by Cindy Anstey
Miss Elaine started across the floor to join them when Mrs. Whitfield touched her arm and suggested that she might be more comfortable on the settee beside her mother. Miss Elaine’s expression could be characterized as sour. She sighed loudly and dramatically and then slumped into her seat, crossing her arms and staring daggers at Lydia.
Those across the room paid scant attention.
“I have news,” Robert said, sweeping his tails behind him and perching on the chair closest to Lydia.
The young ladies, seated together on a floral-patterned chaise, stared up at him expectantly.
“Indeed?” Lydia prodded.
“Yes, I have heard that there will soon be a notice in Boddely’s Bath Journal. Couched in discreet language, of course, it will announce the amicable dissolution of the engagement between Miss Tatum Brownlow and Mr. Lorne Granger. It would seem that the lady has changed her mind. I don’t believe that there will be any mention of greener pastures.”
“Dis … dissolved? In tr … truth?” Miss Cora, not one to stutter under normal circumstances, was having a hard time conveying her thoughts to her mouth.
“How do you know?” Lydia came to her rescue.
“Cassidy dropped by my office this afternoon. I will probably regret setting him to this task; you should have seen him strut. So pleased with himself.”
“But is he safe? Did he become entangled—caught—in Tatum’s web?”
“I don’t believe so. Cassidy is quite sure that he is still unshackled, and did not balk at my suggestion to visit his cousin for the London Season. He will head east right after your birthday ball.”
“Oh, Mr. Newton, I don’t know how to thank you for your intervention. You are a saint.”
“Apprentice, actually … though I can see how you might confuse the two.”
The three shared a loud and boisterous laugh, garnering interested looks from across the room—and a scowl from Miss Elaine.
* * *
The day of Lydia’s birthday ball did not begin with promise—gray skies and light, almost misty rain. By afternoon, the clouds opened up and poured, but only for a few hours. And then, miracle of miracles, the sun chased away the clouds and pulled in the warm airs from the hills, blanketing the city with comfortable, sweet-smelling breezes.
As dictated by the Beau Nash rules of proper conduct, the ball was scheduled to begin precisely at the hour of six. This required Robert to leave the firm at midday to prepare. It was just as well, for he found it difficult to concentrate. His thoughts were entirely taken up by memories of the wit, figure, and laughter of one Miss Lydia Whitfield.
This was both a beginning and an end, and as a consequence, he was both elated and heavyhearted. Tonight, he would dance with Lydia. In fact, he had been given the great honor of opening the ball with her. The first set would be the minuet. Halfway through the night, Robert would lead her to the floor for their second dance. She had chosen a quadrille. But that would be all. Any more than two dances would start tongues wagging.
Once he returned her to her mother’s side, he would have to vie for Lydia’s attention through the hordes. Robert had no doubt that Lydia would take. There was no reason to assume otherwise. Lydia Whitfield was a cultured, beautiful, wealthy young woman of marriageable age. Bachelors would arrive at her doorstep in droves from this day forward, until she made her choice.
Robert didn’t want to think about who that might be; at least it wasn’t Lord Aldershot. Lydia needed a husband of excellent morals—she would respect nothing else—and someone who could make her laugh but also stand up to her with knowledge and true understanding of the ways of the world. Someone who could benefit from a well-ordered life. His conversation would need to be more than hounds and horses. No, Robert did want to think about it.
To the end of his days, Robert would never forget the glorious sight of Miss Lydia Whitfield waiting just past the portico in the principal entrance of the Lower Rooms. He had just stepped out of his sedan chair, pulled straight his coat, and fixed the seam of his gloves when he looked through the door and beheld her.
He knew her gown to be of white with a pink sheen, covered with some sort of lace and beads; she had described it to him some days before. He knew her to be wearing pearls in her hair—real pearls, ten of them. He knew that her shoe roses sparkled with silver ribbon, but he saw nary a one. He was too busy watching Lydia’s face, drinking in the joyous expression, the happiness in her eyes. And she was staring at him.
* * *
Tired and yet exhilarated, Lydia looked around the beautifully appointed Assembly Room. With high ceilings and brightly glowing chandeliers, there was no sense of overcrowding—a crush though it might be, it was a comfortable one. The music was lively, the dancers smiling, and the night appeared to be a great success.
Lydia had done her best to attend to her guests in equal measure. She had danced with a physician, two barons and an earl, a magistrate, and, unfortunately, a ne’er-do-well—though he was polite and an adequate dancer. She had made a round of the matrons and chaperones hovering near the fireplace at the far end of the ballroom, chatting for a few moments with each. And she had seen to the partnering of Elaine and Cora to suitable gentlemen throughout the evening. Though, with Cora there was little to direct. Her friend had already danced three sets with Mr. Granger and looked to be agreeing to another. They had eyes only for each other—and if some considered their behavior unseemly, none in the family would fault her.
There were only two sets of dances left before the fateful hour of eleven, when all would call for their carriages or sedan chairs, and the night would be over. Overheated, more inclined to stand near the open doors to the terrace than twirl and skip through another set of steps, Lydia looked around for her next partner and met, instead, the eyes of Robert Newton, dancer extraordinaire.
He was leaning on the paneled wall next to one of those tall fresh-air-wafting doors, and Lydia watched him straighten, look slightly puzzled, and then shrug.
Choosing to take this as an invitation, Lydia whispered to her mother and then skirted around the room, doing her best to avoid the dancers. Elaine skipped past her, laughing uproariously to the comment of her partner, and then she, too, disappeared into the multitude.
As Lydia neared Robert’s position, she could feel the waft of a cool breeze, and yet her skin began to burn, and she found it increasingly difficult to breathe. And still she continued, locked onto his gaze. After having traversed the entire length of the room to speak, they stared at each other in silence. Eventually, Lydia smiled, Robert winked, and they found their voices.
“No partner?” Robert asked, raising his tone above the din.
“Mr. Wilson has not come to claim me.” In fact, Lydia knew Mr. Wilson to be engaged in an energetic conversation with a Mr. Dorchester near the library entrance. Lydia had not sent her uncle after him, nor would she do so with Robert. She was quite content to stay exactly where she was.
“I would call this a triumph, Miss Whitfield. Are you enjoying the night?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Newton. Though, if I had one regret, it would be that we, you and I, cannot dance together again.” She sighed overdramatically, though her words were true.
“Not seemly.”
“But really, who would know?” she asked.
Robert laughed. “Well, all those who are watching us at this moment. Can you not feel their eyes? You don’t want to appear particular; it might limit those who come to call over the next few weeks and months.”
“As long as you come to call, Mr. Newton, I don’t see the problem.”
A frown flicked across Robert’s face; though it was hurriedly replaced with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Now that you are out, Miss Whitfield, I will not be able to visit as I have been doing. It was a little untoward, though kindly tolerated by your family because of my position as your solicitor’s apprentice. It doesn’t mean that our friendship has to end, just that we will be able to see each other only on
occasion.”
“No,” Lydia said with far more force than she intended. Robert’s countenance was that of a dispirited man, wounded to the heart, and it made her want to cry. There was no need of this. They could spend as much time as they liked together if he would but offer her his hand.
But he wouldn’t. Her mother was right.
Touching his arm gently, Lydia drew Robert across the threshold onto the terrace. The cooler air helped clear her head, helped shore up her nerves.
“Lydia, we cannot be out here. You have to be careful of your reputation—very careful, you—”
“We are in full view of the entire room, should anyone choose to look.”
“And they are, Lydia. I know this affords us some privacy, but it is that very privacy that will cause—”
“Hush.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I wish to speak to you about something very significant and you keep distracting me. I find it difficult to … I … Robert—” Lydia drew in a great lungful of air, coughed slightly, and then blew it out slowly. “Robert?”
“Yes.”
“Can you think of any reason why two persons who care deeply for each other … who love each other … should not make a match of it?”
His silence was deafening.
Lydia waited, her heart pounding. Robert knew her too well not to understand the gist of her question. She watched him swallow before opening his mouth.
“There are times when emotions, even if they are shared”—he smiled briefly and then returned to his sober expression—“are best ignored when the union would only be for the benefit of one party, namely the one less prosperous.”
A boisterous laugh burst out of Lydia, surprising them both. She turned it into a giggle and then smiled—broadly. “Excellent. Just as I thought. We are not talking about the lack of affection. We are talking about the ridiculous notion that a couple should allow a difference in finances to stand in their way.”
“Of course.”
“No ‘of course’ about it. Why is it acceptable for a penniless baron to marry money with no expectation of returned affection and yet the same financial disparity would cause great consternation and gnashing of teeth merely because it is a love match?”
“It wouldn’t. No gnashing.”
“The sky would fall?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“I will not be called a fortune hunter or, worse yet, a kept man.”
“What would these names be against a lifetime of happiness?”
Frowning, Robert shook his head despite agreeing. “Yes, what indeed. However…” Taking a gulp of air, he continued. “What of my career?”
“Your career?”
“Yes. I am not a gentleman of leisure. I have obligations and schedules.” He smiled at that word … though why, Lydia could not fathom. “Especially now that my apprenticeship has begun. Until just recently, you believed that you were going to marry a peer, and now … well … to be the wife of a solicitor? Your social position would plummet.… I would have to give up the law. Yes, there is no way around it.”
Lydia tipped her head, as if in doing so it might make the conversation clearer. “Being a solicitor is part of who you want to be. I would never ask you to give it up.”
To Lydia’s surprise, Robert’s frown deepened. “Truly. You would not find it demeaning?”
“Demeaning? To be married to an up-and-coming solicitor who earns his fortune with honesty and hard work?”
“Hardly a fortune, Lydia. I will never be your equal.”
“Aha, so it is our financial disparity, after all. We have just come full circle.”
Robert snorted a laugh. “I am utterly confused.”
With a quick glance into the room, noting the inquiring faces, Lydia reached out for Robert’s waistcoat and slowly pulled him into the shadows. “There is one matter that counts above all else. Do you love me?”
This time, there was no hesitation. “With all my heart, until the day I die, and beyond, if there is an afterlife.”
A flood of relief washed over Lydia, leaving her speechless … for all of a moment. “Then, I will marry you, if you will ask.”
Before he had a chance to say anything, Lydia leaned forward. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his. She could feel his heart pounding out a quick-time rhythm as he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.
When their lips met, she thought her insides would melt into a puddle of ecstasy. Filled with a delicious, undefined longing, Lydia leaned in closer, wishing that she could stay locked in his arms forever. But all too soon, Robert lifted his head, taking a ragged breath.
“Lydia, my dove?”
“Yes, Robert?”
“I have just thoroughly compromised you.”
“Thoroughly … what ever shall we do?”
“We will have to announce our intentions this very evening—before there is any hint of scandal.”
“Excellent idea. What are our intentions?”
Robert chuckled and leaned over to kiss her forehead, but Lydia lifted herself up on her toes, initiating another session of excellent compromising.
“Lydia, my dove?” Robert said again, eventually.
“Yes, Robert.”
“Will you grant me the great privilege of your hand in marriage?”
Lydia closed her eyes and savored his proposal—the offer of a union for life. Exquisite joy, overwhelming and eternal, filled her to the brim; the sensation was so marvelous that she forgot to breathe for a time.
The air around them stilled, as did Robert. He was waiting. How could he not know her answer? She had encouraged the proposal. And still he waited.
Lydia opened her eyes and grinned. “I would be honored.”
The relief on his face nearly brought tears to her eyes. She lifted her hand and cupped his chin. “I would be honored,” she repeated. “I love you so very much.”
As her future husband lowered his head once again, Lydia sighed dreamily. “We should go in,” she whispered, tightening her hold, preventing him from going anywhere.
“Absolutely,” he said, nibbling at her lower lip.
All thoughts of ballrooms and inquisitive glances were instantly drowned by the flow of marvelous sensations coursing through her body and a sudden desire to drag Robert deeper into the shadows.
They would go back into the ballroom soon … but not yet.
GLOSSARY
Chimneypiece: a British term for the construction around a fireplace, also called a mantelpiece
Chunter: to mutter, grumble, or grouse—a British term
Gig: a light, two-wheeled, one-horse carriage
Land agent: a British term for the steward of an estate who supervised the farm, laborers, and tenants as well as collected rents and other money
Landau: a four-wheeled carriage pulled by two or four horses with facing seats and two folded hoods that could be raised to enclose the passengers
Marionette: a puppet controlled by wires or strings
Nonplussed: to be bewildered and confused about how to react
Retrench: to drastically reduce expenditures; for the gentry it often entailed moving to an urban center, employing fewer servants, getting rid of carriages and horses, etc.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Duels & Deception was written before, during, and after the publication of Love, Lies and Spies. There is absolutely no doubt that without the encouragement and calming influence of the Swoon Reads team, Duels & Deception would not have come together in a timely or cohesive manner. Many thanks to the entire group, but particularly Emily and Lauren for their enthusiasm and brilliant suggestions, Christine and Holly for their faith and excitement, and Anna for the beautiful cover design.
Also part of Swoon Reads, I must thank the amazingly talented authors who are unfailing in their support and eagerness, especially Kelly, Danika, and Kim. It is a very good thing
that we do not live in the same place or mischief would occur!
I would also like to thank all the readers who have contacted me through Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and the Swoon Reads website. There is nothing more uplifting than knowing that I have added a touch of humor, contentment, romance, and a few sleepless nights to your lives.
Last, but never least, I would like to thank my family. Thank you, Mike, for being the best sounding board ever and your remarkable knowledge of … well, of everything. Deb, I would not be the writer I am if you had not challenged me to be better, argued about how to ride tandem on a horse, and corrected my grammar over and over. Christine, you are a photographer extraordinaire, my go-to media girl, and the perfect alpha reader when I am uncertain. Dan, your energy and laughter are contagious; you energize my creativity and humor. Mom, there is no fan like you—if I were half the writer you thought me to be, I would be content!
THE RULES FOR DUELS
There were three main reasons for offering a challenge: taking liberties with a female relative; dishonorable behavior (cheating, defamation, etc.); or attacking physically.
Once the challenge was accepted, seconds would be chosen to act on behalf of the principals. They were close, trusted friends—the protocols were in their hands.
The second’s first duty was to try to resolve the dispute without having to resort to “pistols at dawn.” There was no dishonor in offering an apology or admitting an error.
Most duels were held in early morning, just outside of town.
It was the duty of the second to check the pistol, load it, and mark out the distance—generally, between ten and fourteen paces.
The principals saluted each other before stepping to their mark and turning sideways—pistol arm outstretched—waiting for the handkerchief to be dropped.
