There he was, sitting just across the room from her, smiling at her mother, smiling at Miss Danvers and Miss Thomas, who had also called just a short time before, smiling at Lady Archwood, who was looking as mad and beautiful as ever in a simple gown of navy blue, which made her stormy eyes sparkle brightly as gems. In a room painted in robin’s egg blue and furnished in pale yellow, decorated all about with spindly tables and chairs and occupied by pale young ladies in lavender and pink, all eyes could not fail but to be on the shimmering countess.
Except for Mr. Fawkes. Lydia could scarcely breathe, her body was so filled with sensation. She could feel his eyes on her. She dare not look up; through downcast lashes she gazed unseeingly at her own folded hands in her lap, while she tried to mask the trembling excitement that was making it way through her limbs. Behave yourself, and pay attention the conversation, she chided herself. You must ignore him. You must.
And indeed, conversation had been buzzing around her while Lydia was trying to gain control of herself. Even her usually disapproving mama was finding herself fascinated by some exploit of Grainne’s. “And you rode the horse anyway?” she was asking now. “And in a side-saddle? Why my dear, you might have broken your neck!”
Lady Archwood smiled. “One can’t think that way, you know. Being frightened of a horse will get you nowhere.”
“My, but you’re brave. My Lydia won’t go anywhere near a horse, will you Lydia, dear?” Lady Katherine chuckled. “And I worry for her health; she did not get very strong with all of her indoor pursuits.”
Lydia willed herself not to burst into tears, but she could feel her cheeks flushed red. How could her mother have called her out like that? And in front of Mr. Fawkes, besides? Oh, he would never have the slightest interest in her now! It had felt like a stroke of dumb luck when he walked into the room, or perhaps, yes, destiny, and now her mother was shaming her in front of him. She dared to look up, and when her eyes met Mr. Fawkes’ it was like a flash of lightning lit the room. Her lips fell open, and his hazel eyes smoldered. She watched his jaw tighten and his hands clench into fists with wonder. He felt it too.
“I was speaking with Miss Dean about that very topic last night,” Lady Archwood was saying earnestly. “I told her she should really learn to ride. We are dependent upon horses in every way. It would only make good sense to know how to handle one properly.”
Miss Danvers spoke up now, her eyes fixed on Mr. Fawkes. She was a pretty little thing, in her second season like Lydia, but without much fortune to recommend her. “I myself ride every day,” she announced, as if she had won some sort of contest. “It is a most healthful exercise.”
“It is,” Lady Archwood agreed fervently. “How well for you.”
Mr. Fawkes flicked a reluctant glance at Miss Danvers. Elizabeth Danvers smiled prettily from the divan where she sat so decorously in her pink gown, its pleated skirt arranged perfectly down to her crossed ankles. He nodded absently at her before looking away, and her smile twisted a little in disappointment.
Miss Thomas, sitting beside her, took a turn, rubbing at her unfortunately large nose with her unfortunately large hands. “My father put me on a pony before I could walk,” she boasted. “He says that we Thomases have a natural way with horses.”
Mr. Fawkes and Lady Archwood nodded solemnly, as if no more valuable praise could be spoken. And then their eyes were upon her.
Lydia resisted the urge to squirm, but with those two intense, vivid people, whose good opinions had suddenly become the most important thing in the world to her, it was not easy. What did they want her to say? Lady Archwood and her mother had already made it clear that she was frightened of horses and could not ride; there was no use pretending now. Lydia wracked her brain frantically, trying to think of something to say that would redeem herself in Mr. Fawkes’s eyes.
His beautiful, soulful brown eyes.
“I wish to learn to ride,” she blurted. “I just have not known who might teach me.”
Mr. Fawkes smiled, his features creasing with the curve of his chiseled lips, and Lydia knew that, however foolish it might have been, she’d said exactly what he’d wanted to hear.
But Lady Katherine, who perhaps saw the crackling fire between the penniless nobody and her only daughter, was all too ready to give the game away. “Why, Lydia!” she cried. “You have always been terrified of horses! I have never heard you say a single word in their favor. What makes you think you would be able to learn to ride?”
Lady Archwood turned her steady gaze upon Lady Katherine. “Madam, only consider how good it would be for your daughter to learn to ride. Not only would she be engaging in healthful exercise, but to overcome a childhood fear? That is nothing to sneer at. She would be a better person for it.”
“Yes,” Mr. Fawkes said softly, his eyes still on Lydia. “There is nothing so good for a person as the companionship of a horse. They are all the things we wish for in our friends: loyal, honest, kind, even loving.”
Lydia, her gaze captured by Mr. Fawkes, could say nothing, but her mind was buzzing as if a swarm of bees had come into the room. The world had grown very small and very alarming in the past quarter of an hour. Her fate, it would seem, was in their hands: in her mother’s, in Lady Archwood’s, in Mr. Fawkes’. Even the two other young ladies in the room had subsided, their petty offerings now discarded by Lydia’s much greater one: to overcome a lifelong fear. There was a moment of quiet.
“Well, I do not know who will have the teaching of her!” Lady Katherine sighed, throwing up her hands. “We have only the carriage horses and Lord Waltham’s riding horse, and she cannot be trusted with that brute; I have told Lord Waltham time and time again to find a horse with a better temper, and he will not listen to me. And we will not be in the country for months yet. Perhaps then Lord Waltham can have the grooms lead her around on something quiet. An old broodmare, perhaps. Will that do, Lydia?”
Lydia opened her mouth. It wouldn’t do, of course — she wasn’t actually going to have the courage to get on a horse here or in the country, she knew that much already. Better admit it now, before this farce got out of hand.
But Lady Archwood spoke first. “Or perhaps she can come and visit us at Tivington,” she suggested brightly. “We have mounts of every sort there; I could teach her to ride myself.”
“She would learn all about horses there,” Mr. Fawkes said, turning to Lady Katherine with obvious eagerness. “There is really no place better. The fresh air and the riding would really build her up. She would come back with the strongest constitution imaginable.”
Lady Katherine was regarding her thoughtfully, her gaze shifting between Mr. Fawkes and her daughter. Weighing her options. Judging her suspicions. Lydia bowed her head under the studied gaze of everyone in the drawing room. This had really turned into the most agonizing afternoon.
“I will speak to Lord Waltham about it,” Lady Katherine said finally, in a tone meant to end the conversation. “Thank you so much for your offer.”
***
“She said she’d speak to Father about it,” Lydia whispered frantically. “I still can’t believe she meant it! She must not have meant it. She must not have. Right?”
Mary placidly went on dressing Lydia’s hair, unaffected by the emotional fever in the room. Lydia was, as always, both impressed and hurt by Mary’s complete calm in the face of momentous events. “It’s possible she meant it,” Mary contributed after a few moments of breathless silence. “Don’t know why she’d lie to the lady if she didn’t. After all, your ma isn’t known for holdin’ her tongue.”
Lydia let out her held breath in a gusty sigh. “That’s true,” she admitted, and giggled nervously. Her mother had not the worst reputation in London, to be sure, but she wasn’t the most circumspect gossip, either. “She wouldn’t bother saving face with the countess. So she must have meant it!” Lydia bounced and Mary made a face at her in the mirror, holding up the curling tongs as a reminder that she put her very looks at risk every time sh
e wriggled. But Lydia could hardly make herself be still, even with the threat of crisped curls and nasty burns literally hovering above her head. There was a chance that she’d be allowed to go to Tivington with Lady Archwood. There was a chance that she’d be next to Peregrin Fawkes every single day. There was a chance that he’d fall in love with her.
“He hasn’t any fortune,” Mary reminded her glumly, as if she knew what sort of elaborate castles Lydia was building up in her mind. “This isn’t going to end in a wedding.”
Lydia blinked. “I — I never said —”
“You think your mother will relent because you are head over heels in love? I’m tellin’ ye that won’t happen. If this is about breaking your heart over this man, don’t go. Stay here and pick a nice title for yourself. You could do it. You had scads of men here before. All ye have to do is pick yourself up, get over this bloke, and be your old merry self. We’ll move from one big house to another. I’m sorry to tell you, miss, but I don’t relish the idea of livin’ in some cottage that’s hardly better than a stable. And it sounds like that’s what this fellow of yours might have to offer you. Stay in town and find yourself a fat rich fish. We’ll both be the happier for it.”
Lydia couldn’t believe Mary was being so simplistic. As if it was that easy! Well, Mary had never been in love, that was all. Just wait until it happened to her!
Lydia contented herself for the rest of the hair-dressing session by imagining Mary in a series of ever-more-inappropriate love affairs, ranging from a butcher’s boy to a chimney sweep’s apprentice, before admitting to herself that Mary would probably marry a prosperous merchant and leave her to run her own fine house in the city. Mary was no fool.
Lydia, of course, knew she was a fool. It was her lady’s maid who had all the world figured out.
“Off to Lady Hastings you go,” Mary said when all the fussing was over, brushing at a bit of fluff on the skirt of Lydia’s peach-colored evening gown. “You look very fine.”
“Thank you,” Lydia replied, peering at herself in the cheval glass. It was a fine gown, although she thought that the peach color was not her best. Her pale hair grew paler, as if she was simply disappearing. “It is not my favorite dress,” she admitted.
“Nor is this mine,” Mary said tartly, putting away hair-pins. “But I wear it just the same.”
Mary was really growing more and more snappish, Lydia reflected. Sometimes she wondered if they were really friends any more, or if Mary had started to resent her, and being in service to her. It would be a sad thing to lose such an old friendship. She went down the stairs slowly, trying to think her way through all the changes over the past few months — the lost love affair with Hadley, the lost friendship with Alyssa, the total shift in her nature (and ensuing loss of popularity) after the whole affair, this crazy, inexplicable love for a man she barely knew… it would be a sad thing, indeed, to add faithful Mary to the list.
“Pick up your chin,” Lady Katherine advised. The carriage was rattling through the London streets on the short trip to Lady Hasting’s supper party, and Lady Katherine seemed determined to spend as much of the journey as possible making corrections to Lydia’s bearing and appearance. It would seem she had had enough of Lydia’s newfound status as a wallflower. “You really need to put on a bright smile this evening, Lydia. There are several gentlemen this evening that you should make the acquaintance of. Lord Sutton, in particular, has been on the Continent for the past year and has not yet been introduced to you. But I have a notion he would make an excellent husband for you.”
“And what gives you that opinion, Mother?” Lydia asked wearily, although she already knew.
“Impudent! He is a man of fine fortune and already in possession of a minor title. He will be Earl of Longhampton some day and you will be a countess.” Lady Katherine gave her daughter a stern look.
“Speaking of countesses, have you given thought to Lady Archwood’s invitation?” Lydia said daringly. Her father dragged his eyes away from the window, where he had been studying the evening streets and ignoring the tiresome talk of dresses and husbands. Lord Dean had been very quiet since his only son had gone away to Oxford and spent more time drinking with his professors than learning from them.
“What is this invitation?” he asked his wife now.
Lady Katherine plumped herself up like an angry hen. “It’s nonsense, it’s nothing.”
“I am not to go?” Lydia burst out. She felt ready tears springing to her eyes. Oh, this was a tragedy! “Why would you tell her you would consider it if you were not going to?”
“Lydia!” Lady Katherine snapped. “How dare you take that tone with me?” She turned back to her husband and said, in a more mollifying tone, “It is really nothing. I thought about allowing it, but there is not a single person to be there that Lydia should meet, and so there is no reason. She will be better here, mixing with the right people, as she has been. I am going to see to it she makes a good impression on Sutton tonight. He is my favorite, I have decided. Steady, with a fine fortune. Just what we have been waiting for.”
Lord Dean considered this without obvious comprehension. It was possible that he had no idea just what his wife considered desirable in their daughter’s future husband. But marriage was women’s business. He slid his tired eyes to his daughter’s despairing face. “What is the attraction of going, Lydia? It is so early to go to the country, and you are never in a hurry to go home from London.”
It is a man. “It is the offer Lady Archwood made me, sir. She wants to teach me to ride.”
His eyes opened a bit wider. “To ride! My hothouse flower wishes to ride?”
She nodded reluctantly. “I know it sounds strange. But I have had a… a change of heart about riding. I should like to strengthen my constitution with healthful pursuits. I have… I have not felt overly strong this spring. You must have noticed I have not been so eager to dance.” That seemed a good enough excuse for both her behavior over the past few months and her desire to go the country before the Season’s end, she thought. Her father nodded.
“You could walk, you know. Walking is a most healthful occupation for a young lady.”
“This is true,” Lady Katherine interjected. “You could stand to do much more walking than you do. We will make you up some new dresses. And a new parasol or two to match.”
“I am sure riding would be so … healthful,” Lydia persisted, albeit uncertainly. “And it would make me a more graceful dancer, I am told.”
“That is true,” her mother admitted, almost to herself. “I think the Brixton girl is the finest dancer in London, and she has been riding since she was a child, they tell me.”
“So you see how beneficial it would be,” Lydia wheedled. “I would draw the eye so prettily in the dances.”
“I have always wished you would ride,” Lord Dean said wistfully. “It is one of my chief pleasures. I could never understand why you would not go near a horse.”
Lydia managed not to shudder at the thought of going near a horse. “It would be lovely,” she managed, but could think of nothing else. Why did people go on and on about horses as if they were the reason for existence? She was trying, the good Lord knew she was trying, but she was just not able to think of many reasons to learn to ride besides the true one, which was to make Mr. Fawkes fall in love with her.
Which, she knew, was a terrible idea. Her mother would never stand for it. But if she could get her father to take her side in this, who knew how far he might go for in the future…
“Let your husband teach you to ride,” Lady Katherine said dismissively, waving a hand to end the entire affair. The carriage lurched to a halt. “As soon as you find one. Ah, we are here. Smile, Lydia.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I was surprised you invited that girl to Tivington,” Peregrin said off-handedly. He picked up a curry comb and went into the chestnut’s stall, whispering soothingly as the horse moved about uncertainly. It was going to take some time to gain the trust
of the animal; the young horse was still half-wild and unaccustomed to too many people handling it. Now that he realized this, Peregrin saw how foolish he’d been to actually try to ride the horse in Hyde Park. But what was done was done; he’d fix it all once they got to the country.
Grainne was in the next box, rubbing Gretna with a soft towel. The mare was stretching out her neck and upper lip with pleasure, her eyes half-closed. Peregrin had once watched her rub the horse’s itchy spots for half an hour, until her arm was exhausted, so much pleasure did she take in making Gretna happy. One more thing to love about her.
“She’s a nice girl,” Grainne replied, just as casually. “A little unhappy. She has been on the Marriage Market unceasingly for nearly two years. I thought she could use a break from all of this the same as the rest of us. And that mother of hers.”
“Poisonous,” Peregrin agreed. “And not a glance for me, did you notice? I suppose she knows I haven’t got two shillings to rub together.”
“A woman like that knows the fortune of every person in the room. Especially with her daughter not married. You’re lucky you’re not just impoverished while you wait for someone to die, or she’d be all over you.”
Grainne never did mince words. Peregrin managed to tie the wide-eyed colt to a ring and started rubbing him with the curry comb. “I need to name this horse,” he said aloud.
“I’ve been calling him Reynard,” Grainne mused. “It’s not that original, but he’s so red.”
“You named my horse already!”
“I wasn’t going to just call him horse all the time. How would he know I was talking to him?”
“When have you been talking to him?”
“I come and talk to him at least three times a day,” Grainne said in exasperation. “What do you think I do all day while you’re doing important man things with William? Sew?”
Peregrin laughed despite his indignation. “Do you even know how to sew?”
The Honorable Nobody (Heroines on Horseback Book 2) Page 6
