by Leah Conolly
She heard her father suck in a breath, but she did not turn to face him. She was too overcome to trust herself with her own emotions.
Lydia felt like bursting into tears at the idea of hunting a husband simply for his money. The very thought made her sick to her stomach.
When her father did not speak for several seconds, she turned around. His shoulders were convulsing with silent sobs. Lydia went to him immediately and knelt at his side once again.
“Oh, Father. I am sorry. I did not mean to sound ungrateful or suggest that she would not be taken care of here,” she said.
“No, no, you are not at fault, my dear. I am the one who should be begging your forgiveness,” he said. “I am so sorry for not being the father you needed, the father you and Eleanor deserve.”
The tears streaming down his cheeks reminded her of that awful night when her mother had passed away.
She placed her hands on his shoulders, gently coaxing him to look at her. “You have been the most wonderful father a girl could ask for. Eleanor and I are grateful that we have had a father who is so loving and caring,” she said.
He brushed her cheek tenderly. “Thank you, my dear, for not giving up on me. You are too kind to this old man,” he said, managing a slight smile.
“Losing your mother was the worst pain I have ever experienced. The thought of asking you to marry for the sake of your family is the second most painful, but I can see no other way,” he said.
He shook his head, planting his fists on either side of his head, as though willing his mind to come up with another solution.
She rose again, helping him stand, too. “I think I will retire for the evening, Father. You do not mind, do you?”
“Of course not, my dear. I am sure you have much to think over. Shall I have the cook make up a tray for you?” he asked. He started towards the door to do just that, but Lydia stopped him before he cleared the doorway.
“No, thank you, Father. I am not hungry,” she lied. She gave him another kiss on the cheek before leaving the room. She then went to wish her sister goodnight before retiring.
“Are you sure you’re quite well?” Eleanor asked, “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m perfectly well, only tired. I will see you in the morning.” Lydia gave her sister a quick hug and left the room before the tears started to fall.
She trudged up the stairs as if her legs were struggling through unseen water. Lydia heard her stomach growl with hunger and felt it twist with anxiety, but she was too upset to eat.
She leaned against her bedroom door, resting her head against the smooth wood. She closed her eyes, letting the tears run unchecked down her cheeks. She felt as if something inside her must have died.
She must find a rich husband. This was not at all how she had imagined her life would be when she was a little girl. She had always dreamed of meeting and marrying someone she loved, just as happened in the books she had grown up reading.
She had looked down on women who married for convenience, and now she was about to become one of them. She felt wholly disgusted with herself.
Lydia knew it was foolishness, but she had always dreamed of meeting a man who was the picture of chivalry. A prince or a duke, perhaps, complete with shining armor. But titles had never mattered to her, so long as the man she married loved her.
Now she would not fulfill any of her dreams. She went to her writing desk and sat down.
She took out a sheet of fresh paper and began to write.
Dearest,
I fear we will never meet on this earth. I have waited for you with anticipation, but it is never to be. My family is in trouble, and I am urged to marry for convenience. I would not have given up waiting for you so soon if it were not for my family’s dire need. Know that I will always love you.
Yours always,
Lydia
Lydia laughed to herself and crumpled the paper. Sentiment was nothing but foolishness. She threw the piece of paper down in the corner of the room. She must forget her own desires from this day forward.
Her heart twisted with grief for the love that she would never know. She must do what was required for the sake of her family. She dried her tears and squared her shoulders, resigning herself to her fate. For her sister’s sake, she must find a husband. And the sooner, the better.
Chapter 7
Christopher sat at the breakfast table, enjoying his tea in peace and quiet for once. Silence is such a blessing, he thought, waxing poetic. He closed his eyes and relished how quiet the early morning was while his mother still slept.
Alas, his peace was not to last. His butler came in a few minutes later and announced that Lady Diana Horn had arrived to call on him. He huffed, crinkling his newspaper at the edges.
“Shall I tell her that you are not receiving visitors yet, my lord?” his butler asked, sensing Christopher’s mood.
“Of course not. Oh, send her in if you must. She will not go away until she gets what she wants, I suppose,” Christopher said.
The butler showed the young lady in, and Christopher clenched his teeth at her grating voice.
“I do apologize for calling so early, Lord Beaumont. Do you mind if I join you?” she asked after the butler had left.
She stood at the end of the table, waiting for his response. He considered telling her that he did mind but thought better of it. The nagging from his mother would never end if he turned Lady Diana away. But it had been a nice thought.
He motioned to the chair next to him and growled, "Very well. Do sit down.” He took up his newspaper, the London Gazette, and put it in front of his face. He read while she drank her tea, refusing to converse with her.
She sipped for a while without saying a word, but she was not able to contain herself. A lady of breeding was taught to make polite and interesting conversation. Or, at the very least, moderately interesting conversation.
Christopher was not one to make small talk. He thought the practice a waste of time. He would much rather discuss philosophy or art, but he sensed that Lady Diana was not well-versed in either subject.
“I hear you are a writer?” she asked, peeking over the top of his newspaper. She gave him a little wave as if to say, “Have you forgotten about me?”
He raised the newspaper higher in order to hide her face. He heard her sit back down and take up her teacup. She sipped silently for a moment.
“Yes, I am,” he replied simply, after a long pause. He huffed in frustration. Her interruption had caused him to lose his place.
“What have you written?” she asked.
He folded the newspaper and slammed it down on the table next to him. Lady Diana jumped, nearly spilling the tea into her lap. She set the cup down and wiped at a few drops that had splashed onto her dress. She looked up at him, a worried look on her face. He had not meant to frighten her, but he was fed up with the young woman.
“My work is too complicated to explain. My ideals and philosophies are rather heavy for a lady such as yourself,” he replied haughtily. No doubt, his mother had told Lady Diana of his work, but she would not have done it justice. His mother hated the fact that he was a writer, always scribbling away in his study.
“On the contrary. I would love to read your work,” Lady Diana replied. She smiled a very charming smile, but he saw right through her ruse.
He pasted an equally fake smile on his face, trying to remain as polite as was possible under the circumstances. He could sense that she was lying to him, and he hated being lied to.
“Beatrice, where is my mother?” he called abruptly. A maid appeared at the doorway. Lady Diana is waiting for her. Would you tell her that she is waiting?” he asked the maid, virtually dismissing his guest. He had had enough of her company.
The maid went to alert Lady Clarkson that Lady Diana had arrived. She soon returned and curtsied again. Christopher rolled his eyes.
“Yes? Well?” he asked impatiently.
“Lady Clarkson says that she will join yo
u shortly, my lord,” Beatrice replied.
“That’s that then, I believe you will be comfortable waiting for her alone, as I have a busy day ahead,” Christopher said to Lady Diana. He bowed slightly and left the room without waiting for her reply.
He made his way into the entrance hall and snapped his fingers. The butler handed him his hat and jacket, and he strode out of the front door. He did not want to have to explain himself to his mother.
Christopher took a deep breath, relishing the warm spring air. He walked briskly and was soon at the door of Newton and Hughes. He stepped into the familiar book shop, subconsciously looking for Lady Lydia.
He wove around the maze of bookshelves, peeking into each corner before rounding its edge. After making a circuit of the whole store, he realized she was not present.
He saw the young woman at the front counter look his way several times, as he made his way around the shop a second time. He hoped she did not think he was trying to steal something. He glanced around the shop once more, hoping that Lady Lydia would appear.
“We have many encyclopedias in the back,” the girl said, watching him.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” he replied. Christopher cleared his throat and straightened. He stood at the front of the shop, pretending to look at a book, and waiting to see if Lydia would make an appearance.
When a half-hour had gone by, he got the attention of the young lady. “Excuse me, is Lady Lydia employed here?”
“Lady Lydia? Oh, no! She helps us from time to time,” the girl responded. ‘Lady Baker is a friend of the family and a great lover of literature,” the girl beamed.
Of course, she would not be working here. She’s a lady, after all, Christopher said to himself.
The girl gave him a sideways glance and took a step back. He straightened his jacket and prepared to leave, feeling that he had once again made a fool of himself.
“Would you like to leave a message for her?" The girl remembered her manners and came around the counter, looking for a piece of paper and quill.
“That is preposterous,” he said. He knew he was letting his embarrassment get the better of him. He never responded well when he was embarrassed. “What would a gentleman such as myself want with such a naive young lady?”
He turned and left the shop abruptly, banging the door on his way out. He took several steps before stopping and looking back at the shop.
He had done it again, made an utter fool of himself. The young woman would no doubt tell Lady Lydia of his behavior. He sensed that she already had an unfavorable opinion of him, and his conduct today would not cause her to think any better of him.
Why did he act the way he did? Perhaps it was because he had grown up without a father. He put the thought out of his mind. His father had abandoned him.
Or at least, that is how he saw it. He had to remind himself that what happened was not his father's fault. Just as it was not his father’s fault that his mother had become unbearable.
Christopher walked the streets, silently berating himself. Why was he allowing Lady Lydia to take over his thoughts? She was becoming an unwelcome distraction. Perhaps he should try to find out where she lived?
But he would not go back and ask for her address at Newton and Hughes. The girl would be sure to put him off. Why should she tell him where to find her friend, when he had been nothing but rude to her?
He growled, feeling that the situation was hopeless. His life had been so much better before he had seen Lady Lydia.
He returned home in an even fouler mood than when he had left. He had expected Lady Diana to be gone when he returned, but it turned out that she was waiting for him. His mother was chattering away in her usual manner. He laughed to himself. It served Lady Diana right for ambushing him. He could only hope that she would tire of having to spend time with his mother and give up her obvious pursuit.
He crept past the parlor as quietly as he could, but the butler caught him as he was heading up the stairs.
“My lord, your mother instructed me to tell you that she would like to see you in the parlor the moment you return home,” he said.
Christopher put a finger to his lips to shush him. “You never saw me,” he whispered. He turned to resume his climb to the second floor and the sanctuary of his room.
“Sanders? Did I hear someone at the door? Was that Christopher?” his mother called from the parlor. He could hear her coming, and he bounded up the stairs.
“Oh! There you are Christopher! Finally!” she called in her most annoying, high-pitched tone. “Come down this instant. Lady Diana and I have been waiting far too long for your return. Come, tea is just being served.”
Christopher turned around at the top step of the staircase, glaring at Sanders as if he had betrayed him. Sanders shrugged his shoulders and disappeared into the parlor to see if Lady Horn needed anything.
“I am not hungry, Mother. Please make my excuses to Lady Diana,” he said and turned to leave.
“Nonsense!” she hissed. “She knows you’re here now, and it would be rude not to see her.”
“I saw her this morning,” he retorted.
“And barely spoke a word to her, as she tells it. Now come down and at least have a cup of tea. Really, it’s as if I taught you no manners at all!”
His mother turned and went back into the parlor, sure that her son would obey and follow her. He did not have the stomach to sit and listen to their useless chatter and so he went to his rooms, changed into his riding outfit, and used the servants’ staircase to escape the confines of the house.
Chapter 8
The next morning, Lydia was sitting in the breakfast room beside Eleanor. Their father sat at the head of the table, reading his newspaper, while the girls talked quietly.
They were interrupted when the maid came in with a letter for Lydia.
“Thank you,” she replied, taking the letter, and opening the seal. “Ah, it’s from Patricia,” she said aloud.
Eleanor lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? Patricia does not usually write to you. Is it something urgent?” she asked.
“No,” Lydia said slowly, skimming the letter. She nearly laughed out loud.
“What is it?” Eleanor asked, unable to conceal her curiosity.
“It appears that Lord Beaumont has been asking after me,” Lydia whispered. Her father perked up at the mention of the gentleman's name.
“Lord Beaumont? Is he not Lady Clarkson’s son?” her father asked.
“Yes, I believe so,” Lydia said, folding up the letter. She wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. She had still not told Eleanor of the conversation she had had with their father. She did not want her sister to worry.
“Why would he be looking for you?” Eleanor asked. She took a sip of her tea.
Lydia glanced at her father, who had gone back to reading his newspaper. Lydia motioned with her eyes that they should leave the breakfast room to discuss the letter in private. Lydia stood and wheeled her sister down the hallway and into the drawing room. She sat down next to her sister, who was brimming with curiosity and excitement.
“Patricia writes that she thinks he only came to the shop yesterday to look for me. He didn’t buy anything, and he waited for nearly an hour,” Lydia said. Her heart skipped a beat. She had never thought of Lord Beaumont in a romantic way. Not in the least. In fact, he had been rude to her whenever they had chanced to meet.
“Well, this is quite a development, I must say,” Eleanor said, smiling at her sister's growing blush. Lydia was turning red with embarrassment.
“I can’t see why he would even be interested in me,” Lydia said, still shocked by the whole idea. Patricia must be imagining things. It was ridiculous to even think that Lord Beaumont could be attracted to her. She thought back over her various meetings with him. She had to admit that he was very handsome, but he was also unnecessarily cold and rude.
“Well, there is no need to sit here idly wondering what is going through Lord Beaumont’s head. I meant to
ask if you would like to come to the debutante ball with me in a few weeks’ time?” Lydia asked.
Eleanor lit up at the suggestion. “I would, indeed. But are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden to you,” she said.
“Nonsense. You could never be a burden to me. And besides, I will be so much more at ease with you there.” She smiled. “Perhaps you will find a nice young gentleman to talk to.”
“Perhaps. But I doubt it,” Eleanor said sadly. Lydia wished she could cheer her sister up. If only people could see what Lydia saw every day. They would not pass her over just because she was confined to a wheelchair.
“Oh, do not feel bad for me. It is a sin to feel bad for oneself. We will go to the debutante ball, and the both of us will fall in love with lavishly rich men and live happily ever after. Just like in our stories, isn’t that so, Sister?” Eleanor teased.