"What were you thinking?" he continued, waving his teacup like he would a riding crop. "Running away from home, coming to London. Did you get your head turned by some fine lord who made you a pack of promises, eh?"
"Papa, I came to find out the true cause of Benjamin's death."
"I read the letter, same as you did, miss. That was good enough for me. It was a great and terrible grief, a man's only son stripped from him." Then, as an afterthought, "It would be damned intolerable without that money that was sent along."
Lydia froze.
"What money, Papa?"
"A consolation, you know, for his death. It was good it was sent on when it was. I was in a bit of trouble, not that a girl like you would understand such things."
"You were gambling again," Lydia realized, a weight rolling over her heart. "You took blood money from Benjamin's death and used it to pay off your gambling debts."
"Here now, there's no cause for a young girl to be scolding her own father like he was some kind of boy."
"You're not a boy, are you?" cried Lydia angrily. "You're a man and a father, but for some reason, you cannot act like one! You don't care that Benjamin died, you barely cared that I ran to London to find him, and all you care about is your gambling and your fun!"
Her father staggered up from the couch, fury in his blood-shot eyes.
"Now you hold a civil tongue in your head, miss, or—"
"I won't! I won't keep still any longer, I will not! You're terrible, and I will not—"
Her father's hand flashed out, his palm cracking hard against her cheek. Lydia's head snapped back, her ears ringing, and for a moment, she thought that she only imagined her father's rough cry.
Then she looked up and found her father pushed back in the chaise, a look of shock on his face as Nicholas loomed over him.
"Now someone tell me what the hell is going on," he said, his voice deadly smooth.
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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Nicholas couldn't really believe he was letting the marquess sit in his house after he had struck Lydia. He was tempted to have the constables called in or at least to throw the man bodily out on his ear, but Lydia had stopped that.
Instead, they sat uneasily in the drawing room as her father got to the point of his visit.
"I come up to London for the season, to do my duty in Parliament, and what do I see but my own daughter traipsing through the exhibition gallery with the Duke of Winnefield himself, and you with your reputation, sir!"
"Tell me something; did you even notice your daughter was missing from Carmody? Were you surprised to see her because you assumed she was still at home?"
The marquess didn't seem abashed at all at Nicholas’ acid words, waving his hand carelessly.
"Am I meant to keep track of my daughter? I taught her well enough to stay home. But now I see her out with you, your grace, a man with a reputation that is, shall we say, less bright than it should be? What would I do if her reputation became smirched; what would her poor dead mother and brother say?"
Nicholas was startled to see the sudden flush of shame that came over Lydia's cheeks. To see his bright and spirited girl so down-trodden, so apt to believe this monster's accusations made him ache. He could not bear it another moment, and he turned to the marquess.
"What do you want?" he snapped. "You are not here to give me a lecture on morals."
As Nicholas guessed he would, the older man dropped his charade of worrying about Lydia's reputation in a heartbeat.
"Let us say, three thousand pounds. I've some debts that need some care, and the old home is in need of a bit of repair."
"Three thousand pounds!" exclaimed Lydia. "Papa, surely, you cannot be serious."
Now that money was in the mix, the marquess ignored his daughter entirely.
"Though if you are unable to match that amount, I suppose I can go lower."
"I can think of nothing that would be more distasteful than bargaining with you. If you leave at once, I will have my solicitor make out a draft for the full amount and deliver it to wherever you are staying in town."
The marquess seemed more than happy to abide by the bargain, giving the wooden Lydia a kiss on the cheek.
"Well, it has been fine to see you, Lydia, my dear."
Then he was gone, and Lydia shook her head in dismay.
"I think my father just sold me to you."
Nicholas, who was beginning to feel more than a little ashamed of his role in all of this, shook his head.
"If you like, you can think of it being something more like a bribe to get him to leave."
"No, I know what it was. My god, I knew he was a careless man, and I knew that he was terrible, but I did not expect this."
To Nicholas’ dismay, tears welled up in her emerald green eyes, and he went to kneel by her chair, touching her shoulder gently.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "He is your father, and he should have cared more for you."
"My whole life, I assumed he was just careless. Benjamin allowed me to think it, looking back. So many things that my papa should have done, Benjamin took over. God, he was barely a handful of years older than me, but he was the who hired my governess and my tutor; he was the one who settled accounts so that I could have pretty dresses. That was why he came to London."
"I know," Nicholas said, taking her in his arms. "I am so sorry, Lydia."
She shuddered, clinging on to him. They stayed that way for some timeless moment, holding on to each other. He wished he could absorb her grief in some way, simply to lift it from her frame. Then she pulled back, her eyes red but dry, and she offered him a small smile.
"I suppose I am your problem now. I am sorry. I don't know what my father believed he was doing, and three thousand pounds is so much money."
"Your father assumed I wanted you for my mistress, and three thousand pounds is a small price to pay for him to step away and to stop making you miserable."
Lydia shook her head.
"Still, you shouldn't have had to pay."
"I have paid more for things that caused me less joy than you," Nicholas said wryly. "But I'll admit that this talk is very tawdry. You are a lady and the daughter of a marquess, no matter how disreputable your father is. You should not concern yourself with such things."
Lydia laughed.
"If you think that every daughter in the peerage does not know her own dowry prospects and the amount that will be settled upon her when her father dies to the very cent, your grace, you are very much mistaken."
"So, what are yours?"
Lydia blinked.
"Well, when I marry, my father has said he will settle five thousand pounds on me, and that is quite respectable in the country. I imagine that London dowers are higher."
"It is good, I will get my bribe to your father back then."
Lydia's jaw dropped, and she stared at him in shock.
"Nicholas, don't even joke."
"I'm not. About something like this, even I wouldn't dare. Dash it all, I did not mean this to come on the heels of your father's visit."
"I don't care about my father right this moment, Nicholas, I want to know what you are saying."
"What I am saying is that nothing would give me greater pleasure in all this world than making you my wife, Lydia."
"Nicholas—"
He pulled from his pocket a wooden box, opening it to reveal a gold ring set with an emerald. The emerald was cut into a sparkling almond surrounded with diamonds, and Lydia looked as if she was going to faint.
"I don't know what to say."
"Say yes. That's all. I will do the rest. Then China, Greece, Italy, anywhere you like."
She smiled at him, and his heart squeezed tight again.
"The ring is amazing, you do not have to butter it with promises.”
<
br /> "Say yes, Lydia. Please."
“Yes. Oh, Nicholas, I do love you so."
There was something shy about the way she said it, as if the ring and his proposal still meant he would laugh at her. Instead, Nicholas placed it on her finger and grinned.
"If you keep telling me that every day, then I will give you all the promises and emeralds you like, my dear."
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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"My goodness, are there so many people who need to be invited to a duke's wedding?"
"Well, I suppose you could always run off to Gretna Green."
"Eunice!"
"Don't be so shocked, my dear! My old friend Sarah did when she took up with that dashing doctor fifty years ago!"
Lydia let Eunice continue with her tale of ancient intrigue as she continued to look at the list Eunice had given her. It was only the day after Nicholas had proposed and after her father had left the house, but Eunice had presented her with a list of necessary guests first thing.
As she tried to nod along to Eunice's story, Lydia couldn't help letting her mind drift toward the letter she had stuffed in her shoe before all the excitement. When she took it out to review later, it was no more helpful than it was originally.
For some reason, Nicholas had taken over the funeral expenses for her brother as well as the medical expenses that comforted her brother as he lay dying. The pieces still refused to fit together, but this was Nicholas. Nicholas had helped her at every turn. What did it mean that he had never told her about any of this?
She could only think that he wanted to spare her the pain of dealing further with her brother's death. She wondered if his man would ever turn anything up, if there was any search at all. She would take it up with him again, she decided. If they were going to be married, she wanted to enter into the union with a clear heart and head, her brother laid properly to rest.
He couldn't keep the truth from her, and she knew that a man as honorable as Nicholas wouldn't try, not when he knew why she needed to know.
"And there are the titles to take into account."
"I'm sorry, Eunice, I missed that. Could you repeat the last thing you said?"
"I think that if we are talking about your own invitations that you might pay a little more attention," said Eunice reproachfully.
Lydia hid a grin.
"Oh, Eunice, I am sorry. I will try to pay better attention."
"Well, as I was saying, when we open with a classic invitation, we will need to list all of your titles and Nicholas’. At some point, you should list all of yours out in a tidy hand so that we can send it on to the printer's."
"Well, that is simple enough. I am only Lady Lydia Waverly."
"Ah, well, let me write out Nicholas’. That boy has quite a handful to live up to, you know. Let's see. He is Nicholas Barrington, Duke of Winnefield, Marquess of Deering, Earl of Maitland, and alternately styled Baron Westchester and Baron Farring. I believe he also holds a knighthood, but that isn't at all the thing to list any longer, I don't think."
As she had promised, Lydia was paying close attention to Eunice's words, and when she heard Nicolas’ list of titles, she went cold.
"Eunice, surely you are mistaken. Nicholas is not Baron Farring."
"But of course, he is, my dear. I believe the title's been in the family for some two hundred years, and it is much older than the title of Baron Westchester, even if Westchester is the greater holding... Why, Lydia, you look quite pale."
"I'm sorry, Eunice, I believe I am feeling a little ill. Perhaps we can speak of this some other time."
"Well, certainly, darling, here, let me call a maid to help you to your room. You need a lie-down."
Lydia left before Eunice could ring for a maid. She knew it was rude, but she couldn't wait. She had to find Nicholas, and she had to find him now.
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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Nicholas looked up from the day's messages from his solicitors to see Lydia opening the door to his study. The delight he felt at her arrival was quickly drowned out when he saw the look on her face. He rose from the desk, crossing the floor toward her with concern.
"Lydia, are you all right? Has your father returned?"
He reached for her, but she jerked away from him. Her face was dead pale, making her bright green eyes seem to glow.
"Nicholas, why have you lied to me?"
It didn't occur to Nicholas for a moment that she did not know the truth. At that point, asking her what she meant would have been an insult.
"Lydia. There are many things that we must speak of. You do not understand everything."
"No! No more platitudes, no more protestations. There are no men out searching for the truth, are there?"
"No."
"And why would there be? Why send men looking for something when you know where it is? Don't you, Nicholas?"
"I do."
"Then why would you keep it from me? What truth is so terrible that you cannot tell me straight out? That you did not tell me straight away when we met on the road?"
She nearly trembled with rage, but underneath it, he could sense her pain as well. When he had met her, it felt as if that pain was always on the verge of breaking through to the surface. In recent weeks, he had guessed it had cooled. Instead, it was still there, and now it rose up to envelope them both.
"Will you sit down, Lydia?"
Still glaring at him, she took a seat, and Nicholas sat down heavily in his own chair. Had he always known that he would have to tell her? He supposed he did.
"No more stalling," she said, and the threat in her voice was clear.
Nicholas smiled sadly.
"You are right. No more stalling. I met your brother at Madame Zephyr's. He was having trouble paying her the money he owed, and some of her toughs were going to rough him up. I usually don't intervene in such things, but for some reason that night, I did. I paid off his debts."
Lydia flinched.
"He would never let his debts overwhelm him, not at a place like that, not like my father would."
"That's what he told me as well," Nicholas said ironically. "He had come to London sometime before to oversee his family accounts, but he was worried that he was in over his head. He could not tell who was a friend and who wanted to take advantage of him. Nothing made sense, and he had started to make decisions he came to regret."
"And you helped him."
"I made sure he was in good standing with Madame Zephyr. I stood him a few meals and talked to him. When I look back at it, I could see that I should have done more, but at the time, why would I? He was a stranger, another man come to London and found it too large for him."
Lydia nodded tightly, and Nicholas imagined she understood that about the great city now herself.
"I didn't see him for a little while after that,” he continued. “I came, and I went, and from time to time, I did like to spend some time at Madame Zephyr's. I came in one night. I had barely gotten my foot in the door when your brother came flying across the room at me, ready to strike me down where I stood."
"Why?"
"He was in love with one of the girls there, but she had turned him down. He had gotten it in his head that she favored me instead."
"That was Marilee."
"It was. In front of the entire room, which contained no less than another duke, a handful of marquesses, and several earls, he challenged me to a duel. To my unending grief, I accepted."
"My god, it's true; you did kill my brother," Lydia whispered.
Nicholas let out a deep sigh. He could feel a shadow growing over his heart, and he had no idea if it would ever be l
ifted again.
"There is more. We arrived at the grove with pistols and seconds. We were offered the chance to cry off, and I would have, but he refused."
Nicholas had believed that Lydia would protest this, but she only nodded sadly.
"He was like that as a child, too. When he saw the way forward, he would never be deterred."
"I intended to delope, Lydia. I swear this to you. We took the steps, we turned, and I fired into the sky. If he had done the same or even if he had wounded me, the matter would have been settled. Hell, even if he had shot at me, the shot might have gone awry."
Lydia's eyes were bright with tears now, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she fixed a diamond gaze on Nicholas.
"But that is not what happened."
"No. He suffered a misfire of disastrous proportions. The hammer came down, and his gun exploded."
Lydia let out a soft cry.
Nicholas looked down.
"It was horrible. There was a surgeon there who staunched the bleeding, but it was useless. Your brother died just an hour later. He never regained consciousness, Lydia, and for what it is worth, he did not suffer any pain."
"And you covered this all up?"
"I did. Dueling is illegal, and you are free to believe that I did it to spare myself a murder charge, but it was more than that. He had told me about you, you see."
"Me?"
"Yes. About his sister in the country who looked up to him. When we were on better terms, he spoke of how bright you were, and how very vulnerable you were as well. I believed he was exaggerating when he spoke of your father's neglect, and now I can safely say that he was underplaying it. Everything he was doing in London, he spoke of doing for you and the future you could have. He was seeing to his business in order to secure your happiness in the time to come.”
Christin's Splendid Spinster's Society Page 29
