“Father, nothing happened.”
Her lies irritated Levi. He quickly abandoned his post by the door and stalked towards her. “You lying vixen. I saw you and Lord Whitworth with my own eyes.”
“What did you see, Your Grace?” Lord Phelps asked, clearly wanting the truth from someone other than his untruthful daughter.
“I entered the library and witnessed them,” his hand flung in the couple's direction, “locked in a very heated embrace.”
“It wasn't heated,” Lydia quipped.
Levi's eyes settled upon her. The way her beautiful sea green eyes made his insides coil only added to his anger. Why did he respond so passionately to this chit? “Truly? Are you trying to infer that I'm lying?”
“No,” she stuttered, unable to keep eye contact. “But you're making a bigger deal out of this than is necessary.”
“Perhaps, but I will leave it to your father to decide.”
Levi slinked back away from them, but refused to leave the room. He wanted to see how all of this concluded.
Lord Phelps stood erect. Though he wasn't an overly large man, the hardened look on his face demanded respect. “Lord Whitworth, tell me exactly what happened in here.”
Redness began to creep up Lord Whitworth's neck. “You want details, my lord?”
“Just tell me what I need to know,” he sputtered angrily, his patience wearing thin.
“Yes, my lord. I did indeed compromise your daughter.”
Next to him, Lydia inhaled sharply. “Father, I didn't mean for this to happen. Please don't force his hand.”
Lord Phelps closed his eyes as he contemplated his words carefully. Opening them, he looked straight at his daughter and responded without emotion, “Lydia, I've had enough of your antics. It's time you are tamed. You will wed Lord Whitworth.”
He ignored Lydia's sobs as he turned to Lord Whitworth and said, “Come to my house tomorrow and we'll draw up the contract.”
“Father, don't be so hasty. Please, let us talk about this first.”
“Lydia, I'm not the one that's been hasty. It's time you learned that your actions have consequences. Now you will be forced to live with the results of these actions, something you should have thought about beforehand.”
Levi had to look away as tears filled Lydia's eyes, eyes that had the power to captivate him and make him do foolish things. For the briefest of moments, he was tempted to step in and encourage Lord Phelps to reconsider. However, as he watched Lord Whitworth reach a hand towards Lydia to comfort her, his heart hardened, and he held his tongue.
The room was filled with a stony silence, except for the sound of Lydia sniffling as she tried to hold back tears.
Finally, Lord Phelps couldn't take it anymore and blurted, “Let us all return to the ballroom at once before rumors start to fly.” Then he turned on his heal and quickly exited the room, fully expecting the rest of them to follow suit.
Levi, Lydia, and Lord Whitworth solemnly followed him out of the room, returning to the brightly lit ballroom where the music and the people all seemed too gay in light of recent events. Lord Whitworth, his nose looking swollen, turned and disappeared into the crowds, clearly trying to avoid any more awkwardness.
Lord Phelps looked across the room to where his wife was conversing with Alexandra, then turned to Lydia and said, “You will act normal. I don't want anyone learning of your ruin.” Turning to Levi, he added, with all the authority a father possessed, “You will speak of this to no one.”
“You have my word.”
“And,” Lord Phelps continued, “you will escort my daughter out onto the dance floor for the next dance. I don't wish to draw any attention to her for the remainder of the night. Continue on as if nothing untoward has occurred.”
Levi wanted to decline but knew he couldn't say no to Lord Phelps. The man had been dealt a hard blow this night, and he didn't wish to add to his anger. He nodded solemnly, indicating his agreement.
“As soon as the dance is finished, return her to my side. Lydia, you will hardly be let out of my sight until you are safely wed. I hope that is understood.”
Lydia had no option but to agree. Her father remained at her side until the current dance ended and the next one began. With a slight cock of his head, he instructed them to join the dance. Levi offered his arm to Lydia, which she hesitantly took, and escorted her to the middle of the room. She avoided looking into his eyes.
Of all the luck in the world, the orchestra struck up a waltz, and Levi found himself pulling her closer to him. Her head barely reached his chin, and he inhaled deeply of her fresh scent and felt a pang of regret fill his bosom. This would be the last time he ever got to touch her, to hold her close enough to smell the jasmine-scented soap she used in her hair and see the very light, almost unnoticeable, smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that she tried to conceal with powder.
“Stop looking at me,” she barked, her sadness turning to agitation.
“Will you always hate me?” he asked.
“I always have and I always will. You've ruined my life.”
Levi let out a loud guffaw. “No, my dear, you've done a fine job of that all on your own. It wasn't me who forced you to kiss Lord Whitworth this night.”
She finally looked at him, her sea green eyes turning tumultuous, reminding him of the time he'd visited Cornwall and seen how violent the sea became during a storm. “Actually, it was.”
He found her obstinate insistence amusing. “Truly? How so? Was it I who placed you in his arms and forced your lips upon his?”
Lydia bit down hard on her bottom lip. “You ruined me long before he ever did.”
Guilt wormed its way into his heart and his gaze upon her softened. “Is that what this is all about? Retaliation for what I did to you?”
Her voice shook as she admitted, “I simply don't understand why it was alright for you to kiss me without consequence, but it wasn't alright for Lord Whitworth to do the same.”
“Do you think I'm living without consequence?” he asked, feeling close to baring his soul to the one woman who'd ever made him feel capable of doing so. “Do you think I don't live every single day of my life without regret for what I did?”
Her lips twisted into a frown as her eyes dropped to his cravat. “Regret? Is that the only emotion you feel?”
No, he wanted to scream. It was far more complicated than that. She made him feel such a whirlwind of emotions he barely felt like he could stand erect in her presence. Passion, jealousy, desire, anger, longing—to name but a few.
“Lydia, I can't go back and change the past.”
“Would you if you could?” she asked with a hint of hopefulness that confused him.
He swallowed hard as he led her further onto the dance floor, their bodies, like always, being perfectly in tune with one another. “It's useless to even discuss such a thing, for it would be impossible to do so.”
“But would you?” she pleaded, her eyes boring intently into his own.
He found himself drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions as he stared into her eyes. “There are things I would change, yes,” he finally admitted.
Her full lips puckered together before she admitted sadly, “You're right, it's useless to even think of such things. We wouldn't have ever worked, you and I. I can see that so clearly now.”
His heart stilled, and he missed the next step of the dance, quickly correcting himself and pulling her along with him. “Did you want something to work out between us?” he asked with an eagerness that nearly undid him.
He felt like he'd been transported back to the night in the tavern, the night Lord Emberson had discovered them and assumed the worst had occurred, when he'd seen them together on the bed, her shirt torn, exposing an indecent amount of pale skin.
Lord Emberson had demanded Levi make the situation right, that he speak to her father and ask for her hand. He was more than ready to do it too until he looked at her for confirmation and saw the fear in h
er eyes and knew in his heart it wasn't what she wanted.
Once again, he waited with baited breath for her to give him any sort of indication that she returned his feelings, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But, just like that night in the tavern, her response was the same. She shook her head sadly and looked away from his intense gaze.
Sadness turned his heart to stone. She'd rejected him for the last time. “Then it's apparent you got what you deserve. I hope Lord Whitworth will make you happy.”
The dance came to an end and Levi nearly dragged her to her parents, depositing her there with nothing but a curt bow before turning and leaving the ball. There was only one place he wanted to be at the moment, and that was as far away from Lydia Phelps as he could get.
Lydia was sitting on the edge of her bed, her silk robe wrapped tightly around her when her maid entered and said, “Miss Phelps, your father has requested your presence in the drawing room. He says that he is expecting Lord Whitworth to call soon.”
“Tell him I'm unwell, Helen.”
“He'll know it's a lie,” she quipped, unwilling to give into her mistress's childish larks.
Helen was right. She'd broken her father's trust on more than one occasion and knew it would take a long time to earn it back. “Very well, go ahead and begin my toilette, but don't dress me in anything cheery, it's so opposite my mood I fear it would only make me appear sallow.”
“Whatever you say, miss.”
By the time Lydia entered the drawing room, her mood had only darkened. Today would be the day she officially became engaged to Lord Whitworth. Her heart couldn't handle it.
Her father was waiting in his favorite chair, a dark green wing-backed one sitting adjacent to the fireplace. He stood as she entered and waited for her to take a seat before resuming sitting. “I expect you to behave yourself from here on out. There better not be a single misstep from you before you are safely wed to Lord Whitworth.”
“And what if there is?” she braved asking.
His face turned a deep purple shade, indicating he was not amused by her question. “You will be cut off completely,” he warned sternly.
Lydia inhaled sharply. “Mother would never allow it.”
“It was her idea. Your mother has not taken the news of your ruin well, Lydia. She is laid up in bed claiming a pain in the region of her heart. I have sent for the physician to check on her.”
Lydia's heart constricted with guilt. “Will she be alright?”
“I certainly hope so, but I'm uncertain she can handle much more from you, child.” Suddenly his tone softened, and he gazed at her with love, a look she was more accustomed to from him. “Lydia, your mother and I love you dearly. As our only child, we have poured our entire hearts into raising you, into giving you everything we could to ensure your life was as amicable as possible. We are quite perplexed by your sudden need to make such poor decisions.”
How could she explain her actions to him without hurting him more? “I'm sorry, father,” she muttered sincerely.
“Perhaps we've been too kind, given you too much freedom. Perhaps we've not been the parents you needed,” he ruminated sadly.
Lydia went to his chair and fell to her knees before him. Grabbing his hand, she wailed, “Oh, father, don't speak like that. You and mother have not wronged me in the least. You've both been the best of parents.”
Her father's gray brows knit together. “Then why, Lydia? Why do you continue to misbehave when you know it causes us such distress?”
Lydia contemplated his question before answering truthfully, “I don't have an explanation for you, Father. I don't even understand it myself. I suppose part of my misbehavior has been prompted by ennui, the natural inclinations of a curious girl. I suppose the other part has been prompted by something else.”
“What else?” he asked without judgment, giving her permission to look deep into her heart for an answer.
“I suppose I've always felt like there's something more than this life of luxury and ease. Every member of the ton seems content to be moved around like pawns in a chess game, but I'm not satisfied with that. I want to make my own choices, live my own life, regardless of the rules of society.”
“You have a streak of rebellion in you that I fear you inherited from me.”
Her eyes widened, “From you? When have you ever been rebellious?”
“I could tell you stories from my younger days that would make the hairs on your arms stand straight. I was not always the picture of propriety.”
Lydia was truly shocked by his admission. “How did you manage to be tamed?”
His eyes twinkled as he leaned forward and tweaked her nose affectionately. “Who says I have been?”
For the first time since last night, Lydia felt hope take flight in her breast. She scooted closer to her father and was about to beg him to release her from her impending engagement to Lord Whitworth. Surely, if he was once as rebellious as he claims, he could understand her folly and find it in himself to be more lenient with her.
Her pleas, however, were cut off by their butler entering the room and announcing, “Lord Whitworth and Lady Sophia have arrived, my lord. Shall I show them in?”
Lydia rose at once, as did her father. “Yes, Baldemorrow, show them in and then send for tea.”
Lydia wrung her gloved hands together as Baldemorrow escorted Lord Whitworth and his sister, Lady Sophia, into the room. She smiled kindly at Lady Sophia but avoided looking at Lord Whitworth.
Her father greeted them then said, “I've sent for tea. My daughter will entertain you, Lady Sophia, while Lord Whitworth and I speak privately in my study.”
The blonde girl nodded slightly, and they both watched as the men disappeared from the room. “So, you are to be my sister-in-law?” Lady Sophia questioned the moment they were alone.
“It would appear so,” Lydia mumbled, not even attempting to hide her disappointment.
She was startled when Lady Sophia's face lit up with a grand smile. “Then I can trust you with a secret?” she asked.
She was so startled by Lady Sophia's question, that she could only stare at the girl questioningly.
Lady Sophia threw her head back and laughed, a long, golden ringlet bouncing merrily against her shoulder. “I know it seems odd to divulge a secret to you so soon after meeting, but I have been dying to disclose it to someone. As Gilbert's future wife, I know you will be just as invested in keeping quiet as I am.”
Now her curiosity was piqued. “Tell me,” she urged, lowering her voice to a whisper.
Lady Sophia ridiculously scanned the room, as if making sure they truly were alone before hissing, “Very well, but you must promise not to tell a soul.”
“Promise.”
“Gilbert has been participating in boxing.”
“Why is that a secret?” Lydia asked, feeling a little deflated. “Many gentlemen of the ton attend Gentleman Jackson's boxing saloon or other such establishments.”
Lady Sophia grabbed her arm and led her to the far corner of the room. “It's not just a sport for Gilbert, you see. If it were, there would be no harm in it.”
Lydia's face was one of confusion. “I don't know what you're implying.”
“Gilbert has been participating in prize fights.”
Lydia gasped, covering her mouth with one gloved hand. Boxing for sport was a well-accepted pastime, something her own father participated in abundantly, despite his increasing age. However, she knew that boxing matches, the kind that people bet large sums of money on, were not looked upon favorably by the magistrates.
“How do you know about Lord Whitworth's involvement? Surely he didn't divulge such a thing directly to you.”
Lady Sophia smiled, revealing perfectly straight teeth. Lydia found herself running her tongue across her own slightly crooked teeth and suddenly felt very self-conscious.
“I am a woman of many secrets, my dear. I shan't confess them all at once. I just wanted you to know that your future husba
nd is perhaps more intriguing than you thought.”
How curious, Lydia thought as she mulled the idea of Lord Whitworth being anything other than dull around in her mind. “Why would you feel the need to impart this information to me?”
With all the confidence in the world, Lady Sophia linked her arm with Lydia's and led her back to the main seating in the room. “Because Gilbert disclosed the true reason for your hasty engagement to me. He also confessed that you do not desire to be wed to him. I figured I could do him a small service by endeavoring to elevate him in your esteem. Miss Phelps, you have a reputation amongst the ton—”
Lydia gasped, cutting her off, “I do?”
“Of course you do. You are seen as a hoyden who lives only to toy with men's emotions. Many suspect it's because you find the life of the aristocracy quite dull. I can empathize with you on that point, but I also have a loyalty to my brother and wish to see Gilbert happy. Perhaps you can endeavor to see him as more than another straight-laced member of the ton now that you are aware of one of his secrets.”
Ignoring Lady Sophia's well-intended pleas on her brother's behalf, Lydia forged on, “But you can't be serious. I've done nothing to warrant such an ill reputation in society.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of the maid pushing a silver cart containing the tea service, along with refreshment. Lydia nibbled on her lower lip as the woman laid everything out and then scurried quietly from the room.
Lydia ignored her manners and didn't offer to pour, instead choosing to return to their previous conversation instead. “What is being said about me that makes people think I'm such a hoyden?”
“Shall I pour?” Lady Sophia asked. Lydia nodded hastily.
Somehow managing to remain as calm as can be, Lady Sophia poured them each a cup of tea, added a lump of sugar, and began swirling her spoon in her mixture before she responded. “That you make men fall in love with you, simply so you can teach them a lesson.”
The Duke's Dastardly Mistake (Unlikely Pairs Book 2) Page 3
