by Ava Stone
Thank God Robert is here.
She felt her body go limp.
But Henry didn’t release her. He laughed instead. “I don’t think you’ll use that. You might hurt the prissy little countess.”
A muscle near Robert’s eye twitched, but he stalked forward. “I seriously doubt that. My aim is excellent. Now, unhand my wife.”
Finally, Henry removed his hand from Lydia’s mouth. She sagged from relief. “R—Robert, please be careful.”
But Robert appeared not to hear her. He remained solely focused on Henry. “I said unhand my wife, Warner.”
“She doesn’t belong to you.” Henry’s gaze bore down on Robert. “She’s mine. I laid claim to her first.”
Lydia’s heart stopped. How could he blurt out such a thing to Robert like that? Her eyes flew to her husband’s face. But he didn’t even flinch. His jaw tightened instead. “And that’s reason enough to put a bullet through your heart. We’ve reached the end of my patience, Lieutenant. Release my wife, or I’ll drop you where you stand.”
Something was going on in Henry’s mind. Lydia could see emotions flashing across her brother’s face, but she couldn’t read them. Henry looked down at her and in his eyes she saw, fleetingly, the young boy she’d once known. “Sorry, Lyddie,” he whispered. Then he suddenly pushed her away from him and lunged for Robert’s weapon.
Lydia screamed and the pistol went off.
Then it was as if time moved in slow motion. A look of horror crossed Henry’s face when he caught sight of his chest. Blood was beginning to seep through the white cloth of his muslin shirt.
Robert dropped the pistol in his hand and bellowed for help. Lydia was in a daze and she barely registered that Robert was now walking toward her. He sank to his knees at her feet and wrapped his arms around her abdomen. “Oh, God. Please, tell me that you’re all right.”
But she couldn’t speak. She wasn’t all right and she couldn’t catch her breath.
Both Betsy and Kistler burst into the room and gasped in unison when they saw Lieutenant Warner’s collapsed body on the floor, struggling for his last intake of air. Robert stood hastily and met his valet’s eyes. “Have Dunsley send for Sir Phillip Cressley.”
Without a hint of hesitation, Kistler bolted from the room. Robert cupped Lydia’s face in his hands. But she couldn’t look at him and she closed her eyes tightly. “Lydia darling, please say something.”
She was trembling. She couldn’t help it, and she couldn’t focus. Everything she wanted, everything she’d hoped for was gone. Life would never be the same again. She turned her face away from his reach and stepped toward the door. Then without a look back, she raced from the room.
***
Robert watched in horror as Lydia fled from him. He started after her, but Betsy stayed his arm. “Give her some space, my lord.”
Damn if that didn’t feel like the wrong thing to do. Robert looked down at Lieutenant Warner’s now lifeless body on the floor of his bedchamber.
When he’d arrived at Gosling and was informed that Lieutenant Warner had arrived the very day after he’d left for London, he thought he’d be sick. He’d raced in the house with the pistol he’d been traveling with for protection. He hadn’t meant to kill Warner, though God knew he wanted to. And when he’d seen Lydia struggling with the monster, he’d have done anything to protect her.
But never would he have thought the blackguard would have lunged for him. He didn’t even remember pulling the trigger. But he had, and now the man was dead and his wife was off suffering somewhere alone. Remembering the look of terror on Lydia’s face when the pistol rang out was sheer torture.
Blast Betsy! He had to find Lydia.
***
Lydia sat in the garden, numb. She vaguely noticed an hour later that the magistrate had arrived. Henry was dead. Wasn’t he? He certainly looked dead. She wasn’t yet able to cry, so she simply stared at the sculptured topiaries in a daze.
“Lady Masten?” came Dunsley’s soft voice from the pathway.
“Yes?” Lydia barely answered, without raising her eyes to see the butler.
Dunsley stepped forward and offered his hand. “My lady, Sir Phillip is requesting your presence in the drawing room.”
Sir Phillip. Lydia sighed wearily.
The magistrate would ask all sorts of embarrassing questions. Questions Lydia would rather not answer. Questions Lydia was afraid Robert had already figured out the answers to. For a moment, she considered bolting. She could take a horse and go back to Blackstone. No one would think to look for her there. She could hide out at the Knight’s Arms, for a while. Surely the Langes would let her stay. She could go back to Carteret house on Queen Street and…and go back to that room. The room that had been hers seven years ago when she lived with Aunt Agnes. Were the answers that plagued her still in that room?
“My lady?” Dunsley’s concerned voice entered her consciousness.
Lydia snapped her head in the direction of the butler. She couldn’t flee. She wouldn’t abandon Peter and Penny. She wouldn’t endanger the life of her unborn child by riding across the country, hiding from her ghosts. Even if Robert despised her, the life of the child she carried meant more than her own. And Robert. She was certain that he could never look at her again, but despite everything she would always love him. She couldn’t let him deal with Sir Phillip alone, not after he’d been the only person ever to have saved her from Henry’s wrath.
Lydia stood up from her seat on the bench and nodded to the old man. “Thank you, Dunsley.” Then she squared her shoulders and started back for the castle.
When Lydia entered the drawing room, both Robert and Sir Phillip stood. She couldn’t look at her husband. She couldn’t bear to see the disgust that must be on his face. Lydia forced a smile for the aging magistrate. “Sir Phillip.”
Sir Phillip nodded his balding pate politely to the countess. “Lady Masten, your husband was just relaying to me the unfortunate events of this afternoon. I am terribly sorry for the loss of your brother.”
The loss of your brother. Those words echoed in her mind. But she hadn’t lost Henry today. She’d lost him years ago. Today had just been an awful reminder. “Thank you, sir.”
“I understand that you were in the room when the accident occurred.”
Accident? Before Lydia could speak, Robert broke in. “Cressley, can’t you see she’s distraught. In her condition, must you do this now?”
Sir Phillip frowned. “It’s just unusual that the lieutenant would be in your bedchamber, my lord.”
“I already told you, my brother-in-law and I were discussing weaponry and we’d gone to my room to look at the dueling pistols that belonged to my father.”
Lydia’s eyes flew to Robert’s. What was this Banbury tale he was spinning?
“When her ladyship entered the room, Warner got startled and he dropped the pistol. It went off, hitting him in the chest. Now, sir, look at my wife. Taking her condition into account, I must ask that you speak to her later.”
So that was the story he’d conjured up? Why didn’t he simply tell the truth? Certainly, he wasn’t afraid of the hangman’s noose. An earl wouldn’t go to the gallows for this, especially not if Robert was honest with Sir Phillip. Henry had jumped for the pistol, and Robert had defended and protected her. He wasn’t at fault.
But she couldn’t call him a liar, couldn’t contradict his story in front of the magistrate. “It’s all right. I’d rather get this over with. What is it you wish to ask me, Sir Phillip?”
“Since you were there, my lady, I just need you to corroborate Masten’s story.”
“Are you saying you doubt my husband’s account?”
Sir Phillip shook his head. “No, my lady, but his temper is legendary and—”
“Cressley!” Robert growled.
Lydia held up her hand to silence her husband. “Sir, my husband is the most honorable of men. The story is exactly as he said. It was an accident. I certainly didn’t mean to su
rprise my brother, and I had no idea that he was in my bedchamber. I was simply retiring for a nap. This babe has made me very tired, you see.”
The magistrate studied her for a moment and then nodded at Robert. “Very well. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”
***
After Sir Phillip made his exit, Robert watched Lydia drop her eyes to the floor. She still hadn’t met his gaze. “Lydia.” He crossed the floor in three strides and took her hand in his. “Look at me.”
Slowly, her eyes rose to his face. She didn’t look good. But how did he expect her to look? He still didn’t know what had transpired while he was in London. He still didn’t know why Warner was in their bedchamber, keeping his wife prisoner. He still didn’t know what she thought or felt about the situation.
Robert had raced in there with a pistol in his hand and shot her brother in the heart, right after threatening to do so. Should she look happy to see him?
But whatever was going on in the bedchamber wasn’t good. Lydia wasn’t there voluntarily. “Tell me what happened.” It wasn’t a question. He used his commanding voice.
“What happened is that I corroborated that pack of lies you just told Sir Phillip.”
He was trying to keep his temper in check. He was tired, sore, frustrated, and more confused than he’d ever been. For the past sennight he’d been trying to protect her in one way or another, and now she was being flippant? “Would you have rather I told Cressley how I discovered you and Warner? I’ve spent the last week trying to protect your good name, and I’d be damned if—”
He stopped when Lydia’s face went white and her eyes filled with unshed tears. Robert sighed. Seeing her in pain was like a stake through his heart. “Sweetheart, please tell me he didn’t hurt you again.”
***
Again?
What did he mean again? Lydia’s eyes grew large as she stared at her husband. His expression was one of love and concern, not the anger and repulsion she’d expected to see. She shook her head, as words wouldn’t come.
Robert cupped her face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Lydia. I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear to you I didn’t, but when I saw the terror in your eyes when you tried to free yourself…”
“What do you mean, ‘again’?”
Robert took her hand and led her to the settee, where he sat beside her. “I knew you didn’t want to speak of it, Lydia, and so when James told me what Warner did to you, I said nothing.”
Lydia’s heart stopped beating. Surely, she misunderstood what Robert was saying. She prayed he didn’t really know. “James said what?”
Robert’s eyes dropped to where his hands cradled hers. “He told me about the night at Carteret House, when your brother broke the door to your room. He told me everything.”
Her mouth had gone dry. No one knew what happened that night. Just Henry, Aunt Agnes, and her. Aunt Agnes would never have told James, as she’d forbidden Lydia to tell anyone. And yet, Robert did know. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in her soul. He knew about the attack. He knew that Henry had taken her innocence. He knew…and hadn’t looked at her in disgust. Her lips begin to tremble. “Robert?”
Slowly, his eyes rose to her face. When he saw the agony she was in, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her. He still loved her. The floodgates opened and Lydia sobbed like she had never been allowed to do.
He whispered soothing words and caressed her back, and promised she would always be safe. For the first time in her life, Lydia actually believed it. There was still so much that had not been said, and she wanted to finally be free of her terrible secret.
“Why, Robert? Why did he do that to me? I adored him. I worshiped him.”
Robert shook his head. “I don’t know why anyone would ever do such a thing, darling. But your brother wasn’t the man you thought he was.”
How could he know that? He’d never even laid eyes on Henry until today. “What do you mean?”
“James said that your Aunt Agnes was worried about Warner’s character, and that she wouldn’t let him see you. I think she had reason to believe the worst about him, otherwise she wouldn’t have kept you from him for all those years.”
Lydia hadn’t known that. Aunt Agnes wouldn’t let Henry see her? Why not? What had he done? She was so young at the time, she just couldn’t remember.
“Darling, you do know that this isn’t your fault?”
Lydia shook her head. Aunt Agnes had said the same thing, but it just didn’t make sense. She’d always felt that she must have done something, said something that made Henry hurt her. She could just never figure out what it was.
Robert pulled her back into his arms and enveloped her with his love and warmth. “You were a child, Lydia. You were not to blame for his despicable actions.”
Aunt Agnes had told her that no one would understand, that they would think she was at fault. How did Robert see things differently than that? “You don’t think less of me?”
“Never,” he swore vehemently. “You are the most perfect woman. You are beautiful, you know. Strikingly so. But it’s your heart I fell in love with, Lydia. You are honest and kind, forgiving, passionate, and loving. You are my life. No one will ever hurt you again.”
Lydia wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips to his. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Oh, darling, you deserve so much better than me.” Then he smiled roguishly. “But it’s too late. You’re mine and you’re stuck with me.”
Lydia laughed as she brushed the last of her tears away. “I’d never want to be stuck with anyone else.”
~ Epilogue ~
Robert had worn a path around the green parlor, waiting for news on his wife. He’d never known such torture. While James MacFadyn and David Benton were conversing pleasantly and playing a game of piquet, Robert thought he’d strangle the life out of both of them. How could they sit there so calmly?
“Sit down,” David commanded, looking up from his cards. “Working yourself up into hysterics won’t help you or her at this point.”
“I can’t sit still,” Robert growled. He’d already been barred from his wife’s bedside by both Caroline and Bethany Carteret.
The two card-playing peers exchanged matching smirks. James dropped his cards to the table and rose from his seat. He draped his arm around Robert’s shoulders companionably. “She’ll be fine. It’s just your first time, is all. Trust me, when you’ve been through this as many times as Staveley and I have, it’s old hat.”
Robert liked to pride himself on being logical, but the fact of the matter was his mother did die in childbirth with Caroline. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost Lydia—she was his life.
David nodded in agreement with James. “True, true. Next time it won’t take as long, and it’ll be even shorter the time after that. This is the worst of it, Masten.”
Thank God it didn’t get worse than this. Robert didn’t think his heart could handle it. Before he could say as much, the parlor doors opened and Caroline stepped inside, looking both hot and weary. Though when she spotted her brother, she smiled. “Now, you can go up, Robert. And—”
Robert never knew what else Caroline had to say. He bolted out of the room, down the long and winding corridor, and up the stairs that led to his bedchamber. He threw open door and found his wife lying quietly in the middle of their bed.
Bethany Carteret was holding a little bundle in her arms and she approached him with a sweet smile. “Would you like to hold her, Masten?”
Her. He had a daughter.
Robert couldn’t speak, words of joy were stuck in his throat, and he was only able to nod. Bethany carefully placed the little bundle that was his daughter into the crook of his arm. When he looked down at the little sleeping face of the baby, he fell instantly in love.
He never noticed Bethany slip out of the room. He was too engrossed in watching his daughter’s tiny stomach rise and fall with each intake of breath. There was never anything more
lovely in the world. Well, almost. Robert started toward the bed, his eyes on Lydia. Though she must be exhausted, she managed a weary smile. “I know you were hoping for a son.”
Had he ever said such a foolish thing? Robert crossed the floor and carefully sat on the edge of the bed, still cradling his daughter in his arms. “She’s perfect, sweetheart, our perfect little angel.”
Lydia closed her eyes and smiled.
Oh, how he loved this woman, his wife. His heart overflowed just looking at her. He’d never let anyone hurt her again and would dedicate the rest of his life to her happiness. Robert carefully bent toward her and brushed his lips across her brow. “I love you, Lydia.”
Eyes still closed, she smiled even bigger. “I love you, Robert.”
He looked back at his sleeping infant. “Lady Melody Beckford, you have a most remarkable mother,” Robert stated matter-of-factly.
Lydia blinked her eyes open. “Melody?” her voice sounded choked and a tear began to make its way down her cheek.
“Melody,” he answered and brushed the tear away. He could never take away Lydia’s terrible memories, but he could replace them with new ones. “I can’t bring back her namesake, but I can promise that this little girl will live the happy and joy-filled life your sister deserved. I’ll protect her with every breath in my body.”
There was a soft knock on the door and Robert turned toward the sound. “Come in.”
Slowly, the door opened and Caroline poked her head inside. “You’ve got two children in the hallway who are dying to see their sister.”
Lydia struggled to sit up and smiled happily. “Oh, please send them in.”
Caroline opened the door wide and Peter and Penny cautiously entered the bedchamber. Robert motioned for the children to approach them. “Come along you two.” He shifted the baby in his arms, and Melody’s eyes fluttered open. They were the clearest, deepest blue, just like her mother’s.
