by Leah Conolly
Lydia laughed. “Yes, and we will live together in a great house in the country.”
“Agreed,” Eleanor replied.
***
Lydia walked at a leisurely pace beside her sister. She had agreed to let the maid push Eleanor’s wheelchair this evening since it was her turn to read. The park was filled with more people than usual. It seemed that the warm weather was coaxing folk out of their homes, like so many flower buds bursting into bloom.
Eleanor was listening to Lydia read, her eyes closed. She said that it helped her imagine the characters. Lydia knew that reading was a means of escape for her sister, even more so now that she was restricted to a wheelchair. One day, she hoped Eleanor would build up enough strength to walk again. The doctor thought she was making good progress, at least. Eleanor opened her eyes and stretched her back, stopping mid-stretch.
“Lydia. Is that not Lord Beaumont walking towards us?” Eleanor asked, shocking Lydia out of her reverie. She looked up, searching the faces of the men walking around the park, before her eyes landed on a gentleman who was fast approaching them, with a determined look in his eyes.
“I believe it is,” Lydia replied. She did not take her gaze off him, wondering what he might want.
When he reached them, he stopped and bowed politely. He smiled at them. “Hello again, Lady Lydia. How nice it is to see you.”
Lydia was at a loss for words. He was actually being civil! “Yes, it is a pleasure to see you again also, Lord Beaumont.”
Eleanor waited patiently to be introduced, while the silence that followed the exchange stretched on awkwardly.
Lydia soon remembered herself and turned to introduce her sister. “Lord Beaumont, may I introduce my younger sister, Lady Eleanor Baker?” she said.
He bowed to Eleanor and took her hand, placing a light kiss on the back of it. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Eleanor,” he replied.
Eleanor blushed slightly at his gesture. He could indeed be charming if he wanted to be. Privately, Lydia wondered if the charming version or the rude version was the real Lord Beaumont, but she did not voice the question aloud.
“What brings you here, Lord Beaumont?” Lydia asked.
“I like to take a walk in the evenings. It clears my head when I have been cooped up writing all day,” he replied.
Lydia nodded. Somehow, he always brought the conversation around to his writing. He certainly was full of himself.
“We usually read on our walks,” Lydia said, trying to keep the conversation from lagging.
“Ahh,” he said, motioning for her to hand him the book. Lydia did so, even though his manners were abrupt. “I see,” he said, nodding as if he had been correct in some assumption.
“You see what?” Lydia asked, bristling. Why was it that Lord Beaumont could make her so angry?
“This book is merely fairy-tales. That is all I mean. I prefer to read the truth,” he said, handing the book back to her. She took it and clasped it in front of her.
“But surely romance such as this can be no lie?” Eleanor argued.
“Well said.” Lydia agreed.
He said nothing more about their choice of reading material but continued to walk with them. Lydia became uncomfortable after many minutes of silence, wondering why he insisted on staying in their company.
He obviously thought they were just silly girls who read nonsense for entertainment. Eleanor gave her a knowing look and motioned Lydia to continue the conversation.
Lydia shook her head, wishing he would go and leave them alone.
“I am tired. I think I will have Minnie wheel me over there, under the tree,” Eleanor announced.
“I’ll come with you,” Lydia said.
“Nonsense. I will just be over there. Please, continue your walk with Lord Beaumont. You do not mind, do you, Lord Beaumont?” Eleanor asked.
“I would be delighted to escort you around the park, Lady Lydia," he said. He offered Lydia his arm. She did not want to seem rude, so she linked her arm in his, secretly glaring back at her sister, who wore a mischievous grin on her face. Lydia’s look said that she would deal with her later.
“I hear you are a great lover of literature. I assume your favorite genre is romance?” Lord Beaumont asked.
“I do enjoy romance novels, but I have other interests as well, Lydia said coldly.
“Such as?” he asked, not unkindly.
She tried to calm herself a bit. Now she was the one being rude. “I like reading about history, art, philosophy: although philosophy is not the kind of reading that I do before bed,” she replied.
“Why not? I find it is most helpful in putting one to sleep,” he said. He gave a small laugh. She smiled too when she realized he was trying to make a joke.
“Yes, I suppose you are right,” she agreed. She would have liked to say that she would try reading one of his books if she ever had a hard time falling asleep. But she was not sure if he would take the comment well. He had been so unpredictable in their past encounters.
“Where did you grow up?” he asked.
“Just a few miles west of London, on my father’s country estate,” she replied. “And you?”
“I have been in London for many years,” he replied. “Have you moved into town for the season?”
“Yes, well. We have been in town for the past year. My sister had a riding accident last spring, and we have had to stay close to her physician ever since,” Lydia explained. “I miss living in the country, but the town is what is best for Eleanor at present.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
Lydia began to relax. She sensed that his rudeness was just a mask for when he felt uncomfortable or embarrassed. They walked in silence for a few more minutes before she thought of something else to ask him.
“How is your next manuscript coming along? Patricia tells me that you have been coming to the shop quite often as of late. I assume you are keeping Mr. Newton abreast of your progress?”
He cleared his throat, “Ah, yes. He has been giving me advice on how to improve the flow of the book,” he replied, looking uncomfortable. “Speaking of the book shop, I . . . I wanted to apologize, Lady Lydia.”
“Whatever for?” she asked, struck by his sudden change in subject.
“I was rude that first day when I met you at the shop, to you and your friend. I hope you can forgive me.” He met her gaze, his intense blue eyes seemed to peer into her very soul. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Of course, Lord Beaumont,” she said, breaking eye contact.
“Thank you.” He paused for a moment and then took her hand in his. He bent slightly and kissed her hand. “I will take my leave. Please convey my goodbyes to your sister. I hope to see you both again very soon.”
“I will pass on your good wishes. Thank you, Lord Beaumont,” she said. He bowed and left her standing in the middle of the path. Lydia watched him go and then turned to rejoin her sister.
“What a pleasant fellow he is. You didn't tell me he was so charming,” Eleanor grinned.
“I didn't know myself,” Lydia replied, dumbfounded by the encounter.
“Well, it seems as though he would be a perfect match for you, if you ask me,” Eleanor continued.
“No one did ask you, Eleanor,” Lydia teased, watching Lord Beaumont disappear behind the shrubbery.
“Even so. He would make a splendid match. I don’t care if you are asking my opinion or not.” Eleanor nodded definitively and motioned for the maid to start pushing her towards home. Lydia followed a few seconds later, still at a loss as to Lord Beaumont’s sudden acquisition of manners.
Chapter 9
“But surely, you must attend the ball! Tell him, Victor!”
Christopher was sitting with his mother and stepfather in the parlor after supper. He had been trying to enjoy his cigar and a glass of port, but his mother was making it difficult to relax, as usual.
“If he doesn't want to come, then leave him be. I don’t se
e why you have to pester the poor boy into coming to all these events,” Victor replied.
Christopher opened an eye and nodded his thanks to his stepfather. “Thank you, Victor.”
“I wouldn’t have to pester if he would just stop being so stubborn and agree to come. Christopher, do be reasonable. Everyone will be there!” she went on, starting to whine.
Christopher felt the beginnings of a headache forming. Why did she always have to make everything so dramatic? He was sick to death of it.
“That is exactly why I don’t want to come. I will not be missed since all of London will be there. No need for my attendance, Mother. Now let it go, please,” he said, losing patience.
“Lady Diana will be there. You know she’s taken a liking to you. Poor girl! And you’re being so stubborn,” his mother continued, despite his pleas for her to desist. She had still not ceased talking about how rude it was that he had disappeared when Lady Diana had been there the previous day. But she was the furthest from anything he would ever look for in a wife.
“I’m only saving her from a world of heartache,” Christopher said dryly. He took a sip of port and placed his glass on the side table. He only ever took a few sips of his after-dinner drink. He was preparing to retire for the evening when his mother’s conversation suddenly piqued his interest.
“You are hopeless, Christopher,” she said, resigning herself. “Oh, Victor!” she said, touching his knee excitedly. He jerked in surprise. He had not been listening, it seemed. A small smile tugged at Christopher’s lips. He knew that his mother exhausted Victor. Poor man. But he had been the one to choose her. . .
“I heard that Lord Baker is in grave financial difficulties,” she continued. The glee in her voice angered Christopher. She should not be happy at the news of another person’s misfortune. “He is in such dire straits, it seems, that he is forcing his eldest daughter to wed. It’s rumored that she will be looking for a husband at the opening ball of the season and will need to choose a suitor that night! She has taken her time. She’s almost a spinster already if you ask me.”
“What does any of this have to do with me, my dear?” Victor asked, staring off into the distance. He took a sip of his port and leaned his head back against the sofa.
“Are you speaking of Lord George Baker? Is that not Lady Lydia Baker's father?” Christopher chimed in.
“Yes, son. Lady Lydia will be attending the ball and choosing a husband. Do you know her?” she asked hopefully.
“We have met on a few occasions, but I wouldn't say I know her well,” he replied.
“Surely you will attend, then? For her sake?” she asked.
“Mother, enough. Of course not. Lady Lydia or not, I do not like social affairs, nor do I wish to mingle with your type of people.” Christopher stood and began walking towards the door.
His mother got up and excused herself for the evening, hurt by his words. Victor stood up and took a step towards Christopher.
“There is only one type, Christopher,” his stepfather said quietly. “There are just people,” he added, before leaving the room.
Christopher nodded. His stepfather was right, of course. Victor had a way of correcting him so that it did not feel as though he was tearing him down.
Somehow, Christopher had to find a way to attend the ball without his mother suspecting his feelings for Lady Lydia.
If she realized he was attracted to Lady Lydia, he would never hear the end of it. She was too smart. She would surely see right through his ruse, no matter how much he denied his feelings.
Then an idea occurred to him. He could say he was meeting a fellow writer at the ball to discuss his next manuscript.
It would make her happy that he was at least attending and annoy her at the same time. She hated the fact that he spent all his time writing. But it amused him to bother her, as she bothered everyone around her.
At luncheon the next day, as his mother began trying to persuade him to come to the ball again, Christopher felt it the perfect opportunity to announce that he had changed his mind.
“I had a letter from a fellow writer this morning. He says he is attending the ball and wants to meet me there.”
“So, you are coming to the ball to meet another writer?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said simply, cutting into a slice of ham.
His mother still looked dubious, but only smiled and said, “Well, if meeting a writer will get you to the ball, then by all means!”
***
Christopher entered the ballroom, already feeling awkward and out of place. He did not do well at social functions, being a man who did not converse easily with strangers. He disliked being introduced to new people, as he never knew what to say.
The people around him were standing in circles, laughing and gossiping. And all of it was meaningless. He could overhear bits and pieces of the various conversations. They were discussing who had the fastest horse or the bigger estate or who was richer than whom. All of it meaningless drivel.
He meandered through the crowds, looking for the real reason that he had come.
Then he saw her. Lady Lydia was surrounded by eight or nine gentlemen, the center of attention. It wasn’t hard to understand why: she was breathtaking. His heart began to pound in his chest. He drew closer in hopes that she would see him and come over to say hello.
Minutes passed, and she did not acknowledge him. One of the gentlemen was telling her about his racehorse. By the look on her face, his story was the most interesting thing she had ever heard. But Christopher suspected she was just putting on a show. She was, after all, here to find a husband.
Christopher moved a few feet to the left to put himself in her direct line of sight. There was no possibility of her missing him now.
But after several more minutes, he thought that she either did not recognize him or she was ignoring him altogether.
“Ahhh! There you are Lord Beaumont!”
Christopher cringed when he heard Lady Diana's voice. He was already irritated, and her presence merely added insult to injury.
He bowed. “Please excuse me, Lady Diana. I see someone I know, and I really should go and greet them,” he replied. He made his way through the crowd, trying to get closer to Lady Lydia.
“She is quite the social butterfly, is she not?” Lady Diana stepped in front of him, barring his way and glancing pointedly at Lady Lydia. “I hear she is to choose a husband tonight. Who do you think will win? My bet is on Lord Ashton. But then again, the Marquess of Kent stands the best chance if we are talking about money and position.”
“I do not care who Lady Lydia chooses,” he replied, irritated by Lady Diana’s gossip and by her barring his way.
Why would Lady Lydia not look at him? He glanced over the crowd of people separating them, and, for a moment, she was hidden from his gaze by a tall gentleman who looked as if he were asking her to dance. The gentleman bowed in front of her, and Christopher was able to see her face again.
She had a smile pasted on her face, but her eyes looked infinitely sad. Their eyes met for the first time that evening and she looked startled to see him there. He gave what he thought was his most charming smile and started her way once again, ignoring Lady Diana completely.
***
Lady Diana turned and left Lord Beaumont. He was not making the evening easy for her. She was going through a lot of trouble for a man she did not particularly like. This plan had been hatched by her mother, and she was simply doing what she was told.
It was true that Lord Beaumont was handsome, but Diana found him dull. She had gone to the bookshop to find his work, but she had barely been able stay awake while reading it.
She turned, looking over her shoulder. He was standing in the corner, watching her. She looked at Lady Lydia with contempt.
Diana did not like Lady Lydia because she thought she was better than everyone else. Diana glared, without even realizing it.
“Do stop frowning, dear, you’re going to get wrinkles,” Di
ana's mother whispered as she appeared beside her.
“Yes, Mother,” Diana said. She let her gaze fall to the floor. Her mother was a demanding woman, always making sure Diana behaved appropriately.
“Why are you not dancing with Lord Beaumont? I told you to talk to him,” her mother continued. She never had a kind word for Diana. Nothing Diana did was ever good enough.
“I tried to gain an invitation to dance, but he refused me,” she said. Diana pouted as she and her mother watched Lord Beaumont. Her mother came to her side and placed her arms around Diana’s shoulders.