It was several hours later before Harry felt even half secure in what he had to do next. Another, albeit brief, visit to Lydia’s parents, effected via the mews and the kitchen garden to avoid any callers they might have, to explain he would be out of town for a while, to see if he could sort things out, was greeted with relief.
Harry forbore to point out how the Countess’s earlier machinations had contributed to the mess they were now in. Instead, he’d elicited where in Devon Lydia’s house was – a tiny fishing village called Shaldon at the estuary mouth of the river Teign – and also what they knew about Esther’s aunt. Not much more than he did, it seemed. Lydia and Esther had visited the woman over the years. Lydia’s parents had not, and as Aunt Caroline – he didn’t discover her surname until he thought to ask – rarely came to the capital, the Fields had only met her briefly on a couple of occasions.
‘She, Lady Stitches, seemed very personable, though, if a bit starchy,’ the Countess told him. ‘I’m sure Lydia will be well looked after.’
He gave in to impulse and patted her on the shoulder. The Countess looked started and then smiled. ‘I might not understand her, and my daughter’s and my ideas with regards to what is right for her may differ, but I love Lydia dearly. Believe me, my lord, after my gaffe in confiding in my so-called friends, who assured me a secret was a secret, I have learned my lesson.’ Harry looked at her quizzically, and she reddened. ‘No, I didn’t, did I? And this is the result. I pushed my daughter to this.’
There really wasn’t anything Harry could say to that. He didn’t have time to go into all the ins and outs with regards to Lydia and her parents’ relationship. He knew they had been aware that Lydia intended to leave at some point; both Lydia and they had said so. What else had sent her away, other than an engagement she didn’t want, he could only surmise.
It was one more thing to ponder. As was being told ‘near Kings Lynn’ and ‘Aunt Caroline keeps country hours so do not even think about arriving after five’.
Harry rode out later than he had hoped and with little expectation of getting very far. Nevertheless, it was impossible for him to stay in town. Even after his public forays into flirtations and more with the fair sex as a younger man – before he learned discernment and the art of dissembling – he had never felt as besieged as he now did. Was it because people thought he had at last been caught in the parson’s mousetrap or because they thought he hadn’t? Whatever the answer, too many people just happened to be passing by his house and stopping in to see what was going on. Harry told his staff to inform everyone he was not at home, but even so, the number of calling cards mounted. It was ridiculous. True, some were people who wished to know who had scooped the pot, but how could he inform them their guess was as good as his? Others, however, were nosy gossips through and through. He had to thank fate that Lydia wasn’t around, for if he thought himself hounded, how on earth would she have felt?
It was not pleasant. He made preparations and left the capital to find his betrothed and discover exactly what was going on.
Once he left the suburbs – which seemed to grow apace every time he rode through them – and got onto the open road, his spirits lifted. At least away from town he thought he and Lydia would have the opportunity to converse in peace like sensible, reasonable adults. He hoped. When he caught up with her.
He refused to let himself think that the tiny, but important, word ‘if’ might well be the one he should have used.
For some reason he couldn’t fathom, as he passed through a tiny hamlet of five houses, a duck pond with three miserable-looking mallards swimming around on it in circles, and a hay barn, Harry glanced up at the sky and groaned. It seemed the promised snow was about to show its hand. The air had that peculiar scent he associated with that weather phenomenon. As the first few flakes landed wetly on him, Harry urged his horse into a canter. There was an inn a few miles ahead where, if he remembered correctly, the stabling was excellent and he could get a decent meal and a bed. If the snow didn’t amount to much, he’d press on at first light. He was mindful of Esther’s diktat: ‘Do not arrive after five.’ There had been little chance of him complying in the first place. He’d hoped to be there early the following afternoon, but if the snow began in earnest, it would be impossible to get anywhere near his destination by then.
Even the weather was against him.
As if to reinforce that fact, the snow began to fall harder and settle, covering the grass at the side of the road, and then the road itself. Harry was never so pleased to see a light in the distance, and then hear the creak of the inn sign.
Time to dry off, thaw out, and rest. Tomorrow was another day. Trite, but true. Thankfully, Harry handed his horse over to the ostler who came running and strode inside.
Let’s hope there is a room available. He didn’t really want to sleep in the stables.
Chapter Eleven
‘Now I know why my parents hated to take me on any journey of over an hour,’ Lydia said as the carriage turned into the lane that followed the course of the River Teign. It was with a great sense of relief that she knew they were on the last leg of their long and arduous journey. She’d chosen to stop a few hours’ short of their destination the night before so she could confer with her godmother’s – and now her – solicitor and sign any necessary papers. That meant they could arrive in the early afternoon, and have time to settle in and look around.
‘I vividly remember squirming on my seat, saying my legs had run away from me and asking if we were there yet, ad nauseam. They always said nearly, even when we were hours, if not days, away. The only journey I really enjoyed was coming here, just with my godmother. She made it fun, told me stories, fed me sweet buns.’ Lydia sighed as she remembered those long ago times. ‘They stopped when I went away to school. Godmama met me in Harrogate instead. Not nearly as good. Nor were the buns.’
‘Well, I’ll ask the question for you,’ Millie said with a chuckle. ‘Are we nearly there yet? And where are the buns?’
Lydia laughed. ‘This time I can honestly say we are nearly there, and buns later. Two hours at the most if all goes well. We follow the river to the village. The key will be held by the landlord of the inn where we will probably stay for a few nights.’ She smiled, happy she had done everything necessary to make their journey and arrival as smooth as possible
‘Won’t you have to prove you are who you say you are, though, and not just expect him to believe you?’ Millie said worriedly. ‘For him to hand over the key?’
Lydia shrugged. ‘Of course, and I have papers to prove I am in fact Lady Lydia Field. I have a document from Godmama’s solicitors both in town and in Newton Abbott, to show anyone who needs it. Plus an introductory letter Godmama had the foresight to write years ago before she passed away. I’ve passed my birthday and am the legal, can live here without interference, owner.’ She rubbed one finger absently over the plush seat. ‘We are fine.’ She hoped. ‘Once we see what is needed we can decide what staff is warranted. I think from what Mr Climper, Godmama’s solicitor down here, said, there is a young lad who works as a groundsman and a couple who act as caretakers. No more. We can hire who we need when we know more. I must admit to a little trepidation there. After all, what do I know of who is perfect for what position?’
Butterflies of the nicest kind danced in her stomach. They were almost there. About to start the next, and best, phase of her life.
Without Harry Birnham? Why did that thought have to pop into her mind at that moment and dim some of her happiness? She had no option but to choose him or independence. Solo. As, whatever he said, she was certain that, sooner or later, any freedom he allowed her would dissipate, she had decided on the latter. There could be no regrets, no what ifs, and no bewailing in years to come. Her decision, and no one else’s.
‘You have common sense,’ Millie said stoutly. ‘That’s a good start. I’d imagine the caretakers will know who is an excellent worker and who isn’t, and I’ll help when I can. You’ll
be fine. I’ve faith in you.’
‘That helps. Ah, Millie I’ll be honest, I wondered if this day ever would arrive.’ Lydia sat back on the swab and took three deep and calming breaths.
‘Now it has, you’re pleased?’
Lydia nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh yes, I’m ecstatic. I’ve waited for too long to be here.’
‘And what about Lord Birnham?’ Millie said with a twinkle. ‘You don’t think you might have made a mistake there?’
‘In what way?’ Lydia glossed over her somewhat reprehensible actions regarding him and refused to look Millie in the eyes. ‘He knew what I intended,’ she said obstinately.
‘Ah, but did he?’ Millie asked shrewdly. ‘Don’t you think he mebbe thought you’d give in to him, what with your parents’ encouragement and all, and the agreement to send the notice to the paper. You do know he’s been left to carry the can? I’m betting he didn’t really think you’d leave, not now.’
‘Well, he was mistaken. I’m where I want to be.’ Even if one small part of her still hankered over what if… No, this was best. She was in charge of her own destiny, and nothing really could stop her plans. Lydia accepted lots of things could make life unpleasant; however, it seemed as if, for now, things were going swimmingly.
The coach rumbled down the narrow lane, its high sides covered with the detritus of old leaves and hedgerows. This far south a few hardy buds could already be seen, wild flowers showed their heads along the verge, and the air was fresher with a hint of warmth in it. Not like when they had swapped personas with Rosie and Bessie.
‘I wonder what the weather is like further north?’ Lydia remarked as several low branches brushed the roof of the carriage and made a noise like a heavy rainstorm. ‘I do hope Rosie and Bessie got to their destination easily; the sky was heavy with snow when we left them.’
‘They’ll have managed,’ Millie said confidently. ‘They knew just what they were doing. And you know they really were heading for King’s Lynn to do a run at the theatre there and had rooms booked a few miles on. Even if that snow we thought was on its way did hit them, they’d be well up the road and into their next lodgings before it settled. I’ll bet it won’t be long before we get a letter telling us what they got up to. Rosie has as neat a copperplate as any lady. And didn’t she say they hoped to be down this way come the end of the summer? They’ll be around and we’ll find out everything then. I bet you they enjoyed the adventure.’
‘We will invite them to stay,’ Lydia said emphatically. ‘I’m just plain old me now, thank goodness, not a wallflower of the ton. I can have whomever I want to visit and no one can stop me.’ She pointed out of the window. ‘Look, that is Teignmouth. We are on this side of the river. The inn we need, the Horseferry, is, if I remember, right just down this lane, and ahhh…’ She sat back in satisfaction. ‘Here it is. Not perhaps the most upmarket, but run by a distant relative of my godmama.’ Lady Ideford, the lady in question, had very useful relatives everywhere. ‘Plus, if anyone did look for us, it would be at Clifford House or towards the south, not here, so close and less fashionable.’
‘If you say so.’ Millie didn’t sound convinced. She peered past Lydia and looked towards the building they were headed for. ‘At least the windows are clean.’
‘And the paintwork,’ Lydia said, amused by Millie’s attitude. She was usually so encouraging and saw a silver lining everywhere. It seemed the long journey had drained her of her positive mindset. ‘So I’ll wager you the inside will be as good if not better.’
‘Harrumph. We’ll see. It better or they’ll have me to answer to.’ She looked for all the world like a belligerent hen, guarding her chicks.
An hour later, as she surveyed the pretty suite she and Lydia were to share, she nodded in satisfaction.
Lydia had handed over her credentials and satisfied the landlord she was who she purported to be, and now they were ensconced inside with the promise of food as soon as they were ready for it.
‘Who would have known this was here?’ Millie asked rhetorically. ‘This is a mediocre-looking inn… oh, clean and tidy, I’ll grant you that… and it has a sumptuous suite like this. Two bedrooms, a parlour, and a bathing chamber. Oh my.’ She pressed on the mattress. ‘Feathers. In both rooms, no less.’
Lydia smiled. ‘It is lovely, isn’t it? I think the owner has a lot to do with how nice it is.’
‘Oh, you know him? What’s he like? He must have a wife or someone to do this.’ Millie stroked a soft wool cover thrown over the back of a chaise. ‘I bet not all of the inn is like this.’
‘No, this is the best room, and he is a she. Who gave very specific orders on what was required. There’s also a single bedroom suite for a lone traveller.’
‘Ah, I understand now.’ Millie grinned. ‘It is you.’
‘Me,’ Lydia confirmed and rolled her shoulders. ‘I had no idea this inn was mine until recently. Mr Climper was not sure what I wanted to do. As he informed me that Holdsworthy, the innkeeper, is a sound man who keeps a clean and tidy house, I was happy to hold on to it. Mr Climper suggested we stay here until we are happy Riverside House is as we want it.’ Lydia stretched and yawned. The last few days had taken more out of her than she had realised. ‘Shall we go for a walk before dinner? Then, for me, it will be an early night.’
There were several early-to-bed sessions in the days that followed. Lydia was happier than she had imagined possible over the state of Riverside House. It suffered from the scents and aromas of a house that had stood empty for several years, but was sound and watertight. She arranged via the caretakers for several village ladies to come in, and as Mrs Orsman, the caretaker’s wife, said, bottom the place.
She was delighted with Lydia’s attitude. For, as she confided in her mistress, she had been worried Lydia would think she hadn’t been doing her job properly. Lydia quickly disabused her of the idea and reassured her it was the exact opposite. To have kept the house ready for unexpected visitors at any time was too much for one elderly couple, and it was way above and beyond what she had expected. It was in good repair, but needed sprucing up, and the spiders shown they were no longer in residence. Each day Lydia went to her new home to see what was happening, to confer with the Orsmans and the local ladies, and arrange which furniture and fittings should stay and what should go. Her godmother had been an inveterate hoarder so the pile of unwanted goods now in one of the stables of the inn was growing apace. Console tables, ornate headboards, umpteen ewers – none even chipped, let alone cracked – carpets and rugs were put into the stable. Even a moulting stag’s head went in there. Anything salvagable would go to anyone in the village who wanted it, the rest to the annual Guy Fawkes’ bonfire held on the green in the autumn. Lydia intended to hold a village day as soon as everything was ready, open the stable doors, and tell people to help themselves. The Orsmans had promised to be in charge. ‘For, my lady, we know who needs things and who doesn’t,’ Orsman confided. ‘Some people will take anything for nothing whether they need it or not, while those in real need miss out. We’ll not let that happen here.’
Holdsworthy, the innkeeper, was equally as happy with his new employer. To him, a female in charge was nothing new. He’d had her godmother, and as he said with a twinkle in his eyes, ‘The missus says what goes.’
Only two weeks after they entered the village, Lydia turned the large ornate key in the lock of Riverside House, opened the front door, and ceremoniously danced around the hall.
‘Ours,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Now, I have a request to make. Come on – let’s go and sit in the garden room. Mrs Orsman has put cakes on the table and it’s warm enough not to freeze. It will truly be lovely in the summer. Then we can enjoy it and the lawns to the full.’ The house, although situated on the riverside, also had a comfortable garden and orchard overlooking the village green. ‘For now, it’s windows shut and tea and cake.’
‘Sounds lovely.’ Millie followed her employer into the aptly named garden room and obedien
tly sat in the chair Lydia indicated.
The leaves were growing apace on an ancient cherry tree and the branches tapped a welcome on the panes of glass they touched. A far robin tugged at a worm and, high above, a crow cawed to its mate. Spring was well underway in this part of the country.
‘I’ll be mother today,’ Lydia said and picked up the teapot. ‘Have a cake and please listen to me.’ She took her own filled cup over to a similar chair to the one she’d pointed out to Millie and took a deep breath as she sat down. ‘I want you to promise to hear me out before you make any protests, squawks or whatever. Yes?’
Millie looked puzzled. Nevertheless, she nodded obediently. ‘Yes, but.’
Lydia mimed closed lips and Millie laughed. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Good.’ How to start and get Millie’s agreement? ‘Now you know how happy I am with you as my maid, don’t you?’ she said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Millie nodded. Lydia laughed. ‘Well, I want more. No, do not say a word.’
As she expected, Millie shut her mouth with a snap and Lydia chuckled. ‘Exactly. Well, I think you are worth so much more than a maid, Millie, useful though they are. I need a secretary, companion, call it what you will, someone I know, like and trust implicitly. And the one I think most suited to that is you. After all, you do everything either one would do already. It is time to regularise it. I’d double your wage and you would get a separate allowance to give you the opportunity to dress as befitting your new station. What do you think?’ She glanced anxiously at Millie. Lydia meant every word she said. ‘Plus, I think of you as my friend,’ she added honestly for good measure. ‘Please don’t say no.’
Millie’s jaw dropped but she didn’t utter a word. She shut her mouth – full of cake – shook her head and put two fingers over her mouth.
Lydia laughed. ‘You can talk now.’ She stood up and filled two glasses with wine. ‘Here, moisten your mouth with this. We’ll drink a toast later. When you say yes. You will, won’t you? Please?’
The Lord's Persuasion of Lady Lydia Page 17
