Carrying the Gentleman's Secret

by Helen Dickson

  It was her green eyes that were brought to mind when he was buying a gift for Miranda in Paris. The moment he saw the diamond and emerald necklace with matching drop earrings, imagining how Lydia’s eyes would enhance the glow of the emeralds, he knew he had to buy them for her.

  * * *

  The morning of the opening, dressed in smart dark blue dresses with white trimming, nervous and full of anticipation, Lydia and Emily were in the shop early to make sure everything was in order. It got off to a quiet start, but by mid-morning a constant stream of ladies came in and they were kept busy. Some came to look and browse among the racks of ready-made outfits, others bought small items—embroidered gloves, painted fans, shawls, decorative purses and reticules, a new bonnet and ribbons, lace collars and cuffs and artificial flowers to perk up last year’s dresses and hats. Some were happy to sit and gossip and sip tea and browse through some of Lydia’s designs and the fashion magazines neatly placed on tables.

  Emily had a way with her when dealing with the customers. Even though their friendship was of long standing, Emily had an enviable ability to charm and sweet-talk the customers into purchasing something that Lydia admired.

  * * *

  At the end of the day they were exhausted but well pleased at the way everything had gone and as the week progressed they had orders for gowns to be made exclusively.

  She was surprised when Alistair came—to take a look at the competition, he said. After looking around and taking stock he went, but not before telling Lydia her mother would have been proud of her and wishing her well. She watched him go, glad he’d found the time to come and see her.

  * * *

  Determined not to think of Alex, Lydia immersed herself in her work. It was agreed among her customers that she was a clever dressmaker, her designs fresh and original, her salon welcoming and comfortable, and the staff polite. She had more than enough to do and there was plenty of sewing to occupy her free time. But she could do nothing to prevent him stealing into her thoughts and dreams when she closed her eyes at night.

  Her father called to see her one week after the salon had opened. It was a Sunday, so the shop was closed. Lydia let him in and took him into her office. Over tea he came straight to the point of what he had in mind.

  ‘I want to ask you about your business. How did the opening go? Well, I hope?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lydia replied with a smile. ‘Better than I hoped, in fact. We have orders that will keep us busy for weeks.’

  ‘That is good. I’m pleased for you. I remember what you said about having to borrow money to begin with.’

  He was watching her intently and she had a notion he knew what she was going to say. ‘I wanted so much to start out on my own. It was what my mother wanted. She left me a little money, but it was not nearly sufficient and I could never hope to save enough from the amount I was earning working for Alistair.’

  ‘Do you mind telling me who loaned you the money? The bank?’

  ‘No. I tried, but was refused.’

  ‘Perhaps I could be of assistance.’

  Lydia looked at him in astonishment. ‘You? How?’

  ‘I am not a poor man, Lydia—far from it. I told you that when I had served my sentence I went into the Australian interior. I had listened to reports of gold finds and decided to do some prospecting of my own. I went to Bathurst in New South Wales. I was lucky. Within days, there in the bottom of the pan was the precious metal I had heard about. They were good days, Lydia. I was practically surrounded by gold. There was a fortune to be made by the early diggers. When I left Australia hundreds of people were descending on the country from all over. So you see I have not done too badly out of being sent to the other side of the world.’

  ‘Goodness! How exciting that must be—panning for gold, which I have heard about both in Australia and California.’

  He smiled. ‘It was and I would take it as a privilege if you would allow me to help with your venture.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said quickly, ‘that is good of you, but of course I couldn’t possibly. I have already borrowed money...’

  ‘I was not talking about loaning you more money. You are my daughter. I find myself in a situation I could not even have imagined when I was a young man. I have more money than I know what to do with. Let me invest in your salon, Lydia. After all, when I am gone what I have will be yours.’

  ‘But...I don’t want it. I cannot accept it.’

  ‘It would give me immense pleasure to provide for you.’

  ‘Please—You cannot—I mean, I wish you will think no more of it. It is out of the question.’

  He looked at her sadly. ‘I see that what I have done to you and your mother runs too deep to be forgiven. You do not accept me as your father.’

  ‘We...cannot rewrite the past.’

  ‘No, but I can make amends for it. If I can. Wouldn’t you want to do the same?’

  ‘I understand why you want to, but I want to live my life being true to myself. What you want to do now you have found me is to live your life being true to my perception of you.’

  He thought for a moment about what she said. ‘I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on this. Both of us will have to wait and see how things turn out. I sincerely hope things can only get better between us on a personal level, but I beg you to consider my offer.’

  ‘But—forgive me—I do not know you. This is only the second time we have met since I was a child and you offer me this.’

  ‘I have thought long and hard about it. My decision to make you the offer was not made on the spur of the moment.’

  ‘I may prove to be a poor investment and you could lose all your money.’

  ‘It is a risk I am willing to take. Besides, if you are anything like your mother, then I have every confidence in your ability to make it a success. Will you at least think about it?’

  ‘I don’t have to. Since we opened there has been a good deal of interest—and orders. I am sure it will give me a profitable return in the future and enable me to pay off the loan I’ve already taken out. It is most generous of you to make the offer of financial help and I thank you for it, but I cannot accept it. It would be like taking your money for what you did to my mother.’

  ‘So it is a matter of pride that stands in your way.’ He smiled sadly. ‘You are so like your mother. You know, Lydia, I am beside myself with contrition. I do so want a chance to right the wrong I did. It has been on my conscience ever since I left you both. Answer me this. Would it help you become a success more quickly were I to invest in your business?’

  ‘Well—yes, of course...’ she stammered.

  ‘Then please take it. I have no one else to give it to. I would feel that I have made some recompense for my past actions. Did Alistair loan you the money?’

  ‘No. It—it was a friend.’

  ‘I see. Have you made any repayments on the loan?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Then accept my offer and you can repay the loan in full and be financially independent. Do not let that foolish pride of yours get in the way. It’s no good to God or man. I can’t take away the past, but I can do my best for you in the future. Promise me you will consider it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I will.’

  * * *

  When Samuel Brook parted from his daughter she was in a dilemma. What was she to do? She was torn between accepting her father’s offer and abiding by the arrangement she had made with Alex. She knew that where Alex was concerned she had become bound in a situation that could only end in heartbreak for her. To let her father into her life and accept his offer to invest in her business could be the answer to her quandary.

  She had already decided that any communication she had with Alex in the romantic sense must end. It could not go on. He could banish her reason by taking her in his arms and kissing her senseless, playing on
her heartstrings like a musician plucked on the strings of a violin.

  Undecided, she sought out Emily, who was in the workroom attaching an extra flounce and lace to the skirt of a dress a lady was to collect the next day. Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest, but they had orders to complete and the only time to catch up with them was on the Sabbath. It was a good situation to be in and Lydia was satisfied that things were going better than she had expected. In fact, if trade continued to expand then she would have to consider taking on another apprentice.

  When she told Emily what her father had offered, that he wanted to invest in the salon, the other woman put down her needle and clapped her hands, her face alight with joy.

  ‘But that is wonderful. Think about it, Lydia. You will be able to employ more workers and expand in other ways.’

  ‘Don’t be too ecstatic, Emily. I only told him I would consider his offer.’

  ‘No, but you will. Just think of the future—what it will mean.’

  Lydia did just that. Perhaps her father’s appearance and his offer to invest in the business would turn out to be a godsend. She did pause to wonder what her mother would have said about it—no doubt she would have sent him on his way and told him not to come back. But Lydia wasn’t her mother and, looking into the future and seeing her dreams come to fruition, she knew she could not turn her back on his offer.

  * * *

  When next her father called and she told him she would be happy for him to invest in the salon, on seeing the genuine pleasure that shone in his eyes and the bustle and excitement that followed, she was gradually convinced she had done the right thing.

  The problem was how she was going to tell Alex when he got back from France. It was something that could not be put off. She knew that she might never see him again once she paid him back as he’d have no reason to visit her. She would never forget those passionate moments they had shared—in fact, the prospect saddened her. But her mind was made up.

  * * *

  It was a Monday afternoon when Lydia prepared for her visit to Alex’s home. She dressed herself in a full blue satin skirt with a tight-fitting boned bodice. Over this she donned a short matching jacket with a wide collar and neatly pinched waist. Adding a touch of light powder to her cheeks and securing a matching hat atop her carefully curled hair, she took a hackney cab to Belgrave Square. She knew this to be Alex’s town residence from the card he had given her in Scotland.

  It was not really proper that she visit his home. She had already visited the bank with her father to sort out the financial aspect of her business and to cancel Alex’s loan and pay back what she had spent—with interest—but she really wanted to tell him herself, face to face.

  As soon as she stepped down from the cab she felt that she had entered a different world. She stared at the splendid white-stuccoed mansions—townhouses for the country gentry and aristocracy—with awe. She had known that Belgravia was one of London’s most fashionable residential districts, but she had not imagined it to be so grand.

  She was nervous as she climbed the steps to the impressive oak door and it was a moment before she found the courage to ring the bell. She heard it sound somewhere within the house and after a short time the door was opened by a servant meticulously garbed in black with just a white collar to relieve the severity. In middle age his bearing was dignified and he had a superior air about him. His face was impassive, his eyes assessing as they passed over her.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘I have come to see Mr Golding,’ Lydia said, clutching her purse in front of her to keep her hands from trembling. ‘If he is at home, that is. I know he’s been away in France. Has he returned?’

  He nodded. ‘He’s not expecting you.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, but...’

  ‘It’s all right, Albert,’ a female voice said from behind him.

  A woman emerged from the shadows. Lydia recognised her as Alex’s sister—Henry’s wife.

  ‘Why, Miss Brook. How lovely it is to see you. Please, do come in.’ Ushering her inside, she turned to the servant. ‘It’s all right, Albert. Please tell my brother Miss Brook is here to see him—although he might be a while,’ she informed Lydia. ‘He’s ensconced with a business associate at present—has been for the past hour.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I—I do not wish to interrupt, Lady Seymour. Perhaps I should come back at some other time...’

  ‘I wouldn’t hear of it and I know he’ll be disappointed if you don’t wait. And my name is Miranda. Lady Seymour sounds far too formal.’

  ‘Then you must call me Lydia.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘He—he did say he had to go away for a while—to France.’

  ‘He wasn’t away as long as he expected. Come into the drawing room. I would so like to hear how your salon is going. Well, I hope. Have some tea sent in, please, Albert.’

  ‘Yes, it’s going very well. Better than I had expected.’

  ‘That’s wonderful—really. I’m so glad. Come, let me take your coat.’ Lydia quickly removed it and handed it to her, taking a moment to look at her surroundings as Miranda went to deposit her coat on a chair.

  Lydia was completely overwhelmed by the beauty and wealth of the house. Standing in the centre of the black-and-white marble-floored hall, she looked dazedly about her, wondering if she had not come to some royal palace by mistake. She wasn’t to know that compared to Aspen Grange, Alex’s home in Berkshire, this house was considered to be of moderate proportions. A curved staircase rose to the upper reaches of the house and, craning her neck, she was almost dazzled by the huge chandelier suspended from the ceiling, dripping with hundreds of tiny crystal pieces.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve come today,’ Miranda said, coming to stand beside her. ‘Any later and I would have missed you. I’ve decided to return to Surrey tomorrow—to my husband.’

  Lydia’s heart skipped a beat on being reminded of Henry by his wife. ‘He...is not here with you...in London?’

  ‘No. Alex thinks the country air will be better for me than the air here in London. I—I am with child, you see,’ she said with a quiet confidentiality.

  ‘Yes, Alex told me.’

  Miranda looked surprised. ‘He did? Oh—I see. When?’

  Lydia could have bitten her tongue, but she could not retract the words. ‘He—he called at the salon before he went to France. I hope you don’t mind him telling me.’

  She smiled. ‘No, of course I don’t. It’s early days. Anyway, here we are.’ Having reached a closed door, she paused. ‘We have a guest. Come and meet her. She’s staying with her brother in town, Sir David Hilton. He’s a close friend and neighbour of Alex. Irene is in London for an indefinite period.’

  Lydia smiled, looking at her with interest. ‘You are close to your brother, I think.’

  ‘Yes—I adore him. I cannot hide the fact that he’s an exacting man, who insists on the highest standards from all those he employs and the people he does business with. He has a brilliant mind and a head for figures that shames me. He drives himself hard, demanding too much of himself—and others. But he can be charming, when it suits him. You probably know he was married—his wife died rather tragically. They didn’t get on.’ She laughed when she saw Lydia was quite taken aback by her forthright manner. ‘It’s all right—I know, I always talk too much, but it was no secret to anyone who knew them.’

  Entering the drawing room, Lydia blinked at the extravagance and unaccustomed luxury. Her uneducated eye was unable to place a value on the beautiful things she saw, but she was able to appreciate and admire the quality of the beautifully furnished room. Now Lydia knew who Alex Golding actually was. She saw what comprised his background, the wealth, the trappings of a world so very different from her own that they might have come from different planets.

  In that moment, the enormous difference between them became emphas
ised. She saw all these things as extensions of the world in which Alex lived, one where Alex Golding had never known labour in the way the people she had been acquainted with all her life had laboured. Seeing his luxurious home only reinforced Lydia’s decision that she was doing the right thing. Everything she saw marked the gulf between them, a form of Rubicon that, in her mind, she could not cross.

  Chapter Seven

  At the warmth and sincerity of Miranda’s greeting, despite Lydia’s history with Henry, she felt at ease. This good feeling lasted only a moment. One look at the beautiful young woman Miranda introduced her to—whose nose was long and straight and perfect for looking down—made Lydia’s heart sink. It only took her moment to realise that Irene Hilton, who was perhaps two or three years older than herself, was unlike Miranda in every aspect. Lydia did not care for her. There was something malicious about her.

  It was plain to Lydia that Miss Hilton was confident and assured of her place in the grand sphere of things. With her attractive looks, an abundance of shining fair hair, the dark-lashed deep blue eyes and skin like clotted cream, she had been blessed with every physical advantage a woman could wish for. And just a few minutes in her company were enough to tell Lydia that she knew it.

  As Lydia settled herself opposite this aloof woman, Miss Hilton’s austere gaze settled on her in a cool and exacting way. Impersonally, her eyes raked her with a single withering glance as if she were some beggar who had the temerity to come calling on those who were better off, deciding then that she was of the lower class and had no social credentials to recommend her. Immediately a wall of antipathy sprang up between them and Irene seemed bent on putting her at a disadvantage from the start.

  ‘So you are the woman Alex has taken under his wing,’ she remarked, her tone lightly contemptuous. Her lips stretched tightly in a practised smile, giving Lydia a flash of sharp white teeth from between her parted red lips.

  There were hidden connotations behind the smile and Lydia was not quite sure how to read them, but whatever the meaning behind it, Lydia knew it would not do to get off on a bad footing with this woman. Puzzled, she looked at Miranda, a look that said how does she know?