The Lord's Persuasion of Lady Lydia

by Raven McAllan

  ‘I best come in,’ he said levelly. ‘To reassure your parents all is well.’

  About what? ‘You had best not.’ She curtsied very elegantly. ‘As all is not well. Thank you for such an interesting ride, my lord.’ Before he had time to answer, she gathered up the train of her habit and swept into the house. His gaze bored into her skull.

  Now what?

  Chapter Nine

  Her mama pounced as the door shut behind Lydia and grabbed her arm

  ‘Where is he?’ the Countess hissed under her breath and looked about the hall as if Harry could be hiding behind a chair.

  ‘Gone.’ Lydia did not pretend to misunderstand. ‘Excuse me, I smell of horse, I need to wash and change.’ And think what to say that will not upset you too much.

  ‘Never mind that,’ her mama said impatiently. ‘His lordship knows he has to come in and agree the wording of the notice to the papers. Where is he?’

  ‘Really?’ Lydia threw her gloves onto a console table and addressed her mama’s first question, even though she knew the answer. ‘What notice?’

  ‘Lydia, please do not be hen-witted,’ her mother said exasperatedly. ‘You know what notice. The one to be put into the newspaper, with details of your betrothal. People will be so envious. I have had so much trouble not telling everyone of your good fortune. Fancy my daughter married to Lord Birnham. Eloise Merryweather was green with envy when I dropped a teeny hint. Her Jane only managed an honourable.’

  Lydia groaned. ‘Mama, just what have you said and to whom?’ Was the nightmare never to end?

  Her mama blushed. ‘Nothing really and no one exactly.’ She didn’t meet Lydia’s eyes.

  ‘Mama, what does exactly mean?’ Lydia hardened her tone. When her mama acted in this way, it meant she had done something reprehensible and was now trying to wriggle out of it. ‘Precisely what have you done?’

  ‘Just the veritable hint to my closest friends, dearest. Nothing exactly said, you know. But sometimes Mary Egglesham is so insufferable about her brother’s wife’s connections. I silenced her,’ the Countess said, her tone a mixture of malicious glee and satisfaction.

  Lydia swore she heard her heart drop into her stomach and churn it up. Oh lord, what next? ‘Who else was there?’ She hardly dared ask the question for fear of the answer.

  ‘Why, as I said, just my closest friends, my love,’ the Countess said with an insouciance Lydia was sure she didn’t really feel. Not now it was obvious Lydia’s lack of enthusiasm was showing so clearly. ‘You know who they are,’ her mama finished.

  Sadly, she did. All inveterate gossips. ‘Oh dear,’ Lydia said in a syrupy voice that made her mama blink. ‘Then be prepared for egg on your face.’

  ‘He didn’t ask?’ The Countess sounded appalled. ‘He told your father he would.’

  And I wonder what papa said back? ‘Oh, he asked eventually.’

  Her mama beamed. ‘Well, then, let us begin to prepare a wedding. In town, I think, because…’

  ‘Mama…’ Lydia held her hand up in the air. ‘Stop it now. Will you please just listen to me for once? Really listen. I thought when we spoke the other day you understood town was not for me. Nothing has changed.’

  ‘Of course things have changed.’ Her mama stared at Lydia as if she had grown another head. ‘You said such things before Lord Birnham asked for your hand,’ she protested. ‘Now it is all different.’

  Oh, how Lydia hated to disagree, but she had no option. Why did her mama refuse to pay attention to anything other than what she wanted to hear? ‘Different? Really? Sadly, you are wrong.’ Her mama’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh, he offered,’ Lydia said. ‘I refused. You best tell papa that. This is my life and no one, no one will alter that. Do not say I’m not old enough. I am about to have a fever until my birthday.’

  ‘A…?’ Her mama spluttered to a halt. ‘You cannot.’

  Watch me. Five days, that is all. I can do it.

  ‘Fever, headache, fit of madness.’ Lydia shrugged. ‘Take your pick. I am not marrying Harry Birnham, or anyone.’

  ‘But my close friends expect it,’ her mama said plaintively. ‘They know he was to speak to you.’

  Lydia smiled sadly. Poor Mama. ‘Ah well, they will have to learn, won’t they? You should not have divulged something, which had nothing to do with you, without knowing the outcome. In fact, not even then – in confidence or not. Such a pity you chose to. Because I do not expect anything except my relocation from here to where I want to be.’ Lydia swallowed and cleared her throat. ‘I am not letting other people dictate my life any more, Mama. You chose not to listen to me, now you pay the price. I will not be a biddable wife. In fact, I have no intention of being any sort of wife.’

  She ran upstairs and left her mama standing, open-mouthed behind her. It might not be a forceful enough answer, but it was all she had.

  And she meant every word.

  ****

  Harry stared at his copy of the gossip sheet and groaned. If anything was guaranteed to put Lydia in a stubborn mood this coy paragraph was it.

  ‘Lady F and Lord B have an agreement which will be obvious to all. Soon we will be able to report on “the wedding”. My informant tells me that this will be the occasion to be seen at.’ Where did that come from? Harry thought about it and groaned. No doubt Lydia’s mama had told just a few friends in strict confidence. That was a guarantee to make gossip spread. Early on in their acquaintance, he had recognised the Countess as one who was convinced she did not gossip. For she would think to hint to a few close friends was not spreading stories, be they true or not. Now he needed to visit Lydia and her father and put damage control into action. If it was not too late.

  Harry finished his breakfast and went upstairs to dress in a manner befitting what he knew would be a tricky confrontation. It was bad enough to know how she had rejected him and why. Love? He wished he knew how that felt. Why on earth couldn’t she be like most woman, and be honoured by his proposal? That somewhat self-aggrandising thought gave him several seconds of shame.

  Because she is Lydia and not most women. And if she were, would I feel the same?

  Harry knew full well that the rest of the unmarried ladies of the town would have jumped at his offer. But he didn’t want them, he wanted Lydia. If he were honest, he had to admire her audacity and her determination to be true to herself. Had she worried she might upset, humiliate or anger him? Not at all. He searched his mind. He’d been astonished more than anything. On reflection, he accepted his methods would not win favour with Lydia. He’d best find some that would, for her feisty refusal only made him even more determined to make her his.

  Legally or not? Only time would tell.

  As he tied his cravat and then made sure his hessians shone so brightly his face was reflected in the polished surface, Harry pondered over the tricky question of how to persuade Lydia that, for better or worse, they were, in effect, betrothed. Surely she wouldn’t want to hurt her parents by refuting it abroad?

  Sadly, he wasn’t at all certain. Plus, would she blame him, her mama, or each and every person she could think of? It was a question to which he had no answer, but he intended to discover one as soon as possible.

  Foster, his valet, looked at him with something close to sympathy as he helped Harry into his jacket and picked an invisible speck of something off the lapel. ‘If I may venture a suggestion, my lord?’ he said diffidently as he handed Harry a pin for his cravat.

  Harry nodded. ‘Anything that might salvage the situation.’ He nodded towards the scandal sheet. ‘I fear it will not be easy.’

  ‘Nothing worth having in this life ever is, my lord,’ Foster said emphatically. ‘Therefore, you need to go in knowing she is the injured party and show that, although you are not the one responsible, you feel that somehow you should have stopped it.’

  Harry raised one eyebrow quizzically. ‘I should?’

  Foster coughed. ‘My lord, I know, you know, and indeed the lady will know that it wou
ld not have been possible as you had no idea of its existence, but a gentleman expects to…’ He hesitated. ‘To be aware of anything that may upset his lady and forestall it. If you show that, indeed, you feel you have failed her, she will then feel sorry for you and it will make things better. I suggest a small token to show how apologetic you are.’

  Harry rocked on his heels and burst out laughing. ‘Foster, you are a genius. How do you know all this?’

  ‘My lord, it is part of a valet’s job description. To have an answer for everything.’

  ‘Then what do I take as the token. Diamonds?’ Somehow he didn’t think such a conventional gift would be appreciated.

  Foster tutted. ‘Not original. I’d suggest something more personal.’ He studied his fingernails. ‘I do happen to know Lady Lydia has a fondness for harebells, which sadly are not in their flowering season. I wonder… I also have reason to believe that Messrs Rundle and Bridge have a rather pretty brooch in the shape of that flower with a delicate amethyst in its centre. It, ah, is said that, in biblical times, a gemstone was to keep you safe, and the amethyst was associated in more recent times with most of the month of February. Your lady’s birthday is covered by those dates.’

  Harry stared at the man in front of him. ‘How the deuce do you know all that?’

  Foster permitted a small smile to play over his lips. ‘I see it as my duty to be your, ah, right-hand man wherever possible, my lord. Some things are best not done too overtly.’

  ‘Or discussed as to how?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Harry nodded. ‘Then I thank you and I best be off if I am to detour via Rundle and Bridge. They should give you a commission for this.’

  Foster shook his head. ‘The only reward I need is to see you content, and settled, my lord. You are a perfect employer and I hope our association a long and happy one.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be,’ Harry said, amazed at such a passionate response uttered in such prosaic tones. Truly his valet had hidden depths. He checked his appearance one last time. ‘Thank you, Foster.’ He left the room whistling softly. Unexpected occurrences like these last few minutes were enough to gladden even the hardest hearts and his was nowhere among them.

  His next interaction – with the assistant at the jeweller’s – was equally as fruitful, and half an hour after he had entered he left the shop carrying an elegant gold and amethyst brooch, and a delicate amethyst drop on a long filigree chain – that he hoped he would one day see nestled between her breasts. Harry blotted out that thought, as it involved naked limbs, Lydia and him. Plus, a bed that looked remarkably like his own. This was not the time for arousal. He needed to keep his wits about him. More and more he understood that his wooing must end with a ring on her finger. It had taken a lot of thought, but eventually he had admitted to himself that his rakish tendencies were not as developed as they would need to be to seduce her without marriage. It rocked him to the core, but in one way it made his life simpler. He would wed Lydia, sate himself and hopefully her, and pray they could live amicably together.

  Harry climbed the steps to the Earl and Countess of Ibstock’s elegant town house and smiled to himself as the door opened before he had time to use the metal knocker in the shape of a stag’s head.

  The doorman nodded. ‘Welcome, my lord. The Earl is in his study, the Countess in her sitting room.’

  ‘And Lady Lydia?’ Harry handed over his cane and hat. ‘Is she at home?’

  The doorman looked somewhat discomforted. ‘Ah, sadly, my lady is indisposed. However, my master is available, and also the mistress of the house.’

  ‘I’ll speak to your master first,’ Harry said firmly. ‘I suspect we will not wish to be disturbed.’

  The doorman bowed. ‘Of course, my lord, if you would follow me. My master is expecting you.’

  He is? Well, it figured, Harry thought as he followed the man along a corridor towards the back of the house. If Eustace Field had heard the rumours in that gossip sheet he’d be as interested as Harry to discover who had supplied the information. It was not good.

  Once he’d been announced and the doorman had left, Harry advanced towards the desk where a worried-looking Eustace had stood up ready to greet his visitor.

  ‘A strange business, what?’ he said once the niceties had been observed and he and Harry were sitting either side of the fireplace with a steaming cup of tea each – Harry having turned down chocolate, brandy, port, and wine. ‘I thought you were here to tell me to send off the notice and now you say not to, even though that dratted scandal sheet hints about your betrothal. Yes, I saw it – I would have been hard pressed not to,’ he said grimly. ‘It was being shouted on the street corner, and I sent the boots to get hold of one. The upshot? Lydia is in bed with heaven knows what and my wife is in her sitting room wringing her hands and muttering about scandals and strong-willed, obstinate daughters. Your heir sent me a cryptic note stating he does not have a lot of patience and to be ready.’

  ‘If I might suggest you let him ask her for her hand, for you know she will refuse him in no uncertain terms. If nothing else, he will have to take a step back to regroup.’ The awful thought that Lydia might accept Jeremy flashed through his mind, to be discarded immediately. Lydia had even less positive feelings for Jeremy than she did for himself.

  ‘Why, for heaven’s sake? What’s going on, my lord? Are you reneging?’

  Harry sipped his tea and regarded the other man over the rim of his cup. ‘Not I, but I imagine that once Jeremy has offered and been refused he will sulk and moan before he tries anything else. It will give us more time to investigate. Not just him, but this damned news-sheet. For some reason, someone has taken it upon themselves to try and force your daughter’s hand and I suspect she is having none of it. Perhaps thinking it will make her more amenable to another? Or agree to be mine to escape the scandals? She wouldn’t do that. Rightly so, she is refusing to be coerced. Yesterday I formally offered for her hand and she declined. Now this tittle-tattle has been published. Someone has to have said something and I know it was neither Lydia nor me.’

  ‘My wife?’ Eustace offered with a wary smile that did not reach his eyes.

  ‘I suspect so.’

  The Earl groaned. ‘Why the deuce can’t she keep her mouth shut?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘I know she’s not happy about this mad idea of Lyddie’s to escape to the country.’ He broke off and stared at Harry. ‘You did know about that, didn’t you?’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘Thank the lord for small mercies,’ Eustace said frankly. ‘She’s had that bee in her bonnet for years, but I thought if anyone could change her mind it would be you, my lord.’

  Harry smiled wryly. ‘Harry, and it seems not.’

  His companion sighed deeply. ‘Harry, thank you. It’s a guddle, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Exactly. Therefore, now we need to decide what next.’ Harry put his cup down and shook his head as Eustace indicated the teapot. ‘No more, thank you.’ If he did he’d be awash with the stuff. ‘Any ideas?’

  Eustace Field shook his head. ‘Apart from a dram? Not a one. I’m damned if I know what we can do. So I hope you have some thoughts on the subject.’

  Harry smiled. Anyone who knew him well would have been somewhat uneasy with regards to his expression. Eustace’s expression didn’t change from one of mild interest.

  ‘Oh, I think so,’ Harry said softly. ‘This is what I propose. First the dram and then my plan.’

  ****

  Lydia sat on the chaise under her window, her chin on her clasped hands and her gaze on the view of the square outside the house. It was better than a brick wall but how she wished it were the Devon countryside.

  Even so she was bored. The scene was mundane. The trees had few if any buds on them. The few passers-by hurried down the road, well wrapped up in the chilly weather, and the watch were conspicuous in their absence. Rain had been uppermost in the weather for so long that even the sparrows looked dejected, and the few
hardy flowers around were battered and bruised. It was thoroughly depressing.

  The couple of books she had in her room, she’d read, and as every time she decided to go and find some more she was trapped by her mama or papa asking if she wished to tell them anything, she had retreated back into her room with alacrity. The worried look in her papa’s eyes was almost her undoing. Then she saw the speculative expression on her mama’s face and hardened her heart. They meant well, but what they wanted for her was not what she wanted, or intended to have.

  Therefore, they were at an impasse.

  Two more days. The morrow was her birthday and she had reluctantly decided she would spend it in the capital with her parents. Not that they were exactly on good terms. Her mama had taken to deep sighs and sorrowful looks. Her papa, after asking what was up with her, had ignored her, saying Harry Birnham was a good man and she could do a lot worse. Then he’d proffered the news that Jeremy Mumford had offered for her, and Harry wished to speak to her.

  She’d declined both and her papa had informed her that, unless she did so, he’d make sure the damned notice went into The Times newspaper by the end of the week, and not saying she was betrothed to that idiot Mumford either.

  ‘And by George, if he comes around again to ask for your hand, you can speak to him and say no yourself. To either of them,’ her papa had finished in a muddle. ‘Something has to be done.’ About what, he didn’t specify.

  So far Jeremy had not appeared and Harry had contented himself with bringing gifts and enquiring after her health.

  By Lydia’s reckoning, her papa’s ‘do something or else date’ was the day after her birthday, and she wouldn’t be around to be bothered by it. It might rebound on Harry, and for that she was sorry, but how many times and ways did she have to say no?

  Millie, her maid, entered the room carrying a jug of chocolate. ‘That Lord Birnham is here again. Your mama is at Lady Thorne’s and your papa at his club. Do you want to see him? I think maybe you should as we’re off soon. You can soon as have this down there as up here.’ She indicated the jug.