by Ava Stone
There were many pressing things on Brendan’s mind, and the situation involving the estranged Mastens was way down the list, as well as none of his business. Still, there was something about the tone in Chet’s voice that left him with a wary feeling. “I do hope you’re not planning anything rash. Robert won’t thank you for interfering.”
“Ah, well, Rob doesn’t know what’s good for him. And after the defection of that Rigsley woman—”
“Robert was fine to see her go. He only keeps them if they’re discreet. She wasn’t.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Bren!” Chet’s exasperated voice rang out. “I’m telling you there was a spark between them. He even said his wife was ‘quite pretty.’”
This got Brendan’s attention, and he stopped walking. “Rob said that?”
Chet smiled wickedly. “Rob said that. He’s just too stubborn for his own good, that’s all. Therefore, it is up to us, old friend. We must think of something to help him along.”
The two men started walking again and rounded a corner. From the opposite direction, a couple of attractive young ladies and their chaperone brushed past them. One of the girls looked back over her shoulder at the two gentlemen and giggled flirtatiously.
Brendan gestured toward the disappearing ladies with his hand. “You, my friend, should be spending your time in trying to find a wife for yourself and not fretting over Robert’s unfortunate situation.”
Chet frowned. “For God’s sake, Bren, not you too. The last thing I need is a giggling, simpering, little chit like that. I’d feel like Goliath around a woman that small. Besides, whoever I end up with has to be able to face down the dragon that calls herself my mother.”
At that Brendan smirked. “Ah, you’re looking for a steadfast, stalwart young woman then? May I suggest a Scot? They’re a hearty breed and could certainly stand up to Lady Astwick.”
“I’ve got it!” Chet smirked. “You need to marry Rosamund off. What say I become your brother-in-law?”
Brendan stopped dead in his tracks with a glower that could have halted an approaching army. “You touch one hair on my sweet little sister’s head, you big ox, and I’ll cut you down to size in the blink of an eye.”
But now Chet wasn’t listening. Instead he focused on something across the park. When Brendan followed his friend’s gaze, he saw Lady Masten with four unruly children making their way toward the Serpentine—make that three unruly children and one very serious boy.
“Come on, Bren.” Chet started toward the countess and her charges, “Rob made a mess of things last night. Let’s see if we can’t help him along.”
***
Lydia had spent the morning trying not to replay the events of the previous evening. Now, with the thoughts of her husband firmly tucked away, she entered Hyde Park with her young cousins in tow. She loved spending time with James and Bethany’s brood. They were such delightful children, all of them in their own way.
Almost at once, her spirited young cousins Katriona, Morgan, and Madeline dashed off toward the Serpentine, giggling excitedly. But at the ripe old age of ten, Liam MacFadyn rolled his eyes heavenward at his younger siblings’ high spirited antics.
Lydia took in his somber countenance and ruffled his hair. “Go on, Liam,” she urged him. “You should go play with the others.”
But Liam shook his head with a stubbornness that Lydia knew he’d acquired from his father. “Lyddie, a gentleman should never abandon a lady.”
“Oh, heavens, Liam. I’ll be just fine out here in the park. Now, run along.”
As Liam started to protest, a cheerful baritone voice boomed from behind them, “The boy is quite right, Lady Masten. All sorts of dangers can lurk about for unprotected ladies.”
Lydia turned to see Lord Astwick standing directly behind them, casting a shadow over an attractive gentleman in his wake—Lord Clayworth, she thought. Of course, she recognized the marquess immediately. He was hard to miss and, unless she was mistaken, he was also a dear friend of Lord Masten’s. What in heaven’s name did these men want with her?
Astwick continued, “Not to worry, young man. We’ll keep a watchful eye on Lady Masten for you.”
Liam scowled at the marquess and protectively stepped in front of Lydia, with his brave little chin thrust out. “I can handle it. Thank you, sir.”
Lord Astwick’s laugh could be heard half-way across the park. Then he got down on one knee, so as to be on eye level with the boy. “I like your spirit, lad. I’m Lord Astwick and this fellow with me is Lord Clayworth. We mean the lady no trouble.”
The other gentleman smiled and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. Liam didn’t return the gesture. “I’m MacFadyn,” the boy introduced himself proudly.
“Ah,” the good-natured marquess grinned in response, “Carteret’s heir.”
“Aye, sir. And I mean to look after my cousin.”
Anxiously, Lydia looked from Lord Astwick to Lord Clayworth. She had met both men on separate occasions, and while they seemed pleasant enough, they were certainly after something today. Best to get it over with. “Liam my love, I’ll be perfectly fine. Pray go to the river and make sure the others aren’t soaked in that nasty water or your mother will never forgive me.”
Liam clearly seemed torn between his desire to shield Lydia from the unfamiliar gentlemen and with keeping a watchful eye on his siblings. So, Lydia gently touched his shoulder. “It’s all right, dear. I believe these gentlemen are friends of my husband.”
Both gentlemen nodded in response, but it was Clayworth that spoke to the child. “I count myself as a friend of your father’s as well, Lord MacFadyn, as we’ve dealt many times together in parliament. On my honor, your cousin will be safe in your absence.”
Liam sized up the gentleman before him and agreed with a curt nod. “On your honor then.” Turning on his heel, the boy quickly made his way down the river’s edge where his sisters and brother could still be heard laughing.
Lydia met Clayworth’s eyes with approval. “Thank you, for appeasing him. Liam thinks of himself as fully grown.”
Clayworth smiled warmly in return. “My sister’s son is much the same way. There are certainly worse things than boys who take their duties seriously, Lady Masten.”
“Well, thank you again. Now, what is it you gentlemen want with me?”
Astwick offered Lydia his arm, which she tentatively took. “Ah, Lady Masten, we are here to help you.” The marquess towered over her and she felt like a child next to him.
“Chet!” Clayworth warned as he strolled along side them toward the river.
But Astwick simply smiled. “Pay Clayworth no attention, my lady. He feels that I’m over stepping my bounds.”
Lydia looked from one gentleman to the other. Clayworth’s handsome face was furrowed and drawn up tight. The earl was clearly the sensible one of the two. “I may be in agreement with Lord Clayworth.”
Despite herself, Lydia couldn’t help but be charmed by Astwick’s roguish grin. The marquess had a charismatic quality that made one like him almost instantly, despite his disheveled appearance.
“Oh, come now, Lady Masten, where’s your spirit of adventure?” Lord Astwick asked good-naturedly.
Lydia’s brows rose in question. “What is it you’re after, sir?”
Lord Astwick drew Lydia to a halt. “You had it right to begin with, we are friends of your husband’s.” When Lydia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, Astwick paused briefly before pressing forward. “And we’d like to see Robert happy, you see—”
“Well, I should like not to see Robert at all.” Lydia’s eyes flashed with anger and she removed her hand from Lord Astwick’s arm. “And if he’s sent you two to make sure I that I do his bidding, you can tell that overbearing, pompous, ass—”
“Lady Masten!” Lord Clayworth looked aghast at her vulgar language.
“—that he can go straight to the devil. I apologize if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Lord Clayworth, but I daresay you gen
tlemen have heard worse. Pray excuse me. I should be tending to my cousins.”
With an angry swish of her skirts, Lydia brushed past the two gentlemen and escaped to the safety of her four young companions, without so much as glance back at them over her shoulder.
Brendan shook his head and rubbed his chin. “That went well, Chet.”
Chet laughed and smacked Brendan’s back with the palm of his hand. “Indeed it did, Bren. Indeed it did. She doesn’t seem ambivalent toward our good friend, does she?”
“No,” Brendan admitted ruefully. “She seems decidedly in the Robert-loathing camp.”
“We shall see.” Chet grinned and then started back toward the walking path.
***
Robert called on Lord Carteret as soon as he deemed it proper to do so. He didn’t know the man particularly well, but knew he had a good reputation, despite his Scots heritage and his Whiggish leanings. He was certain that Lord Carteret would hear him out and return Lydia to Blackstone. He was her husband, after all. His demands meant something.
After Robert was shown into the drawing room, he waited patiently for the master of the house. When James MacFadyn, Earl Carteret, finally made his appearance, Robert thought he would laugh. Before him was the paragon of virtue his sister had defended—a peer of the realm looking completely tousled, like he’d just fallen out of a moving carriage. His blond hair was mussed and his jacket a mess. He even had a glob of blue paint smeared across his breeches. This was not what Robert expected to find. “Did I catch you at a bad time, Carteret?”
Carteret shook his head and smiled widely. “No, just spending the morning with my daughter.”
Robert smiled to himself. Despite Caroline’s protestations, Carteret did have a slight Scottish brogue. “Painting?” Robert pointed out the blue stain on his breeches.
Carteret looked down and realized what he must look like. He smiled sheepishly. “That would be Fiona, my youngest. Please forgive my appearance, I must be a sight.”
Robert laughed. “That you are, but I’ll overlook it.”
“Good of you to do so.” Carteret agreed good-naturedly. “So, Masten, to what do I owe this honor?”
The smile on Robert’s face fell and he sighed. “I’ve come to talk to you about my wife.”
But before Carteret could respond, the door opened and Bethany, Countess Carteret, entered the room. She was a vision—hair so dark it was almost black and crystal-blue eyes that rivaled Lydia’s. It was easy to see why Chet and so many others had fallen under her spell all those years ago. Lady Carteret was still a sight to behold. But she obviously didn’t see Robert and began to chastise her husband. “Jamie, did you leave Fiona alone with her paints? The entire breakfast room is covered in blue handprints.”
Carteret smiled at his lovely wife. “Guilty, my love, but can you scold me later? Lord Masten is here at the moment.”
“Oh?” Lady Carteret sucked in a breath of air and blushed down to her roots when she noticed their visitor. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry. Please forgive my intrusion.” She smiled apologetically at her husband and left the two men alone.
Robert smirked. “Busy household you have here.”
“Five children, including one set of twins. Busy doesn’t begin to cover it, Masten.”
“And now you’ve taken on my wife as well.” Robert remarked, trying to steer the conversation back to the reason for his visit. “I hate to burden you with her.”
Robert could feel Carteret studying him as if he were a thoroughbred at Tattersall’s. “You’re not burdening us at all. Lydia is actually a great deal of help. Five children, you know. In fact, she has my four oldest with her in the park right now.”
Obviously, going down that road wasn’t going to work. His wife was good with children—Caroline had admitted as much. Robert furrowed his brow and plunged ahead with his request. Lydia was his wife after all. Carteret should respect his decision. “I’d hate to take your extra help away, Carteret, but I’d appreciate it if you would send her home anyway.”
“Home? And would this be to Blackstone?” Carteret furrowed his brow in a way that made Robert feel like a blackguard. “She’s been dreadfully lonely there, Masten, and we’ve invited her to stay here with us for the season.”
Robert was damned tired of hearing about how lonely his wife was. Didn’t anyone else see that her being lonely was better than her behaving like a wanton throughout London? The image of her from the night before in that daring sapphire gown flashed through his mind. God, but she was beautiful.
For a moment, the idea of leaving her in Carteret’s care was tempting; perhaps he could even get to know her as Caroline had suggested. What a fanciful thought! When Lydia was involved in her next scandal—and she would be—it wouldn’t be Carteret’s name that was run through the mud. It would be Robert’s. She was his wife.
Robert looked at the paint stain on Carteret’s breeches and an idea hit him. What a fool he’d been. Why had he not thought of it earlier? The answer was clear as day. “No, not to Blackstone. Not yet, anyway. I’m concerned about my heir, Carteret. I don’t have one other than Luke, and that isn’t a prospect that I wholeheartedly welcome.”
Carteret nodded and Robert could see that he understood that. Probably even agreed.
“Well, there’s no way to put this delicately, Carteret,” Robert continued. “I need my wife to give me one. She can’t very well do that living under your roof.” There! Robert triumphantly celebrated. Deny me that, Lord Propagator.
Carteret sat forward and Robert tried to read his expression. The damn man was so enigmatic. But then to his relief, Lord Carteret grinned. “I think that’s wonderful, Masten. Truly wonderful. You should see Lydia with Morgan and Madeline, my twins. They adore her.”
Robert feigned a pleasant smile. What had he just gotten himself into? He gulped uncomfortably.
“I’ll have her things packed and ready in the morning. Will that do?” Carteret asked.
“That will do.” Robert nodded. “Thank you, Carteret. You don’t know how you’ve delivered my mind from worry.”
Carteret tilted his head and leaned toward him, like a conspirator. “She can be a fine wife for you, Masten. Give her that opportunity. A good mother, too. And take it from me, there’s nothing more lovely in the world than watching your wife tend to your children. Not nurses or maids, but their own mother. Mark my words.”
“I’d never thought you as an egalitarian.” Robert remarked.
“Well, I—”
But Carteret was interrupted by a high-pitched squeal coming from the hallway. Then the doors to the parlor flew open and a little girl, about three years old, ran into the room. Blue paint covered her completely, from the roots of her flaxen hair to the tips of her naked toes. “Papa, save me!” The little girl threw herself into Carteret’s arms.
Surprised by the scene, Robert couldn’t help but laugh. Carteret was covered in paint from top to bottom. He now looked even more disgraceful than before—which was saying something indeed.
Standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, Lady Carteret tapped her foot impatiently. “Fiona MacFadyn, come with me this instant!”
Fiona burrowed her face against her father’s chest and whispered loud enough for the entire room to hear, “I think she’s mad at me.”
Carteret kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “I think she’s mad at both of us, dear.” He stood up and crossed the floor to his wife’s side, where he handed over his child. “It was my fault, Beth.”
Lady Carteret smiled ruefully at her husband. “I will deal with you later, Jamie.” Then she looked in Robert’s direction. “You must think you’ve stepped into Bedlam, Lord Masten. We’re not normally this unruly. Please, do forgive us.”
Robert watched with great interest and returned Lady Carteret’s smile. “Think nothing of it, my lady. We are family, after all.” Then he nodded to Carteret, put his beaver hat on his head, and started for the door. “Tomorrow mornin
g. I’ll send my coach at ten o’clock.”
Carteret agreed with a grin. “Ten o’clock it is. And best of luck, Masten.”
After he left the Carteret home, Robert thought about what he’d seen that day. A distinguished member of the House of Lords sitting in his parlor, covered in paint—which also apparently covered his breakfast room—and a beautiful wife who was endearing even as she scolded him. What was it she’d called Carteret? Jamie? So intimate and familiar. He couldn’t remember seeing a man more happy with life, despite his disgraceful appearance.
That was not the life Robert led. He always looked impeccable, as did his breakfast room. Though he had a beautiful wife, endearing was not a word Robert would use to describe Lydia. The idea of his own wife calling him something familiar, like Robbie, was too ludicrous an idea to consider seriously. Lord Carteret may be unlucky at cards, but he seemed lucky beyond comparison in life.
~ 3 ~
Lydia did not feel lucky. She was instead furious. She could barely believe her ears when James told her he was sending her to Masten’s the next morning. The traitor! How could James just turn her over to her husband like that? Hadn’t he listened as she’d complained to him about her life as Lady Masten, stashed away at Blackstone? If she’d been given any amount of time, she’d have found a place for herself. But Robert had seen to it that she didn’t have time to plan anything.
Robert Beckford was a scoundrel, plain and simple! She didn’t know what he’d said to James, but she knew her husband had been crafty with whatever it was. Every time she asked her cousin about his conversation with Masten, a grin would cross James’ face. “I think that’s a discussion for you and your husband, Lyddie.”
But she didn’t want to have any discussions with him. Her husband was a cruel and vindictive man. He’d essentially kept her locked up for years. And now that she was free of his tyranny, the very last thing she wanted was to go back. He might have scared her in the past, she was so young then. But she was not that naïve sixteen-year-old girl that had signed her life away—not anymore. When he came for her in the morning, she would make him most unhappy that he did.
