The Lord's Persuasion of Lady Lydia

by Raven McAllan

  How well she summed his heir up. Plus, Melissa Daubney was an heiress. Interesting.

  ‘Yes, that Jeremy. My heir. He insisted to me you will marry him.’

  ‘You what?’ She looked aghast. ‘Oh good grief; what a load of rubbish.’

  ‘Thankfully he will not be around much longer. Oh, not in any underhand manner,’ he said swiftly as her eyes widened. ‘I will ensure he does not annoy you any more. The young idiot told me he was going to marry you, even before he’d spoken to you, and again after he had.’

  Lydia made a noise somewhere between a muted scream and a strangling sound.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Harry was swift to reassure her. ‘I will disabuse him of the idea. He’ll soon think of someone or something else. Sadly, he’s not known for an excess of intelligence.’

  ‘Thank you for that character assassination,’ Lydia said tartly. ‘It’s reassuring to discover what you truly think.’

  ‘Eh?’ Harry thought back over what he’d just said. ‘Oh lord, I wasn’t saying him wanting you showed his unintelligence. That’s probably one of the few sensible ideas he’s ever had. But he is not having you.’ He paused. ‘I am.’

  To his amusement she growled as she shook her head. ‘Do not start that again. Rubbish, all of it. How on earth the idiot decided I was the one for him, I have no idea. I pity you, my lord, to have such a numbskull as an heir. And as for your delusions… words fail me. Lord, I pity your descendants.’

  ‘Then marry me and save the earldom,’ Harry said with a grin, pleased at her unconsciously tart and smart rejoinder. ‘See? A perfect way out to save everyone’s reputation. You can redeem us.’

  Lydia laughed, the first genuine laugh, he decided, he had heard from her that evening, and waggled her finger at him.

  ‘Oh no, you will not get me that way. If you think you will have me, you’re as much an idiot as he is. And you do not want to marry and you know it. Stop toying with me.’

  Harry raised one eyebrow. Usually that gesture would reduce a female companion to simper or blush. Not this one. ‘Then what way will I get you?’

  Her eyes widened at the unintended innuendo, and the pulse in her neck beat erratically. ‘No way at all. Don’t even bother to try. You will not succeed.’

  ‘As I said earlier,’ Harry replied pleasantly, enjoying the repartee, and quick-fire ripostes she gave him. ‘We best just be bedded not wedded. Shall we wager on it?’

  ****

  The following morning, Harry swore long and loud. At an unholy hour he was visited by Jeremy. Once more the younger man was in full-on moaning mode. Harry listened for all of thirty seconds and put his hand in the air.

  ‘Stop right now. Lord, Jeremy, for the last time, listen and listen well. You tell me you are an adult. Bloody well act like one,’ he said forcefully. ‘Until then, I will do nothing to help you.’ Harry wondered how soon he could have a drink. Was nine o’clock in the morning considered to be too early for the first of the day, or could he pretend it was the last drink of the night before? ‘If you think by running through your allowance in half the time it is supposed to last you will show me you are mature enough to marry, you are sadly mistaken. And Lydia Field wouldn’t do for you. She wouldn’t put up with your extravagances for a start. Nor…’ He held his hand up, wishing he could just use it to grab Jeremy by the neck of his jacket, and throw him out. ‘Nor would you have her money to spend. It is,’ he improvised rapidly, ‘only hers until she marries. Then her dowry is all she has.’ Dare he try to intimate that was meagre? Perhaps not yet.

  Lord, he was spouting rubbish. Would Jeremy realise? Anything not entailed would surely go to her when her papa died. As for her godmother’s legacy? ‘Her godmother held no truck with marriage, so decreed that the money she left to Lydia would go to a home for cats if Lydia marries.’ That much was true; he had discovered that himself, and it delighted him.

  ‘I want to marry her, though, so she will marry me, she will.’ Jeremy stamped his foot petulantly, but there was a degree of calculation in his actions that put Harry on high alert. ‘I’m sure the cats is a tale put about to, forestall fortune seekers.’

  There had to be more to this. ‘It isn’t, but feel free to think so. Are you in love with her?’ he snapped.

  As he hoped, the question took Jeremy unawares and he answered without thought.

  ‘Of course not, but… Oh.’ Jeremy shut his mouth and firmed his lips. ‘I am very fond of her and love will grow. I need you to help me persuade Mama that I am old enough to know my own mind and to let me wed. We will manage if I have control of my fortune. I want her, and by God I will have her. Nothing can stop me, you know. Her family will not want any scandal to be bandied about.’

  ‘Scandal? What scandal?’ Was he about to discover the real reasons for all this playacting? For as time went on, Harry became more certain that all Jeremy’s posturing was put on for a reason he, Harry, was not yet privy to.

  ‘Oh, I’m not telling you,’ Jeremy scoffed. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

  Do not answer, do not answer.

  ‘It is for me to know, not you. I’ll have her as my wife.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Harry shook his head and wished he hadn’t as a pounding headache began to make its presence known. He squinted at the table beside him and deliberated briefly. ‘Not going to happen and neither is me saying you should handle your fortune. You would run through it in no time and I would not bail you out.’

  ‘You’d have to – I am your heir,’ Jeremy said triumphantly.

  Hell and damnation, needs must. Harry picked up a glass and poured himself a brandy. He didn’t offer Jeremy one. Jeremy wouldn’t know a bad brandy from a pipe from the earldom’s cellars, which was of the highest quality. His mind raced. He would have to consider marriage, if for no other reason than to begat an heir and move Jeremy one place further down the succession. Damn, if only he had time to think.

  ****

  ‘Say that again? Slowly.’ Lydia leaned against a tree in the park and scowled as her maid moved forward, and then moved back a little, out of hearing distance. ‘Facing away from anyone who might be able to read your lips.’

  ‘I said why not marry me if being bedded before you are wedded bothers you.’

  That’s what I thought you said,’ Lydia said slowly, as she did her best to ignore the enthusiastic leap of her heart. ‘Why this sudden change of heart?’

  ‘Who says it is sudden?’ he parried, as he stood sideways on to her. Far enough away to preserve the niceties, but close enough so no one could hear what he was saying. ‘I need to marry, you need to marry, so why not marry each other?’

  ‘Because I do not wish to be wed. I want to retire to the country and be happy.’ But his words gave her a pang of something she didn’t understand. Surely that was not what she wanted? Of course it wasn’t.

  ‘Look, we cannot talk about it now,’ Harry said rapidly. ‘Where can we be private?’

  She stared at him, and irrelevantly noted the amber flecks in his eyes. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘Lydia, we have to; it is imperative you hear me out.’

  ‘To you maybe, but not to me,’ she said flatly. ‘Now I best go home.’

  He ran his hands through his hair in an exasperated movement that made her aware of the play of his muscles. ‘Please, at least let me meet you and explain, then if you want to slap my face, so be it.’

  She studied him for a second. He seemed sincere, but… Lydia made her mind up. ‘Do you know how to enter my parents’ back garden from the mews? Fourth gate down. Just through it to the left is an old summerhouse. I will be there at midnight. It cannot be seen from the house and that gate is not normally used. The servants use one directly into the yard and my parents would never think to enter or exit that way. Meet me in it.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’ He bowed very politely. ‘Your servant, Lady Lydia.’ Harry turned on his heel and strode off down the park.

  ‘He cuts a fine figure,’ Millie, her ma
id, said wistfully. ‘You could do worse, you know.’

  ‘You heard?’

  ‘Only a bit,’ Millie said. ‘Then he turned and I put my hands over my ears.’

  ‘You know it is not what I want,’ Lydia said slowly as they followed the path in the direction Harry had gone. ‘It is not for me.’

  ‘So you say, but you will hear him out, won’t you?’ Millie asked anxiously. ‘At least have the decency to do that.’

  ‘Do I have any other option?’ Damn, she sounded like a shrew. ‘I’m sorry, but it is not easy.’

  ‘Nothing is, and no, you do not have another option, not really,’ Millie said sympathetically. ‘Remember, though – listening and agreeing are two different things entirely.’

  ‘True.’

  By midnight she was a bundle of nerves. Her parents were out at their separate entertainments and she had returned home an hour earlier, citing a headache for cutting short the musical evening she had attended. Millie had helped her change into a pretty day gown of figured linen and she wrapped a cloak around her. Even though the summerhouse couldn’t be seen from the house, if anyone happened to look out, her pale dress would show as she walked across the lawns.

  With the cloak wrapped tightly around her and its hood up, Lydia was confident she would remain unseen. At ten minutes to twelve she put the carafe of wine and two glasses she had carried with her down on the ancient table and sat on one end of the elderly chaise. Luckily Millie had been able to sneak out and make sure there were not too many cobwebs or a plethora of dust.

  Unable to sit still, Lydia stood up and paced the tiny room. Four strides across from one wall to the other and perhaps three between the other two. Much too small to pace satisfactorily. It was probably as well that on her third crossing the door opened and Harry entered, and closed the door behind him softly. ‘Are you working off energy or building up to annoyance?’ he asked as he leaned on the door and watched her. ‘Do I need to cover my cock or duck?’

  ‘Your… good God, are we talking farmyards?’ She giggled. ‘Neither. I will now ask you to pour the wine, and then I will sit primly to listen to your absurd idea. After which I can tell you no thank you, and we can finish the wine amicably.’

  He smiled. ‘No farmyards, I promise.’ He waited until she sat down and then indicated the wine. ‘Shall I?’

  She nodded, took the glass he proffered and murmured her thanks. Then she cleared her throat. ‘So what do you want to say?’

  ****

  Harry glared at the contents of his glass as if it were responsible for this morning’s trials and tribulations, and aching head. Not an excess of inferior alcohol the night before, once he’d left Lydia.

  Had he really wagered they would be wed by the end of the season? Wagered that if they were not, he would never bother her again, and if they were, she could live alone wherever she chose, once she had delivered him an heir?

  And had she or had she not, to his amazement, agreed? No wonder he’d got drunk. Such a turn up for the books would drive anyone to drink. Now he needed to sober up and plot.

  Instead he was rudely awakened before nine by this ridiculously early visit from his heir demanding Harry aid him. Even without his knowledge of the previous night’s challenge and acceptance, Harry would have declined. ‘Don’t bring me into it. You’re over twenty-one, take charge of your life.’ He sipped the fiery liquid, somehow certain he was going to need it. ‘Prove to me you are capable of managing your affairs and I’ll be glad to be rid of you.’

  ‘But why won’t you help me?’ Jeremy whined, standing up and running his hands through his hair. ‘You’re one of my trustees. Tell Mama you’re happy to let me take charge of my fortune.’

  Ah ha, now they were getting to the bottom of it. To his disgust, Harry, along with Jeremy’s mama, held the purse strings until Jeremy married – with their approval – or became thirty. They both knew if Harry said it was time to hand the management of his fortune over to Jeremy, she would agree. However, in all honesty, he didn’t feel able to. A few days earlier he would have added the proviso, not until Jeremy gave proof of his ability, and his maturity. Something he hadn’t yet done, and this meeting didn’t show any indication of it happening in the near future. Now he was sure there were other things in the equation, and he needed to discover what they were. ‘Grow up,’ Harry advised his heir acerbically, and bit back the questions he needed answers to. Jeremy wasn’t going to furnish the replies, so he wouldn’t alert the younger man to his investigations. ‘Tell me why it has to be so. At the moment I can see no evidence of the need to do as you so childishly demand. Explain your reasons and perhaps then I can have an informed opinion.’ A nasty itch up his spine gave him an inkling he wouldn’t like the answer. He was correct – he didn’t.

  ‘Because I want it,’ Jeremy said sulkily. ‘That is enough, surely? I want to marry her.’ Once more Harry thought the sulkiness didn’t ring true. Sulky might often feature in Jeremy’s repertoire of moods, but at this time it seemed false. As if he were trying to portray a mood that he clearly was not in.

  ‘I want her.’ Jeremy reiterated.

  Over my dead body, if you still hanker after my wife-to-be.

  ‘Not Lydia Field, she is spoken for,’ Harry said with finality. ‘Find someone your own weight.’

  Jeremy’s mouth dropped open, and he looked all of sixteen. That expression rang true. ‘How do you know?’

  Harry smiled grimly. ‘I made it my business to know.’

  Jeremy glared at him and pushed the toe of his boot into the deep pile of the fireside rug. ‘Well, why haven’t I heard about it?’ He looked around moodily and stared at Harry’s half-full glass. ‘I don’t believe you, you’re just not being nice.’

  Nice? Good grief, what next? He’ll throw his toy soldier into the fire and say I did it?

  ‘I’m not required to be nice, as you put it,’ Harry said with more patience than he believed possible in the circumstances. ‘Just honest and to have your best interests at heart. Which, contrary to your opinion of me, I do.’ Harry took a long swig of brandy and let the smooth, warming spirit slide effortlessly down his throat. He needed the kick it gave him. It was that or he’d be the one to do the kicking.

  ‘Can I have some of that?’ Jeremy pointed to the decanter. ‘You didn’t offer like a good host should.’

  ‘I’m not a good host; I’m an unwilling one. There is a difference.’ Harry took a less generous mouthful, swallowed and returned the look steadily. ‘Do you even know what it is?’

  His heir shrugged and dug the toe of one boot into the carpet. Harry mentally shook his head. This was a man who said he was adult enough to take charge of his wealth, but sulked like a scrubby schoolboy. Oh dear. Harry was under no illusions. He would be a terrible guardian if he let Jeremy have his own way, whatever the younger man’s reasons.

  ‘Oh, never mind,’ Jeremy said in a voice that even an eleven-year-old would be embarrassed to use, let alone a person who was allegedly a man. His expression didn’t match the schoolboy look; it was calculating, malevolent even. A slither of worry slipped down Harry’s spine. What was Jeremy up to?

  ‘Just tell me this. How do you know Lydia is taken? Who by? I haven’t heard anything.’

  ‘I made it my business to find out.’ This was one occasion when Harry decided it was best to be very economical with the truth. ‘It is not well known, but it is a fact. Look elsewhere and go for someone who will shake you up and make you grow up.’

  Jeremy pouted. Harry stifled the urge to roll his eyes. What next? Would Jeremy stamp his feet or throw himself to the ground and drum his heels and fists on the floor like a toddler?

  ‘It’s not fair. She is everything I want in a woman,’ Jeremy replied. ‘Everything.’

  Harry started to laugh. ‘Like what?’

  Jeremy blinked. ‘Like…’ He rolled his eyes and looked around the room as if for inspiration. ‘A woman.’

  ‘A woman? Good lord, if that is your
only criteria for a wife, go into Almack’s and grab anyone,’ Harry replied testily. ‘I happen to know there are several heiresses on the prowl. Not exactly of the first water, I grant you, but you seem not to mind what they look like as long as they are female. Hell, Jeremy, at least find someone who would be remotely compatible.’ Good grief, his heir was not a man, but a spineless creature. Thank the lord he hopefully wouldn’t be the heir for ever. That knotty question of a wife was becoming ever more real. He wouldn’t hand over the responsibilities before he had to, but once he did, Harry decided, Jeremy could do what he liked and Harry wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him.

  Jeremy clenched his fist together. ‘She will be. She’s kind, gentle and… and well? Do you not see how perfect she is?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Harry began to enjoy himself. ‘Not for you, at any rate.’

  ‘So you are saying you won’t help me?’

  Does he need it spelling out?

  Harry shook his head in sorrow. ‘Exactly. Jeremy, I’ve said no. Apart from the fact she is betrothed, she is five years older than you.’ Since when had he been able to sprout such nonsense with a straight face? ‘Seriously, do you see your mama countenancing such a thing? No, no and no. You at least need someone to rein in your excesses.’ Although, in that case, maybe an older woman would be the thing? Just not this particular older woman.

  ‘You are not being kind,’ Jeremy said mulishly, as he ignored the comment about his excesses. ‘I don’t see why you say you will not champion us. Just because you are a misogynist, I don’t have to be. And somehow I will marry her.’ He didn’t say ‘so there’ but his tone inferred it. ‘I’m not like you with no regard for women.’

  He scowled and pointed one finger at Harry, who chose to ignore the rude gesture. All he wanted was for this interview to be over, not prolonged.

  ‘How do you know all this, anyway?’ Jeremy asked. ‘Why do you always seem to know everything?’ ‘And me nothing,’ his tone inferred.