by Cindy Anstey
Ignoring her, Shelley continued. “And have Mrs. Salinger prepare two more rooms as quickly as possible. Tell Vernon to take care of the horse, and that should be it. We will see to ourselves for the remainder of the night. Thank you and the staff for accommodating our frenzy of activity. As you can see, it was a tempest in a teapot.”
Hooking her elbow through Lydia’s, Shelley led the procession up the stairs and into the drawing room. After the introductions, nothing further was said until the door was firmly shut and they were alone—all five of them.
“Forget chocolate,” Edward said, striding over to a small table by the French doors. “What say you to a brandy, Newton. I certainly need one—you must need one doubly so.”
Robert joined him by the window, lifting his hand to take the offered glass. He hesitated. “I’m not fit for company, I’m afraid.”
“Nonsense.” Edward placed the glass in Robert’s dirty hand and gestured for him to take a place by the fire.
It was a good-sized room, with two seating arrangements. At the far end sat a collection of chairs near the French doors, which could be thrown open as soon as the word sultry was uttered. In the deeper parts of the room, a pair of settees offered the comfort of thick cushions near the enthusiastic fire.
Naturally, Lydia chose the settee nearest the fire, directly opposite her new friend; the dark brown brocade might hide any smudges from her dirty skirts, and it was as close to Robert as she could devise without causing comment. While the need to remain in chummy proximity was somewhat baffling, Lydia was neither prepared to fight the urge nor try to fathom its meaning.
Until the chocolate arrived, the conversation was frivolous. Questions were no deeper than what was the horse’s name and when was the last time they had eaten. Even after Trenton had deposited a tray full of goodies and a hot silver pot onto the side table near the fireplace, Lydia and Robert were allowed only a few sips and nibbles before the whole of their story was demanded.
Not wishing to alarm the company, they told the tale baldly. Emotions and fears were kept to a minimum, and yet the expressions of those listening made it clear that they were aware of their existence.
“If Robert hadn’t secured us a horse, we would still be miles away,” Lydia concluded with a tired smile. She looked from face to face, expecting some sort of remark, but was met with silence. She looked to Robert with her brow folded.
“We shall have to return to surnames, Miss Whitfield, now that we are back in the circle of civilized society.”
“Did I use your first name, Mr. Newton? Oh dear, I do apologize … to you and the company.”
“Very natural, I would assume.” Shelley patted Lydia’s knee. “Especially under such circumstances, but perhaps best not repeated. I don’t believe your mother would be so accepting.”
“Yes, quite right.” Lydia sighed. “Poor Mama, she must be frantic with worry.”
“I can send one of our grooms to Roseberry in the morning, if you like.” Edward stared at the liquid in his glass as he spoke, swirling it one direction and then the other. “That will allow you to return at your leisure. Though you need not be overly concerned. Mrs. Whitfield does not know that you were missing.”
“Excuse me? How could she not?”
“Your mama didn’t make it into Bath, Lydia.” Cora’s expression indicated a sense of exasperation. “None of them did.”
“I don’t understand. Was there an accident? Are they all right?”
“It would seem that forcing five into the family coach put them so out of sorts they turned around within ten minutes of starting off.” Cora sighed.
“How do you know this?” Lydia watched Cora turn to Edward as if about to ask something, but she hesitated.
“Cora, best explain to Lydia and Mr. Newton what happened—from the beginning.” Shelley nodded and looked encouraging.
“Yes, that would be best. But I will apologize to you ahead of time, Mr. Newton, for I’m afraid your employer, Mr. Lynch, is not an admirable character in my tale.”
Lydia heard Robert take a slow, deep breath, pause, and then let it out in a meaningful sigh. “What has he done now?”
“It wasn’t so much what he did, as what he didn’t do,” Cora explained, her eyes flaring with unexpressed anger. “When I ran into his office seeking help, Mr. Lynch did not believe anything I told him. Not who I was, why I was there, and certainly not that you, Lydia, and Mr. Newton had been taken. He called me utterly insulting names—never have I been so affronted. And then, he asked me to leave. Declared that Mr. Newton wasn’t in the office because it was Sunday.”
“But it’s Thursday.” Robert looked at the clock on the mantel. “Or at least it was.”
“Yes, but apparently Mr. Lynch thought I was cutting shams about everything, including the day of the week. I was beside myself with worry but had to remain calm; Mr. Lynch threatened to have me tossed into the asylum. Finally, I simply insisted on staying in the outer office, knowing help would arrive in the form of your mother and Lord Aldershot. I waited for hours … but neither arrived.”
“Not even Barley?” Lydia stared at Cora with incredulity.
“No, I’m afraid not. Eventually, I sent a boy for a constable, but without Mr. Lynch’s support, I was branded a liar again.”
“Oh, Cora, I am so very sorry. What a horrid day you have had.” Lydia swallowed with difficulty and then blinked in surprise when her friend started to chuckle.
“Lydia, my dear, you had a horrid day. I merely had the worry about it.” Cora paused to give Lydia a significant look and then continued. “I didn’t want to leave the office. It was foolish nonsense, I know. It wasn’t as if you were going to miraculously return—unscathed. I eventually realized that I needed to find someone who did know me, who would listen, and who would do the utmost to render me … or rather, you … assistance. I hired a carriage and sped here to Villers Manor as fast as I could.
“Edward thought it best to inform your uncle and solicit his opinion on how to proceed; after all, he—Mr. Kemble—is your guardian. Edward rode over to Roseberry to do just that.… But when he arrived, the family would not accept callers.” She looked to Edward, as if expecting him to take up the story, and he did.
“Shelley had impressed upon me the need to speak with your uncle—and none other. Particularly not your mother.” He glanced at his wife for confirmation.
“I was fairly certain that your mother’s reaction would hinder rather than help us in our search,” Shelley explained with candor.
Lydia tried not to wince.
“I spoke to your butler, Shodster I believe is his name,” Edward continued. “And assured him of the dire nature of this need. He imparted the circumstances of the ladies’ return and informed me that Mr. Kemble was with a gentleman referred to as the Major. I tried to track them down, going from his … the Major’s rooms in Spelding … to the nearest drinking establishments—of which there are three. But to no avail. I returned to Bath unsuccessful and thoroughly exasperated.”
Lydia refrained from commenting on the drinking habits of her uncle but shook her head in solidarity—in regard to Edward’s exasperation and bluntness.
“But before heading back to Pepney, I sent a message by way of the night coach to London. I imagine a Bow Street Runner will arrive here in a few days to help us find you.” He lifted his mouth into a ghost of a smile that held no levity or pleasure.
“I am heartened to know that my mother is not frantic with concern, but…” Lydia paused. She was rather disconcerted by her family’s lack of interest in her whereabouts. Did they value her so little—not that she wanted them to be anxious … but to have not noticed her absence?
“Perhaps they assumed that you and Cora undertook an impromptu jaunt to visit me.” Shelley must have seen the furrow of Lydia’s brow. “After all, we have not seen one another in a couple of months.”
“True, that is a possibility. And I should not question Providence’s wisdom—better that
my disappearance went undetected, my reputation untarnished. All is well, and as it should be. But don’t you find it peculiar that Barley, Lord Aldershot, did not arrive for our appointment, either?” Lydia turned to Robert for her answer.
“Indeed.” He met her gaze and mirrored her frown. “Too smoky by half, if you ask me. It will be interesting to hear why.” He glanced toward Edward. “Good to know about the Runner. He should be of great assistance catching the villains.”
Edward nodded. “I will send him to you as soon as he arrives.” Then, a true smile spread across his face. “And now, perhaps we should let you two retire; you look done to death.”
Lydia nodded and glanced over her shoulder to the door. It seemed so far away.… And then there would be stairs to negotiate, the process of undressing, and a bed to climb. The settee was comfortable; perhaps she would stay there. And as Lydia contemplated the whys and wherefores of sleeping in a drawing room, she recalled that there was one last subject that had to be addressed before her brain could rest. “What of how I arrived here? We should present a unified story if we want it to pass muster with all the gossips.”
“Whatever do you mean, dearest friend?” Shelley offered Lydia her hands. “You arrived with Cora just after five. We had a wonderful roast beef dinner, with chowder to start. You commented most favorably on the custard and plum pudding.” She hauled Lydia to her feet. “Though I am heartily sorry that the wine slipped and ruined your pretty gown. Something will be found for you to wear in the morning, after you are well rested.”
Lydia smiled her thanks, too tired to articulate the words, and followed Shelley and Cora out of the drawing room and its comfortable settee.
* * *
Robert watched Lydia ascending the stairs ahead of him. Though he could barely put one foot in front of the other, he was at the ready should she lose her balance, trip, or simply drop from exhaustion. Overseeing her well-being had been his purpose for so many hours; he couldn’t let go—not yet.
It was almost miraculous the way the end of the day had unfolded—in complete contrast to the beginning … middle. Whatever. His mind was so befogged by fatigue; he could hardly form an articulate thought.
Upon reaching the second floor, the party split up along gender lines. Edward guided Robert down the corridor to the right, while the ladies veered to the left. He hadn’t gone much more than a few paces when a soft voice called him back.
“Rob—Mr. Newton, might I have a word?”
Robert glanced over his shoulder. Lydia’s worried expression cut through his fatigue, and he immediately swiveled, returning to her side in a trice.
“Is all well?” he asked in a half whisper, glancing about to see that her friends, while still nearby, were being discreet in their distance—allowing them a semiprivate conversation.
“Yes, oh yes, of course. No, I just … well, I doubt I will have another chance to thank you.… And even if I do, I think it best to express myself earlier rather than later.… Because I would hate to think that you did not know…”
Robert smiled and felt an unexpected tightness in the vicinity of his heart. There was nothing that he wished more than to pull Lydia into his arms, hold her for an eon or two, kiss the top of her leaf-encrusted hair—or better yet, her luscious lips—and assure her that their friendship was forged and strong and that nothing—such as an unexpressed thank-you—would ever cause a rift between them. Because he did know how honored he was to be her friend. “I do know,” he said simply. They stared at each other for several minutes, until a small smile grew and transformed Lydia’s face.
Breath taken by the change, Robert wondered how Mr. Lynch had ever considered this beauty anything other than … beautiful. And how Lord Aldershot could not know that his soon-to-be betrothed was fascinating, intelligent, and brave. The man should be thanking his lucky stars that Oliver Whitfield had chosen him to be Lydia’s life mate.
Perhaps it was fatigue or the stress of the day that pushed Robert beyond his usual calm, but as he returned her smile with one of his own, a surprising realization leaped to the forefront of his mind. Robert was disheartened—indeed, quite melancholy. With the return of her exemplary reputation, Lydia was once again beyond his reach. There would be no stepping into the role of a suitor, whether he wanted to or not. It was no longer a choice. A deep, abiding friendship was the best he could hope for, and he would treasure it. The thought that it could have been more would have to be tamped tightly into some recess of his mind—and forgotten.
He bowed, watched Lydia stifle a yawn with a delicate hand, and turned back toward Edward Dunbar-Ross, somewhat confused by the grin on the fellow’s lips.
“Something I should know about?” he asked the master of Villers Manor.
“No, not at all.” But the grin did not disappear until Robert closed the door of his chamber. The vision of the man’s toothy maw was soon replaced by the recollection of a brighter, prettier smile that Robert, despite his best intentions, took with him into the world of dreams.
* * *
The day was well started when Lydia opened her eyes and groaned. She ached all over, no exaggeration, no melodrama. Lydia truly did ache all over.
“Good morning, miss. I’ve been nursing a bath for you to step into as soon as yer wantin’ it.”
Lydia lifted her head and blinked at the person with the unnecessarily cheerful tone. “Pardon?” she said with intelligence.
Glancing around, she took in what her tired eyes had bypassed the night before. She was ensconced in a comfortable room, cozy despite its generous size. The color palette was a restful shade of green, accented with creams in furnishings and crisp white bed linens. Or rather, the bed linens were white—they were now also painted with various blobs and smears, exactly the same hue as dirt, blood, and grass. Lydia cringed and hoped the stains could be boiled away.
“A bath, miss? Or I can bring you some breakfast first, if you prefer.”
“No, a bath would be lovely. Thank you…?”
“Jill, miss. And I brought you a gown from Mrs. Dunbar-Ross. It come from Paris—that’s in France, you know. Shame you fell off your horse and ruined your own lovely gown … and then a wine stain … and being as how you decided to stay over with no plan to do so, previouslike,” the cheery Jill continued in a rush. “You didn’t have a change of clothes. Just one of those things, miss. Just one of those things,” she repeated.
Lydia smiled, recognizing the tale that would now be bandied about as the truth about her visit in Pepney. She fought to sit up and, after having done so, was surprised that it did not make matters worse—though neither did it make matters better. The aches would likely accompany her everywhere for a day or two.
After the long bath, which involved a great deal of scrubbing, Lydia enjoyed a welcome breakfast and finally felt ready to face the morning. Jill helped her don the Paris gown, fastening the delicate buttons down the back while Lydia stood before the full-length mirror. Staring with surprise—the pleasant kind—Lydia wondered at the style and fit of the pale lilac dress. The waist was a little lower than she was used to, the sleeves smocked delicately to the elbows, and the skirts gathered into an artful pleat on each hip. More of an afternoon dress than a day dress, the style was elegant and inspired, but most important: it fit like a glove.
This was as great a wonder as any, for Shelley and she were not of a size. Lydia was decidedly taller and had expected to be showing an uncomfortable amount of ankle in a borrowed gown. But, no … she turned to the side to take in the full effect. No, the length was perfect. She wondered what Robert would think about the transformation—from vagabond to lady. Would he notice how well the color set off her eyes?
“Don’t you look comely, miss. Mrs. Dunbar-Ross knew what she was about.”
“Yes, well, umm. Thank you.” Lydia straightened, embarrassed about being caught preening. “My other clothes, is there anything salvageable among them?”
“’Fraid not, miss. They was quite done for.”
Lydia nodded but sighed inwardly. She had quite liked that spencer; it had matched the ribbon on her bonnet.… Oh, yes, the bonnet was gone, too. Well, it hardly mattered, after all.
When presentable, Lydia found her way to the ground floor in search of her friends, especially her newest friend. There was no doubt that her attachment to her lawyer’s clerk was the product of a shared experience, a shared nerve-racking experience. Relying on each other had brought them closer than would ever be expected on such a short acquaintance, but rather than feel a sense of discomfort, Lydia was … well, excited—in a calm, dignified way, of course—with the thought of seeing Robert.
It came as a bit of a shock to find Shelley and Cora alone in the dining room enjoying their luncheon. The sun had already reached its zenith and was now on its way across the western half of the sky.
“Why did you not wake me?” Lydia asked as she approached the table and then blinked in amazement.
Cora, too, was dressed in more elegance than was required at this time of day. Her gown was a subtle shade of blue silk accented with sapphire trimmings. The style and fit were excessively flattering. Cora had a fuller figure than Shelley, and the bodice of a borrowed gown should have been challenging the seams. But it wasn’t.
Lydia grinned, realizing the answer. Shelley had thought of her friends while she was on her wedding trip. She had bought these beautiful dresses specifically for them in Paris.
“Might it have something to do with your arrival last night in a completely exhausted state?” Shelley replied. “Let me see, oh, yes, wasn’t there something about an unexpected visit to a farm?”
“No, I don’t believe so. I spent the day in Bath, didn’t I? And then joined you for an exemplary meal last eve. Though I must ask, how did I fall from my horse when I was seated inside a carriage?”
“Whatever do you mean, Lydia dear? Are you forgetting that you left your carriage in Bath and rented a horse by the name of Fanny?”
“I exchanged a comfortable, though small, coach for a bay mare?”
“Yes, indeed, you wanted a breath of fresh air … and your solicitor’s clerk felt an unquenchable need for exercise. He walked beside you—you and Cora … on the mare.”
