no head for it, you know.”
Mowbray sat and carefully raised a cup of tea to his lips, took a sip, and put it back down, nodding thanks to the footman who had served him. “Don’t remind me, Miles. But it was really lovely brandy.” He glanced at the Duke. “And probably a valuable vintage.”
“I like to think I’m a connoisseur when it comes to my brandy,” he answered. “So I hope you’ll enjoy the ones here.”
“I did.” Mowbray laughed ruefully. “A little too much. But I will confess to sleeping like a log which is always good, even if you wake up feeling like one between the ears.”
At that point, Ronan strolled in with a yawn, glanced around and nodded at the busy footman. “Tea, lad. Thanks.” He took a seat next to Mowbray. “Glad I’m not last down, but I had the devil’s own time falling asleep.”
Rose grinned. “There is a theme here, I’m sensing.”
“What? You all had the same problem?” Ronan’s eyebrows rose.
“Not at all, sir,” Prudence touched her napkin to her lips. “Only those of us appearing later than usual have mentioned difficulty sleeping. Some…” She deliberately turned her gaze to Mowbray, “resorted to the bottle to attain their rest.” She snickered. “And are paying for it now.”
Ronan leaned back and looked at Mowbray. “Only one thing for it, lad. You’ll need my Ma’s instant restorative.”
Mowbray held up his hand, palm first. “No. Thank you so much for whatever it might be, but just…no. A cup of tea is all that’s required at the moment.”
Ronan sighed. “Your loss then.” He glanced at Ivy. “Remind me to write it down for you before we go home, Ivy. Keep it handy for those par
ties that get too hearty for lads like young Mowbray here.”
The slap on the shoulder that came with that comment nearly made Mowbray’s teeth rattle, but he clung to his sanity and merely nodded.
“Lady Maud and Sir Laurie are breakfasting in their room,” grinned Rose. “I don’t believe any decanters are involved, but with them you never know.”
“Well,” observed Colly, folding his napkin. “We’re still one shy of our total. Has Lydia already breakfasted?”
Mowbray frowned and looked around. He’d assumed she would be here, but hadn’t been ready to catch her eye until he’d got a cup of tea inside him to settle his innards.
Her chair was empty.
“That’s odd,” said Ivy. “But maybe she’s just sleeping late. There certainly isn’t any sunshine to wake us up.”
They all glanced out of the window as it rattled in a sudden gust of wind.
Woodleigh entered, bearing an additional tray. “More bacon, your Grace. Just in case.”
“Have I given you an increase in your pay lately, Woodleigh?”
“No, your Grace. Not since the last time you mentioned it, which I believe was also over a plate of bacon.”
“I must do something about that.” Colly took several crisp rashers and put them on his plate, munching one with great delight.
“Woodleigh,” said Ivy, “Have you seen Miss Lydia this morning? She’s usually down by now.”
“Indeed I have, your Grace,” he frowned. “She was up very early today and left just after eight o’clock.”
“Left? Where did she go?”
Everyone stared at Woodleigh as Ivy asked what they were all thinking.
He cleared his throat. “She informed me that she would be looking for a certain fossil, your Grace. She believed the rain would hold off and felt a walk would do her good.” He sighed. “Her words, Ma’am. I did take it upon myself to point out the likelihood of rain, but she seemed unconcerned and set off anyway. Refusing, I might add, my offer of a footman to accompany her.”
“Lord, that would have been almost two hours ago,” Miles frowned at the clock.
